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THE WORKS 



OF 



SHAKESPEAEE 



THE TEXT 

REGULATED BY THE RECENTLY DISCOVERED FOLIO OF 1632, CONTAINING 

EARLY MANUSCRIPT EMENDATIONS 



WITH A 



HISTOEY OF THE STAGE, A LIFE OF THE POET, AND AN" 

INTKODUCTION TO EACH PLAl^ 



BY J. PAYNE COLLIER, ESQ. F.S.A. 

1 

TO "WHICH ARK ADDED, 

GLOSSAEIAL AND OTHER NOTES 

AND THE 

READINGS OF FORMER EDITIONS 



i 



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J->J3»"W u > *, 







REDFIELD: 
110 AND 112 NASSAU-STREET, NEW-YORK. 

1853. 









Entered, accoi>Iing: to Act of Cuugress, iu the year One TlKnisand Eight Hundred and Fifty-three, 

BY J. S. REDFIELD, 
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New Yoik. 



/'X - 3^ A 3^ 



A. CUNNINGHAM, 

STEREOTVPKR, , , 

No. If3 William-Street, New-York. 



S. W. BENEDICT, 

PRINTER, 

No. 1 6 Spruce-Street, New-York. 



AMEIIICAN PREFACE. 



In the present edition of the Works of Shakespeare, the text of the plays has been 
taken from that published in London by J. Payne Collier, a few months since, embodying 
the manuscript emendations recently discovered by him in a coj)y of the second folio 
edition published in 1G32. The text of the Poems, the Life of Shakespeare, the account 
of the early English Drama, and the separate prefaces to the plays are from the octavo 
edition in 1844, by the same editor. As the latest edition contained no notes and those 
in his previous one were, to some extent, superseded by the alterations in the text, and 
were unsuited from their length to the requirements of a copy in a compact form, it 
was deemed advisable that new notes should be prepared. 

This has been undertaken for the present work. It has been the aim by close conden- 
sation to convey a greater amount of information directly illustrative of the text than 
has ever been presented in a similar form. For information on an important portion 
of the task, that of indicating the variations between the quarto (where such are in 
existence) and folio copies of the plays, reliance has been placed almost entirely on 
Mr. Collier's first edition. That gentleman had free access to all the early copies in the 
libraries of the Duke of Devonshii-e and Lord Francis Egerton, better known to American 
readers as Earl of Ellesmere ; collections formed at great labor and expense, and far more 
complete than any previously brought together in public or private repositories. The 
notes illustrative of obsolete words, expressions and customs, have been derived from 
the edition of Mr. Collier already referred to, Mr. Knight's Pictorial Shaksjjere, the 
works of Dyce, Douce, Ilalliwell, Hunter, Richardson, and the American editions of 
Messrs. Yerplanck and Hudson, with such aid as a long acquaintance with the Dramatic 
and general Literature of the age of Elizabeth and James could furnish. 

Notes, pointing out or commenting upon the sentiments expressed in the text, have 
been purposely avoided, it being presumed that the reader having been furnished with 
every material for the employment of a correct taste and judgment, will prefer to exercise 
these faculties for himself. 

Comment of this description, which has often been carried to an impertinent or 
tedious extreme, has also been avoided in noting the variations between the text of the 



PREFACE. 



present and that of previous editions. The reader has been placed in possession of the 
old by the side of the new readings, and left to an unbiassed choice between them. The 
frequent recurrence of notes of this description rendered necessary the simple abbreviation 
of/, e. for former edition, the edition referred to being that of Collier, published in IS-ii, 
and almost universally received as the established text, until the discovery by the same 
editor of the celebrated copy of the folio of 1632. No other abbreviations occur in the 
notes, unless the mention of the first, or folio of 1623, as " the folio," be so regarded. 

It may be proper to state that the notes, unless where otherwise expressed, refer to the 
word preceding the corresponding numbers in the text. 

As an interesting illustration, a characteristic fac-simile of a portion of a page of the 
corrected folio, 1632, is appended. The head of the Poet, which forms the frontispiece, 
is a faithful copy of the engraving by Martin Droeshout, which is printed on the title- 
page of the folios, of 1623, and 1632, and upon which Ben Jonson wrote the celebrated 
! lines testifying so decidedly to the faithfulness of the likeness — a stronger guarantee than 
any other portrait of the Dramatist can claim. 

G. L. D. 
New Yoek, Sejytt'mher, 1853. 



^^^^dF^ 



<l - 



3'*^ 










Char, fiail Yorkcand SonicrfcL brought rdcucjn^ 
We fhould havcfound a bloody day of this- 

^4j?. Howthe yong whelpe of T'^^^/j^ raging wood. 
Did jlcfh hispuny-lword in Freacbmens blood. 

Pne. Oiicc I encouiitrcd hiiTi,and thus 1 laid: 
Thou Maiden y oQth,be vam^uiiht by a Maide. 
But with a provdMajefticallbigb fcorne ^** '*^(5'^ *** 
Heanfwer'd thus : Y ong Tdlbot was jiot borne i^;*-^*^-*^ 
To bethcpillageoraGiglot Wciicb,^''/'^ /^^"'''^ 
He left tne proudly, as unworthy fight. 

i?«r.Doubtleirehe would have made a noble Knight : 
See where helye^ inherced in the avmes ^ -j / ^ • 

Of th e irnrfl UJ uudy NuriTer of his harmes . V^ 6(<r5^ 
Baft. Hew them to peeces, liack their bones alfunder, 
Whoie \\i^ was Englands glory,Ga]lia's wonder t 

[hur. Oh no forbeare: For that which we have fled 

Dnrinethelifejetasnot Wrong; it dead. /2 .^L 
^ Enter iMcj. o-^^^hr.-^5>- 

X*.Herald,condu<^ me to the Dolphins Tent, 
To j^now who hath Ofctain'd the glory oUhe day. 

Char. On what fubmijTive meflageart thoufent? 

Lncy. SubmiiTionDolphin^Tiyameere French word: 
We Englifh' Warno"!*^ wot not whatitroeanes. 
I come to know whaiPrifoners thou haft tane,- 
Ktid. to furvey the bodies ofthe dead. 

Char. Forprifoners askft thou?HeJil our prifonis. 
But tell me> whom thou leeHsi)^ ^ ^'«'*^ 

Lhc. But Where's the great Alcide&of the field, 
VaUant Lord ^dhot'^x\t of Shrewsbury? 
Created for his rarefuccelTein Armes, 
Great EarIe6f;^^;-i/W,r«J^rydf<l?,and Vdim, 
Lord TaJkot o£Coodri^d.r\d. Vrch nfuidy 
Lo r d Strode o f ^Ucl(niere, Lor< Verdon o^&y^lton, 
Lord Cromwell o ^iVinj^ejU ld.LQi L fHrnivallof She0fild, 
The thrice viAorious lOrd Ol rdtidn6Hage, 
Knight of the Noble Order of S- Geor^e^ 
Worthy S. .4/i«(jtf^/,andthe golden Fleece, 
Great MarOiall to o ur King Benrj the fixt, 
Of all his Warres within the Realnie of Pranee. 



DEDICATION. 



ro the most Noble and Incomparable Pail- of Brethren. William Earl of Pembroke, &c. Lord Chamberlain to 

the King's most Excellent Majesty. 

And Philip Earl of Montgomery, <fec. Gentleman of his Majesty's Bedchamber. Both Knights of the most 

Noble Order of the Garter, and our singular good Lords. 
Right Honourable, 

Whilst we study to be thankful m our particular for the many favours we have received from your Lordships, -we 
are fallen upon the ill fortiuio, to mingle two the most diverse things that can be, fear, and rashness ; rashness in the 
enterjjrise, and fear of the success. For, when we value the places your Highnesses sustain, Ave cannot but know their 
dignity greater, than to descend to the reading of these trifles : and, while we name them trifles, we have deprived 
ourselves of the defence of our Dedication. But since your Lordships have been pleased to think these trifles some- 
thing, heretofore ; and have prosecuted both them, and their Author living, with so much favour, we hope, (that they 
outliving him, and he not having the fate, common with some, to be executor to his own writings) you will use the like 
indulgence toward them, you have done unto theii- parent. There is a great difl'crenee, whether any book choose bis 
patrons, or find them ; this hath done both. For, so much were j^our Lordships' likings of the several parts, when 
they were acted, as before they were published, the volume asked to be yours. We have but collected them, and done 
an oflace to the dead, to procure his orphans, guardians ; without ambition either of self-profit, or fame : only to keep 
tlie memory of so worthy a fi'iend, and fellow alive, as was our Shakespeare, by humble offer of his plays, to your 
most noble patronage. Wherein, as v/e have justly observed, no man to come near your Lordships but with a kind of 
religious address, it hath been the height of our care, who are the presenters, to make the present worthy of your 
Highnesses by the joerfeetioa. But, there we must also crave our abilities to be considered, my Lords. We cannot 
go beyond our own powers. Cmintry hands reach forth milk, cream, fruits, or what they have ; an.d many nations, (we 
have heard) that had not gums and incense, obtained their requests with a leavened cake. It was no fault to apprc/ach 
their gods, by what means they could ; and the most, though meanest, of things are made more precious, when they are 
dedicated to temples. In that name therefore, we most humbly consecrate to your Highnesses these remains of your 
servant Shakespeare ; that what delight is in them, may be ever your Loi'dships', the reputation his, and the faults 
ours, if any be committed, by a pair so careful to shew tlieir gratitude both to the living, and the dead, as is 

Your Lordshi2:)s' most boundcn, 

John Heminge, 
Henct Condell. 



TO THE GREAT YAEIETY OF READEES. 

From the most able, to him that can but spell : there you are numbered. We had rather you were weighed. 
Especially, when the fate of all books depends up(jn your capacities ; and not of your heads alone, but of your jnirses. 
Well, it is now public, and you will stand for your privileges, we know : to read, and censure. Do so, but buy it first. 
That doth best commend a book, the stationer says. Then, how odd soever your brains be. or your wisdoms, make your 
licence the same, and spare not. Judge your sixjDcn'orth, your shilhng's worth, your five shillings' worth at a time, or 
higher, so you rise to the just rates, and welcome. But, whatever you do, buy. Censure will not drive a trade, or 
make the jack go. And though you be a magistrate of wit, and sit on the stage at Blaekfriars, or the Cock-pit, to 
arraign plays daily, know, these ])lays have had their trial already, and stood out all appeals ; and do noAV co]ne forth 
quitted rather by a decree of court, than any purchased letters of commendation. 

It had been a thing, we confess, worthy to have been wished, that the Author himself had lived to have set lorth, 
and overseen his own writuigs ; but since it hath been ordained othei'wise, and he by death departed from that right, 
we pray you do not envy his friends the ofiice of their care, and pain, to have collected and published them ; and so to 
have pubUshed them, as where (before) you were abused with divers stolen, and surreptitious copies, maimed, and de- 
formed by the frauds and stealths of injurious impostors, that exposed them ; even those, are now oftered to your view 
cured, and perfect of their limbs, and all the rest, absolute in their numbers, as he conceived them. Who, as he was a 
happy imitator of Nature, was a most gentle expresser of it. His mind and hand went together ; and what ho thought, 
he uttered with that easiness, that we have scarce received from him a blot in his papers. But it is not our province, 
who only gather his woi'ks, and give them you, to praise him. It is yom's that road him. And thei'e we hope, to your 
divers rapacities, you will find enough, both to draw, and hold you ; for his wit can no more lie hid, than it coulii be 
lost. Read him, therefore ; and again, and again : and if then you do not like him, surely you are in some manifest 
danger, not to understand him. And so we leave you to other of his friends, who, if you need, can be your guides: if 
you need them vot, you can lead yourselves, and others. And such readers we wish hmi. 

John Hemixge. 

IIenrt Con dell. 



COMMENDATORY VEESES. 



Upon the Effigies of my u'orthy Friend, the Author, 
Master William Slmkespeare, and his Works. 

Spectator, this life's shadow is : — to see 
The truer image, and a hvelier he. 
Turn reader. But observe his comic vein. 
Laugh ; and proceed next to a tragic strain, 
Then weep : so, — when thou find'st tAvo contraries, 
Two different passions from thy wrapt soiil rise, — 
Say, (wlio alone effect such wonders could) 
Rare Shake-speare to the Hfe thou dost behold. 

An Epitaph on the admirable Dramatic Poet, W. Shake- 
speare.* 
What need my Shakespeare for his honoui-'d bones, 
The labour of an age in piled stones ; 
Or tliat his hallow'd rehques should be hid 
Under a star-ypointing pyramid ? 
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, 
What need'st thou such dull witness of thy name ? 
Tliou, in our wonder and astonishment, 
Hast built thyself a lasting monument : 
For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art, 
Thy easy nmnbers flow ; and that each part 
Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book, 
Those Delphic lines with deep impression took ; 
Then thou, our fancy of herself bereaving. 
Dost make us marble with too much conceiving ; 
And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie. 
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die. 

To the Memory of the deceased Author, Master W. Shake- 
speare. 
Shake-speare, at length thy pious fellows give 
The world thy works ; thy works, by which outlive 
Thy tomb thy name must : when that stone is rent, 
And time dissolves thy Stratford monument. 
Here we ahve shall view thee still : this book, 
When brass and marble fade, shall make thee look 
Fresh to all ages ; when posterity 
Shall loathe what 's new, think all is prodigy 
Tliat is not Shakespeare's, every line, each verse, 
Here shall revive, redeem thee from thy hearse. 
Nor fire, nor cankering age, as Naso said 
Of his, thy wit-fraught book shall once invade : 

1 An Epitaph on the admirable Dramatic Poet, W. Shakespeare.] 
These lines, like the preceding, have no name appended to them in 
the folio, 163'2, but the authorship is ascertained by the publication 
of them as Milton's, in the edition of his Poenls in 1645. 8vo. We 
five them as they stand there, because it is evident that they were 
then printed from a copy corrected by the author : the variations arc 
interesting, and Malone pointed out only one, and that certainly the 
least important. Instead of " weak witness" in line (!, the folio 1C3'2 
has " dull witness :" instead of " live-long monument," in line 8, the 
folio has ■' lasting monument :" instead of " heart," in line 10, the 
folio has '-jiarf," an evident misprint: and instead of " itself be- 
reaving," in line 13, the folio has ■•/ter«// bereaving." Tlie last is 
the dill'erenco mentioned by IVIalone, who also places " John Milton" 
at the end, as if the name were found in the folio of 1032. 

- Than when thy half-sword parleying Romans spake :] Leonard 
Digges prefixed a long copy of verses to the edition of Shakespeare's 
Poems in 1610, Svo, in which he makes this pa-ssage, referring to 
" Julius Cxsar,*' more distinct ; he also there speaks of the audiences 
Shakespeare's plays at that time drew, in comparison with Ben. Jon- 
son's. This is the only part of his production worth adding in a note. 
" So have I seen, when Ca;sar would appear, 
And on the stage at half-sword parley were 
Brutus and Cassius, 0, how the audience 
Were ravish'd ! with what wonder they vrent thence ! 



Nor shall I e'er believe or think thee dead, 

(Though miss'd) until our bankrupt stage be sped 

(Impossible) AVith some new strain t' out-do 

Passions of Juhet, and her Romeo ; 

Or till I hear a scene more nobly take, 

Thau when thy half-sword parleying Romans spake -^ 

Till these, till any of thy volume's rest. 

Shall with more fire, more feeling, be express'd. 

Be sure, (our Shake-speare,) thou- canst never die, 

But, crown'd with laurel, Uve eternally. 

L. Digges. 

To the Memory of M. W. Shake-speare. 
We wonder'd (Shake-speare) that thou weut'st so soon 
From the world's stage to the grave's tiring-room : 
We thought thee dead ; but this thy printed worth 
Tells thy spectators, that thou went'st but forth 
To enter with applause. An actor's art 
Can die, and live to act a second part : 
That 's but an exit of mortality. 
This a re-entrance to a plaudite. I. M.' 

To the Memory of my beloved, the Author, Mr. William 
Shakespeare, and ivJiat he hath lift us. 
To draw no envy (Shakespeare) on thy name, 
Am I thus ample to thy book, and f;ime ; 
While I confess thy wiitings to be such, 
As neither man, nor muse, can praise too much ; 
'T is ti'ue, and all men's suffrage ; but these ways 
Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise : 
For seeliest ignorance on these may light. 
Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right ; 
Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance 
The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance ; 
Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, 
And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise : 
These are, as some infamous bawd, or whore. 
Should praise a matron ; what could hurt her more ? 
But thou art proof against them ; and, indeed, 
Above th' ill fortune of them, or the need. 
I, therefore, will begin : — Soul of the age. 
The applause, dehght, the wonder of our stage, 
My Shakespeare, rise ! I wiU not lodge thee by 
Chaucer, or Spenser ; or bid Beaumont lie 
A little further, to make thee a room'' : 

When, some new day, they would not brook a line 
Of tedious, though well-labour"d, Cataline ; 
Sejanus too, wa-o irksome : they priz'd more 
' Honest' lago, or the jealous Moor. 
And though the Fox and subtil Alchymist, 
Long intermitted, could not quite be mist, 
Though these have sham'd all th' ancients, and might raise 
Their author's merit with a crown of bays. 
Yet these sometimes, even at a friend's desire, 
Acted, have scarce defray'd the sea-coal fire. 
And door-keepers : when, let but FalstalT come, 
Hal, Poins. the rest, — you scarce shall have a room, 
All is so pester'd : let but Beatrice 
And Benedick be seen, lo ! in a trice 
The cock-pit, galleries, boxes, all are full. 
To hear Malvoiio, that cross-garter'd gull. 
Brief, there is nothing in his wit-fraught book, 
Whose sound we would not hear, on whose worth look," &c 
^ Perhaps the initials of John Marston. 

* Referring to lines by William Basse, then circulating in MS., 
and not printed (as far as is now known) until 16.33, when they were 
falsely imputed to Dr. Donne, in the edition of his poems in that 
year. All the MSS. of the lines, now extant, differ in minute par- 
ticulars. 



IV 



COMMENDATOET VEESES. 



Thou art a monument without a tomb ; 

And ait alive still, while thy book doth live, 

And -w^e have wits to read, and praise to give. 

That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses ; 

I mean, with great but disproportion'd muses : 

For, if I thought my judgment were of years, 

I should commit thee surely with thy peers ; 

And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshiue, 

Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line : 

And though thou hadst small Latin, and Jess Greek, 

From thence to honour thee, I would not seek 

For names ; but caR forth thundering jEschylus, 

Euripides, and Sophocles, to us, 

Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead. 

To live again, to hear thy buskui tread 

And shake a stage : or, when thy socks were on, 

Leave thee alone, for the comparison 

Of all that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome, 

Sent forth, or since chd from their ashes come. 

Triumph, my Britain ! thou hast one to show, 

To whom all scenes-«f Europe homage owe. 

He was not of an age, but for all time ; 

And all the muses still were in their prime. 

When hke Apollo he came forth to warm 

Our ears, or like a Mercuiy to chann. 

Nature herself was proud of his designs. 

And joy'd to wear the dressing of his hues ; 

Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit. 

As since she will vouchsafe no other wit. 

The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, 

ISTeat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please ; 

■ But antiquated and deserted he. 

As they were not of Nature's family. 

Yet must I not give Nature all ; thy art. 

My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part: 

For though the poet's matter nature be. 

His art doth give the fashion ; and that he. 

Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, 

(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat 

Upon the muses' anvil ; turn the same, 

(And hhnself with it) that he thinks to frame ; 

Or for the laurel he may gain a scorn. 

For a good poet 's made, as well as born : 

And such wert thou. Look, how the father's face 

Lives in his issue ; even so the race 

Of Shakespeare's mind, and manners, brightly shines 

In his well-tumed and true-filed lines ; 

In each of which he seems to shake a lance. 

As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance. 

Sweet Swan of Avon, what a sight it were. 

To see thee in our water yet appear ; 

And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, 

That so did take Eliza, and our James. 

But stay ; I see thee in the hemisphere 

Advanc'd, and made a constellation there : 

Shine forth, thou star of poets ; and with rage. 

Or influence, chide, or cheer, the drooping stage ; 

Which, siuce thy flight from hence, hath mourn'd like 

night, _ 
And despairs day, but for thy volume 's light. 

Ben Jonson. 

On worthy Piaster Shakespeare, and his poems} 
A mind reflecting ages past, whose clear 

And equal surface can make things appear, 

Distant a thousand years, and represent 

Them in their lively colours, just extent ; 

To outrun hasty time, retrieve the fates. 

Roll back the heavens, blow ope the iron gates 

Of death and Lethe, where (confused) He 

Great heaps of ruinous mortality : 

I On worthy Master Shakespeare, and his Poems.] These lines are 
subscribed I, M. S. in the folio 1632, " probably Jasper Mayne," says 
Malone. Most probably not, because Mayne has left nothing behind 
him to lead us to suppose that he could have produced this surpassing 
tribute. I. M. S. may possibly be lohn Milton, Student, and no name 



Jn that deep dusky dungeon to discern 

A royal ghost from churls ; by art to learn 

The physiognomy of shades, and give 

Them sudden birth, wondering how oft they live ; 

What story coldly tells, what poets feign 

At second hand, and picture without brain, 

Senseless and sonUess shows : to give a stage 

(Ample, and true with life) voice, action, age. 

As Plato's year, and new scene of the world. 

Them unto us, or us to them had hurl'd : 

To raise our ancient sovereigns from their hearse, 

Make kings his subjects ; by exchanging verse 

EnUve their pale trunks, that the present age 

Joys in their joy, and trembles at their rage : 

Yet so to temper passion, that our ears 

Take pleasure in their pain, and eyes in tears 

Both weep and smile ; fearful at plots so sad. 

Then laughing at our fear ; abus'd, and glad 

To be abus'd ; affected with that truth 

Wliich we perceive is false, pleas'd in that ruth 

At which we start, and, by elaborate play, 

Tortur'd and tickled ; by a crab-like way 

Time past made pastime, and in ugly sort 

Disgorging up his ravin for our sport : — 

— While the plebeian imp, from lofty throne, 

Creates and rules a worlil, and works upon 

Mankind by secret engines ; now to move 

A chilling pity, then a rigorous love ; 

To strike up and stroke down, both joy and ire ; 

To steer th' affections ; and by heavenly fire 

Mould us. anew, stol'n from ourselves : — 

This, and much more, which cannot be expres,s'd 
But by himself, liis tongue, and his own breast. 
Was Shakespeare's freeliold ; which his cunning brain 
Improv'd by favour of the nine-fold train ; 
The buskin'd muse, the comic queen, the grand 
And louder tone of Clio, nimble hand 
And nimbler foot of the melodious pair. 
The silver-voiced lady, the most fair 
Calliope, whose speaking silence daunts, 
And she whose praise the heavenly body chants ; 
These jointly woo'd him, envying one another, 
(Obey'd by all as spouse, but lov'd as brother) 
And wi'ought a curious robe, of sable grave. 
Fresh green, and pleasant yellow, red most brave. 
And constant blue, rich purple, guiltless white, 
The lowly russet, and the scarlet bright : 
Branch'd and embroider'd like the painted spring ; 
Each leaf match'd with a flower, and each string 
Of golden wire, each line of silk ; there run 
Itahan works, whose thread the sisters spim ; 
And there did sing, or seem to sing, the choice 
Birds of a foreign note and various voice : 
Here hangs a mossy rock ; there plays a fair 
But chiding foimtain, purled : not the air, 
Nor clouds, nor thunder, but were living drawn ; 
Not out of common tiffiiny or lawn. 
But fine materials, which the muses Icnow, 
And only know the countries where they grow. 

Now, when they could no longer hmi enjoy. 
In mortal garments pent, — death may destroy. 
They say, his lx)dy ; but his verse shall hve. 
And more than nature takes our hands shall give : 
In a less volmne, but more strongly bound, 
Shakespeare shall breathe and speak; with laurel 

crown'd, 
Which never fades ; fed with ambrosian meat, 
In a well-lined vesture, rich, and neat. 
So with this robe they clothe him, bid him wear it ; 
For time shall never stain, nor envy tear it. 

The friendly admirer of Ms endowments. 

L M. S. 

may have been appended to the other copy of verses by him prefixed 
to the folio of l(53'i, in order that his initials should stand at the end 
of the present. We know of no other poet of the time capable of 
writing the ensuing lines. We feel morally certain that they are by 
Milton. 



COMMENDATORY YEESES. 



Upon the Lines, and Life, of the famous Scenic Poetj 
Master W. Shakespeare. 

Those bauds which you so clapp'd, go now and wiing, 
You Britons brave ; for done ai'e Shake-speare's days : 
His days are done that made the dainty plays, 

Which made the Globe of heaven and earth to ring. 

Dried is that vein, dried is the Thespian spring, 
Turn'd all to tears, and Phoebus clouds his rays ; 
That corpse, that coffin, now bestick those bays, 

Which crown'd him poet first, then poet's king. 
If tragedies might any prologue have, 

All those he made would scarce make one to this ; 
Where fame, now that he gone is to the grave, 

(Death's public tiring-house) the Nuntius is : 

For, though his line of life went soon about, 

The life yet of his hues shall nevei" out. 

Hugh Holland. 



The following are Ben Jonson''s lines on the Portrait of 
Shakespeare, precisely as they stand on a separate leaf 
opposite to the title-page of the edition of 1623, and 
ivhich are reprinted in the same place, tvithsome trifling 
variation of typography, in the folio of 1632. 

TO THE READER. 

This Figure, that thou here seest put, 
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut ; 
Wherein the Graver hacl a strife 
With Nature, to out-do the life : 
0, could he but have drawn his wit 
As well in brass, as he hath hit 
His face ; the Print would then surpass 
All, that was ever writ in brass. 
But since he cannot. Reader, look 
Not at his picture, but his book. 

B.I.] 



THE NAMES OF THE PRINCIPAL ACTORS IN ALL THESE PLAYS. 



William Shakespeare. 
Richard Burbadge. 
John Hemmings. 
Augustine Phillips. 
William Kempt. 
Thomas Poope. 
George Brvan. 
Henry Condell. 
William Slte. 



Richard Cowlt. 
John Lowine. 
Samuel Crosse. 
Alexander Cookk 
Samuell Gilburnb. 
Robert Armin. 
William Ostler. 
Nathan Field. 
John TJndeewood. 



Nicholas Tooley. 
William Ecclestone. 
Joseph Taylor. 
Robert Benfield. 
Robert Goughe. 
Richard Robinson. 
John Shancke. 
John Rice. 



A CATALOGUE 

OF ALL THE COMEDIES, HISTORIES, AND TRAGEDIES CONTAINED 

IN THIS BOOK. 



THE TEMPEST .... 

THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 

THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 

MEASURE FOR MEASURE 

THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 

love's labour 's LOST . 

MIDSUMMER NIGHT's DREAM 

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE . 

AS YOU LIKE IT ... . 

THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 

ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 

TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL 

THE winter's TALE 



HISTORIES. 



THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING JOHN 

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD II. 

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING HENRY IV. 

THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 

THE LIFE OF KING HENRY V. 

THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 

THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. . 

THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. . 

THE TRAGEDY OF RICHARD III. 

THE FAMOUS HISTORY OF HENRY VIII. . 



TRAGEDIES. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA . 
THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS 
TITUS ANDRONICUS . 
ROMEO AND JULIET 
TIMON OF ATHENS . 
THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CjESAR 
THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH . 
THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET 
THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR 
THE MOOR OF VENICE . 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 
THE TRAGEDY OF CYMBELINE 
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE 
POEMS ..... 



PAGE 
1 

20 
39 

62 
86 
102 
124 
148 
166 
188 
210 
232 
257 
278 



305 
327 
351 

377 
405 
432 
456 
483 
509 
541 



568 

597 

627 

649 

676 

697 

719 

739 

772 

802 

831 

860 

890 

911 



HISTORY 



OF 



THE ENGLISH DRAMA AND STAGE 



TO 



THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. 



In order to make the reader acquainted with the origin of 
the English stage, such as Shakespeare found it when he 
became counected with it, it is necessary to mention that a 
miracle-play or mystery, (as it has beea termed in modern 
times), is tlie oldest forn^ of dramatic composition m our 
language. The stories of productions of this kind were 
derived from the Sacred Writings, from the pscudo-evan- 
gehum, or from the Uves and legends of saiuts and martyrs. 

Miracle-plays were common in London in the year 1170 ; 
and as early as 1119 the miracle-play of St. Katherine had 
been represeated at Dimstaple. It has been conjectured, 
and indeed iu part established', that some of these perform- 
ances were iu French, -a-s well as in Latin; and it was not 
until the roign of Edward III. that they were generally 
acted in Enghsh. We have three existing series of miracle- 
plays, all of which have been recently 2>rinted ; the Towne- 
ley collection by the Surtees Club, and those known as the 
Coventry and Chester pageants by the Shakespeare Society. 
The Abbotsford Club has likewise printed, from a manu- 
script at OxfoKl, thi'ce detached mii-acle-plays which once, 
probably, formed a poiiion of a connected succession of pro- 
ductions of tliat class and description. 

During about 300 years this species of theatrical enter- 
taimnent seems to have flourished, often under the auspices 
of the clergy, Avho used it as the means of religious instruc- 
tion ; but prior to tlie reigu of Heuiy VI., a new kind of 
di-ama had become popular, which by writers of the time 
was denominated a moral, or moral jjlay, and more recently 
a morality. It acquired this name from the nature and 
purpose of the representation, which usually conveyed a 
lesson for the better conduct of human life, the characters 
employed not being sci-iptural, as in miracle-plays, but alle- 
gorical, or symbolical. Miracle-plays continued to be repre- 
sented lung after moral plays were introduced, but from a 
remote date abstract impersonations had by degrees, not 
now easily traced, found their way into miracle-plays: thus, 
perhaps, moral plays, consisting only of such characters, 
grew out of them. 

A very remarkable and interesting miracle-play, not 
founded upon the Sacred Writings, but upon a popular 
legend, and all the characters of wliicb, witli one exception, 
purport to be real personages, has recently been discovered 
m the library of Trinity College, Dublin, iu a manuscript 
certainly as old as the later part of the reigu of Edward 
IV." It is perhajjs tlie only specimen of the kind in our 
language ; and as it was unknown to all who have hitherto 
wiitten on tlie history of our ancieut drama, it will not here 
be out of place to give some aceoxmt of the incidents to 

1 See Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. ii. p. 1.31. 

- We are indebted for a correct transcript of tiie original to the zeal 
and kindness of Dr. J. H. Todd, V.P., R.S.A. 

3 111 another part of the manuscript it is called "The Play of the 
Conversion of Sir Jonathas, the Jew, by the Miracle of the Blessed 
Sacrament;" but inferior Jews are converted, besides Sir Jonathas, 
who is the head of the tribe iS the " famous city of Araclea,'' 



which it relates, and of the persons concerned in them. The 
title of the piece, and the year in which the events are sup- 
posed to have occurred, are given at the close, where we . 
are told that it is " The Play of the Blessed Sacrament^" 
and that the mu-acle to which it refers was wrought " in 
the forest of Arragon, in the fjimous city of Araclea, in the 
year of our Lord God 1461." There can be no doubt that 
the scene of action was miaginary, being fixed merely for 
the greater satisfaction of the spectators as to the reahty 
of the occurrences, and as little that a legend of the kind 
was of a much older date than that assigned in the manu- 
script, which was probably near the time when the di-ama 
had been I'cpresented. 

In its form it closely resembles the mu-acle-plays which 
had their origin in Scriptm'e-history, and one of the charac- 
ters, that of the Saviour, common in productions of that 
class, is introduced into it : the i-est of the personages 
engaged are five Jews, named Jonathas, Jason, Jasdon, 
Miisphat, and Malchus ; a Christian merchant called Aris- 
torius, a bishop. Sir Isidore a pi-iest, a physician from 
Brabant called "Mr. Bruudyche," and Colle his servant* 
The plot relates to the purchase of the Eucharist by the 
Jews from Aristoiius for lOOl^ imder an assurance also 
that if they find its miraculous powers verified, they wiU 
become converts to Christianity. Aristoi-ius, having pos- 
session of the key of the church, enters it secretly, takes 
away the Host, and sells it to the Jews. They put it to 
various tests and torments : they stab " the cake " with 
their daggers, aud it bleeds, while one of the Jews goes 
mad at the sight. They next attempt to nail it to a post, 
but the Jew who uses the hammer has his hand torn oif ■ 
aud here the doctor and his servant, Mr. Brimdyche and 
Colle, make their appearance in order to attend the woimded 
Jew ; but after a long comic scene between the quack and 
his man, highly illustrative of the manners of the time, 
they are driven out iis impostors. The Jews then proceed 
to boil the Host, but the water turns blood-red, and taking 
it out of the cauldron with pincers, they thi'ow it into a 
blazing oven : the oven, after blood has run out " at the 
crannies," bursts asunder, and an image of the Saviom* 
rising, he addresses the Jews, who are as good as their 
word, f >r they are converted on the spot They kneel to 
the Christian bishop, iuid Aristorius having confessed his 
crime aud deehired his repentance, is forgiven after a suit- 
able admonition, and a strict charge never again to buy or 
sell. 

This very singular and striking pei'formance is opened, 
as was usual with miracle-plays, by two VexiiLators, who 

* This name may possibly throw some light on an obscure passage, 
in a letter dated about 15:}-), and quoted in '"The History of Engl. 
Dram. Poetry, and the Stage," I. 131, where a person of the name of 
Thomas Wylley informs Cromwell, Earl of Essex, that he had wTitten 
a play in which a character called " Colle, dogger of Con.science," was 
introduced, to the great olfuiice of the Roman Catholic clergy. 



vm 



HISTOEY OF THE EKGLISII STAGE 



explain the nature of the story about to be represented, in 
alternate stanzas ; and the whole peiformanee is wound up 
by an epilogue from the bishop, enforcing the moral, Avliich 
of course was intended to illustrate, and "impress upon the 
audience, the divine origin of the doctrine of transubstantia- 
tion. Were it necessaiy to our design, and did space allow 
of it, we_ should be strongly tempted to introduce some 
characteristic extracts from this hitherto unseen production ; 
but we must content ourselves with saying, that the language 
in several places appears to be older than the reign of 
Edward IV., or even of Heniy VI., and that we might be 
disposed to carry back the original composition of the drama 
to the period of Wickhffe, and the Lollards. 

It was not until the reign of Elizabeth tliat miracle-plays 
were generally abandoned, but in some distant parts of the 
kingdom they were persevered witli even till the time of 
James I. Miracle-plays, in fact, gradually gave way to 
moral plays, which presented more variety of situation and 
character ; and moral plays in turn wei'e superseded by a 
species of naixed drama, which was strictly neither moral 
play nor historical play, but a combination of both in the 
same representation. 

Of this singular union of discordant materials, no j^rson 
who has hitherto written upon tlie history of our dramatic 
poetry has taken due notice ; but it is veiy necessaiy not to 
pass it over, inasmuch as it may be said to have led ulti- 
mately to the mtroduction of tragedy, comedy, and history, 
as we now understand the tei-ms, upon the boards of our 
public theatres. No blame for the omission can fairly be 
imputed to our predecessors, because the earhest specimens 
of this sort of mixed drama which remain to us have been 
brought to light within a compai-atively few years. The 
most important of these is the " Kynge Johan " of Bishop 
Bale. _ We are not able to settle with precision tiie date 
when it was originally written, but it Avas evidently per- 
formed, with additions and alterations, after Ehzabeth came 
to the t4«-one.*_ The purpose of tiie autlior was to promote 
the Reforination, by applymg to the cii'cimistances of his 
own times the events of the reign of Kmg John, when the 
Idngdom was placed by the Pope imder an interdict, and 
when, according to popular belief, the sovereign was poisoned 
by a draught achniuistered to him by a monk. This drama 
resembles a moral play in the introduction of abstract im- 
personations, and a historical play in the adaptation of a 
portion of our national annals, with real characters, to the 
purposes of the stage. Though performed in the reign of 
Ehzabeth, we may carry back the first composition and 
representation of "Kynge Johan" to the time of Edward 
yi. ; but, as it has been prmted by the Camden Society, it 
is not necessaiy that we should enlarge upon it. 

The object of Bale's play was, as we have stated, to 
advance the Reformation under Etlward VI. ; but in the 
reign of his successor a drama of a similar description, and 
of a directly opposite tendency, was wiitten and acted. It 
has never been mentioned, aiid as it exists only in manu- 
script of the time," it will not be out of place to quote its 
title, and to explam briefly in what manner the anonymous 
author carries out his design. He calls his drama'" Res- 
pubhca," and he adds that it Avas " made m the year of our 
Lord 155S, and the first year of the most prosperous reign 
of our most gracious Sovereign, Queen Mary the First." 
He was supposed to speak the prologue himself, m the 
character of " a Poet ;" and although every person he intro- 
duces IS in fact called by some abstract name, he avowedly 
brings forward the Queen herself as " Nemesis, the Goddess 



..J.^ale died in Nov. l.jOS ; but he is nevertheless thus spoken of. as 
still living m B. Googe's "Eglogs, Epitaphes, and Sonnettes," pub- 
lished, we have reason to believe, in the spring of that year : we have 
never seen this tribute quoted, and therefore subjoin it. 
"Good aged Bale, that with thy hoarv heares 
Doste yet persyste to turne the payiiefull booke : 
hapye, man ! that hast obtaynde such yeares, 
And leav'st not yet on papers pale to looke ; 
Gyve over now to beate thy weryed brains. 
And rest thy penne, that long hath labour'd sooro : 
For aged men unfyt sure is suche paine, 
And thee beseems to labour now no more : 
But thou, I thynke, Don Platoes part will playe, 
V, ith booke in hand to have thy dying daye." 



of redress and correction," while her kuigdom of England is 
intended by " Respublica," and its inhabitants represented 
by " People :" the Reformation in the Church is distmguished 
as " Oppression ;" and Policy, Authority, and Honestv, are 
designated "Avarice," "Insolence," and "Adulation." All 
this is distinctly stated by the author on his title-page, while 
he also employs the impersonations of Misericordia, Veri- 
tas, Justitia, and Pax, (agents not unfi-equentlv resorted to 
in the older miracle-plays) as the friends of " Nemesis," the 
Queen, and as the supporters of the Roman Catholic religion 
in her dominions. 

Nothing would be gained by a detail of the import of the 
tedious interlocutions betAveeu the characters, represented, 
it would seem, by boys, Avho wei'e perhaps the children of 
the Chapel Royal ; for thei-e are traces in the peiformanee 
that it i\'as originally acted at court. Respublica is a Avidow 
greatly injured and abused by Avarice, Insolence, Oppres- 
sion, and Adulation; while People, using throughout a 
rustic dialect, also complain bitterly of their suflerings, 
especially since the iutioduction of what had been termed 
"Reformation" in matters of faith: in the end Justitia 
brings in Nemesis, to effect a total change by restoring the 
former condition of religit>us affairs ; and the piece closes 
with the delivery of the offenders to condign pimishment. 
The production was evidently wiitten by a man of educa- 
tion; but, although there are many attempts at hum.our, 
and som-e at variety, both m character and situation, the 
whole must have been a very wearisome performance 
adapted to please the court by its general tendency, but 
little calculated to accomplish any other purpose entertained 
by the writer. In all respects it is much inferior to the 
" Kynge Johan" of Bale, which it followed in point of date, 
and to which, perhaps, it was meant to be a counterpart. 

In the midst of the performance of dramatic prochiclions 
of a religious or poUtical character, each party supporting 
the views which most accorded with the author's individual 
opinions, John Heywood, who was a zealous Roman Catho- 
he, and who subsequently suffered for his creed under 
Edward VI. and Elizabeth, discovered a new species of 
entertainment, of a highly humorous, and not altogether 
of an uninstruetive kind ; which seems to have been very 
acceptable to the sovereign and nobility, and to have 
obtauied for the author a distinguished character as a court 
dramatist, and ample rcAvards as a eomt dependent.^ 
These A^-ere properly called "mterludes," being short comic 
pieces, represented ordinarily in the mterval between the 
feast and the banquet; and we may easily believe that 
they had considerable influence in the settlement of the 
form which our stage-performances ultimateh^ assumed. 
Heywood does not appear to have begun writing imtQ 
after Henry VIII. had been some years on the throne ; but, 
Avhile Skelton Avas composing such tedious elaborations as 
his "Magnificence," which, without any improvement, merely 
carries to a still greater length of absurdity the old style 
of moral plays, Heywood was writing liis " John Tib and 
Sir John," his " Four Ps," his " Pardoner and Friar," and 
pieces of that description, which presented botli variety of 
matter and novelty of construction, as well as considerable 
Avit and drollery in the language. He was a very original 
Avriter, and certainly merits more admiration than an^ of 
his dramatic contemporaries. 

To the commencement of the reign of Ehzabeth we may 
refer several theatrical productions Avhich make approaches, 
more or less near, to comedy, tragedy, and histoiy, and still 
retam many of the known features of moral plays. " Tom 



Besides "King Johan," Bale was the author of four extant dramatic 
productions, which may be looked upon as miracle-plays, both in their 
form and ciiaracters : viz. 1. " The Three Laws of Nature. Mose.^ and 
Christ;" 2. "God's Promises;" 3. "John the Baptist;" 4. "The 
Temptation of Christ." He also wrote fourteen otlier dramas of vari- 
ous kinds, none of which have come do-n-n to us. 

2 In the library of Mr. Hudson Gurney, to whom we beg to express 
our obligations for the use of it. 

3 John Heywood, who flourished in the reign of Henry VHI., is not 
to be confounded, as some modern editors of Shakespeare have con- 
founded him, with Tliomas Heywood, who became a dramatist more 
than half a century afrerwards, and who continued a writer for the 
stage until near the date of the closing of the theatres by the Puritans. 
John Hej'wood, in all probability, died before TJhomas Heywood was born! 



TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEAEE. 



IX 



Tiler and his Wife" is a comedy in its incidents ; but the 
allegorical personages, Desire, Destiny, Strife, aud Patience, 
connect it immediately with the earlier species of stage- 
entertainment. " The Conflict of Conscience," on the other 
hand, is a tragedy on the fate of an historical personage ; 
but Conscience, Hypocrisy, Avarice, Horror, (fee, are called 
iu aid of the purpose of the ■writer. " Appius and Virginia" 
is in most respects a history, founded upon facts; but 
Rumour, Comfort, and Doctrine, are importantly concerned 
iu the represeutatit)n. These, and other productions of the 
same class, which it is not necessaiy to particulaiize, show 
the gradual advances made towards a better, because a 
more natural, species of tlieatrieal composition.' Into miracle- 
plays were gradually introduced allegorical personages, who 
tinally usurped the whole stage ; while they in turn yielded 
to real and historical characters, at iirst only intended to 
give variety to abstract impersonations. Hence the origin 
of comedy, tragedy, and history, such as we find them in 
the works of Shakespeare, and of some of his immediate 
predecessors. 

What is justly to be considered the oldest known comedy 
in our language is of a date not much posterior to the reign 
of Henry VIIL, if, indeed, it were not composed while he 
was on the throne. It has tlie title of " Ralph Roister 
Doister," aud it was written by Nicholas Udall, who was 
master of Eton school in 1540, and who died in 1557.^ It 
is on eveiy account a veiy remai'kable performance ; and 
as the scene is laid in Loudon, it affords a curious picture 
of metropolitan manners. The regularity of its construction, 
(Ten at that early date, may be gathered from the fact, 
that in the single copy which has descended to us^ it is 
divided into acts and scenes. The story is one of common, 
every-day hfe ; and none of the characters are such as peo- 
ple had been accustomed to find in ordinary dramatic enter- 
tainments. The piece takes its name from its hei'o, a young 
toAvn-gallant, who is mightily enamoiu'ed of himself, and 
who is encouraged iu the good opinion he entertains of his 
own person and accomplishments by Matthew Meriygreek, 
a poor relation, who attends hmi in the double capacity of 
Ci^mpauion and servant. Ralph Roister Doister is iu love 
with a lady of property, called Custance, betrothed to 
Gawin Goodluck, a merchant, who is at sea when the 
c«3medy begins, but who returns before it concludes. The 
main incidents relate to the mode iu which the hero, with 
tJie treacherous help of his associate, endeavours to gain 
the affections of Custance. He writes her a letter, which 
MerrygTcek reads without a due observance of tlio punctua- 
tion, s) that it entirely perverts the meaning of the writer: 
he \'isits her while she is surrounded by her female domes- 
ties, but he is unceremoniously rejected : he resolves to 
ciiny her by force of arms, and makes an assault upon her 
habitation; but with the assistance of her maids, armed 
with miips and brooms, she drives him from the attack. 
Then, her betrothed lover returns, who has been misinformed 
on the subject of her fidelity, but he is soon reconciled on 
till explanation of the fiicts; and Ralph Roister Doister, 
finding that he has no chance of success, and thiit he has 

1 One of the latest pieces -withont raixtnre of history or fable, and 
consisting wholly nf abstract personafjes, is, "The Tide tarryoth no 
Man," by George Wapulj printed in 157(3 : only a single copy of it has 
b-ren preserved, and that is in the library of the Duke of Devonshire. 
The principal persons introduced into it have the following names: — 
Painted-profit, No-good-neighbourhood, Wastefulness, Christianity, 
Correction, Courage, Feigned-furtherance, Greediness, Wantonness, 
and Authcrity-in-despair. 

- A very interesting epistle from Udall is to be found in Sir Henry 
Ellis's volume (edited for the Camden Society) ■' Original Letters of 
Eminent Literary Men." That of I'dall is first in the series. 

' This single copy is without title-page, so that the year when it was 
nrinte<l cannot be ascertained ; but Thomas Hacket had a licence in 
l-5«)(5 for i''.e publication of "a play entitled Rauf Ruyster Duster," as 
it i.? called on the registers of the Stationers' company. We may pre- 
eum" that it was published in that year, or in the next. 

* By " the older drama," we mean moral plays, into which the Vice 
■wTis intr^l'ioed for the amusement of the spectators: no character so 
calle.l. or with similar propensities, is to be traced in miracle-plays. 
He T.-as. in fact, the bnllnon of our drama in, what may be termed, its 
second s'age ; after audiences began to grow weary of plays founded 
npon Scripture-history, and when even moral plays, in order to be 
relishcdj required the insertion of a character of broal humour, and 
vicious inclinations, who was sometinieB to be the companion, and at 



only been cajoled and laughed at, makes up his mind to be 
merry at the wedding of Goodluck and Custance. 

In aU this we have no trace of anything like a moral 
play, with the exception, perhaps, of the character of 
Matthew Merrygreek, which, in some of its features, its 
love of mischief and its drollery, bears a resemblance to 
the Vice of the older drama.'' Were the dialogue modern- 
ised, the comedy might be performed, even in our own 
day, to the satisfaction of many of the usual attendants at 
our theatres. 

In considering the merits of this piece, we are to recollect 
that Bishop Still's " Gammer Gurton's Needle," which, until 
of late, was held to be our earliest comedy, was written 
some twenty years after " Ralph Roister Doister :" it was 
not acted at Cambridge until 1566, nine years subsequent 
to the death of UdaU; and it is in every point of view an 
inferior production. The plot is a mere piece of absurdity, 
the language is provincial (well fitted, mdeed, to the country 
where the scene is laid, and to the clownish persons engaged 
in it) and the manners depicted are chiefly thosS of iUiterate 
rustics. The story, such as it is, relates to the loss of a needle 
with which Gammer Gurton had mended Hodge's breeches, 
and which is afterwards found by the hero, wlien he is about 
to sit down. The humour, generally speaking, is as coarse 
as the dialogue ; and though it is impossible to deny that 
the author was a man of talents, they were hardly such as 
could have produced " Ralph Roister Doister." 

The drama which we have been accustomed to regard as 
our oldest tragedy, and which jirobably has a just claim 
to the distinction, was acted on 18th January, 1562, and 
printed in 1565.^^ It was originally called "Gorboduc;" but 
it was reprinted in 1571 under the title of "Forrex and 
Porrex," and a third tune in 1590 as " Gorboduc." The first 
three acts were written by Thomas Norton, and the last two 
by Thomas SackviUe, afterwards Earl of Dorset, and it 
was performed " by the gentlemen of the Inner Temple." 
Altliough the form of the Greek drama is observed in 
" Gorboduc," and each act concluded by a chorus, yet Sir 
Philip Sidney, who admitted (in his " Apology of Poetry") 
that it was " full of stately speeches and well-sounding 
phrases," could not avoid complaining that the imities of 
time and place had been disregarded. Thus, in the very 
outset and origin of our stage, as regards what may be 
termed tlie regular drama, the liberty, which allowed full 
exercise to the imagiuatiiiu of the audience, and which was 
afterwards happily cai'i ied to a greater excess, was distinctly 
asserted and maintained. It is also to be remarked, that 
" Gorboduc" is the earhest known play in our language in 
which blank-verse was employed ;" but of the introduction 
of blank-verse upon our public stage, we shall have occasion 
to speak hereafter. It was an important change, which 
requires to be separately considered. 

We have now entered upon the reign of Elizabeth ; and 
although, as already observed, moral plays and even miracle- 
plays were still acted, we shall soon see what a variety of 
subjects, taken fi-om ancient histoiy, from mythology, fiible, 
aud romance, were employed for the purposes of the drama. 

others, the castigator, of the devil, who represented the principle of evU 
among mankind. The Vice of moral plays subsequently became the 
fool and jester of comedy, tragedy, and history, and forms another, and 
an important, link of connexion between them. 

s In the Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, ii. 4S2, it is said 
that the earliest edition of '• Gorboduc" has no date. This is a mistake, 
as is shown by the copy in the collection of Lord Francis Egerton, 
which has "anno 1.5(>5, Septcmb. 2:2" at the bottom of the title-page. 
JNIr. Hallam, in his admirable " Introduction to the Literature of 
Europe," &c. (Second Edit. vol. ii. p. 167), expresses his dissent from 
the position, that the t/ireejirft acts were by Norton, and the two last 
by SackviUe. The old title-page states, that " three acts were written 
by Thomas Norton, and the two last by Thomas Sackvillc." Unless 
the printer, Vv^itliam GrifHth. were misinformed, this seems decisive. 
Norton's abilities have not had justice done to them. 

6 Richard Edwards, a very distinguished dramatic poet, who died in 
1.50G, and who wTote the lost play of " Palamon and Arcite," which 
was acted before the Queen in September of that year, did not follow 
the example of SackviUe and Norton : his ■• Damon and Pithias" (tie 
only piece by him that ha.s sur\'ived) is in rhyme. See Dodi«ley"s CM 
Plays, last edition, vol. i. p, 177. Thomas Twine, an actor in " Palarmn 
and Arcite," wrote an epitaph upon its author. '• Gamm»r Gurto-'s 
Needle," and " GorboduCj" (the last printed from the second edition^ 
are also insertixl in vols. i. and ii. of Dodsley's Old Plays. 



HISTOKY or THE ENGLISH STAGE 



Stephen Gosson, one of the earliest enemies of theatrical 
performances, ■writing hia " Plays confuted in Five Actions" 
a httle after the period of which we are now speaking, but 
adverting to the drama as it had existed some years before, 
tells us, that " the Palace of Pleasure, the Golden Ass, the 
Ethiopian History, Amadis of France, and the Round 
Table," as well as " comedies in Latin, French, Italian, and 
Spanish, have been thoroughly ransacked to furnish the 
play-houses in London." Hence, unquestionably, many of 
the materials of what is termed our i-omantie drama were 
obtained. The accounts of the Master of the Revels between 
1510 and 1580 contain the names of various plays repre- 
eented at court; and it is to be noted, that it was certainly 
the practice at a later date, and it was probably the prac- 
tice at the time to which we are now adverting, to select 
for performance before the Queen such pieces as wore most 
in favour with public audiences : consequently the mention 
of a few of the titles of productions repi'esented before 
Elizabeth at Greenwich, Whitehall, Richmond, or Nonesuch, 
will show the character of the popular performances of the 
day. We derive the following names from Mr. P. Cunning- 
ham's " Extracts from the Revels' Accounts," printed for the 
Shakespeare Society: — 



Lady Barbara. 

Iphigenia. 

Ajax and Ulysses. 

Narcissus. 

Paris and Vienna. 

Tlie Play of Fortune. 

Alemeeon. 

Quintus Fabius. 

Timoclea at the Siege of Thebes, 

Perseus and Andromeda. 

The Painter's Daughter. 

The History of the Collier. 

The History 



Mutius Scgovola. 
Portio and Demorantes. 
Titus and Gisippus. 
Three Sisters of Mantua. 
Cruelty of a Stepmother. 
The Greek Maid. 
Eape of the second Helen 
The Four Sons of Fabius. 
History of Sarpcdon. 
Murderous Michael. 
Scipio Africanus. 
The Duke of Milan, 
of Error. 



These are only a few out of many dramas, establishing the 
mxiltiplicity of sources to which the poets of the time 
resorted.' Nevertheless, we find on the same indisputable 
authority, that moral plays were not yet altogether dis- 
carded in the court entertainments ; for we read, iu the 
original records, of productions the titles of which prove 
that they were pieces of that allegorical description : 
among these are " Truth, Faithfulness, and Mercy," and 
" The Marriage of Mind and Measure," which is expressly 
called " a moral." 

Our main object in referring to these pieces has been to 
show the great diversity of subjects which had been drama- 
tised before 1580. Li 1581 Barnabe Rich pubUshed his 
" Farewell to MiUtary Profession,"^ consisting of a collection 
of eight novels ; and at the close of the work he inserts this 
strange address " to the reader :" — " Now thou hast perused 
these histories to the end, I doubt not but tliou wilt deem 
of them as they worthily deserve, and tliink such vanities 
more fitter to be presented on a stage (as some of them 
have been) than to be pubUshed in print." The foot is, that 
throe dramas are extant which more or less closely resem- 
ble throe of Rich's novels : one of them " Twelfth Night ;" 
another, " The Weakest goeth to the Wall ;" and the third 
the old play of " Philotus."^ 

Upon the manner in which the materials thus procured 
were then handled, we have several contemporaneous 
authorities. George Whetstone, (an author who has prin- 
cipally acquired celebrity by writing an earUer drama upon 
the incidents employed by Shakespeare in his " Measure 
for Measure") in the dedication of his " Promos and Cassan- 
dra," gives a compendious description of the nature of popu- 
lar theatrical representations in 1578. " The EngUshman 

1 " The Play of Fortune." in the above list, is doubtless the piece 
which has reached us in a printed shape, as " The Rare Triumphs of 
Love and Fortune :" it was acted at court as early as 1573. and again 
in 15S2; but it did not come from the press until 15s9, and the only 
copy of it is in the library of Lord Francis Egerton. The purpo.se of 
the anonymous writer was to compose an entertainment which should 
possess the great requisite of variety, with as much show as could at 
that early date be accomplished ; and we are to recollect that the court 
theatres possessed some unusual facilities for the purpose. The "Induc- 
tion' is m blank-verse, but the body of the drama is in rhyme. " The 



(he remarks) in this quality is most vain, indiscreet, and out 
of order. He first grounds his work on impossibilities; 
then, in three hours, runs lie through the world, mai'ries, gets 
children, makes children men, men to conquer kingdoms, 
muider monsters, and bringeth gods from heaven, and 
fetcheth devils from hell : and, that which is worst, their 
ground is not so unperfeet as their working indiscreet ; not 
weighing, so the people laugh, though they laugh them for 
their follies to seorn. Many times, to make mirth, they 
make a clown companion with a king : iu their grave coun- 
cils they allow the advice of fools ; yea, they use one order 
of speech for all persons, a gross indecorum." This, it will 
be perceived, is an accurate account of the ordinary license 
taken in our romantic drama, and of the reliance of poets, 
long before the time of Shakespeare, upon the imaginations 
of theu" auditors. 

To the same effect we may quote a work by Stephen 
Gosson, to which we have before been indebted, — " Plays 
confuted in Five Actions," — which must have been pi-iuted 
about 1580 : — " If a true history (says Gosson) be taken in 
hand, it is made, hke our shadows, longest at the rising and 
falling of the sun, shoi'test of all at high noon ; for the poets 
drive it commonly unto such points, as may best show the 
majesty of their pen in tragical speeches, or set the hearers 
agog -wdth discourses of love ; or paint a few antics to fit 
their ovm humours with scoffs and taunts ; or bring in a 
show, to furnish the stage when it is bare." Again, speak- 
ing of plays professedly founded upon romance, and not 
upon "true history," he remarks: "Sometimes you shall 
see nothing but the adventures of an amorous knight, pass- 
ing from country to country for the love of his lady, encoun- 
tering many a terrible monster, made of brown paper, and 
at his return is so wonderfully changed, that he cannot be 
known but by some posy in his tablet, or by a brolcen ring, 
or a handkerchief, or a piece of cockle-shell." We can 
hardly doubt that when Gosson wrote this passage he had 
particular productions in his mind, and several of the cha- 
racter he describes are still extant. 

Sir Phihp Sidney is believed to have wiitten his "Apology 
of Poetry" iu 1583, and we have already referred to it iu 
connexion with " Gorboduc." His observations, upon the 
general character of dramatic representations in his time, 
throw much light on the state of the stage a very few 
years before Shakespeare is supposed to have quitted 
Stratford-ujjon-Avon, and attached himself to a theatrical 
company. " Cm* tragedies and comedies (says Sidney) are 
not without cause cried out against, observing neither rules 

of honest civQity, nor skilful poetry But if it be so 

in Gorboduc, how much more in all the rest, where you 
shall have Asia of the one side, and Afrie of the other, and 
so many other under-kingdoms, that the player, when he 
comes in, must ever begin with telling where he is, or else 
the tale will not be conceived. Now you shall have three 
ladies walk to gather flowers, and then we must behove 
the stage to be a garden : by and by we hear noAvs of a 
shipwreck in the same place; then, we are to blame if we 
accept it not for a rock. Upon the back of that comes out 
a hideous monster witli fire and smoke, and then the miser- 
able beholders are bound to take it for a cave ; while, in 
the meantime, two armies fly in, represented with four 
swords and bucklers, and then what hard heart AviU not 
receive it for a pitched field ? Now, of time they are much 
more hberal; for ordinary it is that two young princes fall 
in love : after many traverses she is got witli child, delivered 
of a fair boy ; he is lost, growoth a man, falleth in love, and 
is ready to get another child, and all tliis in two hours' 
space: which how absurd it is in sense, even sense may 
miagine, and art hath taught, and all ancient examples justi- 

History of the Collier," also mentioned, was perhaps the comedy subse- 
quently known and printed as " Grim, the Collier of Croydon ;" and it 
has been reasonably supposed, that " The History of Error" was an old 
play on the same subject as Shakespeare's " Comedy of Errors." 

2 Until recently no edition of an earlier date than that of 1006 was 
known ; but there is an impression of 1581 at Oxford, which is about 
to be reprinted by the Shakespeare Society. Malone had heard of a 
copy in 15&.3. but it is certainly a mistake. 

3 'it was reprinted for the Bannatyne Club in 1835, by J. W. Mack- 
enzie, Esq. 



TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. 



XI 



fied." He afterwards comes to a point previously urged by 
Whetstone ; for Sidney complains that plays were " neither 
right tragedies nor right comedies, mingling kings and 
clowns, not because the matter so carrieth it, but thrust in 
the clown by liead and shoulders, to play a part in majesti- 
eal matters with neither decency nor diso-etion ; so as neither 
the admiration and commiseration, nor right sportfuluess is 
by tlieir mongrel tragi-comedy obtained.'' 

It will be remarked that, with the exception of the 
instance of " Gorbodnc," no writer Ave have had occasion to 
cite mentions the English Chronicles, as having yet furnished 
dramatists with stories for the stage ; and we may perhaps 
infer that resort was not had to them, for the purposes of the 
public theatres, uiitO. after the date of which we are now 
speaking. 

Having tluis briefly adverted to tlie nature and character 
of dramatic reprcseutatious from the cai'liest times to the 
year 1-583, and having established that our romautic drama 
was of ancient origin, it is necessary shortly to describe the 
cireimistances under which plays were at different early 
pei'iods performed. 

There were no regular theatres, or buildings permanently 
coustructed for the purposes of the drama, imtil after 15*75. 
Miracle-plays were sometimes exliibited in churches and in 
the halls of corjjoratious, but more frequently upon move- 
able stages, or scaffolds, erected in the oj)en air. Moral 
plays were subsequently performed under nearly similar 
circumstances, excepting that a jjractice had grown up, 
among the nobility and wealthier gentrj^, of having dramatic 
entertainments at particular seasons in their own residences.' 
These were sometimes performed by a company of actors 
retained in the family, and sometimes by itinerant players,^ 
who belonged to large towns, or who called themselves the 
servants of members of the aristocracy. In 14 Eliz. an act 
was passed allowing strolling actors to perform, if licensed 
by some baron or nobleman of higher degree, but subjecting 
all others to tlie penalties inflicted upon vagrants. There- 
fore, although many companies of players Aveut round the 
country, and acted as the serA'ants of some of the nobility, 
they had no legislative protection until 15*72. It is a singu- 
lar fact, that the earliest knoAvn company of players, travel- 
ling under the name and patronage of one of the nobility, 
was that of the Duke of Gloucester, afterwards Richard 
III.^ Henry YII. had two distinct bodies of "actors of 
interludes" in his pay, and from henceforward the profession 
of a player became well understood and recognized. In the 
later part fif the reign of Henry VII., the players of the 
Dukes of Norfolk and Buckingham, and of the Earls of 
Arundel, Oxford, and Northumberland, pei-foi-med at court. 
About this peiiod, and somcAvhat earliei", we also hear of 

1 As early as 1465 a company of players had performed at the wed- 
ding of a person of the name of Molines, who was nearly related to 
Sir John Howard, afterwards Duke of Norfolk. See " INIanners and 
Household Expenses of England,'' printed by Mr. Botfield, M. P., for 
the Roxbnrghe Club in ltf41, p. 5U. 

2 The anonymous MS. play of " Sir Thomas More," written towards 
the close of the reign of Elizabeth, gives a very correct notion of the 
mode in which offers to perform were made by a company of players, 
and accepted by the owner of the mansion. Four players and a boy 
(for the female characters) tender their services to the Lord Chancel- 
lor, just as he is on the point of giving a grand supper to the Lord 
Mayor and Corporation of liOndon : Sir Thomas More inquires what 
pieces they can perform, and the answer of the leader of t.he company 
supplies the names of seven which were tlien popular; viz., ''The 
Cradle of Security," " Hit Nail on the Head," " Impatient Poverty," 
" The Four Ps," " Dives and Lazarus," '• Lusty Juveutus," and " The 
Marriage of Vv''it and Wisdom." Sir Thomas More fixes upon the last, 
and it is accordingly repre.>ented, as a play within a play, before the 
banquet. " Sir Thomas More " was regularly licensed for public per- 
formance. 

^ Either from preference or policy, Richard 111. appears to have 
been a great encourager of actors and musicians : besides his players, 
he patronized two distinct bodies of ■' minstrels," and performers on 
instruments called " shalrns." These facts are derived from a manu- 
script of the household-book of John Lord Howard, afterwards duke of 
Norfolk, preserved in the library of the Society of Antiquaries, and 
recently printed for tlie use of the members of the Roxburghe Club, 
as a sequel to Mr. Botfield's volume. 

* At a considerably subsequent date some of these infant companies 
performed before general audiences; and to tliem were added the 
Cliildren of the Revels, who had nt^ver been attached to any religious 
establishment, but were chiefly encouraged as a nursery for actors. 
The Queen of James L had also a company of theatrical children 
nnder her patronage. 



companies attacbed to particular places ; and in coeval 
records we read of the players of York, Coventry, Laven- 
ham, Wycombe, Chester, Manningtree, Eveshtmi, Mile-end, 
Kingston, &c. 

In the reign of Henry VIII., and perhaps in that of his 
predecessor, the gentlemen and singing-boys of tlie Chapel 
Royal were emjjloyed to act plays and interludes before 
the court ; and afterwards the children of Westminster, St. 
Paul's, aud Windsor, under their several masters, are not 
unfrequently mentioned in the household books of the 
jjalace, antl in the accounts of the department of the revels.'' 

In 1514 the kmg added a ucav company to the dramatio 
retinue of the court, besides the two companies which had 
beeu paid by his father, and the associations of theatrical 
children. In fact, at this period dramatic entertainments, 
masques, disguisings, and revels of every description, Avere 
carried to a costly excess. Henry VIII. raised the sum, 
until then paid for a play, from C)l. 13s. 4d. to 10^. WQliam 
Coruyshe, the master of the children of the chapel, on one 
occasion was paid no less a sum than 200^., in the money of 
that time, by Avay of reward ; and John HeyAVOod, the author 
of interludes before mentioned, who was also a player ujion 
the virginals, had a salary of 20/. per annum, in addition to 
his other emoluments. During seasons of festivity a Lord 
of Misrule Avas regtilarly apjsointcd to superintend the 
sports, and he also Avas separately aud liberally remime- 
rated. The example of the court was followed by the 
courtiers, and the companies of theatrical retainers, in the 
pay, or acting in various parts of the kingdom tmder the 
names of particular noblemen, became extremely numerous. 
Religious houses gave them encouragement, and even assisted 
in the getting up and representation of the performances, 
especially shortly before the dissolution of the monasteries : 
in the account-book of the Piior of Dunmow, between 
March 1532 aud July 1536, we find entries of payments 
to Lords of Misrule there appointed, as well as to the players 
of the King, and of the Earls of Derby, Exeter, and Sussex.^ 

In 1543 Avas passed a statute, rendered necessary by the 
polemical character of some of the dramas publicly rcpre-. 
sented, although, not many years before, the Icing had him- 
self encouraged such performances at court, by being present 
at a play in wliich Luther and his v>'ife were ridiculed. The 
act jjrohibits " ballads, plays, rhymes, songs, and other fim- 
tasies" of a rehgious or diictiinal tendency, but at the same 
time earefiiUy provides, that the clauses shall not extend to 
" songs, plays, and interludes" which had for object " the 
rebuking and reproaching of vices, and the setting forth of 
virtue ; so always the said songs, plays, or interludes med- 
dle not with the interpretatii ins of Sci ipture." 

The permaucut ofiice of Master of the Revels, for the 

5 For this information we are indebted to Sir N. H. Nicholas, who 
has the original document in his library. Similar facts might be 
established from other authorities, both of an earlier and somewhat 
later date. 

6 See Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, Vol. i. p. 107. 
The official account, made out by Richard Gibson, who had the prepa- 
ration of the dresses, &.c., is so curious and characteristic, that we 
quote it in the words, though not in the uncouth orthography, of the 
original document : the date is the 10th Nov. 1.52S, not long before the 
king saw reason to change the whole course of his policy as regarded 
the Reformation. 

" The king's pleasure was that at the said revels, by clerks in the 
Latin tongue, should be played in his presence a pl.^y, whereof ensu- 
etli the names. First an Orator in apparel of gold; a Poet in apparel 
of cloth of gold ; Religion, Ecclesia, Veritas, like three Novices, in 
garments of silk, and veils of lawn and c^^jress : Heresy, False-inter- 
pretation, Corruptio-scriptoris, like ladies of Bohemia, apparelled in 
garments of silk of divers colours ; the heretic Luther, like a party 
friar, in russet, damask and black tatfeta ; Luther's wife, like a frow 
of Spiers in Almain, in red silk; Peter, Paul, and James, in three 
habits of Avhite sarsenet and three red mantles, and hairs of silver of 
damask and pelerines of scarlet, and a cardinal in his apparel ; two 
Sergeants in rich apparel; the Dauphin and his brother in coats of 
velvet embroidered with gold, and caps of satin bound with velvet; a 
Messenger in tinsel-satin ; six men in gowns of green sarsenet ; six 
women in gowns of crimson sarsenet; War in rich cloth of gold and 
feathers, and armed ; three Almains in apparel all cut and slit of silk ; 
Lady Peace, in lady's apparel, all white and rich ; and Lady Quietness, 
and Dame Tranquillity, richly beseen in ladies" apparel. 

The drama represented by these personages appears to have been 
the composition of John Rightwise, then master of the childien of 
St. Paul's. 



superintendence of all dramatic performances, vraa created 
in 1546, and Sir Thomas Cawarden was appointed to it with 
an annual salaiy of 10/. A person of the name of Jolm 
Bernai'd was made Clerk of the Revels, with an allowance 
of Sd. per day and hvery'. 

It is a remarkable point, established by Mr. Tytler^, that 
Henry VIII. was not yet buried, and Bishop Gardiner and 
his parishioners were about to sing a dirge for his soul, 
when the actors of the Earl of Oxford posted bills for the 
performance of a play in Southwark. This was long before 
the construction of any regular theatre on the Bankside ; 
but it shows at how early a date that pai't of the town was 
selected for such exhibitions. "When Mr. Tytler adds, that 
the players of the Earl of Oxford were " the first that were 
kept by any nobleman," he falls into an error, because 
Richard III., and others of the nobility, as already remark- 
ed, had companies of players attached to their households. 
We have the evidence of Putteuliam, in his " Art of English 
Poesie," 1589, for stating that the Earl of Oxford, under 
whose name the players in 1547 were about to perform, 
was himself a dramatist, 

Veiy soon after Edward VI. came to the throne, severe 
measures were taken to restrain not only dramatic per- 
formances, but the publication of dramas. Plaj'ing aod 
printing plays were first entirely suspended ; then, the 
companies of noblemen were allowed to perform, but not 
without special authority ; and, finally, the sign manual, or 
the names of six of the Privy Council Avere required to 
their licenses. The objection stated was, that the plays had 
a political, not a polemical, purpose. One of the first acts 
of Mary's government, was to issue a proclamation to put 
a stop to the performance of interludes calculated to ad- 
vance the principles of the Ref<irmation ; and we may be 
sure that the play ordered at the coronation of the queen 
was of a contrary description^. It appears on other autho- 
rities, that for two yeai's there was au entire cessation of 
pubUe dramatic performances ; but in this reign the repre- 
sentation of the old Roman Catholic miracle-plays was par- 
tially and authoritatively revived. 

It is not necessary to detail the proceedings in connexion 
Avith theati'ical representations at the opening of the reign 
of Elizabeth. At first plays were discountenanced, but by 
degrees they were permitted ; and the cjueeu seems at all 
times to have derived much pleasure from the services of 
her own players, those of her nobility, and of the different 
companies of cliildren belonging to Westminster, St. Paul's, 
Windsor, and the Chapel Royal. The members of the inns 
of court also performed " Gorboduc " on 18th January, 1562 ; 
and on February 1st, an historical play, mider the name of 
" Julius Ca3sar," was represented, but by what company is 
no where mentioned. 

In 1572 the act was passed (which was renewed with ad- 
ditional force in 1597) to restrain the number of itinerant 

' The original appointment of John Bernard is preserved in the 
library of Sir Thomas Philiippes, Bart., to whom wo owe the addi- 
tional information, that this Clerk of the Revels had a house assif;ned 
to him, stranttely callpd, in the instrument, " Egypt, and Flesh- 
Hall," with a garden which had l)elonged to the dissolved monastery 
of the Charter-house : the words of the original are, omnia ilia clo- 
nium et edijicia nuper vorata Egipte et Fleshall. et iUam donium 
adjacentem nuper vocatam le ganteter. The theatrical wardrobe of 
the court was at this period kept at St. John's Gate, Clerkenwell. 

» In his '• Edward VI. and Mary," 18.39, vol. i. p. 20. 

3 See Kempe's " Losely Manuscripts," 16.3.'5, p. 61 . The warrant 
for the purpose was under the sign manual, and it was directed to 
Sir T. Cawarden, as Master of the Revels : — " Wo will and command 
you, upon the sight hereof, forthwith to make and deliver out of our 
Ilcvels, unto the Gentlemen of our Chapel, for a play to bo played 
before us at the feast of our Coronation, as in times past hath been 
accustomed to be done by the Gentlemen of the Chapel of our pro- 
genitors, all such necessary garments, and other things for the fur- 
niture thereof, as shall be thought meet," &c. The play, although 
ordered for this occasion, viz. 1st Oct. 1553, was for some unex- 
plained reason deferred until Christmas. 

* There is a material diflTerence between the warrant under the 
privy seal, and the patent under the great seal, granted upon this 
occasion : the former gives the players a right to perform " as well 
within the city of London and liberties of the same " as elsewhere ; 
but the latter (dated three days afterwards, viz. 10 May, 1574) omits 
this paragraph ; and we need entertain little doubt that it was ex- 
cluded at the instance of the Corporation of London, always opposed 
to theatrical performances. 



performers. Two years afterwards, the Eai-1 of Leicester 
obtained ffom Elizabeth a patent under the great seal, to 
enable his players James Burbage, John Perkyn, John Lan- 
ham, William Jolinson, and Robert Wilson, to perform 
" comedies, trageches, interludes, antl stage-plays," in any 
part of the kingdom, Avitli the exception of the metropolis'' 

The Lord Mayor and Aldermen succeeded in excluding 
the players from the strict boundaries of the city, but they 
were not able to shut them out of the Uberties ; and it is 
not to be forgotten that James Burbage and his associates 
were supported by court ftivour generally, and by the pow- 
erful patronage of the Etirl of Leicester in particular. Ac- 
cortliugly, in the yesir after they had obtained their patent, 
James Burbage and his fellows took a large house in the 
precinct of the dissolved monastery of the Bliiek Friars, and 
converted it into a theatre. This was accomplished in 1576, 
and it is the first tune we hear of any building set apart for 
theatrical lepresentations. Until then the various compa- 
nies of actors had been obliged to content themselves with 
churches, halls, with temporary erections in the streets, or 
with inn yards, in which they raised a stage, the spectators 
standing below, or occupying the galleries that surrounded 
the open space*. Just about the same period two other 
edifices were built for the exhibition of plays in Shoreditch, 
one of which was called " The Curtain"," and the other " The 
Theatre." Both these are mentioned as iu existence and 
operation in 1577'. Thus we see that two buildings close 
to the walls of the city, aud a third within a privileged dis- 
trict in the city, all expressly applied to the purpose of 
stage-plays, Avere in use almost immediately after the date 
of the Patent to the players of the Earl of Leicester. It is 
extremely likely, thougli we have no distinct evidence of 
the fact, that one or more play-houses Avere opened about 
the same tune iu Si mthwark ; and we know that the Rose 
theatre was standing there not many years afterAvards" 
John StoekAvood, a puritanical preacher, pubhshed a sermon 
in 1578, iu which he asserted that there were " eight ordi 
nary places" in and near London for dramatic exhibitions, 
aud that the united profits were not less than £2000 a year 
at least £12,000 of t>ur present money. Another divine, of 
the name of Wliite, equally opposed to such pcrfoi'mances, 
preaching in 1576, called the play-houses at that time 
erected, " sumptuous theatres." Nt> doubt, the puiitanieal 
zeal of these divines had been excited by the opening of the 
Blackfriars, the Curtain, and the Theatre, in 1576 and 1577, 
for the exclusive purpose of the drama ; and the five adtU- 
tional places, where plays, accoi-ding to StockAvood, were 
acted before 1578, were most likely a play-house at Ncav- 
ington-butts, or inn-yards, converted occasionally into 
theatres. 

An unportant fact, in connexion with the manner in which 
dramatic performances were patronized by Queen Elizabeth, 
has been recently brought to liglit". It has been hitherto 

' In 1557 the Boar's Head, Aldgato, had been used for the per- 
formance of a drama called "The Sack full of News;" and Stephen 
Gosson in his " School of Abuse," 1579, (reprinted by the Shakespeare 
Society) mentions the Belle Savage and the Bull as inns at which 
particular plays had been represented. R. p'lecknae, in his '• Short 
Discourse of the English Stage," appended to his " Love's Kingdom," 
1(>()4, says that " at this day is to bo seen " that •• the inn yards of the 
Cross-Keys, and Bull, in Grace and Bishopsgate Streets "had been 
used as theatres. There is reason to liclieve that the Boar's Head, 
AKlgate, had belonged to the father of Edward Allcyn. 

s It has been supposed by some, that the Curta'u theatre owed its 
name to the curtain employed to separate the actors from the audi- 
ence. We have before us documents (whicli on account of their 
length we cannot insert) shoAving that sueli was pjobably not the fact, 
and that the ground on which the building stood was called the Cur- 
tain (perhaps as part of the fortifications of London) before any play- 
house was built there. For this information we have to oli'er our 
thanks to Mr. T. E. Tomlins ol' Islington. 

"> In John Northbrookc's "Treatise," &c. against '-vain plays or 
interludes," licensed for the press in 1577, the work being then ready 
and in the printer's hands. It has been reprinted by tlie Shakespeare 
So(uety. 

8 See the " Memoirs of Edward Alleyn," (published by the Shake- 
speare Society) p. ISO. It seems that the Rose had been the sign of 
a house of public entertainment before it was converted into a theatre. 
Such Avas also the case with the Swan, and the Hope, in the same 
neighbourhood. 

9 By Mr. Peter Cunningham, in his " Extracts from the Accounts 
of the Revels," printed for the Shakespeare Society, pp. 32 and 



TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEAEE. 



xiu 



supposed that in 1583 she selected one comjjany of twelve 
performers, to be called " the Queen's players ;" but it seems 
that she had two separate associations in her pay, each dis- 
tinguished as " the Queen's players." Tylney, the master 
of the revels at the tune, records, in one of his accounts, 
that in March, 1583, he had been sent for by her Majesty 
" to chuse out a company of players :" Richard Tarlton and 
Robert Wilson were 23laced at the head of that association, 
which was probably soon afterwards divided into two dis- 
tinct bodies of performers. In 1590, John Lauham was the 
leader of one body\ and Lawrence Button of the other. 

"We have thus brought our sketch of dramatic perform- 
ances and pei'formers down to about the same period, the 
year 1583. We propose to continue it to 1590, and to as- 
sume that as the period not, of course, when Shakespeare 
first j(jiued a theatrical company, but when he began writing 
original pieces for the stage. This is a matter which is 
more distinctly considered in the biography of the poet ; 
but it is necessary here to fix upon some date to which we 
are to extend our introductory account of the progress and 
erudition of theatrical affairs. What we have still to offer 
will apply to the seven years from 1583 to 1590. 

The accounts of the revels at court about this period 
afford us little informatiou, and indeed for several years, 
when such entertainments were certainly required by the 
Queen, we are without any details either of the pieces per- 
formed, or of the cost of preparatit)n. We have such par- 
ticulars for the years 1581, 1582, 1584, and 1587, but for 
the intermediate years they are wanting.^ 

The accounts of 1581, 1582, and 1584, give us the fol- 
lowing names of dramatic performances of various kinds 
exhibited before the Queen : 

A comedy called Delight. Ariodante and Genevora. 

The Story of Pompoy. Pastoral of Phillida and 
A Game of the Cards. Clorin. 

A comedy of Beauty and History of Felix and Phl- 

Ilousewifry. liomena. 

Love and Fortune. Five Plays in One. 

History of Ferrar. Three Plays in One. 

History of Telonio. Agamemnon and Ulysses. 

This list of dramas (the accounts mention that others 
were acted without supplying their titles) establishes that 
moral plays had not yet been excluded^. The " Game of 
the Cards" is expressly called " a comedy or moral," in the 
accounts of 1582 ; and we may not unreasonably suppose 
that " Delight," and " Beauty and Housewifry," were of the 
same class. "The Story of Pompey," and "Agamemnon 
and Ulysses," were evidently performances founded upon 
ancient liistory, and such may have been the ease Avith " The 
History of Telomo." " Love and Fortune" has been called 
" the play of Fortune" in the account of 15*73 ; and we may 
feel assured that " Ariodante and Genevora" was the story 
told by Ariosto, wliieh also forms part of the plot of 
" Mueli Ado about Nothing." " The History of Ferrar" was 
doubtless "The History of Eri'or" of the account of 1577, 
the clerk having written the title by his ear ; and we may 
reasonably suspect that " Felix and Philiomena" was the 
tale of Felix and Fehsmeua, narrated in the " Diiina" of 
Montemayor. It is thus evident, that the Master of the 

1S6. The editor's "Introduction " is full of new and valuable infor- 
mation. 

1 Tarlton died on .3 Sept. 156*^, and we apprehend that it was not 
until after this date that Lanham became leader of one company of 

. the (.inoen's Players. Mr. Ilalliwell di.'-xovercd Tarlton's will in the 
Prerogative Ollice, bearina; date on the day of his decpase : he there 
calls himself one of the grooms of the Queen's chamber, and leaves 
all his •• goods, oattels, chattels, plate, ready money, jewels, bonds 
oli!i<;atory, specialties, and debts," to his son Philip Tarlton, a minor. 
He appoints his mother, Katherine Tarlton, his friend Robert Adams, 
and '-his fellow William Johnson, one also of the grooms of her 
Majesty's chamber," trustees for his son. and executors of his will, 
which was proved by Adams three days after tlie death of the testator. 
As Tarlton savs nothing about his. wife in his will, we may presume 
that he was a'widower ; and of his son, Philip Tarlton, we never hear 
afterwards. 

2 From 15S7 to 1004, the most important period as regards Shake- 
speare, it does not appear that any otiicial statements by the master 
of the revels have been preserved. In the same way there is an un- 
fortunate interval between 1601 and IGll. 

s One of the last pieces represented before Queen Elizabeth was a 



Revels and the actors exerted themselves to furnish variety 
for the entertainment of the Queen and her nobiUty ; but 
we still see no trace (" Gorboduc" excepted) of any play at 
court, the materials for which were obtained from the Eng- 
lish Chronicles. It is very certain, however, that anterior 
to 1588 such pieces had been written, and acted before pub- 
lic audiences'' ; but those who catered for the court in these 
matters might not consider it expedient to exhibit, in the 
presence of the Queen, any play which involved the actions 
or conduct of her predecessors. The companies of players 
engaged in these representations were those of the Queen, 
the Eiirls of Leicester, Derby, Sussex, Oxford, the Lords 
Himsdon and Strange, and the children of the Chapel Royal 
!xnd of St. Paul's. 

About this date the niunber of companies of actors per- 
forming publicly in and near London seems to have been 
very considerable. A person, who calls himself " a solcUer," 
writing to Secretary Walsiugham, in January, 1586,^ tells 
him, that " every day in the week the players' bills are set 
up in sundry places of the city," and after mentioning the 
actors of the Queen, the Earl of Leicester,^ the Earl of 
Oxford, and the Lord Admiral, he goes on to state that not 
fewer than two hundred persons, thus retained and em- 
ployed, strutted in their silks about the streets. It may be 
doubted whether this statement is much exaggerated, re- 
collecting the many noblemen who had players acting under 
their names at this date, and that each company consisted 
probably of eight or ten performers. On the same authority 
we learn that theatrical representations upon the Sabbath 
had been forbidden ; but this restriction does not seem to 
have been unposed without a considerable struggle. Before 
1581 the Privy Council had issued an order upon the sub- 
ject, but it was disregarded in some of the suburbs of Lon- 
don ; and it was not until after a fatal exhibition of bear- 
baiting at Paris Garden, upon Simday, 13 June, 1583, when 
many persons were killed and woiuided by the falling of a 
scaffold, that the practice of playing, as well as bear-baiting, 
on the Sabbath was at all generally checked. In 1586, as 
far as we can judge from the inftfrmation that has come 
down to our day, the order which had been issued in this 
respect was pretty strictly enforced. At this period, and 
afterwards, plays were not unfrequently played at court on 
Sundav, and the chief difficulty therefore seems to have 
been to induce the Privy Council to act with energy against 
similar performances in public theatres. 

The annual official statement of the Master of the Revels 
merely tells us, in general terms, that between Christmas 
1586, and Shrovetide 1587, "seven plays, besides feats of 
activity, and other shows by the children of Paul's, her 
Majesty's servants, and the gentlemen of Gray's Inn," were 
prepared and represented before the Queen at Greenwich. 
No names of plays are furnished, but in 1587 was printed a 
tragedy, under the title of " The Misfortunes of Arthur," 
which purports to have been acted by some of the members 
of Gray's Inn before the Queen, on 28 Feb., 1587 : this, in 
fact, must be the very production stated in the revels' ac- 
coimts to have been got up iiud performed by these par- 
ties ; and it requires notice, not merely for its own intrinsic 
excellence as a drama, but because, in point of date, it is 

moral plav, under the title of" '-The Contention between Liberality 
and Prodigality,"' printed in 1G02, and acted, as appears by the strong- 
est internal evidence, in ItiUO. 

* Tarlton, who died, as we have already stated, in Sept. 1.5SS, ob- 
tained great celebrity by his performance of the two parts of Derrick 
and the Judge, in the old historical play of •' The Famous Victories 
of Henrv the Fifth." 

5 See the original letter in Harleian MSS. No. 2S6. 

6 The manner in which, about this time, the players were bribed 
away from Oxford is curious, and one of the items in the accounts 
expressly applies to the lOarl of Leicester's servants. We are obliged 
to the Rev. Hr. Bliss for the following extracts, relating to this pe- 
riod and a little afterwards : 

1567 Solut. Histrionibus Comitis Lecestria;. ut cum suis ludis 

sine majore Academia; molestiJi discedant . . xXs 
Solut. Histrionibus Honoratissimi Domini Howard . xxe 
1588 Solut. Histrionibus, ne ludos inhonestos exercerent in- 
fra Universitatem ("" sunt) 

1590 Solut. per D. Kedes. vice-cancellarii locum tenentem, 
I quibusdam Histrionibus, ut sine perturbatione et 

strepitu ab Academiii discederent . . . xs 



XIV 



HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE 



the second play founded upon English history represented 
at court, as well as the second original theatiieal production 
in blank-verse that has been preserved'. The example, in 
this particular, had been set, as "we have already shown, in 
" Gorboduc," fifteen years before ; and it is probable, that in 
that interval not a few of the serious compositions exhibited 
at court were in blank-verse, but it had not yet been used 
on any of our public stages. 

The main body of " The Misfortimes of Arthur" was the 
authorship of Thomas Hughes, a member of Gray's lun ; 
but some speeches and two choruses (which are in rhyme) 
were added by William Fulbecke and Francis Flowei-, 
while no less a man than Lord Bacon assisted Cliristopher 
Yelverton and John Lancaster in the preparation of the 
dumb-shows. Hughes evidently took " Gorboduc" as his 
model, both in subject and style, and, like Sackville and 
Norton, he adopted the form of the Greek and Roman 
drama, and adhered more strictly than his predecessors to 
the unities of time and place. The plot relates to the re- 
bellion of Mordred against his father, king Arthur, and part 
of tlie plot is very revolting, on account of the incest be- 
trsveen Mordred and his stepmother Guenevoi-a, Mordred 
himself being the son of Arthur's sister : there is also a vast 
deal of blood and slaughter throughout, and the catastrophe 
is the killing of the son by the father, and of the fatlier by 
the son ; so that a more painfully disagreeable story could 
hardly have been selected. The author, however, possessed 
a very bold and vigorous genius ; his chai-acters are sti-ongly 
drawn, and the language they employ is consistent with 
their situations and habits : his blank-verse, both in force 
and variety, is superior to that of either Sackville or Nor- 
ton=. 

It is very clear, that up to the year 1580, about which 
date Gosson published his " Plays confuted in Five Ac- 
tions," dramatic performances on the public stages of Lon- 
don were sometimes in prose, but more eonstantly in rhyme. 
In his "School of Abuse," 1579, Gos.son speaks of "two 
prose books played at the BeU Savage' ;" but in his " Plays 
confuted" he tells us, that " poets send their verses to the 
stage upon such feet as continually are rolled up in rhyme." 
With one or two exceptions, all the plays publicly acted, of 
a date anterior to 1590, that have come down to us, are 
either in prose or in ihyme''. Tlie case seems to have heen 
different, as already remarked, with some of the court- 
shows and private entertainments ; but we are now advert- 
ing to the pieces represented at such places as the Theatre, 
the Curtain, Blaekfriars, and in inn-yards adapted tempo- 
rarily to dramatic amusements, to which the public was 
indisciiminately admitted. The earliest work, in which the 
employment of blank-verse for the purpose of the common 

1 Gascoyne's "Joeasta," printed in 1577, and represented by the 
author and other members of the society at Gray's Inn in 1566 as a 
private show, was a translation from Euripide.s. It i.s, as far as has 
yet been ascertained, the second play in our language written in 
blank-verse, but it was not an original work. The same author's 
" Supposes," taken from Ariosto, is in prose. 

2 " The Misfortunes of Arthur," with four other dramas, has been 
reprinted in a supplementary volume to the last edition of Dodsley's 
Old Plays. It is not, therefore, necessary here to enter into an ex- 
amination of its structure or versification. It is a work of extraor- 
dinary power. 

3 See the Shakespeare Society's reprint, p. .30. Gcsson gives them 
the highest praise, asserting that they contained " never a word 
without wit, never a line without pith, never a letter placed in 
vain." 

* Sometimes plays written in prose were, at a subsequent date, 
when blank-verse had become the popular form of composition, pub- 
lished as if they had been composed in measured lines. The old his- 
torical play, " The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth," which 
preceded that of Shakespeare, is an instance directly in point : it was 
written in prose, but the old printer chopped it up into lines of un- 
equal length, so as to make it appear to the eye something like blank- 
verse. 

5 Greene began writing in 1583, his " Mamillia" having been 
then printed: his "Mirror of Modesty" and " Monardo," bear the 
date of 1584. His '-Menaphon" {afterwards called "Greene's Ar- 
cadia") first appeared in 1.587, and it was reprinted in 15S9. We 
have never seen the earliest edition of it, but it is mentioned by 
various bibliographers ; and those who have thrown doubt \ipon the 
point, (stated in the History of English Dramatic Poetry and the 
Stage, vol. iii., p. 1,50), for the sake of founding an argument upon 
it, have not adverted to the conclusive fact, that "Menaphon" is 
mentioned as already in print in the introductory matter to another 



stage is noticed, is an epistle by Tliomas Nash introducing 
to the world his friend Robert Greene's " Menaphon," in 
1587*: there, in reference to "vain-glorious tragedians," he 
says, that they are " mounted on the stage of arrogance," 
and tliat they " think to out-brave better pens with the 
swelhng bombast of bragging bhmk-verse." He afterwards 
talks of the " drumming deeasylUbon" they employed, and 
ridicules them for " reposing eternity in tlie mouth of a 
player." This question is farther illustrated by a produc- 
tion by Greene, published in the next year, " Perimedes, 
the Blacksmith," from which it is evident that Nash had an 
individual allusion in what he had said in 1587. Greene 
fixes on the author of the tragedy of " Tamburlaine," whom 
he accuses of " setting the end of scholarism in an English 
blank-verse," and who, it should seem, had somewhere ac- 
cused Greene of not being able t<3 write it. 

We learn from various authorities, that Christoj^her 
Marlowe" was the author of " Tamburlaine the Great," a 
dramatic work of the highest celebrity and popularity, 
printed as early as 1590, and affording the first known in- 
stance of the use of blank-verse in a jjublic theatre : the 
title-page of the edition 1590 states, that it had been "sun- 
dry times shown upon stages in the city of London." In 
the pi'ologue the author claims to have introduced a new 
form of composition : — 

" From jigging veins of rliyming motlier-ivits, 
And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay, 
We '11 lead jou to the stately tent of war," '&c. 

Accordingly, nearly the whole drama, consisting of a first 
and second part, is in blank-verse. Hence we see the value 
of Drydcn's loose assertion, in the dedication to Lord Or- 
rery of his " Rival Ladies," in 1664, that " Shakespeai-e was 
the fii'st who, to shun the pains of continual rhyming, in- 
vented that kind of writing which we call blank-verse." 
The distinction belongs to Marlowe, the greatest of Shakes- 
peare's predecessors, and a poet who, if he had lived, might, 
pei'haps, have been a formidable rival of his genius. We 
have too much I'cverence for the exhaustless originality of 
our great dramatist, to think that he cannot afford this, or 
any other tribute to a poet, who, as far as the public stage 
is concerned, deserves to be regarded as the inventor of a 
new style of composition. 

That the attempt was viewed with jealousy, there can be 
no doubt, after what we have quoted from Nash and Greene. 
It is most likely that Greene, who was older than Nasli, 
had previously written various dramas in rliyme; and the 
bold experiment of Marlowe having been instantly success- 
ful, Greene was obliged to abandon his old course, and his 
extant plays arc all in blank-verse. Nash, who had at- 

of Greene's pamphlets, dated in 15S7 — we mean "Eujihues his 
Censure to Philautus." 

6 If Marlowe were born, as has been supposed, aboiit 1.36'2, (Oldys 
places the event earlier,) he was twenty-four when he wrote " Tam- 
burlaine." as we believe, in 1586, and only thirty-one when he was 
killed by a person of the name of Archer, in an affray arising out of 
an amorous intrigiae, in 1593. In a manuscript note of the time, in 
a copy of his version of " Hero and Leander," edit. 1629, in our pos- 
session, it is said, among other things, that " Marlowe's father was a 
shoemaker at Canterbury," and that he had an acquaintance at Dover 
whom he infected with the extreme liberality of his opinions on 
matters of religion. At the back of the title-page of the same 
volume is inserted the following epitaph, subscribed with Marlowe's 
name, and no doubt of his composition, although never before 
noticed : — 

"In obitum honoratissimi viri 
RoGERi Manwood, Militis, QuEestorii 
Reginalis Capitalis Baronis. 
Noctivagi terror, ganeonis triste flagellum, 
Et Jovis Alcides, rigido vulturque latroni, 
ITrna subtegitur : scelerura gaudete nepotes. 
Insons, luctifica sparsis cervice capillis. 
Flange, fori lumen, venerandae gloria legis 
Occidit : heu I secum elFcetas Acherontis ad oras 
Multa abiit virtus. Pro tot virtutibus uni, 
Livor, parce viro : non audacissimus esto 
Illius in cineres, cujus tot millia vulvus 
Mortalium attonuit ; sic cum te nuncia Ditis 
Vulneret exanguis, feliciter ossa quiescant, 
Famaeque marmorei superet monumenta sepulchri.'' 
It is added, that " Marlowe was a rare scholar, and died aged about 
thirty." The above is the only extant specimen of his Latin com- 
position, and we insert it exactly as it stands in manuscript. 



TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. 



XV 



tacked Marlowe in 1587, before 1593 (w'ucn Marlowe was 
killed) had joined him in the production of a blank-verse 
ti'agedy on the story of Dido, which was printed in 1594. 

It has been objected to " Tamburlaine," that it is written 
in a turgitl and ambitious style, such indeed as Nash and 
Greene ridicule ; but we are to recollect that Maidowe was 
at this tuue endeavouring to wean audiences from the 
"jigging veins of rhyming mother-wits," and that, in order to 
satisfy the ear for the loss of the jiugle, he was obliged to 
give what Nash calls " the swelling bombast of bragging 
blank-verse." This consideration will of itself account for 
breaches of a more correct taste to be found in " Tambur- 
laine." In the Prologue, besides what we have already 
quoted, Marlowe tells the audience to expect " high as- 
touudmg terms," and lie did not disappoint expectation. 
Perhaps the better to reconcile the ordinary frequenters of 
pubUc theatres to the cliange, he inserted various scenes of 
low comedy, which the piintor of the edition in 1590 
thought fit to exclude, as " digressing, and far unmeet for 
the matter." Marlowe likewise sprinkled couplets here 
and there, although it is to be remembered, that having ac- 
complished his object of substituting blank-verse by the 
first part of " Tamburlaine," he did not, even iu the second 
part, think it necessary by any means so frequently to in- 
troduce occasional rhymes. In those plays Avliich there is 
ground (or believing to be the first Avorks of Shakespeare, 
couplets, and even stanzas, are more frequent than in any 
of the surviving productions of Marlowe. This ciirum- 
stance is, perhajjs, in part to be accounted for by the fact 
(as far as we may so call it) that our great poet retained 
iu some of his jJcrformances portions of old rhyming dramas, 
which he altered and adapted to the stage ; but iu early 
plays, which are to be looked upon as entirely his own, 
Shiikespeare appears to have deemed rhyme more neces- 
sary to satisfy the ear of liis auditory than Marlowe held it 
when he wrote his " Tamburlaine the Great." 

As the first employment of blank-verse upon the pubhc 
stage by Marlowe is a matter of much importance, in rela- 
tion to the history of our more ancient clrama, and to the 
subsequent adoption of that form of composition by Shakes- 
peare, we ought not to chsmiss it without affording a single 
specimen from "Tamburlaine the Great." The following 
is a portion of a speech by the hero to Zenocrate, when first 
he meets and sues to her : 

"Disdains Zenocrate to live with me, 
Or you, my lords, to be my followers ? 
Think you I weigh this treasure more than you? 
Not all the gold in India's wealthy arms 
Shall buy the meanest soldier iu my train. 
Zenocrate, lovelier than the love of Jove, 
Brighter than is the silver Khodope, 
Fairer than whitest snow on Scythian hills, 
Thy person is more worth to Tamburlaine, 
Thau the possession of the Persian crown, 
"VVliich gracious stars liave promis'd at my birth. 
A hundred Tartars shall attend on thee, 
Mounted on steeds swifter than Pegasus : 
Thy ganncnts shall be made of Median silk, 
Enchas'd with precious jewels of mine own, 
More rich and valuroua than Zenoerate's : 
With milk-white harts upon an ivory sled 
Thou shalt be drawn amidst the frozen poles, 

1 Our quotation is from a copy of the edition of 1.590, 4to, in the 
library of Lord Francis Egerton, which we believe to be the earliest : 
on the title-page it is stated that it is " now first and newly pub- 
lished." It was several times reprinted. No modern edition is to be 
trusted : they are full of the grossest errors, and never could have 
been collated. 

^ Another play, not published until ICjT, under the title of " Lust's 
Dominion." lias also been constantly, but falsely, assigned to Mar- 
lowe : some of the historical events contained in it did not h.xppen 
until five years after the death of that poet. This fact was distinctly 
pointed out nearly twenty years ago, in the last edition of Dodsley's 
Old Plays (vol. ii.. p. 311) ; but nevertheless " Lust's Dominion" has 
since been spoken of and treated as Marlowe's undoubted production, 
and even included in editions of his works. It is in all probability 
the same drama as that which, in Ilenslowe's Diary, is called ''The 
Spanish Moor's Tragedy," which was written by Dekker, Haughton, 
and Day, in the beginning of the year ItiDO. 

3 in the History of Knglish Dramatic Poetry and the Sta«;e, vol. 
iii., p. ]:W, it is incautiously stated, that "the character of Shakes- 
peare's Richard II. seems modelled in no slight degree upon that of 



And scale the icy mountains' lofty tops, 

^\ Inch with thy beauty will bo soon dissolv'd."i 

Nash having alluded to "Tamburlaine" in 158*7, it is evi- 
dent tliat it could hardly have been written later than 1585 
or 1586, which is about the period when it has been gener- 
ally, and with much appearance of probability, supposed 
that Shakesjjcare arrived iu London. In considering the 
state of the stiige just before our great dramatist became a 
wi-iter for it, it is clearly, therefore, necessary to advert 
briefly to the other works of Marlowe, observing in addi- 
tion, with reference to " Tambui laine," that it is a historical 
drama, in which not a single unity is regarded ; time, place, 
and action, are equally set at defiance, and the scene shifts 
at once to or from Persia, Scythia, Georgia, and Morocco, 
as best suited the purpose of the poet. 

Marlowe was also, most hkely, the author of a play in 
which the Piiestof the Sim was prominent, as Greene men- 
tions it with " Tamburlaine" in 1688, but no such piece is 
now known : he, however, wrote " The Tragical History of 
the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus," "The Massacre at 
Paris," " The rich Jew of Malta," and an Eughsh historical 
play, called " The troublesome Reign and lamentable Death 
of Edward the Second," besides aiding Nash in " Dido 
Queen of Carthage," as already mentioned.^ If they were 
not .nil of them of a date anterior to any of Shakespeare's 
original works, they were written by a man who had set 
the example of the employment of blank-verse upon the 
pubhc stage, and perhaps of the historical and romantic 
drama in all its leading features and characteristics. His 
" Edward the Second" affords sufficient proof of both these 
points : the versification displays, though not perhaps in the 
stnne abundance, nearly all the excellences of Shakespeare ; 
iind in point of construction, as well as in interest, it bears 
a strong resemblance to the " Richard the Second" of our 
great dramatist. It is unpossible to read the one without 
being reminded of the other, and we can have no difticulty 
in assignmg " Edward the Second" to an anterior period.^ 

The same remark as to date may be made upon the 
plays which came from the pen of Robert Greene, who 
died in September, 1592, when Shakespeare was rising into 
notice, and excitbg the jealousy of dramatists who had 
previously furnished the public stages. This jealousy broke 
out on the part of Greene in, if not before, 1592, (iu wliich 
year his " Groatsworth of Wit," a posthumous work, was 
pubHshed by his contemporary, Henry Chettle^) when he 
Complained that Shakespeare had "beautified himself" 
with the feathers of others : he alluded, as we apprehend, 
to the manner in which Shakespeare had availed liiinself 
of the two parts of the " Contention between the" Houses, 
York and Lancaster," in the authorship of which there is 
much reason to suppose Greene had been concerned.^ Such 
evidence as remams upon this pomt has been adduced in 
our " Introduction" to " The Third Part of Hemy VI. ;" and 
a perusal of the two parts of the •' Contention," in their 
original state, will serve to show the condition of our dra- 
matic literature at that great epoch of our stage-history, 
when Shakespeare began to acquire celebrity." "The True 
Tragedy of Richard III." is a drama of about the same 
period, which has come down to us in a much more imper- 
fect state, the original manuscript having been obviously 

Edward II." We willingly adopt the qualification of Mr. Ilallam 
upon this point, where he says. (■' Introduction to the Literature of 
Europe," vol. ii., p. 171, edit. Iti4:3,) " 1 am reluctant to admit that 
Shakespeare modelled his characters by those of others ; and it is 
natural to ask whether there were not an extraordinary likeness in 
the dispositions, as well as in the fortunes of the two kings?" 

* In our biographical account of Shakespeare, under the date of 
159'2, we have necessarily entered more at large into this question. 

5 Mr. Hallam (''Introduction to the Literature of Europe," vol. ii., 
p. 171) supposes that the words of Greene, referring to Shakespeare, 
'' There is an upstart crow beautified with our feathers," are addressed 
to Marlowe, who may have had a principal share in the production 
of the two parts of the "Contention." This conjecture is certainly 
m.ore than plausible ; but we may easily imagine Greene to have 
alluded to himself also, and that he had been Marlowe's partner in 
the composition of the two drama.«i. which Shakespeare remodelled, 
perhaps, not very long before the death of Greene. 

' They have been accurately reprinted by the Shakespeare Society, 
under the care of Mr. Ilalliwell, from, the earliest impressions in 
1594 and 159.5. 



XVJ 



HISTOEY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 



rery'conupt. It was printed in 1594, and Shakespeare, 
finding it in tbe possessinn cf the eompany to whieh he 
was attaehed, pmbably hud no scruple m constructing his 
"Richard the Third" of some of its rude materials. It 
seems not unlikely that Robert Greene, and jjerhaps some 
other popular dramatists of his day, had beea engaged 
upon " The True Tragedy of Ricliard III." ' 

The dramatic works pubhshed under the name or initials 
of Robert Greene, or by extraneous testimony ascertained 
to be his, were "Orland<i Furioso," (founded upon the 
poems of Boiardo and Ariosto,) first printed in 159-i-,'' 
" Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay," also first printed in 1594, 
and taken from a popular story-book of the time; "Al- 
phousus King of Arragon," 1599, for which we know of no 
original; and "James the Fourth" of Scotland, 1598, 
pai'tly borrowed from history, and partly mere invention. 
Greene also joined with Thomas Lodge in writing a species 
of moral-miracle-ijlay, (partaking of the nature of both,) 
under the title of ■' A Lookiug-Glass for London and Eng- 
land," 1594, derived from sacred history; and to him has 
also been imputed " George a Greene, the Pinner of Wake- 
field," and " Ihe Contention between LiberaUty and Prodi- 
gahty," the one printed in 1599, and the other in 1602. It 
may be seriously doubted whether he had any hand in the 
two last, but the productions above-uamed deserve atten- 
tion, as works written at an early date for the gratification 
of popular audiences. 

In the passage already referred to from the " Groats- 
worth of Wit," 1592, Greene also objects to Shakespeare 
on the ground that he th(.)Ught himself " as well able to 
bombast out a blank-verse" as the best of his contempora- 
lies. The fact is, that in this respect, as in all others, 
Greene was much inferior to Marlowe, and still less can his 
lines bear comparison with those of Shakespeare. He 
doubtless began to Avrite for the stage in rhyme, and his 
blank-verse preserves nearly all the defects of that early 
form : it reads heavily ami monotonously, without vai-iety 
of pause aud inflection, and almost the only difference be- 
tween it and rhyme is the absence of corresponding S' nds 
at the ends of the lines. 

The same defects, and in quite as striking a degree, i ^- 
long to another' of the dramatists who is entitled to be con- 
sidered a predecessor of Shakespeare, aud whose name has' 
been before introduced — TJiomas Lodge. Only one play in 
which he was unassisted has descended to us, aud it bears 
the title of " The Wounds of Civil War, lively set forth in 
the True Tragedies of Marius and Sylla." It was not 
printed until 1594, but the author began to write as early 
as 1580, and we may safely consider his tragedy anterior 
to the original works of Shakespeare: it was probably 
written about 1587 or 1588, as a not very successful experi- 
meut in blank-verse, in imitati(jn of that style which Mar- 
lowe had at once rendered popular. 

As regards the dates when his pieces came from the 
press, John Lyly is entitled to earher notice than Greene, 
Lodge, or even Marlowe ; and it is possible, as he was ten 

1 This drama has also been reprinted by the Shakespeare Society, 
with perfect fidelity to the original edition of 1594, in the library of 
the Duke of Devonshire. The reprint was superintended by Mr. B. 
>ield. 

2 In "The History of English Dramatic Poetry and the Stage," 
vol. iii., p. 1-3.5, it is observed of " Orlando Furioso :" — " How far this 
play was printed according to the author's copy, we have no means 
of deciding ; but it has evidently come down to us in a very imper- 
fect state." jNIeans of determining the point beyond dispute ha.ve 
since been discovered in a manuscript of the part of Orlando (as writ- 
ten out for Edward Alleyn by the copyist of the theatre) preserved at 
Dulwich College. Hence it is clear that much was omitted and cor- 
rupted in the two printed editions of 1594 and 1599. See the ''Me- 
moirs of Edward Alleyn," p. 198. 

3 They were acted by the children of the chapel, or by the children 
of St. Paul's, and a few of them bear evidence on the title-pages that 
they were presented at a private theatre — none of them that they had 
been played upon public stages before popular audiences. 

* He is supposed to have been born about the year 1553. He was 
probably son to Stephen Peele, who was a bookseller and a writer of 
ballads. Stephen Peele was the publisher of Bishop Bale's miracle- 
play of " God's Promises," in 1577, and his name is subscribed, as 
author, to two Ballads printed by the Percy Society in the earliest 
production from their press. The connexion between Stephen and 
George Peele has never struck any cf the biographers of the latter. 
Stephen Peele was most likely the author of a pageant on the mayor- 



years older than Shakespeare, that he was a writer before 
any of them : it does not seem, however, that his dramas 
were intended for the pulilic stage, but for court-shows or 
private enteitaiumeuts.^ His " Alexander and Campaspe," 
the best of his productions, was represented at Court, and 
it was twice printed, in 1584, aud again in 1591 : it is, like 
most of this author's productions, in prose ; but his " Wo- 
man in the Moon" (jjrinted in 1597) is in blank-verse, and 
the " Maid's Metamorphosis," 1600, (if indeed it be by him,) 
is in rhyme. As none of these dramas, generally com- 
posed in a refined, affected, and artificial style, can be said 
to have had any material influence upon stage-entertain- 
ments before miscellaneous audiences in London, it is un- 
necessary for our present purpose to say more regarding 
them. 

George Peele was about the same age as Lyly f ])ut his 
theatrical productions (with the exception of " The Ar- 
raignment of Paris," printed in 1584, and written for the 
court) are of a different description, having been intended 
for exhibition at the ordinary theatres. His " Edward the 
Fii st" he calls a " famous chronicle," and most of the inci- 
dents are derived from history : it is, iu fact, one of our 
earliest plays founded upon Enghsh annals. It was printed 
iu 1593 and iu 1599, but with so many unperfections, that 
we cannot accej^t it as any fair representation of the state 
in which it came from the author's 'pen. The most re- 
markable feature belonging to it is the unworthy manner 
in wliich Peele sacrificed the character of the Queen to his 
desire to gratify the popular antipathy to the Spaniards: 
the opening of it is spirited, and affords evidence of the 
author's skill as a writer of blank-verse. His " Battle of 
Alcazar" may also be termed a historical drama, in which 
he allowed himself the most extravagant licence as to 
time, incidents, and characters. It perhaps preceded his 
" Edward the First" in point of date, (though not printed 
until 1594,) and the principal event it refers to occm-red in 
1578. "Sir Clyomon and Clamydes" is merely a romance, 
in the old foi-m of a rhyming play f and " David and Beth- 
sabe," a scriptural drama, and a great improvement upon 
older pieces of the same dcscrijjtion : Peele here confined 
hunself strictly to the incidents in Holy Writ, and it cer- 
tainly contains the best specimens of his blank-verse com- 
position. His " Old Wives' Tale," in the shape in which it 
has reached us, seems hardly deser-\Tng of criticism, and it 
would have received httle notice but for some remote, and 
perhaps accidental, resemblance between its story and that 
of Milton's "Comus."« 

The " Jerommo" of Thomas Kyd is to be looked upon as 
a species of transition play: the date of its composition, 
on the testimony of Ben Jonson, may be stated to be prior 
to 1588', just after Marlowe had produced his "Tambur- 
laine," and when Kyd hesitated to follow his bold stejj to 
the full extent of his progress. " Jeronuno" is therefore 
partly in blank-verse, and partly in rhyme : the same ob- 
servation will apply, though not in the same degree, to 
Kyd's "Spanish Tragedy:" it is in truth a second pai-t of 

alty of Sir W. Draper, in 1560-7, of which an account is given by 
Mr. Fairholt, in his work upon " Lord Mayors' Pageants," printed 
for the Percy Society : he erroneously supposed it to have been the 
work of George Peele, who could not then have been more than four- 
teen years old, even if we carry back the date of his birth to 1553. 
George Peele was dead in 159S. 

5 It may be doubted whether Peele wrote any part of this produc- 
tion : it was printed anonymously in 1599, and all the evidence of 
authorship is the existence of a copy with the name of Peele, in an 
old hand, xipon the title-page. If he wrote it at all, it was doubtless 
a very early composition, and it belongs precisely to the class of ro- 
mantic plays ridiculed by Stephen Gosson about 15t^0. 

6 See Milton's Minor Poems, by T. "Warton. p. 135, edit. 1791. Of 
this resemblance, Warton, who first pointed it out. remarks, " That 
Milton had an eye on this ancient drama, which might have been a 
favourite in his early youth, perhaps it may be afiirmed with at least 
as much credibility, as that he conceived the Paradise Lost from seeing 
a mystery at Florence, written by Adreini, a Florentine, in 1G17, 
entitled Adamo." The fact may have been, that Peele and Milton 
resorted to the same original, now lost : •' The Old "Wives' Tale" 
reads exactly as if it were founded upon some popular story- 
book. 

1 In the Induction to his " Cynthia's Revels." acted in 1600, 
where he is speaking of the revival of plays, and among others of 
'• the old Jeronimo," which, he adds, had " departed a dozen, years 
since." 



TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. 



xvii 



" Jeronimo," the story being continued fi-om one play to the 
other, and managed with considerable dexterity. The in- 
terest in the latter is great, and generally well sustained, 
and some of the characters are drawn with no little art and 
force. The success of " Jeronimo," doubtless, induced Kyd 
to write the second part of it immediately ; and we need 
not hesitate in concluding that " The Spanish Tragedy" had 
been acted before 1590. 

Besides Marlowe, Greene, Lodge, Lyly, Peele, and Kyd, 
there were other dramatists, who may be looked upon as 
the unmediate predecessors of Sliakespeare, but few of 
whose printed works are of an earlier date, as regards 
composition, than some of those which came from the pen 
of our gi-eat poet. Among these, Thomas Nash was the 
most distinguished, whose contribution to " Dido," in con- 
junction with Marlowe, has been before noticed: the por- 
tions which came IVom the pen of Marlowe are, we think, 
easily to be distinguished from those written by Nash, 
whose genius does not seem to have been of an imaginative 
or dramatic, but of a satirical and objurgatory character, 
lie produced alone a piece called " Sununer's Last Will 
and Testament," which was written in the autunm of 1592, 
but not j>riiited until 1600 : it bears internal evidence that 
it was exhibited as a private show, and it could never have 
been meant for public performance.' Henry Chettle, who 
was also senior to Shakespeare, has left behind him a 
tragedy called " HofRnan," which was not printed until 
1630; and he was engaged with Anthony Munday in pro- 
ducing " The Death of Robert Earl of Himtiugtou," 
printed in 1601. From HeusloAve's Diary we learn that 
both these pieces were written subsequent to the date when 
Shakespeare had acquired a high reputation. Munday had 
been a dramatist as eai'ly as 1584, when a rhyming trans- 
Lition by him, under the title of "The Two Italian Gentle- 
men," came from the press -j^ and in the interval between 
that year and 16(12, he ^vTote the whole or parts of various 

Elays Avhieh have been lost.' Robert Wilson ought not to 
e omitted : he seems to have been a prohtie ch'amatist, 
but only one comedy by hmi has survived, under the title 
of "The Cobbler's Proj)hecy," and it was printed in 1594. 
According to the evidence of Hcnslowe, he aided Drayton 
and Munday in writing " The First Part of the Life of Sir 
John Oldcastle," printed in 1600 ; but he must at that date 
have been old, if he were the same Robert Wilson who was 
one of Lord Leicester's theatrical servants in 1574, and 
who became one of the leaders of the company called the 
Queen's Players in 1583. He seems to have been a low 
comedian, and liis " Cobbler's Pi'opheey" is a piece, the 
drollery of Avhich must have depended in a great degree 
u})ou the performers. 

With regard to mechanical facilities for the representa- 
tion of plays before, and indeed long after, the time of 
Shakespeare, it may be sufficient to state, that our old pub- 
lie theatres were merely round wootlen buildings, open to 
the sky in the audience pai-t of the house, although the 
btage was covered by a hanging i-oof : the spectators stood 
on the ground in fr<.int or at the sides, or were accommo- 
dated in boxes round the inner circumference of the edifice, 
or in galleries at a greater elevation. Our ancient stage 

' It can he shovrn to have teen represented at Croydon, no doubt 
at Beddinijton. the residence of the Carews, under whose patronage 
Nash acknowledges himself to have been living. See the dedication 
to his ■■ Terrors of the Night," -Ito. l-)9l. The date of the death of 
Nash, who probably took a part in the representation of his '" Sum- 
mer's Last Will and Testament," has been disputed — whether it was 
before or after Kittl ; but the production of a cenotaph upon him, 
from Fitz-geolfrey's Affanioi. printed in KiOl, must put an end to all 
doubt. See the Introduction to Nash's "Pierce I'ennyless," 1592, as 
reprinted for the Sliakespeare Society. 

^ Till' only known copy of this comedy is without a title-page, but 
it was entered at Stationers' Hall for jiublication in loS4, and we 
may presume that it was printed about that date. 

^ lie had some share in writing the first part of the "Life of Sir 
John Oldcastle," which was printed as Shakespeare's work in 1G((0, 
although some copies of the play exist without his name on the title- 
page. 



I was unfurnished with moveable scenery ; and tables, chairs, 
a few boards for a battlemented wall, or a rude structure 
for a tomb or an altar, seem to have been nearly all the 
properties it possessed. It was usually hung round with 
decayed tapestry; aud as there was no other mode of con- 
veying the necessary information, the author often proA-ided 
that the ]ilayer, on his entrance, should take occasion to 
mention the place of action. When the business of a piece 
required that the stage should represent two apartments, 
the effect was accomplislied by a curtain, called a ti'averse, 
drawn across it ; and a sort of balcony in the rear enabled 
the writer to i-epresent his characters at a window, on the 
2>latforni of a castle, or on an elevated terrace. 

To this simplicity, and to these deficiencies, we doubl> 
less owe some of the finest passages in our early plays; for 
it was part of the business of the dramatist to supply the 
absence of coloured canvas by grandeur and luxmiance 
of description. The ear was thus made the substitute for 
the eye, and the poet's pen, aided by the auditor's iniagiua- 
tion, more than supphed the place of the paintei-'s brush. 
Moveable sccneiy was unlcnovrn in om- public theatres until 
after the Resti )ration ; and, as has been observed elsewhere, 
" the introduction of it gives the date to the commence- 
ment of the decline of our di-amatie poetry." •* 

How far propriety of ct)stmne was regarded, we have 
no sufficient means of deciding; but we apprehend that 
more attention was paid to it than has been generally sup- 
posed, or than was accomplished at a much Liter and more 
refined peri( id. It is indisputable, that often in this depart- 
ment no outlay was spared : the most costly dresses were 
purchased, that characters might be consistently habited ; 
and, as a single proof, we may mention, that sometimes 
ntore than •lOl. wei'c given for a cloak,^ an enormous price, 
when it is recollected that money was then five or six times 
as valuable as at pieseut. 

We have thus briefly stated all that seems absolutely re- 
quired to give the reader a correct notion of the state of 
the English drama and stage at the period when, according 
to.'Cie best judgment we can form from such evidence as 
rftjiuains to us, Shakespeare advanced to a forward place 
among the dramatists of the day. As long ago as 16T9, 
Drydcn gave currency to the notion, which we have shown 
to be mistaken, that Shakespeare " created first the stage," 
and he repeated it in 1692 -^ it is not necessary to the just 
adnuration of our noble dramatist, that we should dt) uijus- 
tice to his predecessors or earlier cnutemporaries : on the 
contrary, his iniracidous powers are best to lie estimated by 
a comparison with his ablest rivals ; aud if he appear not 
greatest when his works are placed beside those of Mar- 
lowe, Greene, Peele, or Lodge, however distinguished their 
rank as dramatists, aud however deserved thcu- popularity, 
we shall be content to think, that for more than two cen- 
turies the world has been under a delusitm as to his claims. 
He rose to emiueuce, and he maintained it. amid struggles 
for equality by men of high genius aud varied talents^ aud 
with Jiis example ever since before us, no poet of our own, 
or of any other country, has even apjjroached his excel- 
lence. Shakespeare is greatest by a comparison with great- 
ness, or he is nothing. 

* " History of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage," vol. iii., p 366. 

5 See ''The AUeyn Papers," printed by the Sliakespeare Society, 
p. Vi. 

^ In his Prologue to the alteration of "Troilus and Cressida," 
1079, he puts these lines into the mouth of the Ghost of Shakes- 
peare : — 

" Untaught, unpractis'd, in a barbarous age, 
I found not, but created first the stage." 
In the dedication of the translation of Juvenal, thirteen years after- 
wards, Dryden repeats the same assertion in nearly the same words; 
"he created the stage among us." Shakespeare did not create the 
stage, aud least of all did he create it such as it existed in the time 
of Dryden : "it was, in truth, created by no one man, and in no ono 
age; and whatever improvements Shakespeare introduced, when he 
began to write for the theatre our romantic drama was completely 
formed, and firmly established," — Pref. to " The Hist, of Engl. Dram, 
Poetry and the Stage," vol. i., p. xi. 



THE LIFE 



OF 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEAEE. 



CHAPTER I. 

No Sliakespeare advanced or rewarded by Henry VII. An- 
tiquity ot the Sliakespeares in Warwieksliire, &c. Earliest 
occurrence of tlie name at Stratford-iipon-Avou. The 
Trade of Jolin Shakespeare. Eicliard Shakespeare of Snit- 
terflchl, probably father to John Shakes^peare, and cer- 
tainly tenant to Robert Arden, father of John Shakespeare's 
wife. Eohert Arden's seven daughters. Antiquity and 
property of the Arden family. Marriage of John Sliakes- 
peare and Mary Arden : their circumstances. Purchase 
of two houses in Stratford by John Shakespeare. His 
j)rogress in the corporation. 

It has been supposed that some of the paternal ances- 
tors of William Shakespeare were advanced, and rewarded 
with lands and tenements in Warwicksliire, for services 
rendered to Henry VII.' The rolls of that reign have 
been recently most carefully searched, and the nmne of 
Shakespeare, according to any mode of sj^elling it, does 
not occui- in them. 

Many Shakespeares were resident in different parts of 
Warwick:.hii"e, as well as in some of the adjoining counties, 
at an early date. The register of the Guild of St. Anne of 
Knolle, or Knowle, beginning in 1407 and ending in 1535, 
when it was dissolved, contains various I'epetitions of the 
name, during the reigns of Henry VI., Edward IV., Rich- 
ard III., Henry VII., and Henry VIII : we there find a 
Thomas Shakespere of Balishalle, or Balsal, Thomas 
Chacsper and John Shakespeyre of Ro^vingtou, Richard 
Shakspere of Woldiehe, together with Joan, Jane, and 
William Shalcespeare, of places not mentioned : an Isabella 
Shakspere is also there stated to have been priorissa de 
Wraxale in the 19th Henry VII.^ The Shakespeares of 
Wroxal, of Rowington, and of Balsal, are mentioned by 
Malone, as well as other persons of the same name at 
Claverdon and Hampton. He carries back his information 
regarding the Shakespeares of Warwick no higlier than 
1602, but a William Shakespeare was drowned in the 
Avon near Warwick in 1574, a John Shakespeare was 
resident on "the High Pavement" in 1578, and a Thomas 
Shakespeare in the same place in 1585.' 

The earliest date at which we hear of a Shakespeare in 
the boi'ough of Stratford-upon-Avon is I7th June, 1555, 
■when Thomas Siche instituted a proceeding in the court of 

1 On the. authority of a grant of arms from the Herald's College to 
John Shakespeare, which circumstance is considered hereafter. 

2 For this information we are indebted to Mr. Staunton, of Long- 
bridge House, near Warwick, the owner of the original Kegisterium 
Fratmni et Sororum G-ilde Sancte Anne de Knolle, a MS. upon 
vellum. 

3 For the circumstance of the drowning of the namesake of our 
poet, we are obliged to the Rev. Joseph Hunter. Mr. Charles 
Dickens was good enough to be the medium of the information 
respecting the Shakespeares of Warwick, transmitted from Mr. 
Sandys, who derived it from the land-revenue records of the respec- 
tive penod.s. 

* Aubrey's words, in his MS. in the Ashmolean Museum, at Ox- 
ford, are these : — "William Shakespeare's father was a butcher, and 
I have been told heretofore by some of the neighbours, that when he 
was a boy he exercised his father's trade ; but when he killed a calf, 
lit; would do it in a high style, and make a speech." This tradition 
certainly does not read like truth, and at what date Aubrey obtained 



the bailiff, for the recovery of the sum of 8/. from John 
Shakespeare, who has always been talcen to be the father 
of our great dramatist. Thomas Siche was of Arlescote, 
or Arscotte, in Worcestershire, and in the Latin record of 
the suit John Shakespeare is called " glover," in EngUsh. 
Taldng it for granted, as we have every reason to do, that 
tliis John Shakespeare was the father of the poet, the 
dociunent satisfied Malone that he was a glover, and not a 
butcher, as Aubrey had affirmed,"* nor a dealer in wool, as 
Rowe had stated."* We think that Malone was right, and 
the testimony is unquestionably more positive and authen- 
tic than the traditions to wliich we have referred. As it is 
also tlie most ancient piece of direct evidence connected 
with the establishment of the Shakespeare family at Strat- 
ford, and as Malone did not copy it quite accurately from 
the register of the bailiff's coui't, we quote it as it there 
stands : — 

" Stretford, ss. Cur. Plii. et Maria3 Dei gra, &c. secundo et 

tercio, ibm tent, die Marcurii videlicet xvij die Junij ann. 

predict, coram Johne Burbage Balliuo, &c. 

Thomas Siche de Ar.'*cotte in com. Wigorn. qucrit'' versus 
John Shakespere de Stretford in com. Warwic. Glou in plac. 
quod reddat ei oct. libras &c." 

John Shakespeare's trade, " glover," is expressed by the 
common contraction for the termination of the word ; and 
it is, as usual at the time, spelt with the letter w instead of 
V. It deserves I'cmark also, that although John Shakes- 
peare is often subsequently mentioned in the records of 
the corporation of Stratford, no addition ever accompanies 
his name. We may presume that in 1556, he was estab- 
lished in his business, because on the 30th April of that 
year he was one of twelve jurymen of a court-leet. His 
name in the list was at first struclt through with a pen, but 
underneath it the word stet was written, pi'obably by the 
town-clerk. Thus we find him in 1556 acting as a regular 
trading inhabitant of the borotigh of Stratfijrd-upon-Avon. 

Little doubt can be entertained that he came from Snit- 
terfield, three miles from Stratford ; and upon this point we 
have several new documents before us. It appears from 
them, that a person of the name of Richard Shakespeare 
(no where before mentioned) was resident at Snitterfield in 
1550:^ he was tenant of a house and land belonging to 

his information has not been ascertained : Malone conjectured that 
Aubrey was in Stratford about 16s0 : he died about 170U, and, in all 
probability, obtained his knowledge from the same source as the 
writer of a letter, dated April 10, 1693, to Tilr. Edward Southwell, 
printed in 1638. It appears from hence that the parish clerk of Strat- 
ford, who was "above eighty years old" in 1693, had told Mr. Ed- 
ward Southwell's correspondent that William Shakespeare had been 
" bound apprentice to a butcher ;" but he did not say that his father 
was a butcher, nor did he add any thing as absurd as Aubrey sub- 
joins, respecting the killing of a calf " in a high style." 

5 Rowe is supposed to have derived his materials from Betterton, 
the actor, who died in 1710, and who, it is said, went to Stratford to 
collect such particulars as could be obtained : the date of his visit is 
not known. 

6 In 1.569, a person of the name of Antony Shakespeare lived at 
Snitterfield, and, as we learn from the Muster-book of the county of 
Warwick for that year in the State Paper office, he was appointed a 
"billman." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



XIX 



Robert Ardeu (or Ardem, as the name was anciently spelt, 
and as it stauds in tlie papers in our hands) of Wilmecote, ia 
the ]):u'ish of Aston Cantlowe. By a conveyance, dated 
21st Dec, 11th Henry VIII., we fiad that Robert Arden 
then became possessed of houses and land in Suitterfield, 
from Richard Rushby and his wife : from Robert Ardeu the 
property descended to his son, and it was part of this 
estate which was occuj^ied by Richard Shakespeare in 1550. 
We have no distinct evidence upon the point ; but if we 
suppose Richard Shakespeare of SnitterfiekP to liave been 
tlic fathei' of John Shakespeare of Stratford,'^ who married 
Mary Arden, the youngest daughter of Robert Ardeu, it 
will easily and naturally explain the manner in which John 
Shakespeare became introduced to the family of the Ar- 
dens, inasmuch as Richard Shakespeare, the father of John, 
and the grandfather of William Shakespeare, was one of 
the tenants of Robert Ardeu. 

Malone, not havuig the information we now possess be- 
fore him, was of opinion that Robert Arden, who married 
Agnes Webbe, and died in 1556, had only four daughters, 
but the fact undoubtedly is that he had at least seven. On 
the 7th and iTth July, 1550, he executed two deeds, by 
which he made over to Adam Pahner and Hugh Porter, in 
tiust for some of his daughters, certain lands and tene- 
ments in Snitterfield.^ In these deeds he mentions six 
daughters by name, four of them married and two single : 
— viz., Agnes Stringer, (who had been twice married, first 
to Jolin Hewyns,) Joan Lambert, Katherine Etkins, Mar- 
garet Webbe, Jocose Arden, and Alicia Arden. Mary, his 
youngest daughter, was not included, and it is possible that 
he had eitlier made some other provision for her, or that, 
by a separate and subsequent deed of trust, he gave to her 
an equivalent in Suitterfield for wliat he had made over 
to her sisters. It is quite certain, as will be seen hereafter, 
that Mary Arden brought property in Snitterfield, as part 
of her fortune, to her husband John Shakespeare. 

Altliough the Ardens were an ancient and considerable 
family in Warwicksliire, which derived its name from the 
forest of Ai-den, or Ardern, in or near wliich they had pos- 
sessions, Robert Arden, in the two deeds above referred to, 
wliich were of course prepared at his instance, is only 
called "husbandman:" — " Robert us Ardern de Wilmecote, 
in parochia de Aston Caniloive, in comitatu Warwici, 
husbandman." Nevertheless, it is evident from his will 
(dated 2-ith November, and proved on the I'Tth December, 
1556) that he was a man of good lauded estate. He men- 
tions liis wife's "jointure in Snitterfield," payable, no doubt, 
out of some other property than that which, a few years 
before, he had conveyed to trustees for the benefit, of six of 
his duughleis ; and his freehold and copyhold estates in 
the parish of Aston Cantlowe could not have been incon- 
siderable. Sir John Arden, the brother of his grandfather, 
had been esquire of the body to Henry VII., and liis ne- 
phew had been page of the bedchamber to the same 
monarch, who had bountifully rewarded their services and 
fidehty. Sir John Arden died in 1526, and it was his 
nephew, Robert Arden, who purchased of Rushby and his 
wife the estate in Snitterfield in 1520. He was the father 



^ Richard Shakespeare, who, upon this suppoisition, was the {grand- 
father of tlie poet, was living in 1560, when Agnes Arden, widow, 
granted a lease for forty years to Alexander Webbe (probably some 
member of her own family) of two houses and a cottage in Snitter- 
field. in the occupation of Richard Shakespeare and two others. 
Malone di.-^covered that there was also a Henry Shakespeare resident 
at Snitterfield in 15~(i, and he apprehended (tliere is little doubt of 
the fact) that he was the brotlier of John Shakespeare. Henry 
Shakespeare was buried Deo. ti9th, 15'J6. There was also a Thomas 
Shakespeare in the same village in 1582, and he may have been 
another brother of John Shakespeare, and all three sons to Richard 
Shakespeare. 

2 Tliis is rendered the more probable by the fact that John Shakes- 
earc christened one of his children (born in loT.S) Richard. Malone 

"ound that another Richard Shakespeare was living at Rowington in 
1574. 

3 They are thus described : " Totum itlud messungium mciim, et 
tres ijiiurlroiia.t tcrrm, cum pratis eisiiem pertinent ibus, cum suis per- 
tineutiis, in .Snijttcrfi/ldc. qua: nunc sunt in tin-ura cujusdnm Jiirardi 
Hcnlcij, lie tiilum illud cultarrium vieuin, cum. ffnrdina et pomario 
adjicenlibus, cum suis periinentii.i. in Snyl.lcrfyld, ijuir, nunc sunt in 
tcnura Huaronis Porter." Adam Palmer, the other trustee, does not 
seem to have occupied any part of the property. 



I 



of the Robert Arden who died in 1556, and to whose 
seventh daughter, Mary, John Sliakespeare was married. 

No registration of that marriage has been discovered, 
but we need not hesitate ui deciding that the ceremony 
took place in 1557. Mary Arden and her sister Alicia 
were certainly unmariied, when they were appointed " cx- 
ecutores" under their father's will, dated 24th Nov., 1556, 
and the probability seems to be that they were on that 
account chosen for the office, in preference to their five 
married sistei's. Joan, the first child of John Shakespeare 
and his wife Mary, was baptized in the church of Stratford- 
upon-Avon on the 15th Sept., 1558,'', so that we may fix 
their union towards the close of 1557, about a year after 
the death of Robert Arden. 

What wei'e the circumstances of John Shakespeare at 
the time of his marriage, we can only conjecture. It has 
been shown that two years before that event, a claim of 8/. 
was made upon him in the borough couit of Stratford, and 
we must conclude, either that the money was not due and 
the demand unjust, or that he was unable to pay the debt, 
and was therefore proceeded against. The issue of the 
suit is not known ; but in the next year he seems to have 
been established in business as a glover, a branch of tiade 
much carried on in that part of the kingdom, and, as al- 
ready mentioned, he certainly served upon the jury of a 
court-leet in 1556. Therefore, we are, perhaps, justified in 
thinlving that his affairs were sufficiently prosperous to 
warrant his union with the youngest of seven co-heiresses, 
who brought him some independent property. 

Under her father's will she inherited 6/. 13.s. 4(7. in 
money, and a small estate in fee, in the paiish of Aston 
Cantlowe, called Asbyes, consisting of a messuage, fifty 
acres of arable land, six acres of meadow and pasture, and 
a right of coitimon for all kinds of cattle.* Malone knew 
nothing of Mary Ardeu's property in Snitterfield, to which 
we have already referred, and, without it, he estimated that 
her fortune was equal to 110/. 13s. 4f/., which seems to us 
rather an under calculation of its actual value.'^ He also 
speculated, that at the time of their marriage John Shakes- 
peare was twenty-seven years old, and Mary Arden 
eighteen ;'' but the truth is that we have not a particle of 
cUrect evidence upon the point. Had she been so young, 
it seems very unlikely that her father would have ap- 
pointed her one of his executors in the preceding year, and 
we are inclined to think that she must have been of fidl 
age in Nov. 1556. 

It was probably in contemplation of his marriage that, 
on 2d October, 1556, John Shakespeare became the ovmer 
of two copy-hold houses in Stratford, the one in Greenhill- 
street, and the other in Henley-street, which were alienated 
to him by George Turnor and Edward West, respectively ; 
the liouse in Grccnhill-sticet had a garden and croft at- 
tached to it, and the house in Henley-street only a garden ; 
and for each he was to pay to the lord of the manor an an- 
nual rent of sixpence.* In 1557 he was again swoin as a 
juryman upon the eourt-leet, and in the spring of tlie fol- 
lowing year he was amerced in the sum of fourpeuce for 
not keeping clean the gutter in front of his dwelling : Fran- 

* The register of tliis event is in the following form, under the 
head " Baptismes, Anno Pom. 1.553 :" — 

" Septebcr 15. Jone Shakspere daughter to .Tohn Sliakspcre." 
It seems likely that the child was named after her aunt. Joan, mar- 
ried to Edward hambert of Barton on the Heath. Kdward Lambert 
was related to Edmund Lambert, afterwards mentioned. 

5 Shakspeare, by Boswell. vol. ii. p. 25. 

6 The terms of 'Robert Arden's bequest to his daughter Mary are 
these : — "Also I geve and bequeth to my youngste daughter. I\larye, 
all my lande in Willmecote, called Asbyes, and the crop upon the 
ground, sowne and tyllede as hit is : and vj/t. xiij,«. iiijrf. ol money, to 
be payde over ere my goodes be devydede." Hence we are not to un- 
derstand that he hail no more land in Wilmecote tlian Asbyes, but 
that he gave his daughter Mary all his land in Wilmecote, which 
was known by the name of Asbyes. 

' Shakspeare, by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 39. 

8 We copy tlie following descriptions from the original borough- 
record, only avoiding tlie abbreviations, which render it less intel- 
ligible : — 
Jlern, quodOeorgius Turnor alicnavit.Tohanni Shnkcsperc, S,-c. unum tc- 
ncmcntum.cum gardin et eroft.cum pertinentilivs, inOrene/ujll stiet.e.S,-c. 
Kt quad y.dwnrdus It'est alienuril predicto Johanni Shakespere 
unum tcnemeutum, cum gardin adjaccnte, in Henley strete. 



XX 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



cis Burbage, the then bailiff, Adrian Qniney, " Mr. Hall and 
Mr. Clopton" (so theii- names stand in the instriunent) were 
each of them at the same time fined a similar sum for the 
same neglect.' It is a point of little importance, but it is 
highly probable that John Shakespeare Avas first admitted 
a member of the corporation of Stratford in 1557, ■when 
he was made one of the ale-tasters of the town ; and in 
Sept., 1558, he was appointed one of the fom- constables, 
his name foUowmg those of Humphrey Plymley, Roger 
Sadler, and John Taylor.^ He continued constable in 1559, 
his associates then "being John Taylor, William Tyler, and 
WiUiam Smith, and he was besides one of four persons, 
called aifeerors, whose duty it was tounpose fines upon 
their fellow-to-WTismen (such as he had himself paid in 1551) 
for offences against the bye-laws of the borougL 



CHAPTER IL 

Death of John Shakespeare's eldest child, Joan. Two John 
Shakcspeares in Stratford. Amercements of members of 
the corporation. Birth and death of John Shakespeare's 
second child, Margaret. Birth of William Shakespeare : 
his birth -day, and the house in wliich he was born. The 
plascue in Stratford. Contributions to the sick and poor by 
John Sliakespeare and others. John Sliakespeare elected 
alderman, and subsequently bailitf. Gilbert Sliakespeare 
born. Another daughter, baptized Joan, born. Proofs 
that John Sliakespeare could not write. 

It was while John Shakespeare executed the duties of 
constable in 1558, that his eldest child, Joan, was born, hav- 
ing been baptized, as already stated, on the 15th Septem- 
ber, of that year : she died in her mfoney, and as her burial 
does not appear in the register of Stiatford, she was, pei'- 
liaps, interred at Snitterfield, where Richard Shakespeare, 
probably the father of John Shakespeare, still resided^ as 
tenant to Agnes Arden, widow of Robert Arden, and mo- 
ther of Mai-y Shakespeare. In respect to the registers of 
marriages, baptisms, and deaths at Stratford, some confusion 
has been produced by the indisputable fact, that two per- 
sons of the name of John Shakespeare were living in the 
town at the same tune, and it is not always easy to dis 
tinguish between the enti-ies which relate to the one, or to 
the other : for instance, it was formerly thought that John 
Shakespeare, the father of the poet, had lost his first T\dfe, 
Mary Arden, and had taken a second, in consequence of a 
memorandum in the register, showing that on the 25th Nov., 
1584, John Shakespeare had mariled Margery Roberts: 
Malone, however, took great pains to prove, and may be 
said to have succeeded in proving, that this entry and 
others, of the births of Phihp, Ursula, and Humphrey 
Shakespeare, relate to John Shakespeare, a shoemaker*, 
and not to John Shakespeare the glover. 

John Shakespeare was agam chosen one of the four 
affeerors of Stratford in 1561, and the Shakespeare Society 

1 The original memorandum runs thus : — 
"Francis Berbage, Master Baly that now ys, Adreane Quyny, 

Mr. Hall, iNIr. Clopton, for the gutter alonge the chappell in Chap- 
pell Lane, John Shnkspeyr, for not kepynge of their gutters cleane, 
they stand amerced." 

The sum which they were so amerced, id.., is placed above the names 
of each of the parties. 

2 The following are the terms used : — 
" Item, ther trysty and welbelovyd Humfrey Plymley, Roger 

Sadler, John Taylor, and John Shakspeyr, constabuUes." 

3 This fact appears from a lease, before noticed, granted on 21st 
May, 1560, by Mary Arden to Alexander Webbe, of two messuages, 
with a cottage, one of which is stated then to be in the occupation of 
Richard Shakespeare. We quote the terms of the original deed in 
the hands of the Shakespeare Society : — "Wytnesseth, that the said 
Alines Arderne, for dyverse and sundry consyderations, hath de- 
mysed, graunted, &c. to the said Alexander Webbe, and to his as- 
signes, all those her two messuages, with a cottage, with all and 
singular their appurtenances in Snytterfeild, and a yarde and a halfe 
of ayrable lande thereunto belonging. iVc, being in the towne and 
fyldes of Snvtterfeild afforsaid : all which now are in the occupation 
of Rieharde Shakspere, John Henley, and John Hargreve." Of course 
this property formed part of the jointure of Agnes Arden, mentioned 
in the will of her husband. 

* John Shakespeare, the shoemaker, seems not to have belonged to 
the corporation, at all events, till many years afterwards, so that the 



is in possession of the original presentation made by these 
officers on the 4th May in that year, the name of the father 
of our great dramatist, coming last, after those of Henry 
Bydyll, Lewis ap William, and William Myuske. The 
most remarkable circumstance connected with it is the 
number of persons who were amerced iu sums varying from 
6s. Sd. tt) 2d. " Tlie bailiff that now is," was fined '6.i. 4:d. 
for " breaking the assize," he being a " common baker :" three 
other bakers were severally compelled to pay similar 
amounts on the same occasion, and for the same offence.* 
In September following the date of this report John Shake- 
speare was elected one of the chamberlains of the borough, 
a very responsible post, in which he remained two years. 

His second child, Margaret, or Margareta, (as the name 
stands in the register,) was baptized on the '2d Dec, 1562, 
while he continued chamberlain. She was buried on 30th 
April, 1563". 

The greatest event, perhaps, in the literary history of the 
world occurred a year afterAvards — William Shakespeare 
was born. The day of his birth cannot be fixed with abso- 
lute certainty, but he was baptized on the 2Gth April, 1564, 
and the memoraudmn in the register is precisely in the 
following form : — 

" 1564. Aj)ril 26. Guliehmis Jilk/s JoTiannes SJiakspere?'' 

So that whoever kept the book (in all probability the clerk) 
either committed a common clerical error, or was no great 
proficient in tlie rules of grammar. It seems most hkely 
that our great dramatist had been brought into the world 
only three days before he was baptized', and it was then 
the custom to carry infants very early to the font. A house 
is still pointed out by tradition, in Henley-street, as that in 
which William Shakespeare first saw the hght, and we 
have already shown that his father was the owner of two 
copy-hold dwellings in Henley-street and Greenhill-street, 
and we may, perhaps, conclude that the birth took place in 
the former. John and Mary Shakespeare having pi-eviously 
lost two girls, Joan and Margaret, WiUiam was at tliis time 
the only child of his parents. 

A malignant fever, denominated the plague, broke out at 
Stratford while William Shakespeare was in extreme in- 
fancy : he was not two montlis old when it made its a[)pcar- 
anee, having been brought fiom London, where, according 
to Stow, {Annales, p. 1112, edit. 1615,) it raged with great 
violence throughout the year 1563, and did not so far abate 
that term could be kejit, as usual at Westminster, until 
Easter, 1564. It was most fatal at Stratford between June 
and December, 1564, and Malone calculated that it carried 
off iu tliat interval more than a seventh ]^art of the whole 
population, consisting of about 1400 inhabitants. It does 
not appear that it reached any member of the immediate 
family of Jolm Shakespeare, and it is not at all unlikely that 
he avoided its ravages by quitting Stratford for Snitterfield, 
where he owned some property in right of his wife, and 
where perhajjs his father was still living as tenant to Alex- 
ander Webbe, who, as we have seen, in 1560, had obtained 

confusion to which we have referred does not extend itself to any of 
the records of that body. After John Shakespeare, the father of our 
poet, had been bailitf, he is always called jMr. or Magister John 
Shakespeare ; while the shoemaker, who married Margery Roberts, 
and was the father of Philip, Ursula, and Humphrey, is invariably 
styled only John Shakespeare. There is no trace of any relationship 
between the two. 

* The affeerors seem to have displayed unusual vigilance, and con- 
siderable severity : William Trout, Christopher Smythe, Maud Har- 
bage, and John Jamson were all fined 3.9. 4(/, " for selling ale, and 
having and keeping gaming contrary to the order of the Court :'' 
eleven other inhabitants were amerced in smaller sums on the same 
ground. Robert I'errot was compelled to pay G*. Htl. "for making 
and selling unwholesome ale." 

^ The registrations of her birth and death are both in Latin : — 
" 1.5()'2. lJccembrr'2. J^IiiririiretaJiUa.hhnnnis Shak.'spcre." 
"1.5G3. .Ipril ^t). M/irirnrctaJiiia.fohnniiis Shnh.fpcrc." 
' The inscription on his monument supports the opinion that he 
was born on the 23d April ; without the contractions it runs thus : — 
" Obiit ^'Iniiu Domini llilG. 
JJCtatif 53, die 'J3 jiprilis.-' 
and this, in truth, is the only piece of evidence upon the point. Ma- 
lone referred to the statement of the Rev. J. Greene, as an authority ; 
but he was master of the free-school at Stratford nearly two centuries 
after the death of Shakespeare, and, in all probability, spoke only from 
the tenor of the inscription in the chuich 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAEE. 



XXI 



a lease for forty years from his relative, the widow Agnes 
Arden, of the messuage iu which Richard Shakespeare re- 
sided. 

In order to show that John Shakespeare was at this date 
iu moderate, and probably comfortable, though not in afflu- 
ent circumstances, Malone adduced a piece of evideuce de- 
rived from the records of Stratford^: it consists of the 
names of persons in the borough who, on this calamitous 
visitation of the plague, contributed various sums to the re- 
lief of the poor. The meeting at which it was determined 
to collect subscriptions witli this object was convened in the 
open air, " At a hall holden in our garden," &c. ; no doubt 
on account of the infection. The donations varied between 
^s. Aid. (given by only one inchvidual of the name of Rich- 
ard Symens) and &d. ; and the sum against the name of John 
Shakespeare is Is. It is to be recollected that at this date 
he was not an alderman ; and of twenty-four persons 
enumerated five others gave the same amount, while six 
gave loss : the bailiff contributed 3s. Ad., and the head alder- 
man 2.s\ 8f?, while ten more put down either 2s. &d. or 2s. 
each, and a person of the name of Botte 4s. These sub- 
scriptions were raised on the 30th August, but on the 6th 
September a farther sum seems to have been required, and 
the bailiff and six aldermen gave Is. each, Adrian Qu^mey 
Is. GcZ., and John Shakespeare and four others %d. each: only 
one member of the corporation, Robert Bj'att, whose name 
•will afterwards occur, contributed 4f/. We are, we think, 
warranted in concluding, that in 1564 John Shakespeare 
was an industrious and thriving tradesman. 

He continued steadily to advance in rank and importance 
iu the corporation, and was elected one of the fourteen alder- 
men of Stratford on the 4th July, 1565 ; but he did not 
take the usual oath until the 12th September following. 
The bailiff of the year was Richard HiU, a woollen-draper ; 
and the father of our poet became the occupant of that 
situation rather more than three years afterwards, when 
his son Wilham was about four years and a half old. John 
Shakespeare was bailiff of Stratford-upon-Avon from Mi- 
chaelmas 1568, to Michaelmas 1569, the autumn being the 
customary period of election. In the meantime his wife 
had brought him another son, who was christened Gilbert, 
on 13th October, 15661 

Joau seems to have been a favourite name with the Shake- 
speares : aud Joan Shakespeare is mentioned in the records 
of the guild of Kuowle, in the reign of Hcmy VIII. ; and 
John and Mary Shakespeare christened their first child, 
which died an infant, Joan. A third daughter was born to 
them while John Shakespeare was bailiff, and her they also 
baptized Joan, on 15th April, 1669'''. The partiality for 
the name of Joan, in tliis instance, upon which some bl- 
ogi'aphers have remarked wdthout being able to explain it, 
may be accounted for by the fact that a maternal aimt, 
married to Edward Lambert, was called Joan ; and it is 
very possible that she stood god-mother upon both occa- 
sions. Joan Lambert was one of the daughters of Robert 
Arden, I'cgarding whom, trntU recently, we have had no 
infiirmatioD. 

We have now traced John Shakespeare through various 
offices iu the borough of Stratford, until he reached the 
highest distinction which it was in the power of his fellow- 
townsmen to bestow : he was bailiff, and ex-officio a magis- 
ti'at«. 

IVo new documents have recently come to hght which 
l>elong to this perit)d, and which show, beyond all dispute, 
tliat although John Shakespeare had risen to a station so 

1 Shakspeare, by Bos-well, vol. ii. p. 83. 

2 Thfi register of the parish-church contains the subsequent 
entry : — 

" l.ioej October 13. Oilbertus films Joknnnis Shaksperc.^' 
' AltUougn John Shakespeare was at this time bailiff, no Mr. or 
Ma^istcr is prefixed to hia name in the register, a distinction which 
appears only to have been made after he had served that office. 
" Ljlin, April 1.5. Jone the daughter of .lohn Shakspere." 
* Malone gave both the confirmation and exemplification of arms, 
but with some variations, which are perhaps pardonable on account 
of the slate of the originals in the Heralds' College : thus he printed 
"parent and late antecessors," instead of '■^parents and late ante- 
cessors,"' in the confirraation ; and "whose parent and great grand- 
father, aud late antecessor," instead of " whose parent, great grand- 



respectable as that of bailiff of Stratford, with his name in 
the commission of the peace, he was not able to write. 
Malone referred to the records of the borough to establish 
that in 1565, when John Wheler was called upon by nine- 
teen aldermen and burgesses to undertake the duties of 
bailiff, John Shakespeare was among twelve other marks- 
men, meluding George Whately, the then bailiff, aud Roger 
Sadler, the " head alderman." There was, therefore, notliing 
remarkable in tliis inability to write ; and if there were 
any doubt upon this point, (it being a little ambiguous 
whether tlie signian referred to the nanre of Thomas 
Dyxun, or of John Shakespeare,) it can never be enter- 
tained hereafter, because the Shakespeare Society has been 
put in possession of two warrants, gnmted by John Shake- 
speare as bailiff of Stratford, the one dated the 3rd, and 
the other the 9th December, 1 1 Elizabeth, for the caption 
of Jolm Ball and Richard Walcar, on account of debts 
severally due fi-om them, to both of which his mark only is 
appended. The same fact is established by two other 
documents, to which we shall have occasion hereafter to 
advert, belonging to a period ten years subsequent to that 
of which we are now speaking. 



CHAPTER IIL 

The grant of arms to John Shakespeare considered. The con- 
firmation aud exemplification of arms. Sir W. Dethick's 
conduct. Iiigou meadow in John Sliakespeare's tenancy. 
Birth and death of liis daughter, Anne. Kichard Shake- 
speare born in 1574, and named, perhaps, after his grand- 
father. John Shakespeare's purchase of two freehold 
houses in Stratford. Decline in Ins pecuniary allairs, and 
new evidence upon the point. Indenture of sale of John 
Shakespeare's and liis wile's share of property at Snitter- 
ficld, to Robert Webbe. Birth of Edmund Shakespeare in 
1580. ' 

Althougii John Shakespeare could not write his name, 
it has generally been stated, and believed, that while he 
filled the office of bailiff he obtained a grant of arms from 
Clareneieux Cooke, who was in office from 1566 to 1592. 
We have considerable doul»t of tliis fact, partly arising out 
of the circumstance, that although Cooke's original book, in 
which he entered the arms he gi'imtcd, has been preserved 
in the Hendds' College, we find in it no note of any such 
concession to Jolm Shakespeare. It is true that this book 
might not contain memoranda of all the arms Cooke had 
granted, but it is a circiuii stance deserving notice, that in 
tliis case such an entry is wanting. A eonfiiTnation of tliese 
arms was made in 1596, but we cannot help thinking, ■n'ith 
Malone, that this instrument was obtained at the personal 
instance of the poet, who liad then actually purchased, or 
was on the eve of purchasing. New Place (or " the great 
house," as it was also called) in Stratford. The confirma- 
tion states, that the heralds had been " by credible report 
informed," that " the parents and late antecessors"'' of John 
Shakespeare " were for tlieir vahant and faithful services 
advanced and rewarded of the most prudent prince, Henry 
the Seventh ;" but, as has been before sUited, on examining 
the rolls of that reign, we can discover no trace of ao- 
vancement or reward to any person of the name of Shake- 
speare. It is true that the Ardens, or Ardems, were so 
" advanced aud rewarded ;"^ and tliese, though not strictly 
the "parents," were certainly the " antecessors" of William 

father, and late antecessor," in the exemplification. We are bound 
here to express our acknowledgments to Sir Charles Young, the 
present Garter King at Arras, for the trouble he took in minutely 
collating Malone"s copies with the documents themselves. Other 
errors he pointed outdo not require particular notice, as they apply 
to parts of the instruments not necessary for our argument. 

' Robert Ardorn had two offices conferred upon him by Henry VIT., 
in the 10th and 17lh years of his reign; and he is spoken of in the 
grants as tintis gurcioniim cnmrrm vostra: : the one office was that of 
keeper of the park at Aldercar, and the other that of bailiff of the 
lordship of Codnor, and keeper of the park there. Heobtained a grant 
of lands in 2:j Henry VII. ; viz. the large manor of Voxsall, in the 
county of Staflford, on condition of a payment of a rent to the king of 
•I2i. per annum 



XXll 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAEE. 



Shakespeare. In 1599, an exemplification of arms was 
procured, and in this document it is asserted that the " great 
grandfather" of John Shakespeare had been " advanced 
and rewarded with lands and tenements" by Henry VII. 
Our poet's " great ' grandfather," by the mother's side, was 
so " advanced and rewarded ;" and we know that he did 
" faithfid and approved service" to that " most prudent 
prince." 

Another point, though one of less importance, is, that 
it is stated, in a note at the foot of the eonfarmation of 1596, 
that John Shakespeare " showeth" a patent " under Clarence 
Cooke's hand:" the word seems originally to have been 
sent, over which " showeth" , was written : if the original 
patent, under Cooke's hand, had been sent to the Heralds' 
College in 1596, there could have been little question about 
it ; but the substituted word " showeth" is more indefinite, 
and may mean only, that the party applying for the con- 
fii-mation alleged that Cooke had granted such a coat of 
arms'. That Wilham Shakespeare could not have pro- 
cured a grant of arms for himself in 1596 is highly proba- 
ble, from the fact that he was an actoi", (a profession then 
much looked down upon) and not of a rank iu life to en- 
title him to it: he, therefore, may have very fairly and 
properly put forward his father's name and claims as 
Laving been bailiff of Stratford, and a "justice of peace," 
and coupled that fact with the deserts and rewards of the 
Ardeus imder Henry VII., one of whom was his maternal 
" great grandfather," and all of whom, by reason of the 
marriage of his father with an Arden, were his " ante- 
cessors." 

We only doubt whether John Shakespeare obtained any 
grant of arms, as has been supposed, iu 1508-9; and it is 
to be observed that the documents relating to this question, 
still preserved in the Heralds' College, are full of correc- 
tions and interhueations, particularly as regards the an- 
cestors of John Shakespeare : we are persuaded that when 
"William Shakespeare applied to the office in 1596, Garter 
of that day, or his assistants, made a confusion between the 
" great griuidfather" and the " antecessors" of John, and of 
William Shakespeare. What is stated, both in the confir- 
mation and exemplification, as to parentage and descent, is 
true as i-cgards William Shakespeare, but erroneous as re- 
gards John Shakespeare^. 

It appears that Sir William Dethick, garter-king-at- 
arms iu 1596 and 1599, was subsequently called to account 
for having granted coats to persons whose station in society 
and circumstances gave them no I'ight to the distinction. 
The case of John Shakespeare was one of those complained 
of in this respect ; and had Clarencieux Cooke I'eally put 
his name in 1568-9 to any such patent as, it was asserted, 
had been exhibited to Sir William Detliick, a copy of it, or 
some record of it, would probably liave remained in the 
ofiice of arms iu 1596 ; and the production of that alone, 
proving that he had merely acted on the precedent of Cla- 
rencieux Cooke would, to a considerable extent at least, 
have justified Sir Wilham Dethick. No copy, nor record, 
was however so produced, but merely a memoi-andum at 
the foot of the confirmation of 1596, that an original grant 
had been sent or shoivn, which memorandum may have 

1 The -word " showeth" is thus employed in nearly every petition, 
and it is only there equivalent to stateth, or settet/i forth. The as- 
sertion that such a grant had been alleged ■was, probably, that of the 
heralds. 

2 The confirmation and the exemplification differ slightly as to 
the mode in which the arms are set ovit : in the former it is thus : 
" I have therefore assigned, graunted, and by these have confirmed, 
this shield or cote of arras, viz. gould, on a bend sable and a speare 
of the first, the point steeled, proper ; and for his crest or cognizance 
a faulcon, his wings displayed, argent, standing on a -wrethe of his 
couUors, supporting a speare gould Steele as aforesaid, sett uppon a 
helmett with mantelles and tasselles as hath been accustomed." In 
the exemplification the arms are stated as follows : " In a field of 
gould upon a bend sables a speare of the first, the poynt upward, 
hedded argent ; and for his crest or cognisance a falcon with his 
wyngs displayed, .standing on a wrethe of his couUors, supporting a 
speare armed hedded or steeled sylver, fyxed upon a helmet, with 
mantelles and tasselles." In the confirmation, as well as in the ex- 
emplification, it is stated that the arms are " depicted in the mar- 
gin ;" and in the latter a reference is made to another escutcheon, in 
which the arms of Shakespeare are impaled with " the auncyent 
arms of Arden of Wellingcote, signifying thereby that it maye and 
shall be lawful! for the said John Sliakespeare, gent, to beare and 



been added when Sir WiUiam Dethick's conduct was called 
in question ; and certain other statements are made at the 
bottom of the same document, which would be material to 
Garter's vindication, but which are not borne out by facts. 
One of these statements is, that John Shakespeare, in 
1596, was worth 500/., an error certainly as regarded him, 
but a truth probably as regarded his son. 

It is really a matter of httle moment whether John 
Shakespeare did or tUd not obtain a grant of arms while he 
was baihff of Stratford ; but we are strongly inclined to 
think that he did not, and that the assertion that he did, and 
that he was worth 500/. in 1596, originated with Sir W. 
Dethick, when he subsequently wanted to make out his own 
vindication from the charge of having conceded ai'ms to 
various persons without due caution and inquiry. 

In 1570, when William Shakespeare was in his seventh 
year, his father was in possession of a field called Ingon, 
or Ligton, meadow, within two miles of Stratford, which 
he held under Wilham Clopton. We cannot tell in what 
year he first rented it, because the instrument proving his 
tenancy is dated 11th June, 1581, and only states the fact, 
that on 11th Dec, 15*70, it was in his occupation. The an- 
nual payment for it was 8/., a considerable sum, certainly, 
for that time ; but if there had been " a good dwelling- 
house and orchard" upon the field, as Malone conjectured, 
that circimistance would, in all probability, have been men- 
tioned". We may presume that John Shakespeare em- 
ployed it for agricultural purposes, but upon this point we 
are without information. That he hved iu Stratford at the 
time we infer from the fact, that on the 28th September, 
1571, a second daughter, named Anne, was baptized at the 
parish-church. He had thus four children hving, two boys 
and two girls, William, Gilbert, Joan, and Anne, but the 
last died at an early age, having been buiied on 4th April, 
1579''. It win be remarked that, on the baptism of his 
daughter Anne, he was, for the first time, called " Magider 
Shakespeare" in the Latin entry in the Register, a distinc- 
tion he seems to have acquired by having served the office 
of baihff two years before. The same observation will 
apply to the registration of his fifth child, Richard, who 
was baptized on 11th March, 1573-4, as the son of "J/r. 
John Shakespeare^." Richard Shakespeare may have been 
named after his grandfather of Suitterfiold, who perhaps 
was sponsor on the occasion". 

The increase of John Shakespeare's family seems, for 
some time, to have been accompanied by an increase of his 
means, and in 1574 he gave Edmund and Emma Hall 40/. 
for two freehold houses, with gardens and orchards, in 
Henley-street'. It will not be forgotten that he was al- 
ready the owner of a copyliold tenement in the same street, 
which he had bought of Edward .West, in 1556, before Ids 
marriage with Mary Arden. To one of the two last-pur- 
chased dwellings John Sliakespeare is supposed to have re- 
moved his family ; but, for aught we know, he had hved 
from the tinie of his marriage, and continued to five in 
1574, in the house in Henley-street, which had been alien- 
ated to him eighteen years before. It does not appear that 
he had ever parted with West's house, so that in 1574 he 
was the owner of three houses in Henley-street. Forty 

use the same shield of arms, single, or impaled as aforesaid, during 
his naturall lyffe." The motto, as given at the head of the confir- 
mation, is 

NON SANZ BKOICT. 

For '-Arden of Wellingcote" the heralds should have said Arden of 
Wilmecote. 

3 Malone places reliance on the words of the close roll, (from which 
the information is derived) " with the appurtenances ;" but surely 
'•a good dwelling-house and orchard" would have been specified, 
and not included in such general terms : they are not mere "ap- 
purtenances." 

* The following are copies of the registration of the baptism and 
burial of Anne Shakespeare : — 

"1571 Sfpteb^ 28. Annafilia J\Iagistri Shakspere.''^ 

" 1579 April 4. Anne daughter of Mr. John Shakspere." 

5 The baptismal register runs tlius : — 

" 1573 March 11. Richard sonne to Mr. John Shakspeer." 

6 Malone speculated (Shakspeare, by Boswell, vol. ii. p. lOG,) that 
Richard Hill, an alderman of Stratford, had stood godfather to this 
child, but he was not aware of the existence of any such person as 
Richard Shakespeare, of Snitterfield, who, there is good ground to 
believe, was father to John Shakespeare. 

_' "Malone's Shakspeare, by Boswell," vol. ii. p. 93. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



xxm 



poiinds, even allowing for great difference in value of 
money, seems a small sum for the two freehold houi^es, 
with gardens and orchards, sold to him by Edmimd and 
Emma Hall. 

It is, we apprehend, indisputable that soon after this 
date the tide of John Shakespeare's affairs began to turn, 
and that he experienced disappointments and losses which 
seriously affected his pecuniary circumstances. Malone 
was iu possession of several important facts upon this sub- 
ject, and recently a strong piece of confirmatory testimony 
has been procui-ed. We will first advert to that which was 
in the liauds of Malone, applicable to the beginning of 
1578. At a borough hall on the 29th Jan. in that yeai-, it 
was ordeied that every aldennan in Stratford should pay 
6.5. 8d., and every burgess 3s. 4d. towards " the furniture of 
three pikemen, two bilhiien, and one archer." Now, al- 
tliough John Shakespeare was not only an alderman, but 
had been chosen " head alderman" in 1571, he was allowed 
to contribute only 3.f. 4c/., as if he had been merely a bur- 
gess : Humphrey Plymley, another alderman, paid 5s., 
while John Walker, Tliomas Brogdeu, and Anthony Turner 
contributed 2s. 6d. each, William Brace 2s., and Robert 
Bratt " nothing in this place." It is possible that Biatt 
had been called upon to furnish a contribution in some 
other place, or perhaps the words are to be taken to mean, 
that he was excused altogether ; and it is to be remarked 
that in the contribution to the poor iu Sept. 15G-1, Bratt 
was the only individual who gave no more than fourpenee. 
In November, 1578, when it was required that every alder- 
man shoidd " pay weekly to the relief of the poor 4d," 
John Shakespeare and Robert Bratt were excepted : they 
were " not to be taxed to pay any thing," while two others 
(one of them Alderman Plymley) were rated atStZ. a week. 
In March, 1578-9, when another call was made upon the 
town for the purpose of purchasing corslets, ealivers, <tc., 
the name of John Shakesjjeare is found, at the end of the 
account, in a list of persons whose " sums were unpaid and 
unaccounted for." Another fact tends strongly to the con- 
clusion that in 1578 John Shakespeare was distressed for 
money : he owed a baker of the name of Roger Sadler 51., 
for whieli Ecbnund Lambert, and a person of the name of 
Cornishe, had become security : Sadler died, and in his will, 
dated 1-lth November, 1578, he included the following 
among the debts due to him : — " Item of Edmund Lambert 
and Cornishe, for the debt of Mr. John Shacksper, bl." 

Malone conjectiu-ed that Edmund Lambert was some re- 
lation to Mary Shakespeare, and there can be little doubt 
of it, as an Edward Lambert had married her sister Joan 
Arden. To Edmund Lambert John Shakespeare, in 1578, 
mortgaged his wife's estate in Ashton Cautlowe, called 
Asbyes, for 40^., an additional cireiuustance to prove that 
he was in want of money ;' and so severe the pressure of 
his necessities about this date seems to have been, that in 
1579 he parted with his wife's interest in two tenements in 
Snitterfield to Robert Webbe for the small sum of 41. This 
is a striking confirmation of John Shakespeare's embarrass- 
ments, with which Malone was not acquainted ; but the orig- 
inal deed, ■with the bond for the fulfilment of covenants, 
(both bearing date 15th Oct. 1579) subscribed with the dis- 
tinct marks of John and Mary Shakespeare, and sealed with 
their respective seals, is in the hands of the Shakespeare 
Society. His houses in Stratford descended to his son, but 
they may have been mortgaged at this period, and it is in- 
disputable that Jf.-iM Shakespeare divested himself, in 1578 
and 1579, of the landed property his wife had brought him, 
being in the end diiven to the extremity of raising the 

I The property is thus described in the indenture between John 
Shakcspoare and his ■wife, and Robert ■Webbe. For and in conside- 
ration of the sum of 4/. in hand paid, they "give, graunte, bar- 
gayne, and sell unto the said Robert Webbe, liis heires and assignes 
for ever, all that theire moitye, parte, and partes, be it more or lesse, 
of and in two messuages or tenementes, with thappurlennances, sett, 
lyinge and beynge in Snitterfield aforesaid, in the said county of 
■NVarwicke." The deed terminates thus : 

'• In witnesse whereof the parties above said to the.se present inden- 
tures interchangeablie have put theire handes and seales, the day 
and yeare fyrst above wrytten. 

" The marUe + of John Shackspere. The marke M of Marye 
Shack.spere. 



trifling sum of 41. by the sale of her sliare of two mes- 



suages in Snitterfield'. 



It has be<m supposed that he might not at this time 
reside in Stratford-upon-Avon, and that for this reason, he 
only contributed 3s. 4d. for pikenien, Ac, and nothing to the 
poor of the town, in 1578. Ihis notion is refuted by the 
fact, that iu the deed for tlie sale of his Avifc's property in 
Snitterfield to Webbe, in 1579, he is called " Jolm Shack- 
spere of Stratford-upon-Avon," and in the bond for the per- 
formance of covenants, " Johannem Shackspere de Stratford- 
upon-Avon, in cotnitat. Warwicir Had lie been I'csident 
at Ingon, or at Snitterfield, he would hardly have been de- 
scribed as of Stratford-upon-Avon. Another point re- 
quiring notice in connexion with these two newly-discovered 
documents is, that in both John Shakespeare is termed 
"yeoman," and not glover: perhaps in 1579, although he 
continued to occupy a house in Stratford, he had relin- 
quished his oiigiual trade, and having embarked in agricul- 
tural pursuits, to which he had not been educated, had been 
unsuccessful. This may appear not an unnatural mode of 
accounting for some of his difficulties. In the midst of 
them, in the spring of 1580, another son, named Edmund, 
(perhaps after Edmtmd Lambert, the mortgagee of As- 
byes) was born, and christened at the parish church^. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Education of William Shakespeare: probably at the free- 
school of Stratford. At what time, and under what eir- 
enmstances, be left school. Possibly an assistant in the 
school, and afterwards in an attorne.v'a ofiiee. His hand- 
writing. His marringe with Anne Hathaway. The prelimi- 
nary bond given by Fulk Sandells and John liichardson. 
Birth of Susanna, the first child of William Shakespeare 
and his wife Anne, in 15S3. Shakespeare's o})inion on the 
marriage of persons of disproportionate age. His domestic 
circumstances. Anne Ilathaway's family. 

At the period of the sale of their SnilterficId property by 
his father and mother, William Shakespeare was in his six- 
teenth year, and in what way he had been educated is mere 
matter of conjecture. It is highly probable that he Avas at 
tlie free-school of Stratford, founded by Thomas Jolyffe in 
the reign of Edward IV., and subsequently chartered by 
Edward VI.; but we are destitute of all evidence beyond 
Rowe's assertion. Of coui'se, we know nothing of the time 
when he might have been first sent there ; but if so sent 
between 1570 and 1578, Walter Roche, Thomas Himt, and 
Thomas Jenkins, were successively masters, and fi'om them 
he must have derived the rudiments of his Latin and Greek. 
That his father and mother could give him no instruction 
of the kind is quite certain from the proof we have adduced, 
that neither of them could write ; but this very deficiency 
might render tliem more desirous that their eldest sou, at 
least, if not their children in general, should receive the 
best education circumstances would allow. The fi'ee gram- 
mar-school of Sti-atford afforded an opportunity of which, 
it is not imlikely, the parents of WiUiam Shakespeare 
availed themselves. 

As we are ignorant of the time when he went to school, 
we are also in the dark as to the period when he left it. 
Rowe, indeed, has told us that the poverty of Jol'iu Shake- 
speare, and the necessity of employing his son profitably 
at home, induced him, at an early age, to withdraw him 

" Sealed and delivered in the presens of 

Nycholas KnooUes, Vicar of Anston, 

"Wyllyam i\Iardes, and Anthony Os- 

baston, with other moe." 

The seal affixed by Jolin Shakespeare has his initials I. S. upon it, 
while that appended to tlie mark of his wife represents a rudely-en- 
graved horse. The maflc of Mary Shakespeare seems to have been 
intended for an uncouth imitation of the letter M. With reference 
to the word " moiety," used throughout the indenture, it is to be re- 
membered that at its date tlie term did not, as now, imply half, but 
any part, or share. Shakespeare repeatedly so uses it. ^ 

2 The register contains the following : — 

"15aO. May 3. Edmund sonne to Mr. John Shakspere." 



XXIV 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



from the place of instruction.' Such may have been the 
case ; but, in consider'ing the question, we must not leave 
out of view the fact, that the education of the sou of a mem- 
ber of the corporation would cost nothing ; so that, if the 
boy were removed from school at the period of his father's 
embarrassments, the expense of continuing his studies there 
could not have entered into the calculation : he must have 
been taken away, as Rowe states, in order to aid his father 
in the maintenance of his family, consisting, after the death 
of his daughter Anno in 1579, and the birth of his son Ed- 
mund in 1580, of his wife and five children. However, we 
are without the power of confii-ming or contradicting Rowe's 
statement. 

Aubrey has asserted positively, in his MSS. in the Ash- 
molean Museum, that " in his younger years Shakespeare 
bad been a schoolmaster in the country ;" and the tnith may 
be, though we are not aware that the speculation has ever 
been hazarded, that being a young man of abilities, and 
rapid in the acquisition of knowledge, he had been em- 
ployed by Jenkins (the master of the school from 1517 to 
1580, if not for a longer period) to aid him iii the instruc- 
tion of the junior boys. Such a course is certainly not very 
unusual, and it may servo to account for this part of Au- 
brey's narrative.^ 

We decidedly concur with Malone in thinking, that after 
Shakespeare quitted the free-school, he was enqjloyed in 
the oflice of an attorney. Proofs of something hke a legal 
education are to he found in many of his plays ; and it may 
be safely asserted, that they do not occur anything Hke so 
frequentlv in the dramatic productions of his contempo- 
raries. We doubt if, in the whole works of Marlowe, 
Greene, Peele, Jonson, Heywood, Chapman, Marston, Dek- 
ker, and Webster, so many law terms and allusions are to 
be found, as in only six or eight plays by Shakespeare ; and, 
moreover, they are applied with much technical exactness 
and propriety. Malone has accumulated some of these, 

1 " The narrowness of his father's circumstances, and the want of 
his assistance at home, forced his father to withdraw him from 
thence, and unhappily prevented his farther proficiency." — Rowe's 
Life. 

'•^ Aubrey cites "Mr. Beeston" as his authority, and as persons of 
that name were connected with theatres before the death of Shake- 
speare, and long afterwards, we ought to treat the a.ssertion with the 
more respect. Simon Forman, according to his Diary, was employed 
in this way in the free-school where he was educated, and was paid 
by the parents of the boys for his assistance. The same might be 
the case with Shakespeare. 

3 A passage from the epistle of Thomas Nash before Greene's 
" Menaphon." has been held by some to apply to Shakespeare, to his 
" Hamlet," and to his early occupation in an attorney's office. The 
best answer to this supposition is an attention to dates : " Menaphon " 
was not printed for the first time, as has been supposed, in 15s9, but 
iu 15S7 ; in all probability before Shakespeare had written any play, 
much less '■ Hamlet." The ■' Hamlet " to which Nash alludes must 
have been the old drama, which was in existence long before Shake- 
speare took up the subject. The terms Nash employs are these ; and 
it is to be observed, that by noverint he means an attorney or attor- 
ney's clerk, employed to draw up bonds, &c., commencing JVovcrijit 
UTuvcrsi, &:c. " It is a common practice now-a-dayes, amongst a sort 
cf shifting companions, that run through every art and thrive by 
none, to leave the trade of noverint, whereto they were borne, and 
t)T¥ue themselves with the indevours of art, that could scarcely Lat- 
inize- their neck verse, if they should have needs : yet English Seneca, 
reaxl by candle-light, yields many good sentences, as Blnud is a beg- 
ger, and so forth ; and if you intreate him faire in a frostie morning, 
he will affoord you whole Hamlets, I should say handfuls of tragical 
speeches.'' Hence we may possibly infer that the author of the old 
"Hamlet," preceding Shakespeare's tragedy, had been an attorney's 
cJerk. In 1587, Shakespeare was only in his twenty-third year, and 
could hardly be said by that time to have " run through every art, 
and thriven by none." Seneca had been translated, and published 
collectively, six years before Nash wrote. He may have intended to 
s-neak generally, and without more individual allusion than a mod- 
ern poet, when, in the very same sjiirit, he wrote the couplet, 
" Some clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, 
■Who pens a stanza when he should ingross." 
* It is certain also that Shakespeare wrote with great facility, and 
that his compositions required little correction. This fact we have 
upon the indubitable assertion of Ben Jonson, who thus speaks in 
his "Discoveries," \\Titten in old age, when, a,s he tells us, his mem- 
orv began to fail, and printed with the date of.lCU : — 

"I remember the players have often mentioned it as an honour 
to Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he 
never blotted out line. My answer hath been, Would he had blotted 
a thousand! wliioh they thought a malevolent .speech. I had not 
told posterity this, but for their ignorance, who chuse that circum- 
stance to commend their friend by, wherein he most faulted ; and to 



and it would be easy to multiply them.' We may presimie 
that, if so employed, he was paid 8<jmething for his ser- 
vices ; for, if he were to earn nothing, his father could have 
had no other motive for taking him from school. Suppos- 
ing him to have ceased to receive instruction from Jenkins 
in 1579, when John Shakespeare's distresses were appar 
rently most severe, we may easily imagine that he was, for 
the next year or two, in the office of one of the seven at- 
torneys in Stratford, whose names Malone introduces. That 
he wrote a good hand we are perfectly sure, not only from 
the extant specimens of bis signature, when we may sup- 
pose him to have been in health, but from the ridicule which, 
m " Hamlet," (act v. sc. 2) he throws upon such as affected 
to write illegibly : 

" I once did hold it, as our statists do, 
A baseness to write fair." 

In truth, many of his dramatic contemporaries wrote ex- 
cellently : Ben Jonson's penmanship was beautiful ; and 
Peele, Chapman, Dekker, and Marston, (to say nothing of 
some inferior authors) must have given printers and copy- 
ists little trouble.'' 

Excepting by mere tradition, we he.ar not a syllable re- 
garding William Shakespeare from the time of his birth 
until he had considerably passed his eighteentli year, and 
then we suddenly come to one of tlie most important events 
of his Ufe, established upon irrefragable testimony : we al- 
lude to his marriage with Anne Hathaway, which could not 
have taken place before the 28th Nov. 1582, because on 
that day two persons, named Fulk Sandells and John Rich- 
ardson entered into a preliminary bond (which we subjoin 
in a note*) in the penalty of 40/. to be forfeited to the bishop 
of the diocese of Worcester, if it were thereafter found that 
there existed any lawful impediment to tlse solemnization 
of matrimony between William Shakespeare and Anne 
Hathaway, of Stratford. It is not known at what church the 

justify mine own candour, for I loved the man, and do honour his 
memory (on this side idolatry) as much as any. He was indeed 
honest, and of an open and free nature ; had an excellent fancy, 
brave notions, and gentle expressions, wherein he flowed with that 
facility, that sometimes it was necessary he should be stopped. 
SuJJiaminandus erat, as Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in 
his own power ; would the use of it had been so too !" 

Hence he proceeds to instance a passage in " Julius C^sar." Ben 
Jonson then adds in conclusion : — '" But he redeemed his vices with 
his virtues : there was ever more in him to be praised, than to be 
pardoned." Consistently with what Ben Jonson tells us above the 
players had " often mentioned," we find the following in the address 
of Heminge and Condell, " To the great variety of Readers," before 
the folio of 1G23 : — " His mind and hand went together, and what he 
thought he uttered with that easiness, that we have scarce received 
from him a blot in his papers." 

' The instrument, divested of useless formal contractions, runs 
thus : ^"^ 

"Noverint universi per presentes, no's Fhlconem Sandells de Strat- 
ford in comitatu Warwici, agricolara, et Johannem Richardson ibi- 
dem agricolam, teneri et firmiter obligari Ricardo Cosin, generoso, et 
Roberto "Warmstry, notario publico, in quadraginta libris bona? et le 
galis monetae Angliai solvendis eisdem Ricardo et Roberto, heredibus, 
executoribus, vel assignatis suis, ad quam quidem solutionem bene 
et fideliter faciendam obligamus nos, et utrumque nostrum, per ss 
pro toto et in solido, heredes, execntores, et administratores nostnis 
nrmiter per pre.sentes, sigillis nostris sigillatos. Datum 2-^ die No- 
vembris, anno Regni Dominte nostra: ElizabethiB, Dei gratia Anglisa, 
Francis, et Hibernite Regins, Fidei Defensoris. &c. 260. 

" The condition of this obligation ys suche, that if hereafter there 
shall not appere any lawfuU lett or impediment, by reason of any 
precontract, consanguinitie, affinitie, or by any other lawfuU 
meanes whatsoever, but that "William Shagspere one thone partis, 
and Anne Hathwey, of Stratford in the Dioces of Worcester, maiden, 
may lawfully solemnize matrimony together, and in the same after- 
wards remaine and continew like man and wiffe, according unto the 
lawes in that behalf provided : and moreover, if there be not at this 
present time any action, sute. quarrel, or demaund, moved or depend- 
ing before any judge, ecclesiastical or temporal, for and concerning 
any suche lawfuU lett or impediment : and moreover, if the said 
William Shagspere do not proceed to solemnization of m.arriadg with 
the said Anne Hathwey without the consent of her frinds : and also 
if the said William do, upon his owne proper costs and expenses, de- 
fend and save harmles the Right Reverend Father in God, Lord John 
Bushop of Worcester, and his oft'ycers, for licencing them the said 
William and Anne to be marled together with once asking of the 
bannes of matrimony betwene them, and for all other causes which 
may ensue by reason or occasion thereof, that then the said obliga/- 
tion to be voyd and of none effect, or els t<J stand and abide in fullo 
force and vertue." 

The marks and seals of Sandells and Richardson 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAEE. 



XXV 



ceremony Avas performed, but certainly not at Stratford- 
upon-Av(iti/ to wbich both the parties belonged, Avhere the 
boudsnieu resided, and where it might be expected tliat it 
would have been registered. The object of the bond was 
to obtain such a dispensation fi-om the bishop of Worcester 
as would authorize a clergyman to luiite the bride and 
groom after only a single publication of the banns ; and it is 
not to be concealed, or denied, that the whole proceeding 
seems to indicate haste and secresy. However, it ought 
not to escape notice that tlie seal used when the bond was 
executed, tdthough damaged, has upon it the initials R. H., 
as if it had belonged to R. Hathaway, the fother of the bride, 
and had been used on the occasion -uath his consent." 

Considering all the circumstances, there might be good 
reasons why the father of Anne Hathaway should concur in 
the alliance, independently of any regard to the worldly 
prospects of the parties. The first child of William and 
Anne Shakespeare was christened Susanna on 26th May, 
1583". Anne was between seven and eight years older 
than her young husband, and several passages in Shake- 
speare's plays have been pointed out by Malone, and 
repeated by other biographers, which seem to point directly 
at the evils resulting from unions in which the pailies were 
" misgraffed in respect of years." The most remarkable 
of these is certainly the well-known speech of the Duke to 
Viola, in " Twelfth Night," (act ii. sc. 4) where he says, 

" Let still the woman take 
An elder than herself: so wears she to him; 
So sways she level in her husband's lieart: 
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, 
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, 
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, 
Than women's are." 

Afterwards the Duke adds, 

" Then let thy love be younger thnn thyself, 
Or thy affection canuot hold the bent." 

Wliether these lines did or did not originate in the au- 
thor's reflections upon his own marriage, they are so appli- 
cable to his own ease, that it seems impossible he should 
have written them without recalling the circumstances at- 
tending his hasty union, and the disparity of years betwee: i 
himself and his wife. Such, we know, was the confirmed 
opinion of Coleridge, expressed on two distinct occasions in 
Ids lectures, and such we think will be the conclusion at 
which most readers will arrive : — " I cannot hesitate in be- 
lieving," observed Coleridge in 1815, "that in tliis passage 
from ' Twelfth Night,' Shakespeare meant to give a caution 
arising out of liis own experience ; and, but for the fact of 
the disproportion in poin^^^ears between hmiself and his 
wife, I doubt much wh^^^He dialogue between Viola and 
the Dulce would have rHil^d this turn''." It is incident to 
our nature that youths, just advancing to manhood, should 
feel with peculiar strength the attraction of women whose 
charms have reached the full-blown summer of beauty ; but 
we cannot think that it was so uecessaiy a consequence, as 
-Bome have supposed'*, that Anne Hathaway should have pos- 
sessed pecuhar personal advantages. It may be remarked, 
that poets have often appeared comparatively indifferent 
to the features and persons of their mistresses, since, in pro- 
portion to the strength of tlieir imaginative faculty, they 

1 Malone conjectured that the marriage took place at Weston, or 
i Eillesley, but the old registers there having been lost or destroyed, it 

is impossible to ascertain the fact. A more recent search in the reg- 
isters of some other churches in the neighbourhood of Stratford has 
not been attended with any success. Possibly, the ceremony was 
performed in the vicinity of Worcester, but the mere fact that the 
Doiid was there executed proves nothing. An examination of the 
registers at Worcester has been equally fruitless. 

2 Rowe tells us, (and we are without any other authority) that 
Hathaway was "said to have been a substantial yeoman," and he 
was most likely in possession of a seal, such as John Shakespeare had 
used in 1579. 

•'• The fact is registered in this form : — 



have been able to supply all physical deficiencies". Cole- 
ridge was aware, if not from his own particular case, from 
recorded examples, that the beauty of the objects of the 
affection of poets was sometimes more fanciful than real ; 
and his notion was, that Anne Hathaway was a woman 
with whom the boyish Shakespeare had fallen in love, per- 
haps from proximity of residence and frequency of inter- 
coiu'se, and that she had not any peculiar recommendations 
of a personal description. The truth, however, is, that we 
have no evidence either way ; and when Oldys remarks 
upon the 93rd sonnet, that it " seems to have been addressed 
by Shakespeare to his beautiful wife, on some suspicion of 
her infidelity'," it is clear that he was under an entire mis- 
take as to the individual : the lines, 

" So shall I live siipposing thou art tmo 
Like a deceived husband ; so love's lace 
May still seem love to me," &c. 

were most certainly not applied to his wife ; and Oldys could 
have had no other groimd for asserting that Anne Hatha- 
way was " beautiful," than general supposition, and the er- 
roneous belief that a sonnet like that from which we have 
made a brief quotation had Shakespeare's wife for its ob- 
ject. 

The present may not be an improper opportunity for 
remarking (if, indeed, the remark might not be entirely 
spared, and the reader left to draw his own inferences) that 
the balance of such imperfect information as remains to us, 
leads us to the opinion that Shakespeare was not a very 
happy married man. The disparity in age between him- 
self and his wife from the first was such, that she could 
not " sway level in her husband's heart ;" and tliis difference, 
for a certiain time at least, became more apparent as they 
advanced in years : may we say also, that the peculiar cir- 
cumstances attending their marriage, and the birth of their 
first child, would not tend, even in the most grateful and 
considerate mind, to increase that respect which is the chief 
source of confidence and comfort in domestic life. To tliis 
may be added the fact (by whatever circumstances it may 
have been occasioned, which we shall consider jaresently) 
that Shakespeare quitted his home at Stratford a very few 
years after he had become a husband and a father, and that 
although he revisited his native town frequently, and ulti- 
mately settled there with his family, there is no proof that 
his wife ever returned with him to London, or resided with 
him during any of his lengthened sojourns in the metropo- 
lis : that she "may have done so is very possible : and in 
1609 he certamly paid a weekly poor-rate to an amount 
that may indicate that he occupied a house in Southwark 
capable of receiving his ftmiily'', but we are here, as upon 
many other points, compelled to deplore tlie absence of dis- 
tinct testimony. We put out of view the doubtful and am- 
biguous indications to be gleaned froni Shakespeare's Son- 
nets, observing merely, that they contain little to show that 
he was of a domestic turn, or that he found any great en- 
joyment in the society of his wife. That such may have 
been the fact we do not i^retend to deny, and we willingly 
beUeve that much favourable evidence upon the point has 
been lost : all we venture to advance on a question of so 
much diflSeulty and delicacy is, that what remains to us is 
not, as far as it goes, perfectly satisfoctory. 

public in 1818, and we have more than once heard it from him in 
private society. 

'> The Rev. Mr. Dyce, in his Life of Shakespeare, prefixed to the 
Aldine edition of his Poems, 12mo. 1832. p. xi. It comprises all the 
main points of the biography of our poet then known. 

6 When the Rev. Mr. Dyce observes that " it is unlikely that a wo- 
man devoid of personal charms should have won the youthful affec- 
tions of so imaginative a being as Shakespeare," he forgets that the 
mere fact that Shakespeare was an "imaginative being would 
render "personal charms" in his wife less necessary to his happi- 

' in his MS. notes to Langbaine, in the British Museum, as quoted 
by Steevens. See "Malone's Shakspeare, by Boswell," vol. xx. 
'l'>^:3. May2G. Susanna daughter to William Shakspere." p. 306. , ^i. i. <•. -n, 

* We derive this opinion from our own notes of what fell from » We have noticed this matter more at length hereatter, with re- 
Coleridge upon the occasion in question. The lectures, upon wh.-ch ference to the question, whether Shakespeare, in lOOJ. were not rate^ 
he was then engaged, were delivered in a room belongin"- to the j to the poor of Southwark in respect of his theatrical property, and 



Globe tavern, in Fieet-street. He repeated the same sentiment in ' not for any dwelling-house which he occupied. 

B 



XXVI 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAKE. 



A question was formerly agitated, which the marriage 
bond, ah'eady quoted, tends to set at rest. Some of Sliake- 
speare's biographers have contended that Anne Hathaway 
came from Bhottery, -within a mile of Stratford, while Ma- 
lone argued that she was probably from Luddington, about 
three miles from the borough. There is no doubt that a 
family of the name of Hathaway had been resident at 
Shottery from the year 1543, and continued to occupy a 
house there long after the death of Shakespeare' ; there is 
also a tradition in favour of a pai'ticular cottage in the vil- 
lage, and, on the whole, we may perhaps conclude that 
Anne Hathaway was of that ftxmily. She is, howevei-, 
described in the bond as " of Stratford," and we may take 
it for granted, until other and better proof is offered, that 
she was resident at the time in the borough, although she 
may have come from Shottery^ Had the parties seeking 
the Ucence wished to misdescribe hei-, it might have an- 
swered their purpose better to have stated her to be of any 
other place rather than of Stratford. 



CHAPTER V. 

Shakespeare's twins, Hamnet and Judith, born in 1585. His 
departure from Stratford. The question of deer-stealing 
from Sir Thomas Lucy considered. Authorities for the 
story; Eowe, Betterton, Fuhnun's MSS., Oldys. Ballad 
by Shakespeare against Sir Thomas Lucy. Proof, in op- 
position to Maloue, that Sir Thomas Lucy had deer : liis 
present of a buck to Lord Ellesmere. Otlier iuduceinents 
to Shakespeare to quit Stratford. Couqjanies of players 
encouraged by the Corporation. Several of Shakespeare's 
fellow-actors from Stratford and Warwicksliire. The 
Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth. 

In the beginning of 1585 Shakespeare's wife produced bun 
twins — a boy and a girl — and they were baptized at Strat- 
ford Church on the 2d Feb. in that yearl Maloue sup- 
posed, and the supposition is very likely well founded, that 
Hamnet Sadler and his wife Judith stood sponsors for the 
infants, which were baptized by the Christian names of the 
godfather and godmother, Hamnef and Judith. It is a fact 
not altogether ununportant, with relation to the terms of af- 
fection between Shakespeare and his wife in the subsequent 
part of his career, that she brought him no more children, 
although in 1585 she was only thirty years old. 

That Shakespeare quitted liis home and his family not 
long aftei-wards has not been disputed, but no ground for 
tliis step has ever been derived fi'om domestic disagree- 
ments. It has been alleged that he was obliged to leave 
Stratford on account of a scrape in which he had involved 
himself by steahng, or assistmg in stealing, deer from the 
grounds of Charlcote, the property of Sir Thomas Lucy, 
about five miles from the borough. As Rowe is the oldest 
authority in print for this story, we give it in his own 
words : — " He had, by a misfortune common enough to 
young feUoAvs, feUen into ill company ; and among them 

1 Richard Hathaway, alias Gardener, of Shottery, had a daughter 
named Johanna, baptized at Stratford church on 9th Rlay, 1560 ; but 
there is no trace of the baptism of Anne Hathaway. 

2 From an extract of a letter from Abraham Sturley, dated 24 
Jan., 1598, printed in " Malone's Shakspeare by Boswell," vol. ii. p. 
206, It appears that our great dramatist then contemplated the pur- 
chase of " some odd yard-land or other at Shottery." This intention 
perhaps arose out of the connexion of his wife with the village. 

^ The registration is, of course, dated 2 Feb.,15s4, as the year 15S5 
did not at that date begin until after 25th March : it runs thus :— 

-1584. Feb. 2. Hamnet & Judith Sonne & daughter to Willia 
Bhakspere. ' 

* There was an actor called Hamnet (the name is sometimes spelt 
Hamlet, see " Memoirs of Edward Alleyn," p. 127) in one of the Lon- 
don companies at a subsequent date. It is not at all impossible that, 
like not a lew players of that day, he came from "Warwickshire. 

=^ The terms used by the Rev. ]Mr. Davies are these : 
He [Shakespeare] was much given to all unluckiness in stealing 
venison and rabbits, particularly from Sir Lucy, who had him oft 
whipped and sometimes imprisoned, and at last made him fly his 
native country, to his great advancement. But his revenge was so 
great that he is his Justice Clodpate ; and calls him a great man, and 
that, in allusion to his name, bore three louses rampant for his 
arras.- Fulman's MSS. vol. xv. Here we see that Davies calls Sir 
Ihomas Lucy only " Sir Lucy," as if he did not know his Christian 



some, that made a frequent practice of deer-stealing, en- 
gaged him more than once in robbmg the park that be- 
longed to Sir Tliomas Lucy of Charlecot, near Stratford. 
For this he was prosecuted by that gentleman, as he 
thought, somewhat too severely ; and, in order to revenge 
that ill-usage, he made a ballad upon him. And though 
this, probably the first essay of his poetry, be lost, yet it is 
said to have been so very bitter, that it redoubled the pros- 
ecution against him to tliat degree, that he was obliged to 
leave his business and family in Warwickshire for some 
time, and shelter himself in London." 

"We have said that Rowe is the oldest printed source of 
this anecdote, his " Life of Shakespeare " having been pub- 
hshed in 1709 ; but Malone produced a manuscript of un- 
certain date, anterior, however, to the publication of Rowe'a 
" Life," which gives the incident some coulirmation. Had 
this manuscript authority been of the same, or even of more 
recent date, and derived from an independent quarter, un- 
connected with Rowe or his informant, it would on this ac- 
cormt have deserved attention ; but it was older than the 
pubhcation of Rowe's " Life," because the Rev. R. Davies, 
who added it to the papers of Fulman, (now in tlie library 
of Corpus Christi College) died in l'707^ Rowe (as he dis- 
tinctly achnits) obtained not a few of his materials from 
Betterton, the actor, who died the year after Rowe's " Life " 
came out, and who, it has been repeatedly asserted, paid a 
visit to Stratford expressly to glean such particulars as 
could be obtained regardhig Shakespeare. In what year 
he paid that visit is not knowni, but Malone was of opinion 
that it was late in life : on the contrary, we think that it 
must have been comparatively early in Betterton's career, 
when he would naturally be more enthusiastic in a pursuit 
of the kind, and when he had not been afflicted by that dis- 
order from which he suffered so severely in his later years, 
and to which, in fact, he owed his death. Betterton was 
born in 1635, and became an actor before 1660 ; and we 
should not be disposed to place his journej'^ to Stratford later 
than 1610 or 1675, when he was thirty -five or forty years 
old. He was at that period in the height of his popularity, 
and beiug in the frequent habit of playing such parts as 
Hanrlet, Lear, and Othello, we may readily behove that he 
would be anxious to collect any information regarcUug the 
author of those tragedies that then existed in his native 
town. We therefore apprehend, that Betterton must have 
gone to Stratford many years before the Rev. Richard 
Davies made his additions to Fubnan's brief account of 
Shakespeare, for Fubnan's papers did not devolve into his 
hands until 1688. The conclusion at which we arrive is, 
that Rowe's printed account is in truth older, as far as 
regards its origin in Betterton's inquiries, than the manu- 
script authority" produced bw^fc^ne ; and certainly the 
latter does not come much recJ^^^Wed to us on any other 
ground. Davies must have be^B^orant -both of persons 
and plays ; but tliis veiy circmnstance may possibly be 
looked upon as in favour of the originality and genuineness 
of what he furnishes. He does not tell us from whence, 
nor from whom, he procured his information, but it reads 

name, and he was ignorant that such a character as Justice Clodpate 
is not to be found in any of Shakespeare's plays. 

6 We may, perhaps, consider the authority for the story obtained 
by Oldys prior in point of date to any other. According to him, a 
gentleman of the name of Jones, of Turbich in Worcestershire, died 
in 1703, at the age of ninety, and he remembered to have heard, from 
several old people of Stratford, the story of Shakespeare's robbing Sir 
Thomas Lucy's park ; and tliey added that the ballad of whicli Rowe 
makes mention, had been afKxed on the park-gate, as an additional 
exasperation to the knight. Oldys preserved a stanza of this satiri- 
cal etl'usion, which he had received from a person of the name of 
Wilkes a relation of Mr. Jones : it runs thus : 

"A parliament member, a justice of peace, 
At home a poor scare-crowe, at London an asse ; 
If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke miscalle it, 
Then Lucy is lowsie, whatever befall it : 
He thinks himself great. 
Yet an asse in his state 
We allow by his ears but with asses to mate. 
If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscall it, 
Sing lowsie Lucy, whatever befall it." 
What is called a "complete copy of the verses," contained in " Ma- 
lone's Sliakspeare, by Boswell," vol. ii. p. 505, is evidently not gen- 
uine. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAEE. 



xxvn 



Rs if it had been obtained from some source iudependcDt of 
Betterton, and perhaps even from inquiries on the spot. 
The whole was obviously exaggerated and distorted, but 
whether by Davies, or by the person from whom he derived 
the story, we must remain in doubt. The reverend gentle- 
man died three years before Betterton, and both may cer- 
tainly have been indebted for the information to the same 
parties ; but most likely Davies simply recorded what he 
had heard. 

In reflecting upon the general probability or improbabil- 
ity of this important incident in Shakespeare's life, it is not 
to be forgotten, as Malone remarks, that deer-stealing, at 
the period refeiTed to, was by no means an uncommon 
offence ; that it is referred to by several authors, and pun- 
ished by more than one statute. Neither was it considered 
to include any moral stain, but was often committed by 
yoimg men, by way of frolic, for the purpose of fiu'nishiug 
a feast, and not with any view to sale or eraoiiuneut. If 
Shakespeare ever ran into such an indiscretion, (and we 
own that we cannot entirely discredit the story) he did no 
more than many of his contemporaries ; and one of the 
ablest, most learned, and bitterest enemies of theatrical 
performances, who wrote just before the close of the six- 
teenth eeutmy, expressly mentions deer-stealing as a venial 
crime of which unruly and misguided youth was sometimes 
guilty, and he couples it merely Avith carousing in taverns 
and robbing orchards^ 

It is veiy possible, therefore, that the main offence against 
Sir I'homas Lucy was, not stealing his deer, but writing 
the ballad, and sticking it on his gate ; and for this Shake- 
speare may have been so "severely prosecuted" by Su- 
Thomas Lucy, as to render it expedient for hmi to abandon 
Stratford " for some time." Sir Thomas Lucy died in IGOO, 
and the mention of deer-stealing, and of the " dozen white 
luces " by Slender, imd of " the dozen white lowses " by Sir 
Hugh Evans, in the opening of " The Meriy Wives of 
Windsor," seems too obvious to be mistaken, and leads us 
to the conviction that the comedy was wnitten before the 
demise of Sir Thomas Luey, whose indignation Shakespeare 
had incurred. True it is, that the coat of arms of Sir 
Thomas Lucy contained only " three luces (pike-fishes) ha- 
riaut, ai'gent ;" but it is easy to imagine, that while Shake- 
speare would wish the ridicule to be imderstood and felt by 
the knight and his friends, he niight not desire that it should 
be too generally intelligible, and therefore multiplied the 
luces to " a dozen," instead of stating the true umnber. We 
believe that " The Merry Wives of Windsor " was wi-itten 
before IGOO, among other reasons, because we are convinced 
that Sh;ikcspeare was too generous in his nature to have 
carried his resentment beyoml the grave, and to have cast 
ridicule upon a dead ad|d|^n^, whatever might have been 
bis sufierings while he ^^^Kiving one. 

Slalone has attacke(^We story of deer-stealing on the 

1 Dr. .Tohn RainolJs, in his " Overthrow of Stage Playes."' 4to, 
1599, p. a. Some comes of the work (one of which is in the library 
of Lord Franci.s Kgespn) bear date in IGOO, and purport to have been 
printed at Middle^'iw^ ; tliey are, in fact, the .=ame edition, and there 
is little doubt tiiattney were printed in London, although no name 
is fovind at the bottom of any of the title-pages. His words on the 
point to wliich we are now referring, are these- — "Time of recrea- 
tion is necessary, I grant ; and think as necessary for scholai-s, that 
are scholars indeed, I mean good students, as it is for any : yet in my 
opinion it were not fit for them to play at stuol-ball among wenches, 
nor at mum-chance or maw with idle loose coinpanions, nor at trunks 
in guild-halls, nor to dance about may-poles, nor to rifle in ale-houses, 
nor to carouse in taverns, nor to steal deer, nor to rob orchards." 

This work was published at the time when the building of a new 
theatre, called the Fortune, belonging to Henslowe and Alleyn, was 
exciting a great deal of general attention, and particular animosity 
on the part of the Turitans. To precisely the same import as the 
above quotation we might produce a pa.ssage from Fonnan's Diary, 
referred to by Malone, and cited by Mr. Halliwell, in a note to "The 
First Part of the Contention between the Houses, York and Lancas- 
ter," printed for the Shakespeare Society, p. lOii. One of the most 
curious illustrations of tliis point is derived from a MS. note by Philip, 
Earl of Pembroke and Montgomery, in a copy of Roper"s Life of Sir 
Thomas More, edit. 1G12, sold among the books of Horace Walpole. 
Speaking of Aurelian Townshend, who, he says, was a poor poet liv- 
ing in Barbican, near the Earl of Bridgewaters, he adds that he had 
" a line fair daughter, mistress to the Palgrave first, and thenaf'ter- 
wards to the noble Count of Dorset, a Privy Councillor, and a Knight 
of the Garter, and o dier-itealer,'" &c. It was to William Earl of 



ground that Sir Thamas Lucy never had any park at Charl- 
cote or elsewhere, but it admits of an easy and hnmediate 
answer ; for, although Sir Thomas Lucy had no park, he 
may have had deer, and that his successor had deer, though 
no park, can be proved, we think, satisfactorily. Malone 
has remarked that Sir Thomas Lucy never seems to have 
sent the corporation of Sti-atford a buck, a not unusual 
present to a body of the kind from persons of rank and 
wealth in the vicinity. This may be so, and tlie fact may 
be accotmted for on several groimds ; but that the Sir 
Thomas Lucy, who succeeded liis father in 1600, made such 
gifts, though not perhaps to the corporation of Stratford, 
is very certain. When Lord Keeper Egerton entertained 
Queen Elizabeth at Ilarefield, in August 1602, many of the 
nobiUty and geutry, in nearly all parts of the kingdom, 
sent him an abimdance of presents to be used or consumed 
in the entertainment, and on that occasion Sir Thomas Lucy 
contributed " a buck," for which a reward of 6.<t. 8c?. was 
given to the bringer^ This single circvmastance shows that 
if he had no park, he had deer, and it is most likely that he 
inherited them from his father. Thus we may pretty safely 
conclude that Sir Thomas Lucy who resided at Charl- 
cote when Shakespeare was in his youth, had venison to be 
stolen, although it does not at all necessarily foUow that 
Shakespeare was ever concerned in stealing it. 

The question whether he did or did not quit Stratford 
for the metropolis on this account, is one of much unportance 
in the poet's history, but it is one also upon wliich we shall, 
in all probability, never arrive at certainty. Our opinion is 
that the traditions related by Rowe, and mentioned in Ful- 
man's and in Oldj^s' MSS. (which do not seem to have orig- 
inated in the same source) niay be founded upon an actual 
occurrence ; but, at the same time, it is very possible that 
that alone did not determine Shakespeare's line of conduct. 
His residence in Stratford may have been rendered incon- 
venient by the near ueighboiuhood of such a hostile and 
powerful magistrate, but perhaps he would nevertheless 
not have quitted the town, had not other circmnstances com- 
bined to produce such a decision. What those cu'cum- 
stauces might be it is our business now to inqvure. 

Aubrey, who was a very curious and minute investigator, 
although imdoubtedly too credulous, says nothing about 
deer-stealing, but he tells us that Shakespeare was " inclined 
naturally to poetry and acting, and to this inchnation he at- 
tributes his journey to London at an early age. That this 
youthful propensity existed there can be no dispute, and it 
is easy to bt-aee how it may have been promoted and 
strengthened. The corporation of Stratford seem to have 
given great encouragement to companies of players arriving 
there. We know from various authorities that when itine- 
rant actors came to any considerable town, it was tlieir cus- 
tom to Widt upon the mayor, badiff, or other head of the 
corporation, in order to ask permission to perform, either 

Pembroke, and Philip Earl of Jlontgomery, that the player-edi- 
tors dedicated the folio Shakespeare of l(i23 ; and one of Earl 
Philip's MS. notes, in the volume from which v.-e have already 
quoted, contains the following mention of seven dramatic poets, in- 
cluding Shakespeare ; — '• The full and heightended style of Master 
Chapman ; the laboured and understanding works of Mr. Jhonson ; 
Mr. Beaumont, Mr. Fletcher, (brother to Nat Fetcher, Mrs. White's 
servant, sons to Bishop Fletcher of London, and great tobacconist, 
and married to my I-ady Baker) — Mr. Shakespear, Mr. Deckar, Mr. 
Heywood." Horace Walpole registers on tiie title-page of the 
volume that the notes were made by Philip. Earl of Pembroke and 
Montgomery. 

2 See "Tlie Egerton Papers," printed by the Camden Society, 4to, 
1840. pp. 350. 355. The editor of that volume observes : " Many of 
these [presents] deserve notice, but especially one of the items, where 
it is stated that Sir Thomas Lucy (against whom Shakespeare is said 
to have written a b.allad) sent a present of a "buck.' Malone dis- 
credits the whole story of the deer-stealing, because Sir Thomas Lucy 
had no park at Charlcote : 'I conceive (he says) it will very readily 
be granted that Sir Tliomas Lucy could not lose th.at of which he was 
never possessed." We find, however, from what follows, that he was 
possessed of deer, for he s^nt a present of a buck to Lord Eliesmere, 
in 1(502." He gave " a buck," because he had bred it himself, and 
because it was perhaps well known that he kept deer ; and he would 
hardly have exposed himself to ridicule by buying a buck for a pre- 
sent, under the ostentatious pretence that it wa.s of his own rearing. 
Malone thought that lie had triumphantly overthrown the deer-steal- 
ing story, but his refutation amounts to little or nothing. Whether 
it is nevertheless true is ciuite a dilferent q^uestion. 



XXVlll 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAKE. 



in the town-hall, if that could be granted to them, or else- 
■where. It so happens that the cai-liest record of the re- 
presentation of any plays in Stratford-upon-Avon, is dated 
iu the year when John Shakespeare was bailiff: tlie precise 
season is not stated, but it was in 1569, when " the Queen's 
Players " (meaning probably, at this date, one company of 
her" Interlude Players," retained under that name by her 
father and grandfather) received 9s. out of the corporate 
funds, while the Earl of Worcester's servants in the same 
year obtiuued only I2d\ In 1573, just before the grant of 
the royal license to them, the Earl of Leicester's Play- 
ers, of "whom James Burbagc was the leader, received 6s. 
Sd. ; and in the next year the companies acting under the 
names of the Earls of Warwick and Worcester obtained 17s. 
and 5s. Id. respectively. It is unnecessary to state precisely 
the sums disburseil at various times by the baihtf, alder- 
men, and burgesses, but we may notice, that in 1577 the 
players of the Earls of Leicester and Worcester again ex- 
hibited ; and iu 15^9 we hear of a company in Sti-atford 
patronized by one of the female nobility, (a very unusual 
circumstance) the Countess of Essex". " Lord Strange's 
men " (at tliis date not players, but tumblers') also exhibited 
in the same year, and m 1580 the Earl of Derby's players 
were duly rewarded*. The same encouragement was given 
to the companies of the Earls of Worcester and Berkeley in 
1581 ; but in 1582 we only hear of the Earl of Worcester's 
actors having been in the town. In 1583 the earl of Berke- 
ley's players, and those of Lord Chandois, performed in 
Stratford, while, in the next year, three companies appear 
to have visited the borough. In 1586 " the players " (with- 
out mentioning what company) exhibited; and in 1587 no 
fewer than live associations were rewarded : viz. the 
Queen's Players^, and those of the Earls of Essex, Leices- 
ter, -and Stafford, with " another company," the nobleman 
countenancing them not being named. 

It is to be remarked that several of the players, with 
whom Shakespeare was afterwards connected, appear to 
have come originally frem Stratford or its neighbourhood. 
A family of the name of Burbagc was resident in Stratford, 
and one member of it attained to the highest dignity in the 
corporation" : in the Muster-book of the county of Warwick, 
in 1569, preserved iu the State-paper office, we meet in va- 
rious places with the name of Burbage, Slye, and Heminge, 
although not with the same Christian names as those of the 
actors in Shakespeare's plays : the usual combination of 
Nicholas Tooley is, however, found there ; and he was a 
well-known member of the company to wliich Shakespeare 
was attached'. It is veiy distinctly ascertained that James 

1 "We may conclude that the Earl of "Worcester's players did not 
perform, but that l'2d. was given them as sonae compensation, and to 
aid them on their road to another place. 

2 The widow of Walter Devereux, whom Leicester very soon after- 
wards m.arried. It is to be observed, that as early as 14S2 the Earl 
of Essex had a company of players travelling under the protection 
of his name, and that on the 9th January Lord Howard, through one 
of his stewards, gave them a reward. This Earl of Essex was, how- 
ever, of a different family, viz. Henry Bourchier, who was created 
in 1461, and who died in 1483. See the Household Book of John 
Lord Howard, afterwards Duke of Norfolk, printed in ls44 for the 
Koxburghe Club, p. 149. 

3 In the account of the cost of the Revels for the year 1591-2, we 
are told that '■ sundrey feates of tumbling and activitie were shewed 
before her Majestie on newe yeares night by the Lord Straunge his ser- 
vauntes." See I\Ir. P. Cunningham's Extracts from the Revels ac- 
counts, p. 177. 

* Malone, who gleaned these particulars from the accounts of the 
Chamberlains of Stratford, mis-stated this date 1510, but we have 
ascertained it to be 15t^0, as indeed seems evident. 

' This was most likely one of the companies which the Queen had 
directed to be formed, consisting of a selection of the best actors from 
the associations of several of the nobility, and not either of the dis- 
tinct bodies of "interlude players" who had visited Stratford while 
John Shakespeare was bailiff. 

6 JNIalone attributes the following order, made by the corporation 
of Stratford many years after the date to which we are now advert- 
ing, to the growth of puritanism ; but possioly it originated in other 
motives, and may even have been connected with the attraction of 
young men from their homes : — 

"17. Dec. 46 Eliz : 1602. At this Hall yt is ordered, that there 
hhall be no plays or interludes played in the Chamber, the Guildha.ll, 
nor in any parte of the howse or courte, from hensforward, upon 
payne, th.at whoever of the Baylif, Aldermen, or Burgesses of the 
boroughe shall give leave or license thereunto, shall forfeyt for everie 
offence — xi." 



Burbage, the father of the celebrated Richard Burbage, 
(the representative of many of the heroes iu the works of 
our great dramatist) and one of the original builders of the 
Blackfriai-s theatre, migrated to London from that part of 
the kiugdom, and the name of Thomas Greene, who was , 
indisputably from Stratford, will be familiar to all who are 
acquaiuted with the detailed history of our stage at that 
period. Malone supposed that Thomas Greene might have 
introduced Shakespeare to the theatre, and at an early date 
he was certainly a member of the company called the Lord 
Chamberlain's servants: how long he continued we are 
without information, although we kuow that he became, and 
perhaj)s not loug after 1589, an actor- in the rival associa- 
tion under AUeyn, and that he was one of Queen Anne's 
Players when, on the accession of James I., she took a com- 
pany under her patronage. If any introduction to the Lui'd 
Chamberlain's servants had been necessary for Shakespeare 
at an early date, he could easily have proctu'ed it from 
several other quarters^ 

The frequent performances of various associations of ac- 
tors in Stratford and elsewhere, and the taste for theatricals 
thereby produced, may have had the effect of drawing not 
a few young men in Warwiclcshire from their homes, to 
follow the attractive and profitable profession ; and such 
may have been the case with Shakesj)eare, without sup- 
posing that domestic differences, arising out of disparity of 
age or any other cause, influenced his determination, or that 
he was driven away by the terrors of Sir Thomas Lucy. 

It has been matter of speculation, and of mere specula- 
tion, for nobody has pretended to bring forward a particle 
of proof upon the question, whether Shakespeare visited 
Keuilworth Castle, when Queen Elizabeth was entertained 
there by the Earl of Leicester in 1575, and whether the 
pomp and pageautry he then witnessed did not give a 
colour to his mind, and a direction to liis pursuits. Con- 
sidering that he was then only iu his eleventh year, we own, 
that we cannot believe he found his way into that gorgeous 
and august assembly. Kemlworth was fourteen miles dis- 
tant : John Shakespeare, although he had been bailiff, and 
was still head-alderman of Stratford, was not a man of 
sufficient rank and importance to be tliere in any official 
capacity ; and he probably had not means to equip him- 
self and his son for such an exliibition. It may be very 
well as a matter of fancy to indulge such a notion, but, as 
it seems to us, every reasonable probability is against it^ 
That Shakespeare heard of the extensive preparations, and 
of the magnificent entertainment, there can be no doubt : 
it was an event calculated to create a strong sensation Lq 

' Nicholas Tooley, was of Burrrim^ton, and he is said to be pos- 
sessed of '201., goods. "We are ini^^^^^ Mr. Lemon for directing 
our attention to this document, wl^^^^Bnly recently discovered in 
the public archives. ^^H^ 

6 It has been conjectured, but, we believe, upon no evidence be- 
yond the following entry in the register of deaths at Stratford, that 
Greene was in some wa.y related to Shakespeare : — 

"1539. March G. Thomas Green, alias Shakspere." 

This was perhaps the father of Thomas Greent^the actor, who was a, 
comedian of great reputation and popularity, and became so famous 
in a character called Bubble, that the play of the " City Gallant." 
(acted by the Queen's Players) in which i I occurs, with the constanly 
repeated phrase, Tu qiioque, was named a Iter him. In the account of 
the Revels of 1611-12, it is called fir.it '•the City Gallant,"' and after- 
wards Til qvoque : it was printed in 1614, under the double title of 
" Greene's Tu Q.uoque, or the City Gallant," preceded by an epistle 
from T. Heywood, by which it appears that Greene was then dead. 
A piece of verse, called "A Poet's ■V"ision and a Prince's Glory," 1603, 
was written by a Thomas Greene, but it may be doubted, whether 
this were the comedian. The Greenes were a very respectable 
family at Stratford, and one of them was a solicitor settled in 
London. 

9 Upon this point we differ from the Rev. Mr. Halpin in his in- 
genious and agreeable " Essay upon Oberon's Vision," printed by 
the Shakespeare Society. Bishop Percy, in his "Reliques," was the 
first to start the idea that Shake.speare had been present at the enter- 
tainment at Kenilworth, and the Rev. Mr. Halpin calls it a "plea- 
sant conceit," which had been countenanced by .Malone and adopted 
by Dr. Drake : nevertheless, he afterwards seriously argues the mat- 
ter, and arrives at the conclusion that, Shakespeare was present in 
right of his gentry on both sides of the family. This appears tons 
even a more " pleasant conceit " than that of Percy. Jilalone. and 
Drake, who supposed Shakespeare to have gone to Kenilworth " under 
the wing " of Thomas Greene. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



XXIX 



the whole of that part of the country ; and if the cele- 
brated passage in " A Midsummer Night's Dream " (act. ii. 
sc. 1), had auy reference to it, it did not require that Shake- 
speare should have been present in order to have written 
it, esj)ecially Avhen, if necessary, he had Gascoyne's " Princely 
Pleasures of Keuilworth " and Laneham's " Letter " to as- 
sist bis memory'. 



CHAPTER VI. 

John Shakespeare removed from his situation as alderman 
of Stratford, and its possible connexion with William Shake- 
speare's departure for London in tlie hitter end of 1.586. 
AV'iUiam Shakespeare a sharer in the Blackfriars Theatre in 
1589. Complaints against actors : two companies silenced 
for bringing Martin Mar-prelate on the stage. Certiticate 
of the sharers in the Blackfriars. Sliakespeare, in all prob- 
ability, a good actor : our older dramatists often players. 
Shakespeare's earliest compositions for tlie stage. His 
"Venus and Adonis" and "Luerece" probably written 
before he came to London. 

In reference to the period when our great dramatist aban- 
doned his native town for London, we think that sufficient 
attention has not been paid to an important incident in the 
life of his father. John Shakespeare was deprived of liis 
gown as alderman of Stratford in the autumn of 1580 : we say 
that he was deprived of his gown, not because any resolu- 
tion pi-ecisely warranting those terms was come to by the 
rest of the corporation, but because it is quite evident that 
such was the fact, from the tenor of the entry in the records 
of the borough. On the 6th Sept. 1586, the following me- 
morandum was made in the register by the town clerk'' : 

"At tills hall William Smythe and Eichard Courte are 
chosen to be aldermen, in the place of John Wilder, and 
John Sliaxspere ; for that Mr. Wheler doth desyer to he put 
out of the companye, and Mr. Sliaxspere doth not come to 
the halles, when iliey be warned, nor hath not done of a 
long tyme." 

According to this note, it was Wheler's wish to be re- 
moved from his situation of alderman, and had such also 
been the desire of John Shakespeare, we should, no doubt, 
have been told so : theref )re, we must presume that he 
was not a consenting, or at all events not a willing, party 
to this proceeding; but there is no doubt, as Maloue ascer- 
tained from an inspection of the ancient books of the bo- 
rough, that he had ceased to attend the lialls, when they 



1 Gascoyne's '• Princely Fie; 



Laneham's " Letter " from 



1 leasprt 
.^■■tv 



jres, ■ !cc. was printed in 1576, and 
_^ Iworth in the preceding year. Gas- 
coyne was himself a perforfljPin tlie shows, and, according to Lane- 
ham, represented •' a Savage Man," who made aspeech to the Queen 
as she came from hunting. Robert Lanehain, the affected but clever 
writer of the "Letter," wa.s most likely (as is suggested in the 
Bridgewaier Catalogue, 4to, 1S37, p. Iti2) related to John Laneham, 
the player, who was one of the Earl of Leicester's players, and is 
named in the royal license of 1571. ■' Robert Laneham." observes 
the compiler of that Catalogue, '" seems to have been quite as much 
a comedian upon paper, as .lohn Laneham was upon the stage." 

2 William Tyler was the bailitf of the year. See Malone"s Shak- 
speare by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 101. 

•* This use of the word " warned " occurs several times in Shake- 
speare : in "Antony and Cleopatra," (p. ) Ootavius tells Antony, 

'"They mean to wiirii us at Philipjii here :" 
and in " King John," (p. ) after King riiilip has said, 
" Some trumpet summon hither to the walls 
These men of Anglers," 
a citizen exclaims from the battlements, 

"Who is it that hath icarn'd us to the walls?" 

* AVe do not imagine that one event, or the other, was influenced 
in any way by the execution of Edward Arden, a maternal relative 
of the family, at the clo.se of 15s3. According to Bugdale, it was 
more than suspected that he came to his end through the power of 
Leicester, who was exasperated against him, "• for galling him by 
certain harsh expre.ssions, touching his private accesses to the Count- 
ess of Essex," while she was .still the wife of Walter Devereux. It 
does not appear that there had been any intercourse between Edward 
ArJen, then the head of his family, and JIary Shakespeare, the 
youngest daughter of the junior branch. 

5 i*hakspeare by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 157. 

* The excess to which the enmity between the corporation of Lon- 
don and the players was carried may be judged by the following 



were "warned " or summoned', from the year 1519 down- 
wards. This date of 1579 is the more imjjortant, although 
Malone was not aware of the fact, because it was the same 
year in which John Shakespeare was so distressed for 
money, that he disj)osed of his wife's small property in Snit- 
tertield for 4/. 

We have thus additional reasons for thinking, that the 
unprosperous state of John Shakespeare's pecuniary cir- 
cumstances had induced him to abstain fi-om attending the 
ordinary meetings of the corporation, and finally led t<j his 
removal from the office of alderman. What connexion this 
last event may have had with William Shakespeare's de- 
termination to quit Stratford cannot be known from any 
circmnstances that have since come to light, but it wiU not 
fail to be remarked, that in point of date the events seem 
to have been coincident''. 

Malone " supposed " that our great poet left Stratford 
" about the year 1586 or 15S7^" but it seems to us more 
likely that the event happened in tli(y former, than in the 
latter year. His twins, Hamuet and Judith, were baptized, 
as we have shown, early in February, 1585, and his father 
did not cease to be an alderman until about a year and seven 
months afterwards. The fact, that his son had become a 
player, may have had something to do with the lower rank 
his brethren of the bench thought he ought to hold in tlie 
corporation ; or the resolution of the son to abandon his 
home may have arisen out of the degradation of the father 
in his native town ; but we cannot help tliinking that the 
two circumstances were in some way connected, juid that 
the period of the departure of William Shakespeare, to seek 
his fortune in a company of players in the metropoUs, may 
be fixed in the latter end of 1586. 

Nevertheless, v/e do not hear of bun in London until 
three years afterwards, Vvheu avc find hun a sharer in the 
Blackfriars theatre. It had been constructed (or, possibly, 
if not an entirely new building, some large editice had been 
adapted to the purpose) upon part of the site of the dis- 
solved monastery, because it was beyond the jurisdiction of 
the lord mayor and corporation of London, who had tilways 
evinced decided hostility to dramatic representations''. The 
uudertakmg seems to have been prosperous from the com- 
mencement ; and in 1589 no fewer than sixteen performers 
were sharers in it, including, besides Shakespeare and Bur- 
bage, Th(,)mas Gneene of Stratford-upon-Avon, and Nicholas 
Tooley, also a Warwickshire man : the association was prob- 
ably thus numerous on account of the flourishing state of 
the concern, many being desirous to obtain an interest in its 
receipts. In 1589 some general complaints seem to have 

quotation from. '' a Jig," or humorous theatrical ballad, called " The 
tlorse-load of Fools," which, in the manuscript in which it has been 
handed down to us, is stated to have besn written by Richard Tarl- 
ton, and in all probability was delivervd by him before applauding 
audiences at the Theatre in Shoreditch. Tarlton introduces to the 
spectator a number of puppets, accompanying the exhibition by sa- 
tirical stanzas upon eacii, and he thus speaks of one of them : — 

"This foole comes from the citizens; 
Xay, prithee doe not frowne ; 
I knowe him as well as you 
By his liverie gowne : 

Of a rare horne-mad famihe. 

" He is a foole by prenticeship 
And servitude, hesayes, 
And hates all kindes of wisedome, 
But most of all in playes : 

Of a verie obstinate familie. 

"You have him in his liverie gowne, 
But presentlie he can 
Qualifie for a mule or mare. 
Or for an alderman ; 

With a golde chaine in his familie. 

" Being borne and bred for a foole, 
Why should he be wi.se. 
It would make him not flit to sitt 
With his brethren of assize ; 

Of a verie long earde familie." 

Possibly the lord mayor and aldermen complained of this very 
composition, and it may have been one of the causes which, soon af- 
terwards, led to the silencing of the company : at all events it was 
not likely to conciliate the members of the corporation. 



XXX 



THE LIFE OF ^niLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



been made, that improper matters were introduced into 
plays ; and it is quite eei-taiu that " the chikh-en of Paul's," 
as tlie acting choir-boys of that cathedral were called, and 
the association of regular professional performers occupy- 
ing the Theatre in Shoreditch at this date, had introduced 
Martin Mar-prelate upon their stages, in a manner that had 
given great offence to the Puritans. Tylney, the master of 
the revels, had interposed, and having brought the matter 
to the knowledge of Loi'd Burghley, two bixhes of players, 
those of the Lord Admiral aud Loi'd Strange, (the latter 
by this time having advanced from tumblers to actors) had 
been summoned before the lord mayor, and ordered to de- 
sist from all performances'. The silencing of other associ- 
ations would probably have been beneficial to that exliibit- 
ing at Blackffiars, and if no proceeding of any kind had 
been instituted against James Burbage and liis partners, we 
may presume that they would have continued quietly to 
reap their augmented harvest. We are led to infer, how- 
ever, that they also apprehended, and expei-ieuced, some mea- 
sure of restraint, and feeling conscious that they had given 
no just ground of offence, tliey transmitted to the privy 
council a sort of certificate of their good conduct, asserting 
that they had never introduced into their representations 
matters of state and religion, and that no complaint of that 
kind had ever been preferred against them. This certificate 
passed into the hands of Lord EUesmere, then attorney- 
general, and it has been jireserved among his papei-s. We 
subjoin a copy of it in a note''. 

It seems rather strange that this testimonial should have 
come from the players themselves : we should rather have 
expected that they would have procured a certificate from 
some disinterested parties ; and we are to take it merely as 
a statement on their own authority, aud possibly as a 
sort of challenge for inquiry. When they say that no 
complaint of the kind had ever been preferred against them, 
we are of course to understand that the assertion applies 
to a time previous to some general i-epresentation against 
theatres, wliich had been made in 1589, and in which the 
sharei's at the Blackfi-iars thought themselves unjustly in- 
cluded. In this document we see the important fMct, as re- 
gards the biography of Shakespeare, that in 1589 he was, 
not only an actor, but a sharer in the undertaking at Black- 
friars ; and whatever inference may be drawn from it, we 
find that liis name, following eleven othe»'s, precedes those 
of Kempe, Johnson, Goodale, and Armyu. Kempe, we 
know, was the successor of Tarltou (who died in 1588) in 
comic paits^, and must have been an actor of great value 

1 All the known details of these transactions may be seen in "The 
• Hist, of Engl. Drain. Poetry and the titage," vol. i. p. 271, &,c. 

2 It is on a long slip of paper, very neatly written, but without 
any names appended. 

- '' These are to ccrtifie your right Honble Lord.?hips. that her Ma- 
jesty's poore Playeres, James Burbadge, Richard ISurbadge, John 
Laneham, Thomas Greene. Robert Wilson, John Taylor, Anth. 
Wadeson, Thomas Pope, George Peele, Augustine Phillipp.s, Nicho- 
las Towley, William Shakespeare. William Kempe, William John- 
son, Baptiste Goodale, and Robert Armyn, being all of them sharers 
in the blacke Fryers playehouse, have never given cause of displea- 
sure, in that they have brought into their playes maters of state and 
Religion, unfitt to be handled by them, or to be presented before 
lewde spectators : neither hath anie complaynte in that kinde ever 
Dene prefeiTde against them, or anie of them. Wherefore, they trust 
most liumblie in your Lordships consideration of their former good 
Dehaviour, being at all tymes readie, and willing, to yeelde obedience 
to any command whatsoever your Lordships in your wjsdome may 
thinke in such ca.se meete, &c. 

"Nov. 1539." 

Here we see that Shakespeare's name stands twelfth in the enu- 
meration of the members of the company ; but we do not rest much 
on the succession in which they are inserted, because among the four 
names which follow that of our great dramatist are certainly two 
performers, one of them of the highest reputation, and the other of 
long standing in the profession. 

^ In the dedication of his "Almond for a Parrot," printed without 
date, but not later than 15d9, (the year of which we are now speak- 
ing) Thomas Nash calls Kempe " Jestmonger and Vioe-gerent gene- 
ral to the ghost of Dick Tarlton." Heywood, in his " Apology for 
Actors," IGI'2, (Shakespeare Society's reprint, p. 43) tells us that 
Kempe succeeded Tarlton " as well in the favour of her Majesty, as 
in the opinion and good thoughts of the general audience " 

* He was also one of the executors under Tarlton's will, and was 
also trustee for his son Philip. See p. xiii. What became of Johnson 
after 1569, we have no information. 

* He was one of the actors, with La,neham, in the anonymous 



and eminence in t)ie comp.any : Johnson, as appears by the 

royal license, had been one of the theatrical servants of the 

I Earl of Leicester in 1574'': of Gor>dale we have no account, 

but he bore a Stratford name"; and Armyn, though he had 

been instructed by Tarlton^, was perhaps at this date quite 

; young, and of low rank in the association. The situation in 

the list which the name of Shakespeare occupies may seem 

j to show that, even in 1589, he was a person of considerable 

importance in relation to the success of the sharers in Black- 

1 fi'iars theatre. In November, 1589, he was in the middle 

of his twenty-sixth year, and in the full strength, if not in 

the liighest maturity, of his mental aud bodily powers. 

We can have no hesitation in believing that he originally 
came to London, in order to obtain his livelihood by the 
stage, and with no other view. Aubrey tells us that he 
was " uiclined naturally to poetry and acting ;" and the 
poverty of his father, aud the difficulty of obtaining pi'ofit- 
able employment in the country for the maintenance of his 
familj^ without other motives, may have induced hiin readily 
to give way to that inclination. Aubrey, who had probably 
taken due means to inform himself, adds, that " he did act 
exceedingly well ;" and we are convinced that the opiuion, 
founded chiefly upon a statement by Rowe, that Shake- 
speare was a very moderate performei', is erroneous. It 
seems likely tliat tV>r two or three years he employed him- 
self chiefly in the more active duties of the profession he 
had chosen ; and Peele', who was a very practised and popu- 
lar play-wright, considerably older than Shakespeare, was a 
member of the company, without saying anything of Wade- 
son, regarding whom we know nothing but that at a subse- 
quent date he was one of Henslowe's dramatists ; or of 
Armyn, then only just coming forward as a comic peif irmer. 
There is i-eason to think that Peele did not contiuue one of 
the Lord Chamberlain's servants after 1590, and his extant 
dramas were acted by the Queen's players, or by those of 
the Lord Admiral : to the latter association Peele seems 
subsequently to have been attached, and his " Battle of Al- 
cazar,'' printed in 1594, purports on the title-page to have 
been played by them. While Peele remained a member 
of the company of the Lord Chamberlain's players, Shake- 
speare's services as a dramatist may not materially have 
interfered with liis exertions as an actor; but afterwards, 
when Peele had joined a rival establishment, he may have 
been much more frequently called upon to employ his pen, 
and then his value in that department becoming clearly 
understood, he was less frequently a performer. 

Out of the sixteen sharers of which the company he be- 

manuscript play of '• Sir Thomas More," (Harl. Coll., No. 736y) which, 
we may conjecture, was licensed for the stage before 1592. 

' This fact is stated in a publicatj^^ntitled '• Tarlton's Je.sts." of 
which the earliest extant impression^P in 1(511, but they were no 
doubt collected and published very soot after the death of Tarlton 
in LSSS. 

' When the Rev. Mr. Dyce published his edition of Peele's Works, 
he was not aware that there' was any impre.ssion of that author's 
" Tale of Troy," in l(JUl, as well as in 1539, containing such varia- 
tions as show that it must have been corrected and augmented by 
Peele after its first appearance. The impression of lOOt is the most 
diminutive volume, perha,ps, ever printed, not exceeding an inch and 
a half high by an inch wide, with the following title : — '" The Tale 
of Troy. By G. Peele, M. of Artes in Oxford. Printed by A. H. 
16i)l.'' We will add only two passages out of many, to prove the 
nature of the changes and additions made by Peele after the original 
publication. In the edition of 1GU4 the poem thus opens : 

" In that" world's wounded part, whose waves yet swell 
With everlasting showers of tears that fell, 
And bosom bleeds with great effuze of blood 
That long war shed, Troy, Neptune's city, stood, 
Gorgeously built, like to the house of Fame, 
Or court of Jove, as some describe the same," &c. 

The four lines which commence the second page of Mr. Dyce's 
edition are thus extended in the copy of 1604 : 

" His court presenting to our human eyes 
An earthly heaven, or shining Paradise, 
Where ladies troop'd in rich disguis'd attire, 
GlLstring like stars of pure immortal fire. 
Thus happy, Priam, didst thou live of yore, 
That to thy fortune heavens could add no more." 

Peele was dead in 1598, and it is likely that there were one or 
more intervening impressions of "The Tale of Trey," between 1589 
and 1()04. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAEE. 



XXXI 



longed to consisted in 1589, (besides the usual proportion of 
" hired mcu," who only took inferior cliai'acters) there would 
be more tlian a sufficient number for the representation of 
most plays, without the assistance of Shakespeare. He was, 
doubtless, soon busily and profitably engaged as a dra- 
matist ; and this remark on the rareness of his appearance 
on the stage will of course apply more strongly in his after- 
life, when he produced one or more dramas every year. 

His instructions to the players in " Hamlet " have often 
been nt)ticed as establishing that he was admirably ac- 
quainted with the theory of the art , and if, as Howe as- 
serts, he only took the short part of the Ghost' in this 
tragedy, we are to recollect that even if ho liad considered 
himself c^impeteut to it, the study of such a character as 
Hamlet, (the longest on the stage as it is now acted, and 
still longer as it was originally written) must have con- 
sumed more time than he could well afford to bestow upon 
it, especially when we call to mind that there was a mem- 
ber of the company who had hitherto represented most of 
the heroes, and whose excellence was as undoubted, as his 
popularity was extraordinary". To Ricliard Burbage was 
therefore assigned the arduous character of the Prince, 
while the author took the brief, but imj^ortant part of the 
Ghost, wliich required person, deportment, judgment, and 
Voice, v>'ith a delivery distinct, solemn, and impressive. All 
the elements of a great actor were needed for the due per- 
formance of "the buried majesty of Denmark^." 

It may be observed, in passing, that at the period of our 
drama, such as it existed in the hands of iShakespeare's 
immediate pi-edecessors, authors were most commonly ac- 
tors also. Such was the case with Greene, Marlowe'', 
Lodge, Peele, probably N"ash, Muuday, Wilson, and others : 
the same practice jirevailed with some of their successors, 
Ben Jonson, Hey wood, Webster, Field, etc.; but at a some- 
what later date dramatists do not usually appear to have 

1 " His name is printed, as the custom was in those times, amongst 
those of the other players, before some old plays, but without any 
particular account of what sort of parts he used to play ; and though 
I have inquired, I never could meet with any further account of him 
this way, than that the top of his performance was the Ghost in his 
own 'Hamlet.''' — Rowe's Life. Shakespeare's name stands first 
among the players of " Every Man in his Humour," and fifth among 
those of " bejanus." 

2 From a M.S. Epitaph upon Burbage, (who died in 1619.) sold 
among the books of the late Air. Heber, we find that he was the orig- 
inal Hamlet, Romeo, Prince Henry, Henry V., Richard TIL, Mac- 
beth, Brutus, Coriolanus, Shylock, Lear, Pericles, and Othello, in 
Shakespeare's I'lays : in those of other dramatists he was Jeronimo, 
in Kyd's '■.Spanisli Tragedy;'' Antonio, in Marston's "Antonio and 
Mellida ;" Frankford. in T. Heywood's " Woman killed with Kind- 
ness ;'' Philaster, in Beaumont and Fletcher's play of that name ; 
Amintor, in their "Maid's Tragedy." — See " The AUeyn Papers," 
printed by the Shakespeare Society, p. xxx. On a subsequent page 
we have inserted the whol^jassage relating to his characters from 
the Epitaph on Burbage. ^r 

3 Mr. Thomas C'ampbell**in his Life pf Shakespeare, prefixed to 
the edition, in one volume, IriSS, was. we believe, the first to remark 
upon the almost absolute necessity of having a good, if not a great 
actor, for the part of the Ghost in '" Hamlet." 

* It seems from an obscure ballad upon Marlowe's death, (handed 
down to us in MS., and quoted in "New Particulars regarding the 
'Works of Shakespeare," bvo. Iy3ij,) that he had broken his leg while 
acting at the Curtain Theatre, which was considered a judgment 
apon him for his irreligious and lawless life. 

" Both day and night would he blaspheme, 
And day and night would sweare ; 
As if his life was but a dreame, 
Not ending in despaire. 

"A poet was he of repute, 

And wrote full many a playe; 
Now strutting in a silken sute, 
Now begging by the way. 

" He had alsoe a player beene 
Upon the Curtaine stage. 
But brake his leg in one lewd scene, 
When in his early age. 

'• He was a fellow to all those 
That did God's lawes reject ; 
Consorting with the Christian's foes, 
And men of ill aspect," &c. 

The ballad consists of twenty-four similar stanzas : of JNIarlowe's 
death the author thus writes : 

" Ilis lu.'t was lawlesse as his life, 
And brought about his death, 



trodden the stage. We have no hint that Dekker, Chap- 
man, or Marstou, though contemporary with Ben Jonson, 
were actoi-s ; and Massinger, Beaumont, Fletcher, Middleton, 
Daborne, and Shirley, who may be said to have followed 
them, as fiir as we now know, never had anything to do with 
the performance of their own dramas, or of those of other 
poets. In their day the two departments of author and 
actor seem to have been generally distinct, while the con- 
trary was certainly the case some years anterior to the de- 
mise of Elizabeth. 

It is impossible to determine, almost impossible to guess, 
what Shakespeare had or had not wiitten in 1589. That 
he had cliiefiy employed his pen in the revival, alteration, 
and improvement of existing dramas we are strongly dis- 
posed to believe, but that he had not ventured upon origi- 
nal composition it would be much too bold to assert. " The 
Comedy of Errors " we take to be one of the pieces, which, 
having been first written by an inferior dramatist^ was 
heightened and amended by Shakespeare, perhaps about 
the date of which we are now speaking, and " Love's La- 
bour's Lost," or " The Two Gentlemen of Verona," may have 
been original compositions brought upon the stage prior to 
159(J. We also consider it more than probable that " Titus 
Andronieus " belongs even to an earlier period ; but we feel 
satisfied, that although Shakespeare had by this time given 
clear indications of powers superior to those of any of his 
rivals, he could not have written any of his greater works 
until some years afterwards''. With regard to productions 
unconnected with the stage, there are several pieces among 
his scattered poems, and some of his sonnets', that indispu- 
tably belong to an earlier part of his life. A young man, 
so gifted, would not, and could not, wait until he was five 
or six and twenty before he made considerable and most 
succesful attempts at poetical composition; and we feel 
morally certain that " Venus and Adonis " was in being 

For in a deadly mortal strife. 
Striving to stop the breath 

" Of one who was his rival foe, 
With his owne dagger slaine. 
He groan'd and word spoke never moe, 
Pierc't through the eye and braine." 

Which pretty exactly accords with the tradition of the mode in 
which he came to his end, in a scuffle with a person of the name of 
Archer : the register of his death at St. Nicholas. Deptford, ascertains 
the name : — "1st June, 1593. Christopher !\Iarlowe slain by Francis 
Archer." He was just dead when Peele wrote his "Honour of the 
Garter," in 1.593, and there .spoke of him as " unhappy in his end," 
and as having been "the -Muses' darling for his ver.se." 

* See pp. ix. and xiii., where it is shown that there was an old 
drama, acted at Court in 1.573 and 15y2, called "The History of Er- 
ror " in one case, and " The History of Ferrar " in the other. See 
also the Introduction to " The Comedy of Errors." 

6 Upon this poiut we cannot agree with Mr. F. G. Tomlins, who 
has written a very sensible and clever work called " A brief view of 
the English Drama," l'2mo, ISIU, where he argues that Shakespeare 
probably began with original composition, and not with the adapta- 
tion and alteration of works he found in possession of the stage when 
he joined the Lord Chamberlain's players. We know that the earli- 
est charge against hira by a fellow dramatist was, that he had availed 
himself of the productions of others, and we have every reason to be- 
lieve that some of the plays upon which he was first employed were 
not by any means entirely his ov.-n : we allude among others to the 
three parts of "Henry VI." It seems jto us much more likely that 
Shakespeare in the first instance confined himself to alterations and 
improvements of the plays of predecessors, than that he at once found 
himself capable of inventing and constructing a great original 
drama. However, it is but fair to quote the words of Mr. Tomlins. 
"We are thus driven to the conclusion that his writing must havo 
procured him this distinction. What had he written ? is the next 
question that presents itself. Probably original plays, for the adap- 
tation of the plays of others could scarcely be entrusted to the inex- 
perienced hands of a young genius, who had not manifested his know- 
ledge of stage matters by any productions of his own. This kind of 
work would be jealously watched by the managers, and must ever 
have required great skill and experience. Shakespeare, mighty as he 
was, was human, and'it is scarcely possible that a genius, so, ripe, 
so rich, so overflowing as his, should not have its enthusiasm kin- 
dled into an original production, and not by the mechanical botching 
of the inferior jiroductions of others," p. 31. 

Upon this passage we have only to remark that according to our 
view, it would have required much more "skill and experience" to 
write a new play, than merely to make additions to the speeches or 
scenes of an old one. 

'' " His sugar'd sonnets" were handed about " among his private 
friends" many years before they were printed : Francis Meres men- 
tions them in the words we have quoted, in 159S. 



xxxn 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAEE. 



anterior to Shakespeare's quitting Stratford'. It bears all 
the marks of youthful vigour, of strong passion, of luxuriant 
imagination, together with a force and origiuality of ex- 
pression which Ijetokeu the first efforts of a great mind, not 
always well regulated in its taste : it seems to have been 
wi'itten in the open air of a fine country like Warwieksliire, 
with all the freshness of the recent impression of natural 
objects ; and we will go so far as to say, that we do not 
think even Shakespeare himself could have produced it, in 
the form it bears, after he had reached the age of forty. It 
was quite new in its class, being founded upon no model, 
either ancient or modern : nothing like it had been attempted 
before, and nothing compai'able to it was produced after- 
wards^. Thus in 1593 he might call it, in the dedication to 
Lord Southampton, " the first heir of his invention " in a 
double sense, not merely because it was the first printed, 
but because it was the first written of his productions. 

The information we now possess enables us at once to 
reject the story, against the ti'uth of which Malone elabo- 
rately argued, tliat Sliakespeare's earliest employment at a 
theatre was holding the hoi'ses of noblemen and gentlemen 
who visited it, and that he had under him a number of lads 
who were known as " Shakespeare's boys." Shiels in his 
" Lives of the Poets," (published in 1753 in the n.arae of 
Gibber) was the first to give currency to this idle inven- 
tion : it was repeated by Dr. Johnson, and iias often been 
reiterated since ; and we should hardly have thought it 
worth notice now, if it had not found a place in many modern 
accoiuits of our great dramatist^. The company to which 
he attached himself had not uufrequently performed in 
Stratford, and at that date the Queen's Players and the 
Lord Chamberlain's servants seem sometimes to have been 
confounded m the provinces, although the dift'erence was 
well understood in Loudon ; some of the chief members 
of it had come from his own part of the country, and even 
from the very town in which he was born ; and he was not 
in a station of life, nor so destitute of means and friends, as 
to have been reduced to such an extremity. 

Besides having written " Venus and Adonis " before he 
came to London, Shakespeare may also have composed its 
counterpart, " Lucrece," which, as our readers are aware, 
first appeared in print in 1594. It is in a different stanza, 
and in some respects in a different style ; and after he joined 
the Blackfriars company, the author may possibly have 
added parts, (such, for instance, as the long and minute de- 
scription of the siege of Troy in the tapestry) which indi- 
cate a closer acquaintance with the modes and habits of 
society ; but even here no knowledge is displayed that 
might not have been acquh-ed in Warwieksliire. As he had 

1 Malone was of opinion that "Venus and Adonis" -was not ■writ- 
ten until after Shakespeare came to London, because in one stanza 
it contains an allusion to the stage, 

" And all this dumb play had his acts made plain 
With tears, which, c/turus-likc, her eyes did drain." 
Surely, such a passage might have been written by a person who had 
never seen a play in London, or even seen a play at all. The stage- 
Knowledge it displays is merely that of a schoolboy. 

2 The work that comes nearest to it, in some respects, is Marlowe's 
" Hero and Leander ;" but it was not printed until 1.593. and although 
its author was killed in 159:3;, he may have seen Shakespeare's •' Ve- 
nus and Adonis" in manuscript: it is quite as probable, as that 
Shakespeare had seen " Plero and Leander" before it was printed. 
Marston's " Pygmalion's Image," published five years after "Venus 
and Adonis," is a gross exaggeration of its style ; and Barkstead's 
" Myrrha the Mother of Adonis " is a poor and coarse imitation : the 
same poet's "Hiren, or the Fair Greek," is of a similar character. 
Shirley's '' Narcissus." which must have been written many years 
afterwards, is a production of the same class as Marston's " Pygma- 
lion," but in better taste. The poem called " Salmasis and Herma- 
phroditus," first printed in 1603. and assigned to Francis Beaumont 
in KilO, when it was republished by Blaicklock the bookseller, we do 
not believe to have been the authorship of Beaumont, and it is rather 
an imitation of "Hero and Leander" than of " Venus and Adonis." 
At the date when it originally came out (tOUa) Beaumont was only 
sixteen, and the first edition has no name nor initials to the address 
"To Calliope," to which Blaicklock in 1610, for his own book-selling 
purposes, thought fit to add the letters F. B. In the same wav. and 
with the .same object, he changed the initials to a commendatory 
poem from A. F to I. F., in order to make it appear as if John 
Fletcher had applauded liis friend's early verses. These are facts 
that hitherto have escaped observation, perhaps, on account of the 
extreme rarity of copies of the original impression of " Salmasis and 
Hermaphroditus," preventing a comparison of it with Blaicklock's 



exliibited the wantonness of lawless passion in " Venus and 
Adonis," he followed it by the exaltation of matron-like 
chastity in " Lucrece ;" and there is, we think, nothing in the 
latter poem which a young man of one or two and twenty, 
so endowed, might not have written. Neither is it at all 
impossible that he had done something in connexion with 
the stage while he was yet resident in his native town, and 
before he had made up his mind to quit it. If his " inclina- 
tion for poetry and acting," to repeat Aubrey's words, were 
so strong, it may have led him to have both written and 
acted. He may have contributed temporary prologues or 
epilogues, and without supposing hun yet to have j^ossessed 
any extraordinary art as a dramatist — only to be acquired 
by practice, — he may have inserted speeches and occasional 
passages in older plays : he may even have assisted some 
of tlie companies in getting up, and performing the dramas 
they represented in or near Stratford'*. We own that this 
conjecture appears to us at least plausible, and the Lord 
Chamberlain's servants (known as the Earl of Leicester's 
players until 1587) may have experienced his utility in 
both departments, and may have held out strong induce- 
ments to so promising a novice to continue his assistance by 
accompanying them to London. 

What we have here said seems a natural and easy way 
of accounting for Shakespeare's station as a sharer at the 
Blackfriars theatre in 1589, about three years after we sup- 
pose him to have finally adopted the profession of an actor, 
and to have come to London for the purpose of pursuing it. 



CHAPTER VIL 

The earliest allusion to Shakespeare in Spenser's " Tears of 
the Muses," 1591. Proofs of its iipplicability — What 
Shakespeare had probably by this date written — Edmund 
Spenser of Kingsbury, Warwickshire. No other dramatist 
ot the time merited the character given by Spenser. Greene. 
Kyd, Lodge, Peele, Marlowe, and Lvly, and their several 
claims: that of Lyly supported by Malone. Temporary 
ce.ssation of dramatic performances in London. Prevalence 
of the Plague in 1592. Probability or improbability that 
Shakespeare went to Italy. 

We come now to the earliest known allusion to Shakespeare 
as a dramatist ; and although his sui'name is not given, we 
apprehend that there can be no hesitation in applying what 
is .said to him : it is coutamed in Spenser's " Tears of the 
Muses," a poem printed in 1591^ The application of the 
passage to Shakespeare has been much contested, but the 

fraudulent reprint, which also contafrf^various pieces to which, it is 
known, Beaumont had no pretensions. To afford the better means of 
comparison, and as we know of only one copy of the edition of 1002, 
we .subjoin the title-page prefixed to it : Salmasis and Hermaphroditus. 
Snlmacida spolia sine sanguine et sudore. Imprinted at London foi 
John Hodgets, &c. 1602." 4to. 

^ It is almost to be wondered that the getters up of this piece of 
information did not support it by reference to Shakespeare's obvious 
knowledge of horses and horsemanship, displayed in so many parts 
of his works. The description of the horse in "Venus and Adonis " 
will at once occur to every body ; and how much it was admired at 
the time is evident from the fact, that it was plagiarised so soon after 
it was published. (See the Introduction.) For his judgment of 
skill in riding, among other passages, see his account of Laraord's 
horsemanship in "Hamlet." The propagators and supporters of 
the horse-holding anecdote ought to have added, that Shakespeare 
probably derived his minute and accurate acquaintance with the 
subject from his early observation of the skill of the English nobility 
and gentry, after they had remounted at the play-house door : — 
"But chiefly skill to ride seems a science 
Proper to gentle blood." — Spenser's F. Q. b. ii. c. 4. 

* We have already stated that although in 15SG only one un- 
named company performed in Stratford, in the very next year 
(that in which we have supposed Shakespeare to have become a rcu- 
lar actor) five companies were entertained in the borough : one of 
these consisted of the players of the Earl of Leicester, to whom the 
Blackfriars theatre belonged ; and it is very jjossible that Shakespeare 
at that date exhibited before his fellow-townsmen in his new pro- 
fessional capacity. Before this time his performances at Stratford 
may have been merely of an amateur description. It is, at all events, 
a striking circumstance, that in 1586 only one company performed, 
and that in 15S7 such extraordinary encouragement was given to 
theatricals in Stratford. 

° Malone (Shakspeare by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 168) says that Spen- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



XXXlll 



difficulty iu our mind is, how the lines are to be explained 
by reference to any other dramatist of the time, even sup- 
posing, as we have supposed and believe, that our groat 
poet was at this period only rising into notice as a writer for 
the stage. We will first quote the lines, literatim as they 
stand in the edition of 1591, and afterwards say something 
of the clauns of others to the distinction they confer. 

" And he tlie man, whom Nature sclfe had made 
To mock her selfc, and Truth to imitate, 

Witli kindly counter under Mimick shade, 
Our ]>leas:mt Willy, ah ! is dead of late : 

With whom all joy and jolly meriineut 

Is also dcadcd, and in dolour drenl. 

"In stead thereof scoflinjr Scurrilitie, 

And scornfiill Follio with contempt is crept, 
Kolliug in rymes of shameless ribaudrie, 
Witliout regard or due Decorum kept : 
Each idle wit at will presumes to make, 
And doth the Learned's taske upon liim take. 

" But that same gentle Spirit, from whose pen 

Large streanies of lionnie and sweete js^ectar fl.owe, 
Scorning the boldnes of such base-borne men. 

Which dare their follies forth so rashlie throwe, 
Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell, 
Than so lumselfe to moekerie to sell." 

The most striking of these lines, with reference to our 
present inquiry, iB, 

" Our pleasant Willy, all ! is dead of late;" 

and hence, if it stood alone, we might infer that Willy, who- 
ever he nught ]je, was actually dead ; but the latter part 
of the tliird stanza we have quoted shows us in what sense 
the word " dead " is to be understood : Willy was " dead " 
as fai" as regarded the admirable dramatic talents he had 
already displayed, which had enaljled him, even before 
1591, to outstrip all living rivalry, and to afford the most 
certain indications of the still greater things Spenser saw he 
would accomplish : he was " dead," because he 

" Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell, 
Than so himselfe to tnockerie to sell." 

It is to be borne in mind that these stanzas, and six 
others, are put into the mouth of Thalia, whose lamenta- 
tion on tlie degeneracy of tlie stage, especially in comedy, 
follows those of Calliope and Melpomene. Rowe, under 
the impression tliat the wliole passage referred to Shake- 
speare, introduced it into his ." Life," iu his first edition of 
1709, but silently withdrew it iu his second edition of 1714: 
his reason, 2:ierhaps, was that he did not see how, before 
1591, Shakespeare could liave shown that he merited the 
character given of him and his productions — 

" And he the man, whom Nature selfe had made 
To mock her selfe, and Truth to inutate." 

Spenser knew wliat the object of his eulogy was capable 
of doing, as well, perhaps, as what he had done ; and we 
have estabhshed that more than a year before the publica- 
tion of these lines, Sliakespeare had risen to be a distin- 
gnislied member of tlie Lord Cliambcrlain's company, and 
a sharer iu the undertaking at the Blackfriars. Although 

ser"s " Tears of the Muses " was published in 1590, but the volume 
in which it first appeared bears date in 1.591. It was printed with 
some other pieces under the title of '" Complaints. Containing sun- 
drie small Poems of the Worlds Vanitie. Whereof the next Page 
maketh mention. By Ed. Sp. London. Imprinted for William 
Ponsonbie, &c. 1591." It will be evident from what follows in our 
text, that a year is of considerable importance to the question. 

' Perhaps it was printed oil before his " Bartholemew Fair" was 
acted in llil 1 ; or perhaps, the comedy being a new one, Ben Jonson 
did not think he had a right to publish it to the detriment of the 
company (the servants of the Princess Klizabeth) by whom it had 
been purchased, and produced. 

2 Such as •• The Widow," written soon after 161.3, in which he was 
assisted by Fetcher and Middleton ; ''The Ca.se is Altered," printed 
in 1609, in which his coadjutors are not known; and ''Eastward 
Ho 1" published iu 1007, in which he was joined by Chapman and 
Marston : this last play exposed the authors to great danger of pun- 
ishment. 

3 We are not to be understood as according in the ascription to 
Shakespeare of various plays imputed to him in the folio of 10ij4, and 



we feel assured that he had not composed any of his great- 
est works before 1591, he may have done much, besides 
what has come down to us, amply to warrant Spenser in 
applauding him beyond all his tlieatrieal contemporaries. 
His earliest printed plays, " Romeo and Juliet," " Richard 
II.," and " Richard III.," bear date in 1597 ; but it is indis- 
putable that he had at that time written C(-)nsidcrably more, 
and part of what he had so written is contained in the folio 
of 1623, never having made its appearance in any earher 
form. Wlien Ben Jonson publislied tlie large volume of 
his "Works" in 1616', he excluded several comedies iu 
which he had been aitled by other poets^, and re-wrote part 
of " Sejanus," because, as is supposed, Shalvcspeare, (who 
performed in it, and Avhom Jonson terms a " happy genius,") 
had assisted him iu the composition of the tragedy as it 
was originally acted. The player-editors of the folio of 
Shakespeare's " Comedies, Tragedies, and Histories," iu 
16'2o, may have tliought it right to pursue the same course, 
excepting in the case of the three parts of " Henry VI. :" 
the poet, or poets, who liad contributed to these histoiies 
(perhaps Marlowe and Greene) had been then dead thirty 
years ; but with respect to other pieces, persons stdl hviug, 
whether authors or booksellers, might have joint claims 
upon them, and hence their exclusion^. We only put this 
as a possible circiunstauce ; but we are persuaded that 
Shakespeare, early in liis theatrical life, must have written 
much, iu the way of revivals, alterations, or joint produc- 
tions with other poets, which has been forever lost. We 
here, as before, conclude that none of his greatest original 
dramatic productions had come from his pen ; but if in 1591 
he had only brought out " The Two Gentlemen of A'eroua" 
and " Love's Laijour 's Lost," they are so infinitely superior 
to tlie best works of his predecessors, that the justice of the 
triliutc paid by Spenser to his genius would at once be ad 
niitted. At all events, if before 1591 he had not accom 
plislied, by any means, all that he was capable of, he had 
given the clearest iiuhcations of high genius, abundantly 
sufficient to justify the anticipation of Spenser, thtit he was 
a man 

" whom Nature's selfe luid made 



To mock Iter selfe, and Truth to imitate :" 

a passage which in itself admirably comprises, and com- 
presses nearly all the excellences of which dramatic poetiy 
is susceptible — the mockery of nature, and the imitation of 
truth. 

Another point not hitherto noticed, because not hitherto 
known, is, that there is some little ground for thinking, that 
Spenser, if not a Warwickshire man, was at oue time resi- 
dent in Warwieksliire, and later iu life he may have become 
acquainted with Shakespeare. His birth had been conjec- 
turally placed in 1553*, and on the authority of some lines 
in his " Pr(jthalamion " it has been supposed that he was 
born in London : East Smithfield, near the Tower, has also 
Ijcen fixed ujion as the part of the town wliere he first 
drew breath ; but tlie pailsh registers in that neiglibour- 
hood have been searched in vain for a record of the events 
An Ednimid Spenser unquestionably dwelt at Kingsbury, 
in Warwickshire, in 1569, which was the year when tlie 
author of " The Faerie Queene " went to Cambridge, and 



elsewhere. We believe that he was concerned in '' The Yorkshire 
Tragedy," and that he may have contributed some parts of " Arden 
of Feversham ;" but in spite of the ingenious letter, published at 
Edinburgh in 18'3'i, we do not think that he aided Fletcher in writ- 
ing '• The Two Noble Kinsmen." and there is not a single passage 
in "The Birth of Merlin" which is worthy of his most careless mo- 
ments. Of " The iirst part of Sir John Oldcastle " we have else- 
where spoken ; and several other supposititious dramas in the folio 
of 1GG4, which certainly would have done little credit to Shake- 
speare, have also been ascertained to be the work of otiier dramatists. 

* This date has always appeared to us too late, recollecting that 
Sjienser wrote some blank-verse sonnets, prefixed to Vandernoodt's 
'"Theatre for Worldlings," printed in 1.5()9. If he were born in 
1553, in 1509 he was only in his sixteenth year, and the sonnets to 
which we refer do not read like the productions of a very young man. 

5 Chalmers was a very dilligent inquirer into such matters, and he 
could discover no entry of the kind. See his "Supplemental Apol- 
f'gy-" P- --• Subsequent investigations, instituted with reference 
to this question, have led to the same result. Oldys is responsible 
for the statement. 



XXXIV 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAKE. 



■was admitted a sizer at Pembroke College. The fact that 
Edmund Spenser (a rather unusual combination of names^) 
was an inhabitant of Kingsbury in 1569 is established by 
the muster-book of Wai-wickslure, preserved in the state- 
paper oftice, to which we have before had occasion to refer, 
but it does not give the ages of the parties. This Edmund 
Spenser may possibly have been the father of the poet, 
(whose Christian name is no -where recorded) and if it were 
the one or the other, it seems to afford a link of connexion, 
however slight, between Spenser and Shakespeare, of which 
we have had no previous knowledge. Spenser was at least 
eleven years older than Shakespeare, but their early resi- 
dence in the same part of the kingdom may have given 
rise to an intimacy afterwards^ : Spenser must have appre- 
ciated and admired the genius of Shakespeare, and the au- 
thor of " The Tears of' the Muses," at the age of thirty- 
seven, may have paid a merited tribute to his young fliend 
of twenty-six. 

The "Edmund Spenser of Kingsbury may have been en- 
tirely a dilierent person, of a distinct family, and perhaps 
wc are disposed to lay too much stress upon a mere coinci- 
dence of names ; but we may be forgiven for clinging to 
the conjecture that he may have been the author of " The 
Faerie Queene," and that the greatest romantic poet of this 
country was upon terms of friendship and cordiality with 
the greatest dramatist of the world. This circumstance, 
with which we were imaequainted when we wrote the In- 
troduction to " A Midsummer-Night's Dream," may appear 
to give new poiat, and a moi-e certain apphcation, to the 
well-remembered lines of that drama (Act v. sc. i.) in which 
Shakespeare has been supposed to refer to the death of 
Spenser^, and which may have been a subsequent insertion, 
for the sake of repaying by one poet a debt of gratitude to 
the other. 

Without taking into consideration what may have been 
lost, if we are asked what we think it likely that Shake- 
speare had written in and before 1591, we should answer, 
that he had altered and added to tlu-ee parts of " Henry 
VI.," that he had written, or aided m writmg, " I'itus An- 
dronicus," that he had revived and amended " The Comedy 
of Errors," and that he had composed " The Two Gentle- 
men of Verona," and " Love's Labour 's Lost." Thus, look- 
ing only at his extant works, we see that the eulogy of 
Spenser was well warranted by the plays Shakespeare, at 
that early date, had produced. 

If the evidence upon this pomt were even more scanty, 
we should be convinced that by " our pleasant Willy," Spen- 
ser meant William Shakespeare, by the fact that sueli a 
character as he gives could belong to no other dramatist of 
the time. Greene can have no pretensions to it, nor Lodge, 
nor Kyd, nor Peele ; I\Iarlowe had never touched comedy: 
but if these have no title to the praise that they had mocked 
nature and imitated truth, the claim put in by Malone for 
Lyly is little short of absurd. Lyly Avas, beyond dispute, 
the most artificial and affected writer of his day : his 
dramas have nothing like nature or truth in them ; and if it 
could be established that Spenser and Lyly were on the 
most intimate footing, even the exaggerate admiration of 
the fondest friendship could hardly have carried Spenser to 

1 And belonging to no otlier family at that time, as far as our re- 
Bearches have extended. It has been too hastily concluded that the 
Spenser whom Turberville addressed from Russia, in some epistles 
printed at the end.of his " Tragical Tales," 15B7, was not the poet. 
Taking Wood's representation, that these letters were written as 
early as 1509, it is still very possible that the author of " The Faerie 
Q,ueene " was the person to whom they were sent : he was a very 
young man, it is true, but perhaps not quite so young as has been 
imagined. 

2 Nobody has been able ?ven to speculate where Spenser was at 
school ; — possibly at Kingsbury. Drayton was also a W^arwickshire 
man. 

3 Differences of opinion, founded upon discordances of contempo- 
raneous, or nearly contemporaneous, representations, have prevailed 
respecting the extreme poverty of Spenser at the time of his death. 
There is no doubt that he had a pension of 501. a year (at least '2501. 
of our present money) from the royal bounty, which probably he 
received to the last. At the same time we think there is much plau- 
Bibihty in the story that Lord Burghley stood in the way of some 
special pecuniary gift from Elizabeth. The Rev. H. J. Todd disbe- 
lieves it, and in his " Life of Spenser " calls it " a calumny," on the 
foundation of the pension, without considering, perhaps, that the 



the extreme to which he has gone in his " Tears of the 
Muses." If Malone had wished to point out a dramatist of 
that day to whom the words of Spenser could by no possi- 
bility fitly apply, he could not have made a better choice 
than when ho fixed upon Lyly. However, he labours the 
contrary position "wnth great pertinacity and considerable 
ingenuity, and it is extraordinary how a man of much read- 
ing, and of sound judgment upon many points of hterary 
discussion, could unpose upon himself and be led so far 
from the truth, by the desire to estabhsh a novelty. At all 
events, he might have contented himself Avith an endeavour 
to prove the negative as regards Shakespeare, without going 
the strange length of attempting to make out the affirma- 
tive as regards Lyly. 

We do not for au instant admit the right of any of Shake- 
speare's predecessors or contemporaries to the tribute of 
Spenser ; but Malone might have made out a case for any 
of them with more plausibility than for Lyly. Greene was 
a writer of fertile fiincy, but choked and smothered by the 
overlaying of scholastic learning : Kyd was a man of strong 
natural parts, and a composer of vigorous lines : Lodge was a 
poet of genius, though not in the department of the drama : 
Peele had an elegant mind, and was a smooth and agreea- 
ble versifier ; while Marlowe was gifted with a soaring and 
a daring spirit, though unchecked by a well-regulated taste : 
but all had more nature in their dramas than Lyly, who 
generally chose classical or mythological subjects, and dealt 
Avitli those subjects with a wearisome monotony of style, 
with thoughts quaint, conceited, and violent, and with an 
utter absence of force and distinctness in his characteriza- 
tion. 

It is not necessary to enter farther into this part of the 
question, because, we think, it is now established that Spen- 
ser's lines might apply to Shakespeare as regards the date 
of their pubhcation, and iudisjsutably applied with most 
felicitous exactness to the works he has left behind him. 

With regard to the Hues which state, that Willy 

" Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell, 
Than so liiuiselfe to mockerie to sell," 

we have already shown that in 1589 there must have been 
some compulsory cessation of theatrical performances, 
which affected not only offending, but unoffending compa- 
nies : hence the certificate, or more properly remonstrance, 
of the sixteen sharers in the Blackfriars. The choii^-boys 
of St. Paul's were silenced for bringing " matters of state 
and religion " on their stage, when they introduced Martin 
Mar-prelate into one of their dramas : and the players of 
the Lord Admiral and Lord Strange were prohibited from 
acting, as fitr as we can learn, on a similar ground. The in- 
terdiction of performances by the cliildren of Paul's was 
persevered in for about ten years ; and although the public 
companies (after the completion of some inquiries by com- 
missioners specially apjoointed) were allowed again to fol- 
low their vocation, there can be no doubt that tliere was a 
temporary suspension of all theatrical exhibitions in Lon- 
don. This suspension commenced a short time before 
Spenser wrote his " Tears of the Muses," in which he 
notices the silence of Shakespeare. 

epigram, attributed to Spenser, may have been occasioned by the 
obstruction by the Lord Treasurer of some additional proof of the 
Queen's admiration for the author of " The Faerie Queene." Fuller 
first published the anecdote in his '• Worthies," 16lj'2 ; but sixty years 
earlier, and within a very short time after the death of Spenser, the 
story was current, for we find the lines in Manningham's Diary, 
(Harl. MS. 5353) under the date of May 4, 1602 : they are thts intro- 
duced : 

'' When her Maje.sty had given order that Spenser should have a 
reward for his poems, but Spenser could have nothing, he presented 
her with these verses : 

" It pleased your Grace upon a time 

To grant me reason for my rhyme ; 

But from that time until this season. 

I heard of neither rhyme nor reason." 

The wording differs slightly from Fuller's copy. We add the fol- 
lowing epigram upon the death of Spenser, also on the authority of 
Manningham : — 

" In Spcnserum. 
" Famous alive, and dead, here is the odds ; 
Then god of poets, now poet of the gods.'' 



*HE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



XXXV 



We have no means of ascertaining how long the order, 
inhibiting theatrical performances geaerally, was persevered 
in ; but the plague broke out in London in 1592, and in the 
autumn of the year, when the number of deaths was great- 
est, " the Queen's playersV in their pi'ogress round the 
couutiy, whither they wandered when thus prevented from 
aetiug in the metropolis, performed at Chesterton, near 
Cambridge, to the great annoyance of the heads of the imi- 
versity. 

It was at this juncture, probably, if indeed he ever were 
in that country, that Shakespeare visited Italy. Mr. C. 
Armitage Brown, in his very clever, and in many respects 
original work, " Shakespeare's Autobiographical Poems," 
has maintiuned the affirmative with great confidence, and has 
brought into one view all the internal evidence afforded by 
the productions of our great dramatist. External evidence 
there is none, since not even a tradition of such a journey 
has descended to us. We own that tlie internal evidence, 
in our estimation, is by no means as strong as it appeared 
to Mr. Brown, who has evinced gi'eat ingenuity and ability 
in the conduct of his case, and has made as much as possi- 
ble of his proofs. He dwells, among other things, upon the 
fact, tliat there were no contemporaneous trauslations of the 
tales on which " The Mercliant of Venice " and " Othello " 
are founded ; but Sliakespeare may have understood as 
much Itahau as answered his purpose without having gone 
to Venice. For the same reason we lay no stress upon the 
recently-discovered fact, (not known when Mr. Brown 
wrote) that Shakespeare constructed his " Twelfth Night " 
with the aid of one or two Itahan comedies ; they may 
have found then' way into England, and he may have read 
them in the original language. That Shakespeare was ca- 
pable of translating Italian sufficiently for his own pur- 
poses, we are morally certain ; but we think that if he had 
travelled to Venice, Verona, or Fhjrence, we should have 
had more distinct and positive testimony of the fixet in his 
works than can be adduced from them. 

Other authors of the time have left such evidence behind 
them as cannot be disputed. Lyly tells us so distinctly in 
more than one of liis pieces, and liicli informs us that he 
became acquainted with the novels he translated on the 
other side of the Alps : Daniel goes the length of letting 
us know where certain of his sonnets were composed: 
Lodge wrote some of his tracts abroad : Nash gives us the 
places Avhere he met particular persons ; and his friend 
Greene admits his obhgations to Italy and Spain, whither 
he had travelled early iu fife in pursuit of letters. In truth, 
at that period and afterwards, there seems to have been a 
prevaihug rage for foreign travel, and it extended itself to 
mere actors, as well as to poets ; for we Imow that William 
Kempe was in Rome in 1601'^ during the interval between 
the tune when, for some unexplained reason, he quitted the 
company of the Lord Chamberlain's players, and joined 
that of the Lord AdmiraP. Although we do not beUeve 
that Shakespeare ever was in Italy, we admit that we are 
without evidence to Drove a negative; and he may have 

' They consisted of the company under the leadership of Lawrence 
Button, one of the two associations acting at this period under the 
Queen's name. Both were unconnected with the Lord Chamber- 
lain's servants. 

2 See I\Ir. HalliweH's " Ludus Coventrias" (printed for the Shake- 
speare Society), p. 410. Rowley, in his " Searcli for Money," speaks 
of this expedition by Kempe, wlio, it seems, had wagered a certain 
sum of money that he would go to Rome and back in a given num- 
ber of days. In the introduction to the reprint of that rare tract by 
the I'ercy Society, it is shown that Kempe also danced a morris in 
France. These circumstances were unknown to the Rev. A. Dyce, 
when he superintended a republication of Kempe's "Nine Days' 
Wonder," IGOO, for the Camden Society. 

3 It is a new'fact that Kempe at anytime quitted the company 
playing at the Blackfriars and Globe theatres ; it is however indis- 
putable, and we have it on the authority of llcnslowe's Diary, whexe 
payments are recorded to Kempe, and where entries are also made tor 
the expenses of dresses supplied to him in lt>02. These memoranda 
Malone overlooked, when the MS., belonging to Dulwich College, 
was in his liands ; but they may be very important with reference 
to the dates of some of Shakespeare's plays, and the particular actors 
engaged in them : they also account for the non-appearance of 
Kempe's name in the royal license granted in May, l(iU3, to the com- 
pany to which he had belonged. Mr. Dyce attributes the omission 
of Kempe's name in that instrument to his death, because, in the 



gone there without having left behind him any distinct 
record of the fact. At the date to which we are now ad- 
verting he might certainly have had a convenient opportu- 
nity f )r doing so, iu consequence of the temporary prohibi- 
tion of dramatic performances in London. 



CHAPTER VIIL 

Death of Eobert Greene in 1592, and publication of his 
" Groatswortli of Wit," by H. Clietlle. Greene's aildrcss 
to Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele, and his envious mention of 
Shakespeare. Sliake.-^iieare's oti'cnce at Clicttle, and tlie 
apology of tlie latter iu. his " Kind-heart's Dre;ini." The 
cliaracter of Sluikesiieare there given. Second allusion by 
Spenser to Shakespeare in " Colin Clout's come home 
again," 1594. The " gentle Shakespeare." Change in the 
cliaracter of his composition between 1591 and 1594: his 
" Kieluird 11." and " Kicliard 111." 

During the prevalence of the infectious malady of 1692, 
although not in consequence of it, died one of the most no- 
torious and distingui.shed of the literary men of tlic time, — ■ 
Robert Greene. He expired on the Sd of September, 1592, 
and left behind him a work purporting to have been writ- 
ten during his last illness: it was published a few months 
afterwards by Henry Chettle, a fellow dramatist, under the 
title of " A Groatsworth of Wit, bought with a Million of 
Repentance," bearing the date of 1592, and preceded by an 
address from Greene " To those Gentlemen, his quondam 
acquaintance, who spend their wits iu making Plays." Here 
we meet with tlie second notice of Shakespeare, not indeed 
by name, but witli such a near approach to it, that nobody 
can entertain a moment's doubt that he was intended. It 
is necessary to quote the whole passage, and to observe, 
before we do so, that Greene is addressing himself particu- 
larly to Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele, and urging them to 
break off all connexion with players'' : — " Base minded men 
all three of you, if by my misery ye be not warned ; for 
unto none of you, like me, sought those burs to cleave ; 
those puppets, I mean, that sjaeak from our mouths, those 
antieks garnished in oin- colours. Is it not strange that I, 
to Vi'hom they all have been beholding ; is it not like that 
you, to whom they have all been beholding, shall (were ye 
in that ease that 1 am now) be both of them at once for- 
saken ? Yes, trust them not ; for there is an upstart crow, 
beautified with our feathers, that with his 2'iffcr's heart 
wrajqjd in a player's hide, supposes he is as well able 
to bombast our blank-verse, as the best of you : and, being 
an absolute Jolumnes Fac-totmn, is, in his own conceit, 
the only Shake-scene in a cotmtry. ! that I might en- 
treat your rare wits to be employed in more pi'ofitable 
courses, and let these apes imitate your past excellence, 
and never more acquaint them with yom- admired inven- 
tions." 

The chief and obvious purpose of this address is to iu- 

register of St. Saviour's, Southwark, Chalmers found an entry, dated 
Nov. 2, 1603, of the burial of "William Kempe, a man.'' There 
were doubtless many men of the common names of William Kempe ; 
and the William Kempe, who had acted Dogberry, Peter, kc, wa,s 
certainly alive in ItiUj, and had by that date rejoined the lyord Cham- 
berlain's servantes, then called " tlie King's players." The follow- 
ing unnoticed memoranda relating to him are extracted from Hens- 
lowe's Diary : 

"Lent unto W"! Kempe, the 10 of Marche, 1G02, in redy mony, 
twentye shillinges for liis neccsary uses, the some of xx>. 

"Lent unto W™ Kempe, the •22 of Auguste, IGO-i, to buye buck- 
ram to make a payer of gyentes hosse, the some of v. 

" rd unto the tyerman for mackynge of W™ Kempe's sewt, and 
the boyes, the i Septembr ItiU-i, some of viij". ti"." 

* We have some doubts of the authenticity of the " Groatsworth 
of Wit," as a work by Greene. Chettle was a needy dramatist, and 
possibly wrote it in order to avail himself of the high popularity of 
Greene, then just dead. Falling into some discredit, in cunsequenco 
of the publication of it, Chettle re-a.sserted that it was by Greene, 
but he admitted that the manuscript from which it was printed wa.s 
in his own hand-writing : this circumstance he explained by stating 
that Greene's copy was so illegible tliat he was obliged to transcribe 
it : "it was ill- written," says Chettle, " as Greene's hand was none 
of the best ;" and therefore he re-wrote it. 



XXXVl 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



duce Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele to cease to -write for the 
etage ; and, in the course of his exhortation, Greene bitterly 
ins'eighs against " an upstart crow," who had availed him- 
self of the dramatic labours of others, wlio imagined him- 
self able to write as good blank-verse as any of his con- 
temporaries, who was a Johannes Fac-tolum, and who, in 
his own opinion, was " the only Sjiake-scene in a country." 
All this is clearly levelled at Shakespeare, under the pur- 
posely-perverted name of S/-iake-sce?ie, and the words, 
" Tiger's heart wrapp'd in a player's hide," are a parody 
upon a line in a historical play, (most likely by Greene) 
" 0, tiger's heart wi-app'd in a woman's hide," from which 
Shakespeai-e had taken his " Henry VI." part iii.' 

Fronr hence it is evitlent that Shakespeare, near the end 
of 1592, had established such a reputation, and was so im- 
portant a I'ival of the dramatists, who, until he came for- 
ward, had kept undisputed possession of the stage, as to ex- 
cite the envy and enmity of Greene, even during his last and 
fatal ilhicss. It also, we think, estabUshes another jJoiut not 
hitherto adverted to, viz. that our great poet possessed such 
variety of talent, that, for the purposes of the company of 
which he was a member, he could do anything that he 
might be called upon to perform : he was the Johannes Fac- 
totum of the association : he was an actor, and he was a 
writer of original plays, an adapter and improver of those 
already in existence, (some of them by Greene, Marlowe, 
Lodge, or Peele) and no doubt he contributed prologues or 
epilogues, and inserted scenes, speeches or passages on any 
temporary emergency. Having his ready assistance, the 
Lord Chamberlain's servants requu'cd few other contribu- 
tions from lival dramatists" : Shakespeare was the Johan- 
nes Fac-iotum, who could turn his hand to any thing con- 
nected with his profession, and who, in all probabihty, had 
thrown men like Greene, Lodge, and Peele, and even Mar- 
lowe himself into the shade. In our view, therefore, the 
quotation we have made from the " Groatsworth of Wit" 
proves more than has been usually collected from it. 

It was natural and proper that Shakespeare should take 
oft'ence at this gross and ])ublic attack : that he did there is 
no doubt, for we are told so by Chettle liimself, the avowed 
editoi' of the " Groatsworth of Wit :" he does not indeed 
mention Shakespeare, but he designates him so intelligibly 
that there is no room for dispute. Marlowe, also, and not 
without I'cason, complained of the manner in which Greene 
had spoken of him in the same work, but to him Chettle 

1 See this point more fully illustrated in the Introduction to 
" Henry VI." part iii. 

2 At this date Peele had relinquished his connection with the com- 
pany occupying the Blackl'riars theatre, to which as will be remem- 
bered, he was attached in 15^;). How far the rising genius of Shake- 
speare, and his increased utility and importance, had contributed to 
the withdrawal of Peele, and to his junction with the rival associa- 
tion acting under the name of the Lord Admiral, it is impossible to 
determine. We have previously adverted to this point. 

3 There were not separate impressions of " Kind-heajt's Dream" 
in IjO'J, but the only three copies known vary in some minute par- 
ticulars : thus, with reference to tliese words, one impression at Ox- 
ford reads, " \iiii fatious grace in writing," and the other, correctly, as 
we have given it. ''Kind-heart's Dreanr" has been re-printed, by 
the Percy Society, from the third copy in the King's Library at the 
British Museum. 

* More than ten years afterward.'!, Chettle paid another tribute to 
Shakespeare, under the nameof Melicert, in his " England's Mourn- 
ing Garment :" the author is reproaching the leading poets of the 
day, iJaniel, Warner, Chapman. Jonson, Drayton, Sackville, Dekker, 
&c., for not writing in honour of Queen Ehzabeth, who was just 
dead : he thus addresses Shakespeare : — 

" Nor doth the silver-tongued Melicert 

Drop from his honied Muse one sable tear, 
To mourn her death that graced his desert, 

And to his lays open'd her royal ear. 
Shepherd, remember our Elizabeth, 
And sing her Kape, done by that Taxquin death." 

This passage is important, with reference to the Royal encourage- 
ment given to Shakespeare, in consequence of the approbation of his 
plays at Court ; Elizaljeth had " graced his desert," and " open'd her 
royal ear " to " his lays." Chettle did not long survive the publica- 
tion of " England's Mourning Garment " in 16U:3 : he was dead in 
1(107, as he is spoken of in Dekker's " Knight's Conjuring," of that 
year, (there is \n impression also without date, and possibly a few 
months earlier) as a very corpulent ghost in the Elysian Fields. He 
had been originally a printer, then became a bookseller, and, finally, 
a pamphleteer and dramatist. He was, in various degrees, concerned 
in about forty plays. 



made no apology, while to Shakespeare he offered all the 
amends in his power. 

His apology to Shakespeare is contained in a tract called 
" Kind-heart's Dream," which Avas published without date, 
but as Greene expired on 3d September, 1592, and Chettle 
tells us m " Kind-heart's Dream," that Greene died " about 
three months " before, it is certain that " Kind-heart's 
Dream " came out prior to the end of 1592, as we now cal- 
culate the year, and about three months before it expired, 
according to the reckoning of that period. The whole pas- 
sage relating to Marlowe and Shakespeare is highly inter- 
esting, and we therefore extract it entire. — 

" About tlirec months since died M. Eobert Greene, leav- 
ing many papers in sundry booksellers' hands : among others 
his Groatsworth of Wit, in which a letter, written to divers 
play-makers, is otfensively by one or two of tliem taken ; and 
because on tlie dead lliey caimot be avenged, they wilfully 
forge in their conceits a living author, and after tossing it to 
and fro, no remedy but it must light on me. How I have, all 
the time of my conversing in printing, hindered the bitter in- 
veighing against scholars, it hath been very well known : and 
how in that I dealt, J can sufflcientlj' prove. With neither 
of them, that take oIFence, was I acquainted ; and with one 
of them [Marlowe] I care not if I never be : the other, [Shake- 
speare] whom at that time I did not so much spare, as since I 
wisli 1 had, for that as I have moderated the heat of living 
writers, and might have used my ow)i discretion (especially 
in stich a ease, the author being dead) tliat I did not I am aa 
sorry as if tlie original fault had been my fault ; because my- 
self have seen his demeanour no less civil, than lie excellent 
in tlie quality he professes : besides, divers of worship have 
reported his uprightness of dealing, which argues his honesty, 
and his facetious grace in writing, that approves his art. For 
the first, [Marlowe]' wliose learning I reverence, and at the 
perusing-Of Greene's book struclc out what then in conseieiieo 
I thought he in some displeasure writ, or had it been true, 
yet to publish it was intolerable, him 1 would wish to use lue 
no worse than I deserve." 

The accusation of Greene against Marlowe had reference 
to the freedom of his religious opinions, of which it is not 
necessary here to say more : the attack upon Shakespeare 
we have already inserted and observed upon. In Cliettle's 
apology to the latter, one of the most noticeable points is 
the tribute he pays to our great dramatist's abihties as an 
actor, " his demeanour no less civil, than he excellent in 
the quality he professes :" the word " quality " was applied, 
at that date, peculiarly and technically to acting, autl the 
" quality " Shakespeare " professed " was that of an aetor. 
" His facetious grace in writing' " is separately adverted to, 
and admitted, while " his uprightness of dealing " is attested, 
not only by Chettle's own expeiience, but by the evidence of 
" divers of worship." Thus the amends made to Shake- 
speare for the envious assault of Greene shows most deci- 
sively the high opinion entertained of him, towards th"? 
close of 1592, as an act«r, an author, and a man^. 

We have already inserted Spensei-'s warm, but not less 
jucHcious and well-merited, eulogium of Shakespeare in 
1591, when in his " Tears of the Muses " he addresses him 
as Willy, and designates him 

" that same gentle spirit, from whose pen 



Large streames of honnie and sweete nectar ilowe." 

If we were to trust printed dates, it would seem that in 
the same year the author of " The Faerie Queene " gave 
another proof of his admiration of our great dramatist: 
we allude to a passage in " Colin Clout's come home^gain," 
which was published with a dedication dated 27th Decem- 
ber, 1591 ; but Malone proved, beyond all cavil, that for 
1591 we ouglit to read 1594, tlie printer having made an ex- 
traordinary blnufler. In that poem (after the author has 
spoken of man}' hving and dead poets, some by their names, 
as Alabaster and Daniel, and others by fictitious and fanci- 
ful appellations^) he inserts these lines : — 

* Malone, with a good deal of research and patience, goes over all 
the pseudo-names in " Colin Clout's come home again," applying 
each to poets of the tira3 ; but how uncertain and unsatisfactory any 
attempt of the kind must necessarily be may be illustrated in a 
single instance. Malone refers the following lines to Arthur Golding : 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SIIAKESPEABE. 



XXXVll 



" And there, though last not least, is ^tion ; 
A gentler shepherd may no where be found. 
Whose Muse, full of high thonglit's invention, 
Doth, like himself, heroically sound." 

Malone takes unnecessary pains to establish that this pas- 
sage applies to Shakespeare, altliough he pertinaciously 
denied that " our pleasant Willy " of " The Tears of the 
Wuses " was intended for him. We have no doubt on either 
point ; and it is singular, that it should never have struck 
Malone that the same epithet is given in both cases to the 
person addressed, and that epithet one wliich, at a subse- 
quent date, almost constantly accompanied tlie name of 
Shakespeare. In " The Tears of the Muses " he is called a 
" gentle spirit," and in " Colin Clout's come home again " Ave 
are told that, 

" A gentler shepherd may no where be found." 

In the same feeling Ben Jonson calls him " \nj gentle Shake- 
speare," in the noble copy of verses prefixed to the folio of 
1623, so that ere long the term became peculiarly applied 
to our great and amiable dramatist'. This coincidence of 
expression is another circumstance to cstal^lish that Spenser 
certiiinly had Shakespeare in his mind when he wrote bis 
" Tears of the Muses ^' in 1591, and his " Colin Clout's come 
home again " in 1594. In the latter instance the whole de- 
scription is nearly as appropriate as in tlie earlier, with the 
addition of a line, which has a clear and obvious reference 
to the patronymic of our poet : his Muse, says Spenser, 

" Doth, like himself, heroically sound." 

These words alone may be taken to show, that between 
1591 and 1594 Shakespeare had somewhat changed the 
cliaracter of his compositions : Spenser having applauded 
him, in his " Tears of the Muses," for imrivalled talents in 
comedy, (a department of the drama to which Shakespeare 
had, perhaps, at that date especially, though not exclusively, 
devoted himself) in liis "Colin Clout" spoke of the "high 
thought's invention," which then filled Shakespeare's muse, 
and made her sound as " heroically " as his name. Of his 
genius, in a loftier strain of poetry than belonged to comedy, 
our great dramatist, by the year 1594, must have given 
some remarkable and undeniable proofs. In 1591 he had 
perhaps written his " Love's Labour 's Lost " and " Two 
Geullemeu of Verona;" but in 1594 he had, no doubt, pro- 
duced one or more of his great historical plays, his " Rich- 
ard II." and " Richard III.," both of which, as before re- 
marked, together with " Romeo and Juliet," came from the 
press iu 1597, though the last in a very mangled, imperfect, 
and unauthentic state. One circumstance may be mentioned, 
as leading to the behef that " Richard III." was brought 
out in 1594, viz. that in that year an impression of " The 
True Tragedy of Richard the Third," (an older play than 
that of Shakespeare) was published, that it might be 
bought under the notion that it was the new drama by the 
most popular poet of the day, then in a course of repre- 
sentation. It is most probable that " Richard II." had been 
composed before " Richard III.," and to either or both of 
them the linos, 

" Whose Muse, full of high thought's invention, 
Doth, like himself, heroically sound," 

will abundantly apply. The difference in the character of 
Spenser's tributes to Shakespeare iu 1591 and 1594 was oc- 
casioned by the difference in the character of his produc- 
tions. 

• ' And there is old Palemon, free from spite. 

Whose careful pipe may make the hearers rue ; 
Yet he himself may rued be more right. 
Who sung so long, until quite hoarse he grew." 
The passage, in truth, applies to Thomas Churchyard, a.s he himself 
informs us in his " Pleasant Discourse of Court and Wars," 159G : he 
complains of neglect, and tells us that the Court is 
" The platform where all poets thrive. 

Save one whose voice is hoarse, they say ; 
The stage, where time away we drive, 
As children in a pageant play." 

In the same way we might show that Malone was mistaken as to 
ether poets he supposes alluded to by Spenser ; but it would lead us 
too far out of our way. No body has disputed, that by .£tion, the 
author of " Colin Clout " meant Shakespeare. 



CHAPTER IX. 

The dramas written by Shakespeare up to 1504. New dncn- 
inents relating to his father, under the authority of Sir 
Thomas Lucy, Sir Fulk Greville, &c. Kecnsants in Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon. John Shakespeare employed to value 
the goods of H. Field. Publication of " Venus and Ado- 
nis " during the plague in 1593. Dedication of it, and of 
" Lucrece," 1594, to the Earl of Southampton. Bounty of 
the Earl to Shakespeare, aird coincidence between the date 
of the gift and the building of the Globe theatre on the 
Bankside. Probability of the story that Lord Southamp- 
ton presented Shakespeare with lOOOZ. 

Havixg arrived at the year 1594, we may take this oppor- 
tunity of stating which of Shakespeare's extant woi-ks, in 
our opinion, had by that date been produced. We liave al- 
ready mentioned the three parts of " Henry VI.," " Titus 
Andronicus," " The Comedy of Errors," " The Two Gentle- 
men of Verona," and " Love's Labour's Lost," as in being in 
1591 ; and in the interval between 1591 and 1594, we ap- 
prehend, he had added to them " Richard IL" and " Richard 
III." Of these, the four last were entirely the work of 
our great dramatist : in the others he more or less availed 
himself of previous dramas, or possibly, of the assistance 
of contemporaries. 

We must now return to Stratford-upon-Avon, in order to 
advert to a very different subject. 

A document has been recently discovered in the State 
Paper Office, which is highly interesting with respect to 
the religious tenets, or worldly circumstances, of Shake- 
speare's father in 1592". Sir Thomas Lucy, Sir Fulk Gre- 
ville, Sir Henry Goodere, Sir John Harrington, and four 
others, having been appointed commissioners to make in 
quiries " touching all such persons " as were "Jesuits, semi- 
nary priests, fugitives, or recusantes," in the county of W^ar 
wick, sent to the Privy Council what they call their " second 
certificate," on the 25th Sept. 1592^ It is divided into 
different heads, according to the respective hundreds, pa- 
rishes, (fee., and each page is signed by them. One of 
these divisions applies to Stratford-upon-Avon, and the re- 
turn of names there is thus introduced : — 

" The names of all sutch Recusantes as have bene hearto- 
fore presented for not cominge monethlie to the 
church, according to her Majesties lawes, and yet are 
thought to forbcare the church for debt, and for feare 
of processe, or for some other worse faultes, or for age, 
sickues, or impotencie of bodie." 

The names which are appended to this introduction are the 
following : — 



William Bainton, 
Richard Harrington, 
William Flullen, 
George Bardolphe* :" 



"Mr. John Wheeler, 
John Wlieeler, his son, 
Mr. John Shackspere, 
Mr. Nicholas Barneshurstc, 
Thomas James, alias Gyles, 

and opposite to them, separated bj a bracket, we read these 
words : — 

" It is sayd, that these last nine coome not to churehe for 
feare of proce-ssc of debte." 

Here we find the name of " Mr. John Shakespeare " cither 
as a recusant, or as " forbearing the Church," on account of 
the fear of process for debt, or on account of " age, sickness, 
or impotency of body," mentioned in the^introduction to 
the document. The question is, to which cause we are to 
attribute liis absence ; and with regard to process for debt, 

1 In a passage we have already extracted from Een Jonson's "Dis- 
coveries,'' he mentions Shakespeare's " gentle expressions |" but he 
is there perhaps rather referring to his style of conTposition. 

2 We have to express our best thanks to ]\Ir. Lemon for directing our 
attention to this manuscript, and for supplying us with an analysis 
of its contents. 

•'' The frst certificate has not been found in the State Paper Office, 
I after the most diligent se.arch. 

* Hence we see that Shakespeare took two names in his ''Henry 
V." from persons who bore them in his native town. Awdrey was 
also a female appellation known in Stratford, as appears elsewhere ia 
the same document. 



XXXVlll 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAEE. 



we are to recollect that it could not be served on Sunday, 
BO that apprehension of that kind need not have kept him 
away from church on the Sabbath, l^either was it likely 
that his son, who was at this date profitably emjjloyed in 
London as an actor and author, and who thi-ee years before 
was a sharer in the Blackfriars theatre, would have allowed 
his father to continue so distressed for money, as not to be 
able to attend the usual place of divine worship'. There- 
fore, although John Shakespeare was certainly in great pe- 
cuniary difficulties at tlie time his son William quitted 
Stratford, we altogether reject the notion that that son had 
permitted his father to live in comparative want, while he 
himself possessed more than competence. 

" Age, sickness, and impoteney of body," may indeed 
have kept John Shakespeare from church, but upon this 
point we have no information beyond the fact, that if he 
were born, as Malone supposes, in 1530, he was at this date 
only sixty-two. 

With regard to his rehgious opinions, it is certain that 
after he became alderman of Stratford, on 4th July 1565, 
he must have taken the usual oath required from all pro- 
testants ; but, according to the records of the boi'ough, it 
was nut administered to him until the 12th September fol- 
loAviug his election. This trifling cii'cumstance perhaps 
hardly deserves notice, as it may have been usual to choose 
the corporate officers at one court, and to swear them in at 
the next. So far John Shakesjieare may have conformed 
to the requirements of the law, but it is still possible that 
he may not have adopted all the new protestaut tenets, or 
that having adopted them, Uke various other conscientious 
men, he saw reason afterwards to return to the faith he had 
abandoned. We have no evidence on this point as regards 
him ; but we have evidence, as regards a person of the 
name of Thomas Greene, (who, although it seems very un- 
hkely, may have been the same man who was an actor in 
the company to which Shakespeare belonged, and who was 
a co-sharer in the Blackfriars Theatre, in 1589) who is de- 
scribed in the certificate of the commissioners as then of a 
diffei'cnt parish, and who, it is added, had confessed that he 
had been " reconciled to the Romish religion." The memo- 
randum is in these terms : — 

" It is here to be remembred that one Thomas Greene, of 
this parisshe, heretofore presented and indicted for a recu- 
sante, hath confessed to Mr. Eobt. Burgoyn, one of the com- 
missioners for this service, tliat an onld Freest reconciled him 
to the Komishe religion, while he was prisoner in Worcester 
goale. This Greene is not everie day to be founde." 

On the same authority we learn that the wife of Thomas 
Greene was " a most wilful recusant ;" and although we are 
by no means warranted in forming even an opinion on the 
question, whether Mary Shakespeare adhered to the ancient 
faith, it is indisputable, if we may rely upon the represen- 
tation of tlie commissioners, that some of her family con- 
tinued Roman CathoUcs. In the document under considera- 
tion it is stated, that Mrs. Mary Arden and her servant 
John Browne had been presented to the commissioners as 

1 By an account of rents received by Thomas Rogers, Chamber- 
lain of Stratford, in 1589, it appears that "John Shakespeare " occu- 
pied a house in Bridge-street, at an annual rent of twelve shillings, 
nine shillings of, which had been paid. Perhaps (as Malone thought) 
this was John Shakespeare, the .shoemaker; because the father of the 
poet, having been bailiff and head-alderman, was usually styled Mr. 
John Shakespeare, a,s we have before remarked. However, it is a co- 
incidence to be noted, that the name of John Shakespeare immediately 
follows that of Henry Fylde or Field, whose goods Mr. John Shake- 
speare was subsequently employed to value : they were therefore in 
all probability neighbours. 

2 "Shakspeare and his Times," vol. i. p. 8. Dr. Drake seems to 
be of the opinion that John Shakespeare may have refrained from 
attending the corporation halls previous to 1586. on account of his 
religious opinions. 

3 It has the following title : — 

" A true and perfect Inventory of the Goodes and Cattells, which 
were the Goodes and Cattells of Henry Feelde, late of Stretford-uppon- 
Avon in the County of Warwyke, tanner, now decessed, beynge in 
Stretford aforesayd, the 21st daye of Auguste, Anno Domini 1592. By 
Thomas Trussell, Gentleman, Mr. John Shaksper, Richard Sponer and 
ethers." 

The items of the inventory consist of nothing but an enumeration of 
old bedsteads, painted cloths, andirons, &c. of no curiosity and of 
little value. It is to be observed that Thomas Trussel was an attor- 
ney of Stratford, and it seems likely that the valuation was made in 



recusants, and that they had been so prior to the date of 
the former return by the same official persons. 

In considering the subject of the faith of our poet's father, 
we ought to put entirely out of view the paper upon wliich 
Dr. Drake lays some stress' ; we mean the sort of religious 
will, or confession of faith, supposed to have been found, 
about the year 1770, concealed in the tiling of the house 
John Shakespeare is conjectured to have inhabited. It was 
printed by Malone in 1790, but it ob\dously merits no' at- 
tention, and there are many reasons for believing it to be 
spurious. Malone once looked upon it as authentic, but he 
corrected his judgment respecting it afterwards. 

Upon the new matter we have here been able to pro- 
duce, we shall leave the reader to draw his own conclusion, 
and to decide for himself whether John Shakespeare for- 
bore church in 1592, because, he was in fear of arrest, be- 
cause he was " aged, sick, and impotent of body," or be- 
cause he did not accord in the doctrines of the protestant faith. 

We ought not, however, to omit to add, that if John 
Shakespeare were infirm in 1592, or if he were hai'assed 
and threatened by creditors, neither the one circumstance 
nor the other prevented him from being employed in Au- 
gust 1592 (in what particular capacity, or for what precise 
purpose is not stated) to assist " Thomas Ti'ussell, gentle- 
man," and " Richard Sponer and others," in taking an inven- 
tory of the goods and chattels of Henry Feelde of Strat- 
ford, tanner, after his decease. A contemporary copy of 
the original document has recently been placed in the hands 
of the Shakespeare Society for pubhcation, but the fact, 
and not the details, is all that seems of importance here'. 
In the heading of the paper our poet's father is called " Mr. 
John Shakespeare," and at the end we find his name as 
" John Shakespeare senior :" this appears to be the only in- 
stance in which the addition of " senior " was made, and the 
object of it might be to distinguish him more eifectually 
fiom John Shakespeare, the shoemaker in Stratford, with 
whom, of old perhaps, as in modern times, he was now and 
tlien confounded. The fact itself may be material in de- 
ciding whether John Shakespeare, at the age of sixty-two, 
was, or was not so " aged, sick, or impotent of body " as to 
be unable to attend protestaut cUvine worship. It certainly 
does not seem likely that he would have been selected for 
the performance of such a duty, however trifling, if he had 
been so apprehensive of arrest as not to be able to leave 
his dwelling, or if he had been very infirm from sickness or 
old age. 

Whether he were, or were not a member of the protes- 
tant reformed Church, it is not to be disputed that his child- 
ren, all of whom were born between 1558 and 1580, were 
baptized at the ordinary and established place of worship 
in the parish. Tliat his son Wilham was educated, hved, 
and died a jjrotestant we have no doubt*. 

We have already stated our distinct and dehberate opin- 
ion that " Venus and Adonis " was written before its author 
left his home in Warwickshire. He kept it by him for some 
years, and early in 1593 seems to have put it into the hands 

relation to Field's will. The whole sum at which the goods were 
estimated was X14. lis. Od., and the total, with the names of the 
persons making the appraisement, is thus stated at the end of the ac- 
count 

" Some totall— £14. 14s. Od. 
John Shaksper senior 
By me Richard Sponer 
Per me Thomas Trussel 
Script, present." 
Of course, unless, as does not appe.ar in this coeval copy, John 
Shakespeare made his mark, the document must have been subscribed 
by some person on his behalf. 

* Nearly all the passages in his works, of a religious or doctrinal 
character, have been brought into one view by Sir Frederick B. Wat- 
son, K. C. H., in a very elegant volume, printed in 1S43, for the 
benefit of the theatrical funds of our two great theatres. The object 
of the very zealous and amiable compiler was to counteract a notion, 
formerly prevailing, that William Shakespeare was aRoman Catholic, 
and he has done so very effectually, although we do not find among 
his extracts one which seems to us oi great value upon this question : 
it forms part of the prophecy of Cranmer, at the christening of Queen 
Elizabeth in " Henry VIII." act v. sc. 4. It consists of but five ex- 
pressive words, which we think clearly refer to the completion of the 
Reformation under our maiden queen. 

" In her days * * • * 
Qod shall be truly !;nown.'' 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAPwE. 



XXXIX 



of a printer, named Richard Field, who, it has been said, 
was of Stratford, and might be the son of the Henry Feekle, 
or Fieki, whose goods John Shakespeare was employed to 
value in 1592. It is to be recollected that at the time 
" Venus and Adonis " was sent to the press, while it was print- 
ing, and when it was published, the plague prevailed in 
Loudon to such an excess, that it was deemed expedient by 
the privy council to put a stop to all theatrical perform- 
ances'. Shakespeare seems to have availed himself of this 
interval, in order to bring before the world a production of 
a chll'ereut character to those which had been ordinarily seen 
from his pen. Until " Venus and Adonis " came out, the 
public at large could only have known him by the dramas 
he had written, or by those which, at an earlier date, he had 
altered, amended, and revived. The poem came from 
Field's press in the spring of 1593, preceded by a dedica- 
tion to tlie Earl of Soutlihampton. Its popularity was great 
and instantaneous, for a new edition of it was called fur in 
1594, a third in 1596, a fourth in 1600, and a fifth in 1602^ : 
there may have been, and probably were, intervening im- 
pressions, Avhich have cUsappeared among the popular and 
destroyed literature of the time. We may conclude that 
this admirable and unequalled production first introduced 
its author to the notice of Lord Southampton ; and it is 
evident from the opening of the dedication, that Shake- 
Bpeare had not taken the precaution of ascertaining, in the 
first instance, the wishes of the young nobleman on the sub- 
ject. Lord Southamjjton was more than nine years younger 
than Shakespeare, having been born on 6th Oct. 1573. 

We may be sure that the dedication of " Venus and 
Adonis " was, on every account, acceptable, and Shakespeare 
followed it up by inscribing to the same peer, but in a much 
more assared and confident strain, his " Lucrece " in the 
succeeding year. He then " dedicated his love " to his ju- 
venile patron, having " a warrant of his honourable dispo- 
sition " towards his " pamphlet " and hmiself. " Lucrece " 
was not calculated, from its subject and the treatment of it, 
to be so popular as " Venus and Adonis," and the first 
edition having appeared from Field's pi-css in 1594, a re- 
print of it does not seem to have been called for until after 
the lapse of four years, and the thii-d edition bears the date 
of 16U0. 

It must have been about this period that the Earl of 
Southampton bestowed a most extraordinary proof of his 
high-minded munificence upon the author of " Venus and 
Adonis " and " Lucrece." It was not unusual, at that time 
and afterwards, for noblemen, and others to whom works 
were dedicated, to make presents of money to the writers 
of them ; but there is certainly no instance upon record of 
such genei'ous bounty, on an occasion of the kind, as that 
of which we are now to speak^ : nevertheless, we have 
every reliance upon the authenticity of the anecdote, taking 
into account the unexampled merit of the poet, the known 
Uberality of the nobleman, and the evidence upon which 
the story has been handed dov.'n. Rowe was the original 
narrator of it in print, and he doubtless had it, with other 
information, from Betterton, who probably received it di- 
rectly from Sir William Daveuant, and communicated it to 
Rowc. If it cannot be asserted that Davenant was strictly 
contemporary with Shakespeare, he was contemporary with 
Shakespeare's contemporaries, and from them he must have 
obtained the oria-inal information. Rowe gives the state- 
meut m these words : — 

" There is one instance so shiguhir in the munificence of 

1 By the following order, derived from the registers : — 

"That for avoyding of great concourse of people, which causeth 
increase of the infection, it were convenient that all Playes, Bear- 
baytings, Cockpitts, common Bowling-alleyes, and such like unne- 
cessario assemblies, should be suppressed during the time of infection, 
for that infected people, after tlieir long keeping in, and before they 
be cleared of their disease and infection, being desirous of recreation, 
use to resort to such assemblies, where, through heate and thronge, 
they infect many sound personnes." .> 

In consequence of the virulence and extent of the disorder, 3\Iich- 
aelmas term, 1.593, was kept at t^t. Alban's. It was about this period 
that Na.sh's "Summer's Last Will and Testament" was acted as a 
private entertainment at Croydon. 

2 Malone knew nothing of any copy of 1594. The impre.ssion of 
1602 was printed for W. Leake ; only a single copy of the edition has 



this patron of Sliakespeare's that, if I had not been assured 
that the story was handed down by Sir William Davenant, 
who was probably very well acquainted with his [Shake- 
speare's] affairs, 1 should not have ventured to have inserted ; 
that my Lord Southampton at one time gave hiui a tlioiisand 
pounds to enable him to go through with a purchase which 
he heard he had a mind to." 

No biographer of Shakespeare seems to have adverted 
to the period when it was likely that the gift Avas made, in 
combination with the nature of the purchase Lord South- 
ampjton had heard our great dramatist wished to com- 
plete, or, it seems to us, they would not have thought 
the tradition by any means so improbable as some have 
held it. 

The disposition to make a worthy return for the dedica- 
tions of " Venus and Adonis " and " Lucrece " would of 
course be produced in tlie mind of Lord Southampton by the 
publication of those poems ; and we are to recollect that it 
was precisely at the same date that the Lord Chamberlain's 
servants entered upon the project of btiildiug the Globe 
Theatre on the Bankside, not very far to the west of the 
Southwark foot of London Bridge. " Venus and Adonis " 
was published in 1593 ; and it was on the 22nd Dee. in that 
year that Richard Burbage, the great actor, and the leader 
of the company to which Shakespeare was attached, signed 
a bond to a carpenter of the name of Peter Street for the 
construction of the Globe. It is not too much to allow at 
least a year for its completion ; and it was during 1594, 
while the work on the Bankside was in progress, that " Lu- 
crece " came from the press. Thus we see that the build- 
ing of the Globe, at the cost of the sharers in the Black- 
friars theatre, was coincident in point of time with the ap- 
pearance of the two poems dedicated to the Earl of South- 
ampton. Is it, then, too much to beUeve that the young 
and bountiful nobleman, having heard of this enterprise 
from the peculiar interest he is known to have taken in aU 
matters relating to the stage, and having been incited by 
warm admiration of " Venus and Adonis " and " Lucrece," 
in the fore-front of wliich he rejoiced to see his own name, 
presented Shakespeare with 1000/., to enable him to make 
good the money he was to produce, as his proportion, for 
the completion of the Globe i 

We do not mean to say that our great dramatist stood in 
need of the money, or that he could not have deposited it 
as well as the other sharers in the Blackfriars'' ; but Lord 
Southampton may ni:)t have thought it necessary to inquire, 
whether he did or did not want it, nor to consider precisely 
what it had been customary to give ordinary versifiers, who 
sought the pay and jjatronage of the nobihty. Although 
Shakespeare had not yet reached the climax of his excel- 
lence. Lord Southampton knew him to be the greatest 
dramatist this country had yet produced ; he knew him also 
to be the writer of two poems, dedicated to himself, with 
which nothing else of the kind could bear comparison ; and 
in the exercise of his bounty he measured the poet by his 
deserts, and " used him after his own honour and dignity," 
by bestowing upon him a sum worthy of his title and char- 
acter, and which his wealth probably enabled him without 
difficulty to aiford. We do not believe that there has been 
any exaggeration in the amount, (although that is more pos- 
sible, th:m that the whole statement should have been a fic- 
tion) and Lord Southamjiton may thus have intended also 
to indicate his hearty good ^vill to the new undertaking of 
the company, and his determination to suj^port it^. 

come down to our day : it had been entered by hi.-n as early as 
1 59G. 

3 The author of the present Life of Shakespeare is botind to make 
one excejition, which has come particularly within his own knowl- 
edge, bat of which he does not feel at liberty to say more. 

■1 Neither are we to imagine that Shakespeare would have to con- 
tribute the whole sum of lUUU/. as his contribulion to the cost of the 
Globe : probably much less ; but this was a consideration which, we 
may feel assured, never entered the mind of a man like Lord South- 
ampton. 

5 After the Globe had been burned down in June, 161.3, it was re- 
built very much by the contributions of the king and tUe nobility 
Lord Southampton may have intended the lOUO/.. in part, as a con- 
tribution to this enterprise, through the hands of an individual whom 
he had good reason to distinguish from the rest of the company. 



xl 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



CHAPTER X. 

The opening of the Globe theatre, on the Bankside, hi 1595. 
Union of Shakespeare's associates with the Lord Admiral's 
players. The theatre at Newington Butts. Projected repair 
and enlargement of the Blaekfriars theatre : opposition by 
the inhabitants of the precinct. Shakespeare's rank in the 
company in 1596. Petition from liim and seven others to 
the Privy Council, and its I'csults. Kepair of the Blaekfriars 
theatre. Shakespeare a resident iu Southwark in 1596: 
proof that he was so from the papers at Dulwich College. 

"We have coneluded, as we think that -we may do very fairly, 
that the constructiou of the new theatre on the Bankside, 
subsequently known as the Globe, having been commcueed 
Boon after the signature of the bond of Burbage to Street, 
ou 22d Dec. 1593, was continued through the year 159-1: 
•we apprehend that it would bo finished and ready for the 
reception of audiences eai'ly in the spring of 1595. It was 
a round wooden building, open to the sky, while the stage 
was protected from the weather by an overhanging roof of 
thatch. The number of persons it would contain we have 
no means of ascertaining, but it was certainly of larger di- 
mensions than the Rose, the Hope or the Swan, three other 
edifices of the same kind and used for the same jDurpose, in 
the immediate vicinity. The Blaekfriars was a private 
theatre, as it was called, entirely covered iu. and of smaller 
size ; and from thence the company, after the Globe had 
been completed, was in the habit of removing in the spring, 
perhaps as soon as there was any iucUcation of the setting 
m of fine cheerful weather'. 

Before the building of the Globe, for the exclusive use 
of the theatrical servants of the Lord Chamberlain, there 
can be little doubt that they did not act all the year round 
at the Blaekfriars : they appear to have performed some- 
times at the Curtain in Shoreditch-, and Richard Burbage, 
at the time of his death, still had shares in that playhouse^ 
"Whether they occupied it iu common with any other associa- 
tion is not so clear ; but we learu from Henslowe's Diary, that 
in 1594, and ^lerhaps at an earher date, the company of 
which Shakespeare was a member had played at a theatre 
in Newiogton Butts, where the Lord Admiral's servants 
also exhibited. At this period of our stage-history the per- 
formances usually began at three o'clock in the afternoon ; 
for the citizens transacted their business and dined early, 
and many of them afterwards walked out into the fields 
for recreation, often visiting such theatres as were open 
purposely for their reception. Henslowe's Diary shows that 
the Lord Chamberlaui's and the Lord Admiral's servants 
bad joint possession of the Newington theatre from Sd June 
159-1, to the 15th November, 1596 ; and during that period 
various pieces were performed, which in their titles resemble 
plays v^ich unquestionably came from Shakespeare's pen. 
That none of these were productions by our great dramatist, 
it is, of course, impossible to affirm ; but the strong proba- 
bility seems to be, that they were older dramas, of which 
he subsequently, more or less, availed himself. Among 
these was a "Hamlet," acted on 11th of June, 1594: a 
"Taming of a Shrew," acted ou 11th Juue, 1594; au " An- 
dronicus," acted on 12th June, 1594 ; a " Venetian Comedy," 
acted on 12th Aug. 1594 ; a"C£esar and Pompey," acted 
8th Nov. 1594; a "Second Part of Caesar," acted 26th 
June, 1595 ; a " Hemy V.," acted on 28th Nov. 1595 ;and 
a " Troy," acted ou the 22d June, 1596. To these we might 
add a " Palamon and Arcite," (acted on Hth Sept. 1594) if 
we suppose Shakespeare to have had any hand in writing 

I "We know that they did so afterwards, and there is every reason to 
believe that such was their practice from the beginning. Dr. For- 
man records, in his Diary in the Ashmolean Aluseum.' that he saw 
" Macbeth " at the Globe, on the '20th April. 1010 ; " Richard II." on 
the 30th April, 1011, and '' The Winter's Tale " on the 15th May, in 
the same year. See the Introductions to those several plays. 

- The same was precisely the case with Pope, the celebrated come- 
dian, who died in Feb. 1004. His will, dated 22d July. 100.3, con- 
tains the folloAvinjr clause : " Item, I give and bequeath to the said 
Mary Clark, alias "Wood, and to the said Thomas Bromley, as well all 
my part, right, title, and interest, which I have, or ought to have, 
J in and to all that playhouse, with the appurtenances, called the Cur- 



" Tlie Two Noble Kinsmen ;" and an " Antony and Vallea," 
(acted on the 20th Juue, 1595) as it is called in the barbarous 
record, which may possibly have had some connexion with 
" Antony and Cleopatra." We have no reason to think that 
Shakespeare did not aid in these representations, although 
he was perhaps, too much engaged with the duties of au- 
thorship, at tills date, to take a very busy or prominent 
pai't as an actor. 

Tlie fact that the Lord Chamberlain's players acted at 
Newington imtil November, 1596, may appear to militate 
against our notion that the Globe was fiuished and ready 
for performances in the spring of 1595 ; and it is very pos- 
sible that the construction occupied more time than we have 
unagined. Malone was of opinion that the Globe might have 
been opened even in 1594^; but we po.stpone that event 
uutil the following year, because we tliiuk the time too 
short, and because, unless it were entirely completed early 
in 1594, it would not be required, inasmuch as the company 
for which it was built seem to have acted at the Blaekfriars 
in the winter. Our notion is, that, even after the Globe 
was finished, the Lord Chamberlain's servants now and then 
performed at Newington in the summer, because audiences, 
having been accustomed to expect them there, assembled 
for the jDurpose, and tlie players did not think it prudeut to 
reUnquish the emolument thus to be obtained. The per- 
formances at Newington, we presume, did not however in- 
terfere with the representations at the Globe. If any mem- 
bers of the company had continued to play at Newington 
after November 1596, we should, no doubt, have found some 
trace of it in Henslowe's Diary. 

Another reason for thmkiug that the Globe was opened 
in the spring of 1595 is, that very soon afterwards the 
sharers in that enterprise commenced the repair and en- 
largement of their theatre in the Blaekfriars, which had 
been in constant use for twenty years. Of this proceeding 
we shall have occasion to say more presently. 

We may feel assured that the important incident of tlie 
opening of a new theatre on the Bankside, larger than any 
that then stood in that or iu other parts of the town, was 
celebrated by the production of a new play. Considering 
his station and duties in the company, and his popularity as 
a dramatist, we may be confident also that the new play 
was written by Shakespeare. In the imperfect state of our 
information, it would be vain to speculate which of his 
dramas was brought out ou the occasion ; but if the reader 
will refer to our several Introductions, he will see which of 
the plays according to such evidence as we are acquainted 
with, may appear iu his view to have the best claim to the 
distinction. Slany years ago we were strongly inclined to 
thiuk that " Henry V." was the piece : the Globe was round, 
and the " wooden O " is most pointedly mentioned iu that 
drama ; so that at all events we are satisfied that it was 
acted in that theatre : there is also a nationahty about the 
subject, and a popularity in the treatment of it, which 
would render it pecuharly appropriate ; but on farther re- 
flection and information, we are unwillingly convinced that 
" Henry V." was not written until some years afterwards. 
We frankly oAvn, therefore, that we are not iu a coudition 
to offer au opinion upon the question, and we are disposed, 
where we cau, to refrain even from conjecture, when we have 
no ground on which to rest a speculation. 

Allowing about fifteen months for the erection and com- 
pletion of the Globe, we may believe that it was in full 
operation in the spring, summer, and autumn of 1595. On 
the approach of cold weather, the company would of course 
return to their winter quarters in the Blaekfriars, which 

tain, situate and being in Holywell, in the parish of St. Leonard's 
in Shoreditch, in the county of Middlesex ; as also my part, estate, and 
interest, which I have, or ought to have, in and to all that playhouse, 
with the appurtenances, called the Globe, in the parish of St. Sa- 
viour's, in the county of Surrey." — Chalmers' Supplemental Apology, 
p. 10.3. 

Richard Burbage lived and died (in 1619) in Holywell-street, near 
the Curtain theatre, as if his presence were necessary for the .superin- 
tendence of the concern, although he had been an actor at the Blaek- 
friars for many years, and at the Globe ever since iti erection. 

3 Inquiry into the Authenticity, &c. p. S7. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAE:ESPEAKE. 



xli 



was enclosed, lighted from •within, and comparatively warm. 
This theatre, as we have stated, at this -date had been iu 
constant use for twenty years, and early iu 1596 the sharers 
directed tlieir attention to the extensive repair, enlargement, 
and, possibly, entire reconstruction of the building. The 
evidence that they entertained such a design is very deci- 
sive ; and we may perhaps infer, that the prosperity of 
their new experiment at the Globe encouraged them to 
this outlay. On the 9th Jim. 1596 (1595, according to the 
then mode of calculating the year) Lord Hunsdou, who was 
Lord Chamberlain at the time, but who died about six 
months afterwards, wrote to Su* William More, exj^ressing 
a wish to take a house of him in the Blackfriars, and adding 
that he had hearil that Sir William More had parted with 
a portion of his own residence " to some that mean to make 
a playhouse of it'." 

The truth, no doubt, was, that in consequence of their in- 
ci'cased popularity, owing, we may readily imagine, in a 
great degree to the success of the plays Shakespeare had 
produced, the company which had occupied the Blackfriars 
theati-e found that their house was too small for their audi- 
ences, and wished to enlarge it ; but it appears rather sin- 
gular that Lord Hunsdou, the Lord Chamberlain, should 
not be at all aware of the intention of the players acting un- 
der the sanction of his name and office, and should only have 
heard that some persons " meant to make a playhouse " of 
part of Sir William More's residence. We have not a copy 
of the whole of Lord Huusdon's letter — only an abstract 
of it — which reads as if the Lord Chamberlain did not even 
know that there was any theatre at all in the Blackfriars. 
Two documents in the State Pajjer Office, and a third pre- 
served at Dulwieh College, enable us to state distinctly 
what was the object of the actors at the Blackfriars in 1590. 
The first of these is a representation from certain inhabitants 
of the precinct in which the playhouse wa^ situated, not 
only against the completion of the work of repair and en- 
lai'gement, then commenced, but against all farther per- 
formances in the theatre. 

Of this paper it is not necessary for our ^^urpose to say 
more ; but the answer to it, on the part of the association 
of actors, is a very valuable refic, inasmuch as it gives the 
names of eight players who were the proprietors of the 
theatre or its ajjpurtenances, that of Shakespeare being 
fifth in the list. It will not have been forgotten, that in 
1589 no fewer than sixteen sharers were enumerated, and 
that then Sliakespeare's name was the twelfth ; but it did 
not by any means follow, that because there were sixteen 
sharers in the receipts, they were also proprietors of the 
building, jjrojoerties, or wardrobe: in 1596 it is stated that 
Thomas I'ope, (from whose will we have ah-eady given an 
extract) Ptichard Burbage, John Hemiugs, (properly spelt 
Heminge) Augustine Pliillips, William Shakespeare, Wil- 
liam Kempe, (who withdrew from the company in 1601) 
William Slye, and Nicholas Tooley, were " owners" of the 
theatre as well as sharers in the profits arising out of the 
performances. The fact, however, seems to be that the sole 
c^vner of the edifice in which plays were represented, the 

^ See '"The Loseley Manuscripts," by A. J. Kempe, Esq., 8vo. 
lS3o, p. 490 ; a very curious and interesting collection of original 
documents. 

' •■ To the right honourable the Lords of lier Majesties most hon- 
ourable rriirie Councell. 

'• The humble petition of Thomas Pope, Richard Burbage, John 
Hemings, Augustine Phillips, William Shakespeare, William Kempe, 
William Slye, Nicholas Tooley, and others, servaunts to the Right 
Honorable the Lord Chamberlaine to her Majestie. 

■■ Sheweth most humbly, that your Petitioners are owners and 
players of the private house, or theatre, in th« precinct and libertie of 
the Blackfriers, which hath beene for many yeares used and occu- 
pied for the playing of tragedies, comraedies, histories, enterludes, 
and playes. That the same, by reason of its having beene so long 
built, hath fallen into great decay, and that besides the reparation 
thereof, it hath beene found neccssarie to make the same more con- 
venient for the entertainment of auditories coming thereto. That 
to this end your Petitioners have all ami eche of them put down 
sommes of money, according to their shares in the said theatre, and 
which they have justly and lionestiy gained by the exercise of their 
qualitie of stage-players ; but that certaine persons (some of them of 
nonour) inhabitants of the said precinct and libertie of the Black- 
friers have, as your Petitioners are informed, besought your honour- 
able Lordshipps not to pormitt the said private house any longer to 

c 



proprietor of the freehold, was Richard Burbage, who in 
herited it from his father, and transmitted it to liis sons ; but 
as a body, the parties addressing the privy coimcil (for the 
" petition " appears to have been sent thither) might iu a 
certain sense call themselves owners of, as well as sharers 
in, the Blackfriars theatre. We insert the document in a 
note, observing merely, that hke many others of a similar 
Idnd, it is without signatures'^. 

The date of the year when this petition of the actors was 
presented to the privy council is ascertained from that of 
the remonstrance of the inhabitants which had rendered it 
necessary, viz. 1596 ; but by another paper, among the the- 
atrical relics of Alleyn and Henslowe at Dulwieh College, 
we are enabled to show that both the remonstrance and the 
petition were anterior to May in that year. Henslowe 
(step-father to AUeyn's wife, and AUeyn's partner) seems 
always, very prudently, to have kept up a good understand- 
ing with the officers of the department of the revels ; and 
on 3rd May, 1596, a person of the name of Veale, servant 
to Edmond Tylney, master of the revels, wrote to Hens- 
lowe, informmg him (as of course he must take an interest 
in the result) that it had been decided by the privy council, 
that the Lord Chamberlain's servants should be allowed 
to complete their repairs, but not to enlarge their house in the 
Bhickf riars ; the note of Veale to Henslowe is on a small 
shjj of paper, very clearly written ; and as it is short, we here 
insert it : — 

" Mr. llin.slowe. This is to enfourme you thatmy Mr., the 
Maisterof the revelles, htvtli rec. from the LI. of the couusell 
order tliat the L. Chauiberleu's servuuntes shall not be dis- 
tom-bed at the Blackefryars. according with their petition in 
that behalfe, but leave shall be given unto theym to make 
good the decaye of tlie .saide House, butt not to make tlio 
same larger then in former tyme hath bene. From thoffica 
of the Kevelles. this 8 of male, 1596. " Kich. Veale." 

Thus the whole transaction is made cleai* : the company, 
soon after the opening of the Globe, contemplated the repair 
and enlargement of the Blackfriars theatre : the inhabitants 
of the precincts objected not only to the repair and enlai'ge- 
meut, but to any dramatic representations in that part of 
the town : tlie company petitioned to be allowed to carry 
out their design, as regarded the restoration of the edifice, 
and the increase of its size ; but the privy council consented 
only that the building shoidd be repau-ed. We are to con- 
clude, therefore, that after the repairs were finished, the 
theatre would hold no more spectators than formerly ; but 
that the chlapidations of time were substantially remedied, 
we are sure from the fact, that the house continued long 
afterwards to be employed for the purpose for which it had 
been originally constructed^ 

What is of most importance in this proceeding, with re- 
ference to Shakespeare, is the circumstance upon which we 
have already remarked; that whereas his name, in 1589, 
stood twelfth in a list of sixteen sharers, in 1596 it was ad- 
vanced to the fifth place in an enumeration of eiglit persons, 
who termed themselves " owners and j^layers of the private 
house, or theatre, in the precinct and fiberty of the Black- 

remaine open, but hereafter to be shut up and closed, to the manifest 
and great injurie of your petitioners, who have no other meanes 
whereby to maintain their wives and families, but by the exercise 
of their qualitie as they have heretofore done. Furthermore, tha: in 
the summer season your Petitioners are able to playe at their new 
built house on the Bankside calde the Globe, but that in the winter 
they are compelled to come to the Blackfriers ; and if your honorable 
Lordshipps give consent unto that which is prayde against your Pe- 
titioners, thay will not onely, while the winter endures, loose the 
meanes whereby they now support them selves and their families, 
but be unable to practise themselves in anie playes or enterludes, 
when calde upon to performe for the recreation and solace of her 
Ma'i" and her honorable Court, as they have beene heretofore accus- 
tomed. The humble prayer of your Petitioners therefore is, that 
your honorable Lordshipps grant permission to tinish the reparations 
and alterations they have begun ; and as your Petitioners have hith- 
erto been well ordered in their behaviour, and just in their dealings, 
that your honorable Lordshipps will not inhibit them from acting at 
their above namde private house in the precinct and libertie of the 
Blackfriers, and your Petitioners, a.<; in dutie most bounden, will 
ever pray for the increasing honor and happinesse of your honorable 
Lordshipps."' 

3 The ultimate fate of this playhouse, and of others existing at the 
same time, will be found stated in a subsequent part of our memoir. 



xlii 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



friars." It is not difficult to suppose tliat the speculation 
at the Globe had be<5n remax'kably successful in its first 
season, and that the Lord Chamberlain's servants had there- 
by been induced to expend money upon the Blackfriars, in 
order to render it more commodious, as well as more capa- 
cious, under the calculation, that the receipts at the one 
house during the winter would be greater in consequence of 
their popularity at the other during the sunimei". 

Where Shakespeare had resided from the tune when he 
first came to London, until the period of which we are now 
speaking, we have no information ; but in July, 1596, he 
was U\'ing in Southwark, perhaps to be close to the scene of 
action, and more effectually to superintend the performances 
at the Globe, which were continued through at least seven 
mouths of the year. We know not whether he removed 
there shortly before the opening of the Globe, or whether 
from the first it had been his usual place of abode ; but 
Malone tells us, " From a paper now before me, which for- 
merly belonged to Edward Alleyn, the player, our poet ap- 
pears to have lived in Southwark, near the Bear-garden, in 
1596'." He gives us no farther insight into the contents of 
the paper ; but he probably referred to a small shp, bor- 
rowed, with other rehcs of a hke kind, from Dulwich Col- 
lege, many of which were returned after his death. Among 
those returned seems to have been the paper in question, 
which is valuable only because it pi'oves distinctly, that 
our great dramatist was an inhabitant of Southwark very 
soon after the Globe was in operation, although it by no 
means estabhshes that he had not been resident there long 
before. We subjoin it exactly as it stands in the original : 
the hand-writing is ignorant, the spelling peculiar, and it 
was evidently merely a hasty and imperfect memorandum.— 

" luhabitantes of Sowtherk as have complaned, this — of 
Jully, 1596. 

Mr Markis 

Mr Tuppin 

Mr Langorth 

Wilsone the pyper 

Mr Barett 

Mr Shaksper 

Phellipes 

Tomson 

Mother Golden the baude 

Nagges 

Filipott and no more, and see well ended." 

This is the whole of the fragment, for such it appears to 
be, and without farther explanation, which we have not 
been able to find in any other document, in the depository 
whore the above is preserved or elsewhere, it is impossible 
to understand more, than that Shakespeare and other in- 
habitants of Southwark had made some complaint in July 
1596, which, we may guess, was hostile to the wishes of the 
writer, who congratulated himself that the matter was so 
well at an end. Some of the parties named, including our 
great dramatist, continued resident in Southwark long after- 
wards, as we shall have occasion in its proper place to 
show. The writer seems to have been desirous of spealdng 
derogatorily of all the persons he enumerates, but still he 
designates some as " Mr. Markis, Mr. Tuppin, Mr. Langorth, 
Mr. Barett, and Mr. Shaksper ;" but " PhelHpes^, Tomson, 
Nagges, and Filipott," he only mentions by then' surnames, 
while he adds the words " the pyj)er " and " the baude " after 
" Wilsone^ " and " Mother Golden," probably to indicate that 
any complaint from them ought to have but little weight. All 
that we certainly collect from the memorandum is what Ma- 
lone gathered from it, that in July 1596, (Malone only gives 
the year, and adds " near the Bear-garden," which we do not 
find confirmed by the contents of the paper) iu the middle 

1 "Inquiry into the Authenticity," &c. p. 215. He seems to have 
reserved particulars for his " Life of Shakespeare," which he did not 
live to complete, and which was imperfectly finished by Boswell. 

2 This may have been Augustine Phillippes, who belonged to the 
company of the Lord Chamberlain's servants, and whose name stands 
fourth in the royal license of May 1603. He died as nearly as possi- 
ble two years afterwards, his will being dated on the 4th May, and 
proved on the 13th May, 1G05. Among other bequests to his friends 
and '■ fellows," he gave '• a thirty-shillings piece of gold " to William 
Shakespeare. He was a distinguished comic performer^ and the 



of what we have considered the second season at the new 
theatre called the Globe, Shakespeare was an inhabitant of 
Southwark. That he had removed thither f jr the sake of 
convenience, and of being nearer to the spot, is not unlikely, 
but we have no evidence upon the point : as there is reason 
to believe that Burbage, the principal actor at the Globe, 
lived in Holywell Street, Shoreditch, near the Curtain play- 
house", such an arrangement, as regards Shakespeare and the 
Globe, seems the more probable. 



CHAPTER XL 

Chancery suit in 1597 by John Shakespeare and his wife to 
recover Asbyes : their bill ; the answer of John Lambert; 
and the replication of John and Mary Shakespeare. Proba- 
ble result of the suit. William Shakespeare's annual visit 
to Stratford. Death of his son Hamnet in 1596. General 
scarcity in England, and its effects at Stratford. The quan- 
tity of corn in the liands of William Shakespeare and liis 
neighbours in February, 1598. Ben Jonson's " Every Man 
in his Humour," and probable instrumentality of S'halio- 
speare iu the original production of it on the stage. Ilens- 
lowe's letter respecting the death of Gabriel Spenser. 

We have already mentioned that in 15*78 John Shakespeare 
and liis wife, iu order to reUeve themselves from pecuniary 
embarrassment, mortgaged the small estate of the latter, 
called Asbyes, at Wilmecote in the parish of Aston Cant- 
lowe, to Edmund Lambert, for the sum of 40/. As it con- 
sisted of nearly sixty acres of land, with a dwelling-house, 
it mr.st have been worth, perhaps, three times the sum ad- 
vanced, and by the admission of all parties, the mortgagere 
were again to be put in possession, if they repaid the money 
borrowed on or before Miehaelmas-day, 1580. According to 
the assertion of John and Mary Shakespeare, they tendered 
the 40/. on the day appointed, but it was refused, unless 
other moneys, which they owed to the mortgagee, were re- 
paid at the same time. Edmund Lambert (perhaps the 
father of Edward Lambert, whom the eldest sister of Mary 
Shakespeare had married) died in 1586, in possession of 
Asbyes, and from him it descended to his eldest son, John 
Lambert, wlio continued to withhold it in 159*7 from thi>se 
who claimed to be its rightful owners. 

In order tt) recover the property, John and Mary Sliako- 
speare filed a bill in chancery, on 24th Nov. 1597, against 
John Lambert of Barton-on-the-Heath, in which they al- 
leged tlie fiict of the tender and refusal of the 40/. by Ed- 
mund Lambert, who, wishing to keep the estate, no doubt 
coupled with the tender a condition not included in the deed. 
The advance of other moneys, the repayment of which was 
required by Edmund Lambert, was not denied by John au.d 
Mary Shakespeare, but tliey contended that they had done 
all the law required, to entitle them to the restoration of 
theu"' estate of Asbyes : in their bill they also set forth, that 
John Lambert was " of great wealth and abihty, and well 
friended and alhed amongst gentlemen and freeholders of 
the country, in the county of Warwick," while, on tlie other 
hand, they were " of small wealth, and very few friends and 
alliance in the said county." The answer of John Lambert 
merely denied that tlie 40/. had been tendered, in conse- 
quence of which he alleged that his father became " law- 
fully and absolutely seised of the premises, in his demesne 
as of fee." To this answer John and Mary Shakespeare 
put in a rephcation, reiterating the assertion of the tender 
and refusal of the 40/. on Michaelmas-day, 1580, and pray- 
ing Lord Keeper Egerton (afterwards Baron Ellesmere) to 
decree in their favour accordingly. 

earliest notice we have of him is prior to the death of Tarlton in 
1538. 

' It is just possible that by " Wilsone the pyper " the writer meant 
to point out ''Jack Wilson," the singer of " Sigh no more, ladies," 
in "Much ado about Nothing," who, might be, and probably was, a 
player upon some wind instrument. See also the ''Memoirs of Ed- 
ward Alleyn," (printed by the Shakespeare Society) p. 151, for a no- 
tice of -'Sli. Wilson, the singer," when he dined on one occasion 
with the founder of Dulwich College. 

* Malone's Shakspeare by Boswell, iii. p. 182. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



xliii 



If any decree were pronounced, it is singular that no 
trace of it should have been preserved either in the records 
of the Court of Chancery, or among the papers of Lord 
EUesmere ; but such is the fact, and the inference is, that 
the suit was settled by the parties without proceeding to 
this extremity. We can have little doubt that the bill had 
been filed with the concurrence, and at the instance, of our 
great dramatist, who at this date was rapidly acquiring 
wealth, although his father and mother put forward in their 
bill their owa poverty and powerlessness, compared with 
the riches and influence of their opjjonent. William Shake- 
speare must have been aware, that during the last seven- 
teen years his father and mother had been deprived of their 
right to Asbyes : in all j^robability liis money was employed 
in order to commence and prosecute the suit in Chancery : 
and unless wo suppose them to have stated and re-stated a 
deliberate falsehood, respecting the tender of the 40^., it is 
very clear that they had equity on their side. We think, 
therefore, we may conclude that John Lambert, finding 
he had no chance of success, reUuquished his claim to Asbyes, 
perhaps on the payment of tlie 40^. and of the sums wliieh 
his father had required from John and Mary Shakespeare 
in 15 SO, and which in 1597 they did not dispute to have 
been due. 

Among other matters set forth by John Lambert in his 
answer is, that the Shakespeai'es were anxious to regain 
possession of Asbyes, because the current lease was near 
its expiration, and they hoped to be able to obtain an im- 
proved rent. Supposing it to have been restored to their 
hands, the flxct may be that they did not let it again, but 
cultivated it themselves; and we have at this period some 
new documentary evidence to produce, leading to the belief 
that our jwet was a land-owner, or at all events a land-oc- 
cupier, to some extent in the neighbourhood of Stratford- 
upon-Avon. 

Aubrey informs us, (and there is not only no reason for 
disbelieving his statement, but every ground for giving it 
credit) that William Shakespeare was " wont to go to his 
native country once a year." Without seeking for any evi- 
dence upon the question, nothing is more natural or proba- 
ble ; and when, therefore, he had acquired sufficient pro- 
perty, he might be anxious to settle his fiUiiily comfortably 
and independently in Stratford. We must suppose that his 
father and mother M'cre mainly dependent upon hun, not- 
withstanding the recovery of the small estate of the latter 
at Wilmecote ; and he may have employed his brother 
Gilbert, who was two years and a half younger than him- 
self, and perhaps accustomed to agricultural pursuits, to 
look after his farming concerns in the country, wldle he 
himself was absent superintending his highly profitable 
theatrical undertakings m London. In 1595, 1596, and 1597, 
our poet must have been in the receipt of a considerable 
and an increasing income: he was part proprietor of the 
Blackfriars and the Globe theatres, both excellent specula- 
tions ; he was an actor, doubtless earning a good salary, in- 
dependently of the proceeds of his shares ; and he Avas the 
most popular and applauded dramatic jjoet of the day. In 
the summer he might find, or make, leisure to visit his na- 
tive town, and we may be tolerably sure that he was there 
in August, 1596, when he had the misfortune to lose his 
only son Hamnet, one of the twins born early in tlie spring 
of 1585 : the bay completed his eleventh year in February, 
1596, so that his death in August following must have been 
a very severe trial for his parents*. 

Stow informs us, that in 1596 the price of provisions in 
England was so high, that the bushel of wheat was sold for 
six, seven, and eiglit shillings^ : the dearth continued and 
incre-xsed through 1597, and in August of that year the 

f)rice of the bushel of wlieat had risen to thirteen shillings, 
eU to ten shillings, and rose again, in the words of the old 



' The following is the form, of the entry of the burial in the regis- 
ter of the church of Stratford : — 

"1.596. .'luffu.it il. Hamnet jilias Ifitlinm Sha/csperc." 

3 .^nnales, edit. lGl.5, p. 1279. 3 Ibid. p. 1304. 

* Malone's Shakspeare. by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 500. 

•'' In the indorsement of the document it is stated, that the Towns- 
men's malt am.ounted to 4-19 q^uarters and two " strike ■' or bushels, 



faithful chronicler, to " the late greatest priee^." Malone 
found, and printed, a letter from Abraham Sturley, of Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon, dated 24th Jan., 1597-8, stating that his 
" neighbours groaned with the wants they felt through the 
dearness of corn''," and that malcontents in great numbers 
had gone to Sir Thoms Lucy and Sir Fulke Greville to 
complain of the maltsters for engrossing it. Connected with 
this dearth, the Shakespeare Society has been put in pos- 
session of a docmuent of much value as regards the bio- 
graphy of our poet, although, at first sight, it may not ap- 
pear to deserve notice, it is sure in the end to attract It is 
thus headed : — 

" The noate of corne and malte, taken the 4th of February, 
1597, in the 40th vear of the raigne of our most gra- 
cious Soveraigne Ladie, Queen Elizabeth, &c." 

and in the margin opposite the title are the words " Strat- 
forde Burroughe, Warwicke." It was evidently prepared 
in order to ascertain how much corn and malt there really 
was in the town ; and it is divided into two columns, one 
showing the " Townsmen's corn," and the other the " Stran- 
gers' malt^." The names of the Townsmen and Strangers 
(when known) are all given, with the wards in which they 
resided, so that we are enabled by this document, among 
other things, to prove in Avhat part of Stratford the family 
of our great j^oet then dwelt : it was in Chapel-street Ward, 
and it appears tliat at the date of the account Wilfiam 
Shakesjjeare had ten quarters of corn in his possession. As 
some niay be curious to see who were his unmediate neigh- 
bours, and in what order the names are given, we copy the 
account, as far as it relates to Chapel-street Ward, exactly 
as it stands. — 

CiiAPPLE Street Ward. 

3 Frauncia Smytlie, Jun'., 3 quarters, 
5 John Co.xe, 5 quarters. 
17i M'. Thomas Dyxon, 17i quarters. 
3 M'. Thomas Barbor, 8 quarters. 

5 Mychaell Hare, 5 quarters. 

6 M''. Bitielde, 6 quarters. 

6 Hugh Aynger, 6 quarters. 

6 Tliomas Badsey, 6 quarters — bareley 1 quarter. 
1. 2 str. John Kogers, 10 strikes. 

8 W". Enimettes, 8 quarters. 

11 M^ Aspinall, aboute 11 quarters. 

10 W'". Shackespere, 10 quarters. 

7 Jul. Shuwe, 7 quarters." 

We shall have occasion hereafter again to refer to this 
document upon another point, but in the mean time we may 
remark that the name of John Shakespeare is not found iu 
any part of it. This fact gives additional probability to the 
belief that the two old peoj^le, possibly with some of their 
children, were Uving in the house of their son William, for 
such may be the reason why we do not find John Shake- 
speare mentioned in the account as the owner of any corn. 
It may likewise iu part explain how it happened that Wil- 
liam Shakespeare was in possession of so large a quantity : 
m proportion to the ninnber of his famdy, in time of scar- 
city, he would be naturally deshous to be well provided 
with the main ai'ticle of subsistence ; or it is very possible 
that, as a grower of grain, he might keep some in store for 
sale to those who A\'ere in want of it. Ten quarters does 
not seem much more than would be needed for his own 
consumption ; but it aflbrds some proof of his means and 
substance at this date, that only two persons in Chapel- 
street Ward had a larger quantity in their hands. We are 
led to infer from this circumstance that our great dramatist 
may have been a cultivator of land, and it is not unlikely 
that the wheat iu his granary had been grown on his mo- 
ther's estate of Asbyes. at Wilmecote, of which we loiow 

besides 9 quarters of barley — their peas, beans, and vetches to 15 
quarters, and their oats to 12 quarters. The malt, the property of 
Strangers, amounted to 243 quarters and 5 strike, together with 3 
quraters of peas. Besides malt, the Townsmen, it is said, were in 
possession of 43 quarters and a half of "wheat and mill-corn," and 
of 10 quraters and strike of barley ; but it seems to have been con- 
siderably more, even in Chapel-street Ward. 



xliv 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



that no fewer than fifty, out of about sixty, acres were 
arable*. 

We must noTV return to London and to theatrical affairs 
there, and iu the first place advert to a passage in Rowe's 
Life of Shakespeare, relating to the real or supposed com- 
mencement of the connexion between our great dramatist 
and Ben Jouson^. Rowe tells us that " Shakespeare's ac- 
quaiutance with Ben Jonson began with a remarkable piece 
of humanity and good nature. Mr. Jonson, who was at 
that time altogether unknown to the world, had offered one 
of his plays to the players, in oi'der to have it acted ; and 
the persons into whose hands it was put, after having turned 
it carelessly and superciliously over, were just upon return- 
ing it to him wi h an ill-natured answer, that it would be 
of no service to their company, when Shakespeare, luelclly, 
cast his eye upon it, and found something so well in it, as to 
engage him first to read it through, and afterwards to re- 
commend Mr. Jonson and his writings to the public." Tliis 
anecdote is entirely disbeheved by Mr. Gifford, and he rests 
Lis incredulity upon the supposition, that Ben Jonson's ear- 
liest ]moA\Ti production, " Every Man in his Humour," was 
originally acted in 1597 at a different theatre, and he pro- 
duces as evidence Henslowe's Diary, which, he states, proves 
that the comedy came out at the Rose". 

The truth, however, is, tliat tlie play supposed, on the 
authority of Henslowe, to be Ben Jonson's comedy. Is only 
called by Henslowe " Humours " or " Umers," as he igno- 
rantly spells it*. It is a mere speculation that this was Ben 
Jonson's play, for it may have been any other performance, 
by any other poet, in the title of which the word " Hu- 
mours " oecm-red ; and we have the inchsputable and une- 
quivocal testimony of Ben Jonson hunsclf, in his own au- 
thorized edition of his works in 1616, that " Every Man in 
his Humour " was not acted until 1598 : he was not satisfied 
with stating on the title-page, that it was " acted in the year 
1598 by the then Lord Chamberlain his servants," which 
might have been considered sufficient ; but iu this instance 
(as in all others in the same volume) ho informs us at the 
end that 1598 was the year in which it was first acted : — 
"Tliis comedy was first acted in the year 1598." Are we 
prepared to disbeheve Ben Jonson's positive assertion (a 
man of the highest and purest notions, as regarded truth 
and integrity) for the sake of a theory founded upon the 
bare assumption, that Henslowe by " Umers " not only 
meant Ben Jonson's " Every Man iu his Humour," but could 
mean nothing else ? 

Had it been brought out onginally by the Lord Admi- 
ral's players at the Rose, and acted witli so much success 
tliat it was repeated eleven times, as Henslowe's Diary 
shows was the case ■with " Umers," there can be no appa- 
rent reason why Ben Jonson should not have said so ; and 
if he had aftei-wards withdrawn it on some pique, and car- 
ried it to the Lord Chamberlain's players, we can hardly 
conceive it possible that a man of Ben Jonson's temjjer and 
spirit would not have told us why in some otiber pai't of his 
works. 

Mr. Oifford, passing over without notice the positive state- 
ment we have quoted, respecting the first acting of " Every 
Man in his Humour " by the Lord Chamberlaiu's servants 
in 1598, proceeds to argue that Ben Jonson could stand iu 
need of no such assistance, as Shakespeare is said to have 

1 Malone's Shakespeare, by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 25. 

^ For the materials of the following note, which sets right an im- 
portant error relating to Ben. Jonson's mother, we are indebted to Mr. 
Peter Cunningham. 

Malone and GifFord (Ben Jonson's "Works, vol. i. p. 5) both came to 
the conclusion that the Mrs. Margaret Jonson, mentioned in the 
register of St. Martin's in the Fields as having teen married, 17th 
November, 1575, to Mr. Thomas Fowler, was the mother of Ben Jon- 
son, who then took a second husband. "There cannot be a reasona- 
ble doubt of it," says Giflbrd ; but the fact is nevertheless certainly 
otherwise. It appears that Ben Jonson's mother was living after the 
comedy of " Eastward Ho !" which gave oiTence to King James, (and 
which was printed in 1605,) was brought out. — (Laing's edit, of 
'•Ben Jonson's Conversations," p. 20.) It is incontestable that the 
Mrs. Margaret Fowler, who was married in 1575, was dead before 
1595 ; for her husband, Mr. Thomas Fowler, -was then buried, and in 
the inscription upon his tomb, in the old church of St. Martin's in 
the Fields, it was stated that he survived his three wives, Ellen, Mar- 
garet, and Elizabeth, who were buried in the same grave. The in- 



afforded him, because he was " as well known, and perhaps 
better," than Shakespeare himself Surely, with all defer- 
ence for Mr. Gifford's undisputed acuteness and general ac- 
curacy, we may doubt how Ben Jonson could be bettei', or 
even as well known as Shakespeare, when the latter had 
baen for twelve years connected with the stage as author 
and actor, and had written, at the lowest calculation, twelve 
dramas, while the former was only twenty -four years old, 
and had produced no known play but " Every Man in his 
Humour." It is also to be observed, that Henslowe had no 
peeuniaiy transactions with Ben Jonson prior to the month 
of August, 1598 ; wliereas, if " Umers " had been purchased 
from him, we could scarcely have failed to find some me- 
morandum of pa}Tnents, anterior to the production of the 
comedy on the .stage in May, 159Y. 

Add to this, that nothing could be more consistent with 
the amiable and generous character of Shakespeai'c, than 
that he should thus have interested himself in favour of a 
writer wlio was ten years his junior, and who gave such 
imdoubted proofs of genius as are displayed in " Every Man 
in his Humour." Our great dramatist, established in public 
fixvour by such comedies as " The Merchant of Venice" and 
" A Midsummer Night's Dream," by such a trngedy as 
" Romeo and Juliet," and by such histories as " King John," 
" Richard II.," and " Richard III.," must have felt himself 
above all rivalry, and could well afford this act of " hu- 
manity and good-nature," as Rowe terms it, (though Iilr. 
Gifford, quoting Rowe's words, accidentally omits the two 
last,) on behalf of a young, needy, and meritorious author. 
It is to be recollected also that Rowe, the original narrator 
of the incident, does not, as in several other cases, give it as 
if he at all doubted its correctness, but unhesitatingly and 
distinctly, as if it were a matter well known, and entirely 
believed, at tlie time he wrote. 

Another circumstance may be noticed as an incidental 
confirmation of Rowe's statement, with which Mr. Gifford 
could not be acquainted, because the fact has only been re- 
cently discovered. In 1598 Ben Jonson, being then only 
twenty-four years old, had a quarrel with Gabriel Spencer, 
one of Henslowe's principal actors, in consequence of which 
they met, fought, and Spencer was killed. Henslowe, -wiit- 
ing to AUeyu on the subject on, the 26th September, uses 
these words: — "Since you were "with me, I have lost one 
of my company, which hurteth me greatly ; that is Gabriel, 
for he is slain in Hoxton Fields by the hands of Benjamin 
Jonson, bricklayer^." I^ow, had Ben Jonson been at that 
date the author of the comedy called " Umers," and had it 
been his " Every man in his Humour," which was acted by 
the Lord Athuiral's players eleven times, it is not very 
likely that Henslowe would have been ignorant who Benja- 
min Jonson was, and have spoken of him, not as one of the 
dramatists iu his pay, and the author of a very successful 
comedy, but merely as " bricklayer :" he was writing also 
to his step-daughter's husband, the leading member of his 
company, to whom he would have been ready to give the 
fullest infonnation regarding the disastrous affair. We only 
adduce this additional matter to show the improbability of 
the assumption, that Ben Jonson had anytliing to do with 
the comedy of " Umers," acted by Henslowe's company in 
May, 1597 ; and the probability of the position that, as Ben 
Jonson himself states, it was originally brought out in 1598 

scription (which we have seen in Strype's edit, of Stowe's Survey, 
1720, b. vi. p. 09) informs us also, that Mr. Thomas Fowler was " born 
at Wicam, in the county of Lancaster." and that he had been 
"Comptroller and Paymaster of the Works" to Queen Mary, and 
for the first ten years of Queen Elizabeth. The date of his death is 
not stated in the inscrijvtiou, but by the register of the ch\irch it ap- 
pears that he was buried on the 29th JIay. 1595. The Mrs. Margaret 
Fowler, who died before 1595, could not have been the mother of 
Ben Jonson, who was living about 1004 ; and if Ben Jonson's mo- 
ther married a second time, we have yet to ascertain who was her 
second husband. 

3 The precise form in which the entry stands in Henslowe's a«- 
count book is this : — 

"Maye 1597. 11. It. at the comodey of Vmers." 

* Ben Jonson's "Works, 8vo. IslG, vol. i. p. 40. 

5 See " IMemoirs of Edward AUeyn," p. 51. The author of that 
work has since seen reason to correct himself on this and several other 
points. 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAKE. 



xlv 



by " the then Lord Chamberlaiu's servaots." It may have 
beea, aad probably was, acted by them, because Shake- 
speare had kindly interposed with his associates on behalf 
01 the deserving and unfriended author. 



CHAPTER XII. 

Eestriction of dramatic performances in and near London in 
1597. Tliomas Nash and liis play, "The Isle of Dogs:" 
imprisonment of Nash, and of some of the players of the 
Lord Admiral. Favour shown to the companies of the 
Lord Chamberlain and of the Lord Admiral. Printing' of 
Shakespeare's Plays in 1597. The list of his known dra- 
mas, published by E- Meres in 1598. Shakespeare author- 
ized tlie printing of none of his plays, and never corrected 
the press. Carelessness of dramauc authors in this respect. 
" The Passionate Pilgrim," 1599. Shakespeare's reputation 
as a dramatist. 

In the smnmer of 1597 an event occurred which secras to 
have produced for a tune a serious restriction upon dramatic 
performances. The celebarted Thomas Nash, early in the 
year, had written a comedy which he called " The Isle of 
Dogs :" that he had partners in the imdertakiug there is no 
doubt ; and he teUs us, in his tract called " Lenten Stuff," 
prmted in 1599, that the players, when it was acted by the 
Lord Admiral's servants in the beginning of August, 1597, 
had taken most unwarrantable liberties with his piece, by 
making large additions, fur wliich he ought not to have 
been responsible. The exact nature of the performance is 
not known, but it was certainly satirical, no doubt personal, 
and it must have had reference also to some of the polemi- 
cal and political questions of the day. Tlie representation 
of it was forbidden by authority, and Nash, with others, 
was arrested under an order from the privy council, and 
sent to the Fleet prison". Some of the oft'endiug actors had 
escape<i for a time, and tlio privy council, not satisfied with 
what had been akeady done in the way of punishment, 
wrote from Greenwich on 15th August, 1597, to certain 
magistrates, requiring them strictly to examine all the par- 
ties in custody, with a view to the discovery of others not 
yet apprehended. This important ufHeial letter, which has 
hitherto been unmentioucd, we have inserted in a note from 
the registers of the privy council of that date ; and by it 
we learn, not only that Nash was the author of the " sedi- 
tious and slanderous " comedy, but possibly himself an ac- 
tor in it, and " the maker of part of the said play," especi- 
ally pointetl at, who was in custody^. 

Before the date of this incident the companies of various 
play-houses in the county of Middlesex, but particularly at 
the Curtain and Theatre in Shoreditcli had attracted atten- 
tion, and given oftenee, by the hcentious character of their 
performances ; and the registers of the privy council show 

' The. circumstance was thus alluded to by Francis Meres in the 
next year ; — "As Actzeon was wooried of his owne hounds, so is Tom 
Nash of his lie uf Voffs. Dogges were tlxe death of Euripides ; but 
bee not disconsolate, gallant young Juvenall; Linus the sonne of 
Apollo died the same death. Yet, God forbid, that .so brave a witte 
should so basely perish : thine are but paper dogges ; neither is thy 
banishment, like Ovid's, eternally to converse witli the barbarous 
Getes : tlierefore, comfort thyseife, sweete Tom, with Cicero's glori- 
ous return to Korae, and witli tlie counsel Aeneas gives to his sea- 
beaten soldiors, lib. i. Aeneid : — 

' riuck up thine heart, and drive from thence both feare and care 
away ; 
To thinke on this may pleasure be perhaps another day.' 

" Durat.0, ct icmet rebus scrvato sccundis.''^ — Palladis Tamia, 1593, 
fo. atiO. 

* The minute in the registers of the privy council (pointed out to 
us by iVIr. Lemon) is this : — 

•'A letter to Richard Topclyfe, Thomas Fowler, and Rio. Skeving- 
ton, Esquirfs, Doctour Fletcher, and iSIr. "Wilbraliam. 

'• L'pcn information given us of a lewd plaie, that was plaied in one 
of th« plaie howses on the Bancke side, containing very seditious 
and selannderous matters, wee caused some of tlie players to be ap- 
prehended and comytted to pryson, whereof one of them was not only 
an actor, but a maker of parte of the said plaie. For as much as yt 
ys thought ineete that the rest of the players or actours in that mat- 
ter shal be apprehended, to receave socho punyshment as there lewde 
and mutynous behavior doth deserve ; these shall be, thergfore, to re- 



that the magistrates had been written to on the 2Stli July, 
1597, requiring that no plays should be acted during the 
smnmer, and directing, in order to put an effectual stop to 
such performances, because " lewd matters were handled on 
stages," that the two places above named should be " plucked 
dowu^." The magistrates Avere also enjoined to send for 
the owners of " any other common play-house " within their 
jurisdiction, and not only to forbid performances of every 
deseriijtiou, but " so to deface " all places erected for theatri- 
cal representations, " as they might not be employed again to 
such use." This command was given just anterior to the 
production of Nash's "Isle of Dogs," which was certainly 
not calculated to lessen the objections entertained by any 
persons in authority about the Court. 

The Blaekfriars, not being, according to the terms of tha 
order of the jsrivy council, " a common play-house," but 
what was called a private theatre, does not seem to have ' 
been included in the general ban ; but as we know that 
similar directions had been conveyed to the magistrates of 
the county of Surrey, it is somewhat surprising that they 
seem to have produced no effect upon the performances at 
the Globe or the Rose upon the Bankside. We must attri- 
bute tliis circumstance, perhaps, to the exercise of private 
influence ; and it is quite certain that the necessity of keep- 
uig some companies in practice, in order that they might 
be prepared to exhibit, when required, before the Queen, 
was made the first pretext for granting exclusive " licenses " 
to the actors of the Lord Chambeiiain, and of the Lord 
Achniral. We know that the Earls of Southampton and 
Rutland, about this date and shortly afterwards, were in the 
frequent habit of visiting the theatres'' : the Earl of Not- 
tingham also seems to have taken an imusual interest on 
various occasions in favour of the company acting under 
his name, and to the representations of these noblemen we 
are, perhaps, to attribute the exemption of the Globe and 
the Rose from the operation of the order " U) deface" all 
buildings adapted to dramatic rej^reseutations in Middlesex 
and Surrey, in a manner that would render them unfit for 
any such purpose in future. We have the authority of the 
registers of the privy council, under date of 19th Feb. 1597-8, 
for stating that the companies of the Lord Chamberlain 
and of the Lord Admiral obtained renewed permission " to 
use a&d practise stage-plays," in order that they might be 
duly quahfied, if called upon to perform before the Queen. 

This privilege, as i-egards the players of the Lord Admi- 
ral, seems the more extraordinary, because that was the very 
company which only in tlie August preceding had given such 
offence by the representatit)u of Nash's " Isle of Dogs," that 
its farther performance was forbidden, the author and some 
of the players were arrested and sent to the Fleet, and 
vigorous stejjs taken to secure the persons of other parties 
who for a time had made their escape. It is very likely 
that Nash was the scape-goat on the occasion, and that the 
chief blame was thi-owu upon him, although, in his tract, 

quire yow to examine these of the plaiers that are comytted, whose 
names are knowne to you, Mr. Topclyfe, wliat is become of the rest 
of theire fellowes that either had their partes in the devysinge of that 
sedytious matter, or that were actours or plaiers in the same, what 
copies they have given forth of the said playe, and to whome, and 
soch other pointes as you shall thinke meete to be demaunded of 
them ; wherein you shall require of tiiem to deale trulie, as they will 
looke to receave anie favour. Wee praie yow also to peruse soch pa- 
pers as were fownde in Nash his lodgings, which Ferrys, a messen- 
ger of the Chamber, shall delyver unto yow, and to certyiie us tha 
examynations you take. So &c. Greenwich, 15. Aug. 1597." 

From the Council Register. 
Eliz. No. Vi. p. 310. 

5 We tind evidence in a satirist of the time, that about this data 
the Theatre was abandoned, though not " plucked down." 

"'But see yonder 

One, like the unfrequented Theacre, 
Walkes in darke silence, and vast solitude." 

Edw. Guilpin's "' iSkialetlieia,'' Svo. 1593. Sign. DC. 

The theatre, in all probability, was not used for plays afterwards. 

* See Vol. ii. p. Vi'2 of the "Sidney Papers," where Rowland 
White tells Sir Robert Sydney, '• My Lord Southampton and Lord 
Rutland come not to the court : the one doth but very seldom. They 
pass away the time in London merely in going to plays every day." 
This letter is dated 11th October, 1599, and the Queen was then at 
Nonesuch. 



xl 



VI 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



before mentioned, he maintaing that he was the most inno- 
cent party of all those who were concerned m the transac- 
tion. It seems evident, that in 1593 there was a strong 
disposition on the part of some members of the Queen's 
government to resti-ict dramatic performances, in and near 
London, to the servants of the Lord Chamberlain and of the 
Lord Admiral. 

As fiir as we can judge, there was good reason for show- 
ing favour to the association with whicli Shakespeare was 
couueeted, because nothing has reached us to lead to the 
belief that the Lord Chambei'lain's servants had incurred 
any displeasure : if the Lord Admiral's servants were to be 
permitted to continue their performances at the Rose, it 
would have been an act of the grossest injustice to have 
prevented the Lord Chamberlain's servants from acting at 
^he Globe. Accordingly, we hear of no interruption, at 
this date, of the performances at either of the theatres in 
the receipts of which Shakespeai'e participated. 

To the year 1598 inclusive, only live of his plays had 
been printed, although he had then been connected with the 
stage for about twelve years, viz. " Romeo and Juliet," 
" Richard II." and " Richard III." in 1597, and " Love's La- 
bour 's Lost" and "Henry IV." part i. in 1598^ ; but, as we 
learn from indisputable contemporaneous authoi-ity, he had 
written seven others, besides what he had done in the way 
of alteration, addition, and adaptation. The earliest enu- 
meration of Shakespeare's dramas made its appearance in 
lo'JS, in a work by Francis Meres entitled " Falladis 2\i- 
mia, Wits Treasury." In a division of this small but thick 
volume (consisting of 666 8vo. pages, besides " The Table,") 
headed " A comparative discourse of our English Poets, 
with the Gi-eeke, Latine and Italian Poets," the author in- 
serts the following paragraph, which we extract precisely 
as it stands in the original, because it has no where, that we 
recollect, been quoted quite correctly. 

" As Plavtusand Seneca ara accounted the be.^t for Comedy 
and Tragedy among the Latines : so Shakespeare among y« 
EngUsli is the most excellent in both kinds for the stage ; for 
Comedy, witnes liis Getleme of Verona, his Errors, his Loue 
labors lost, liis Loue labours ivoiine, liis Alidsummers night 
dreame, & liis Merchant of Venice : for Tragedy his Ricliard 
the 2. Ricliard the 3. tienry the 4:. King John, 2'ltus An- 
dronicus and his Borneo and luliet-.'''' 

Thus we see that twelve comedies, histories, and trage- 
dies (for we have specimens in each department) were 
known as Shakespeare's in the Autumn of 1598, Avhen the 

1 It is doubtful whether an edition of " Titus Andronicus " had not 
appeared as early as 1504 ; but no earlier copy than that of 1600, in 
the library of Lord Francis Egerton, is known. It is necessary to 
bear, in mind, that the impression of " Romeo and Juliet " in 1597 
was "only a mangled and mutilated representation of the state in 
which the tragedy came from the hand of its author. 

• The following passages, in the same division of the work of 
Meres, contain mention of the name or works of Shakespeare. 

"As the soule of Buphorbus was thought to Hue in Pythagoras, 
so the sweete wittie soule of Ouid liues in mellifluous and hony- 
tongued Shakespeare ; witnes his Venus and Jldnnis, his Lucrece, his 
sugred sonnets among his priuate friends ifcc." fol. aSl. 

'•As Epius Stolo said, the Muses would speake with Plautus 
tongue, if they would speak Latin ; so I say the Muses would speak 
with Shakespeare's fine-filed phrase, if they would speak English." 
fol. 2S2. 

''And as Horace saith of his, Exegi monumentu aere perennius, 
Regaliq; situ pyramidum altius ; Quod non imber edax ; Non Aquilo 
impotens possit diruere, aut innumerabilis annorum series et fuga 
teinporum; so say I severally of Sir Philip Sidneys, Spencers, Dan- 
iels, Draytons, Shakespeares. and Warners workes." fol. 282. 

"As Pindarus, Anacreon, and Callimachus among the Greekes, and 
Horace and Catullus among the Latines, are the best lyrick poets ; 
.so in this faculty the best amog our poets are Spencer (who excelleth 
in all kinds) Daniel, Drayton, Shakespeare, Bretto." fol. 282. 

" As these tragicke poets flourished m Greece, .Sischylus, Euripe- 
des, Sophocles, Alexander Aetolus, Achseus ErithritEus, Astydamas 
Atheniesis, ApoUodorus Tarsensis, Kicomachus Phrygius, 'rhe.spis 
Atticus, and Timon ApoUoniates ; and these among the Latines, 
Accius, M. Attilius. Pomponius Secundus and Seneca; so these are 
our best for tragedie ; the Lord Buckhurst, Doctor Leg of Cambridge, 
Dr. Edes of Oxford, Maister Edward Ferris, the Authour of the Mir- 
rnur for Marristrates, Marlow, Peele, Watson, Kid. Shakespeare, 
Drayton, Chapman, Decker, and Beniamin lohnson," fol. 2S3. 

" The best poets for comedy among the Greeks are these : Menan- 
der, Aristophanes, Eupolis Atheniensis Alexis, Terius, Nicostratus, 
Amipsias Atheniensis, Anaxadrides Rhodius. Aristonymus, Archip- 
pus Atheniesis, and Callias Atheniensis ; and among the Latines, 



work of Meres came from the press'. It is a remarkable 
circumstance, evincing strikingly the manner in which the 
various companies of actors of that period were able to 
keep popular pieces from the press, that until Shakes^ieare 
had been a writer for the Loi'd Chamberlain's servants ten or 
eleven years not a single play by him was published ; raid 
then four of his first printed plays were without his name 
as if the bookseller had been ignorant of the fact, or as if 
he considered that the omission would not affect the sale : one 
of them, " Romeo and JuHet," was never printed in any early 
quarto as the work of Shakespeare, as will be seen from 
our exact reprint of the title-pages of the editions of 1597, 

1599, and 1609, (see Introdue.') The reprints of " Richard 
II." and "Richard III." in 1598, as before observed, have 
Shakespeare's name on the title- pages, and they were issued, 
perhaps, after Meres had distinctly assigned those " histo- 
ries " to him. 

It is our conviction, after the most minute and patient 
examination of, we beheve, every old impression, that 
Shakespeare in no instance authorized the publication of his 
plays": we do not consider even " Hamlet " an exception, 
although the edition of 1G04 was probably intended, by 
some parties connected with the theatre, to supersede the 
garbled and fraudulent edition of 1603 : Shakesijeare, in 
our opinion, had nothing to do with the one or witli the 
other. He allowed most mangled and deformed copies of 
several of his greatest works to be circulated for many 
years, and did not think it worth his while to expose the 
fraud, which remained, in several cases, undetected, as far as 
the great body of the public was concerned, until the ap- 
pearance of the folio of 1623. Our great dramatist's indif- 
ference upon this point seems to have been shared by many, 
if not by most, of his contemporaries ; and if the quarto 
impression of any one of his plays be more accurate in 
typography than another, we feel satisfied that it arose out 
of the better state of the manuscript, or the greater jiains 
and fidehty of the printer. 

We may here point out a strong instance of the careless- 
ness of dramatic authors of that period respecting the con- 
dition in which their productions came into the world : others 
might be adduced without much difficulty, but one will be . 
sufficient. Before his " Rape of Lucrece," a drama first 
printed in 1608, Thomas Heywood inserted an address to 
the reader, informing him (for it was an exception to tlie 
general rule) that he had given his consent to the publica- 
tion ; but those who have examined that impression, and 
its repetition in 1609, will be aware that it is full of the 

Plautus, Terence, Nceuius, Sext. Turpilius, Licinius Imbrt;x, aiil 
Virgilius Romanus ; so the best for comedy amongst us bee Edward 
Earle of Oxforde, Doctor Gager of Oxforde, Maister Rowley, once a 
rare schoUer of learned Pembrooke Hall in Cambridge, Maister K.'.- 
wardes, one of her Maiesties Chappell, eloquent and wittie .losin 
Lilly, Lodge, Gasooyne. Greene, Shakespeare, Thomas Nash, Thomas 
Heywood, Anthony Mundye. our best plotter, Chapman, Porter, Wil- 
son, Hathway, and Henry Chettle." fol. 2b"3. 

"As these are famous among the Greeks for elegie, Melaiuhus, 
Mymnerus Colophonius, Olympius Mysius, Parthenius Nicceus, i'hi- 
letas Cous, Theogenes Megarensis, and Pigres Halicarnasceus ; and 
these among the Latines, MecEenas, Ouid, TibuUus, Propertius. T. 
Valgius, Cassius Seuerus, and Clodius Sabinus ; so these are the 
most passionate among us to bewaile and bemoane the perplexities 
of loue : Plenrie Howard Earle of Surrey, sir Thomas Wyat the older, 
sir Francis Brian, sir Philip Sidney, sir Walter Rawley, sir Edward 
Dyer, _Spencer, Daniel, Drayton, Shakespeare, Whetstone, Gascoyne, 
Samuell Page sometime fellowe of Corpus Christi CoUedge in Ox- 
ford, Churchyard, Bretton." fol. '283. 

2 It was entered for publication on the Stationers' Registers in Sep- 
tember, 1598. Meres must have written something in verse which 
has not reached our day, because in IGOl he was addressed by C. 
Fitzgeoffrey, in his Jlffaniw, as a poet and theologian : he was cer- 
tainly well acquainted with the writings of all the poets of his time, 
whatever might be their department. Fitzgeoffrey mentions Meres 
in company with Spenser, Daniel, Drayton, Ben Jonson, Sylvester, 
Chapman, i\Iarston. i:c. 

* The same remark will apply to "Henry V." first printed in 4to, 

1600, and again in 1602, and a third time in 1608, without the name 
of Shakespeare. However, this "history" never appeared in any 
thing like an a,uthentic shape, such as we may suppose it came from 
Shakespeare's pen, until it was included in the folio of 1623. 

5 It will be observed that we confine this opinion to the plays, 
because with respect to the poems, especially ''Venus and Adonis" 
and " Lucrece," we feel quite as sti-ongly convinced that Shakespeare, 
being instrumental in their publication, and more anxious about 
their correctness, did see at least the first editions through the press. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



xlvii 



very grossest blunders, wliicb the commonest corrector of 
the press, much less the author, ii" he had seen the sheets, 
could not have allowed to pass. Nearly all plays of that 
time were most defectively printed, but Hey~wooa's " Rape 
of Lucrece," as it originally came from the press with the au- 
thor's hnpriiiiatur, is, we think, the worst specimen of ty- 
pograpliy that ever met our observation'. 

Returning to the important list of twelve plays furnished 
by Meres, we may add, that although he does not mention 
them, there can be no doubt that the three parts of •' Henry 
VI." had been repeatedly acted before 1598 : we may p(«- 
eibly iufei-, that they were not inserted because they were 
then well known not to be the sole work of Shakespeare. 
By " Henry IV." it is most probable that Meres intended 
both j^arts of that " history." " Love's Labom" 's Won " has 
been suppL)sed, since the time of Dr. Farmer, to be " All 's 
Well that ends Well," mider a chfferent title : our notion is 
(see Litroductiou) that the original name given to the pla}' 
was " Love's Labour 's Won ;" and that, when it was revived 
with additions and alterations, in 1605 or 10U6, it received 
also a new appellation. 

In connexion with the question regarding the interest 
taken by Shakespeare in the publication of his works, we 
may notice the impudent fraud practised in the year after 
the appearance of the list furnished by Meres. In 1599 
came out a collection of short miscellaneous poems, luider 
the title of " Tlie Passionate Pilgriiy :" they were all of them 
imputed, by W. Jaggai-d the printer, or by W. Leake the 
boolvseller, to Shakespeare, although some of them were 
notoriously by other poets. lu the Introduction to our 
repiint of this little work we have stated all the known 
particulars regarding it ; but Shakespeare, as far as ap- 
pears from any evidence that has descended to us, 
took no notice of the trick played upon him : possibly he 
never heard of it, or if he heard of it, left it to its own 
detection, not thinldug it worth Avhile to interfere^. It 
serves to establish, what certainly could not otherwise be 
doubted, the popularity of Shakespeare in 1599, and the 
manner in wMch a scheming printer and stationer endea- 
voured to take advantage of that popularity. 

Yet it is singular, if we rely upon several coeval authori- 
ties, how little our great dramatist was about this period 
known and admired for his plays. Richard Barnfield pub- 
lished his " Encomion of Lady Pecunia," in 1598, (the year 
in which the list of twelve of Shakespeare's plays was 
printed by Meres) and from a cojjy of verses entitled 
" Remembrance of some Enghsh Poets," we quote the 
following notice of Shakespeare : 

"And Shakespeare thou, whose honey-flowing vein, 
Pleasuig the world, ihy praises doth contjiin, 
Whose Venus, and whose Lucrece, sweet and chaste, 
Thy name in Fume's immortal book hath placM ; 
Live ever you, at least in fame live ever : 
Well may the body die, but fame die never." 

Here Shakespeare's popularity, as " pleasing the world," 
Is noticed ; but the proofs of it are not derived from the 
stage, where his dramas were in daily perfoi-mance before 
ci'owded audiences, but from tlie success of his " Venus and 
Adonis " and " Lucrece," which had gone through various 
editions. Precisely to the same effect, but a still stronger 
instance, we may refer to a play in which both Burbage and 

1 'Wo cannot ■wonder at the errors in plays surreptitiously procured 
and hastily printed, which was the case with many impressions of 
that day. Upon this point Heywood is an unexceptionable witness, 
and he tells us of one of his dramas, 



-— — " that some by stenography drew 
The plot, put it in print, scarce one word true." 

Other dramatists make the same complaint ; and there can be no doubt 
that it was the practice so to defraud authors and actors, and to palm 
wretchedly disfigured pieces upon the public as genuine and autlien- 
tic works. It was, we are satisfied, in this way that Shakespeare's 
'•Romeo and Juliet," "Henry V.," and "Hamlet," first got out into 
the world. 

* When "The Passionate Pilgrim" was reprinted in 1612, with 
fome additional pieces by Thomas Heywood, that dramatist pointed 
out the imposition, and procured the cancelling of the title-page in 
which the authorship of the whole was assigned to Shakespeare. 



Kerape are introduced as characters, the one of whom had 
obtained such celebrity in the tragic, and the other in the 
comic ]iarts in Shakespeare's dramas : we allude to " The 
Return from Parnassus," which was indisputably acted before 
the death of Queen Elizabeth. In a seeae where two young 
students are discussmg tlie merits of particular poets, one of 
them spea-ks thus of Shakespeare : 

" Who loves Adonis love or Lucrece rape, 
His sweeter verse contains heart-robbing life ; 
Could but a graver subject him content. 
Without love's foolish, lazy languishmeut." 

Not the most distant allusion is made to any of his 
dramatic productions, although the poet criticised by the 
young students immediately before Shakespeare was Ben 
Jonson, who was declared to be " the wittiest fellow, of a 
bricklayer, in England," but " a slow inventor." Hence we 
might be led to unagine that, even down to as late a period 
as the commencement of the seventeenth century, the repu- 
tation of ShakesjDcare depended rather upon his poems than 
upon his plays ; almost as if productions for the stage were 
not looked upon, at that date, as jjart of the recognized 
literatm'C of the country. 



CHAPTER XIIL 

New Place, or, "the great house," in Stratford, bought by 
Shakespeave in 1597. Removal of the Lord Admiral's 
players from the Bankside to the Fortune theatre in Crip- 
plegate. Rivalry of the Lord Chamberlain's and Lord Ad- 
miral's company. Order in 1600 confining the acting of 
plays to the Globe and Fortune : the influence of the two 
associations occupying those theatres. Disobedience of 
various companies to the order of 1600. Plays by Shake- 
speare publi^4led in 1600. The " First Part of the Life of 
Sir John Oldcastle," printed in 1600, falsely imputed to 
Shakespeare, and cancelling of the title-page. 

It will have been observed, that, in the docmnent we have 
produced, relating to the quantity of corn and malt in Strat- 
ford, it is stated that William Shakespeare's residence was 
in that division of the borough called Chapel-street ward. 
This is an important circumstance, because we think it may 
be said to settle decisively the disputed question, whether 
om- great dramatist purchased what was known as " the 
gi-eat house," or " New Place," before, in, or after 1597. It 
was situated in Chapel-street ward, close to the chapel of 
the Holy Trinity. We are now certain that he had a house 
in the ward in February, 1597-8, and that he had ten quar- 
ters of corn there ; and we need not doubt that it was tlie 
dwelhug which had been built by Sir Hugh Cloj^ton in the 
reign of Henry VII. : the Cloptons subsequently sold it to a 
person of the name of Botte^ and he to Hercules Underbill, 
who disposed of it to Shixkespeare. We therefore find hmi, 
in the beginning of 1598, occupying one of the best houses, 
in one of the best parts of Stratford. He who had quitted 
his native town about twelve years before, poor and com- 
paratively friendless, was able, by the profits of his own 
exertions, and the exercise of his own talents, to return to it, 
and to establish his family in more comfort and opulence 
than, as far as is known, they had ever before enjoyed*. 

3 Botte probably lived in it in 15G4, when he contributed \s. to the 
poor who were afflicted with the plague : this was the highest amount 
subscribed, the bailiif only giving 3i. -W., and the head alderman is. &</. 

* That Shakespeare was considered a man who was in a condition 
to lend a considerable sum, in the autumn of 1.39ri, we have upon the 
evidence of Richard Quyney, (father to Thomas Quyney, who subse- 
quently married Shakespeare's youngest daughter Judith) who then 
applied to him for a loan of 30^, equal to about 150/. of our present 
money, and in terms which do not indicate any doubt that our poet 
would be able to make the advance. This application is contained in 
a letter which must have been sent by hand, as it unluckily contains 
no direction : it is the only letter yet discovered addressed to Shake- 
speare, and it was first printed by Boswell from Malone's papers, vol. 
ii. p. 5d5. 

"Loving Contryman, I am bolde of yo". as of a frende, craveing 
yo"" helpe w"' xxxi>>, uppon M' Bushell & my securytee, or JM"' JMyt- 
tens with me. M' Rosswell is not come to London as yeate, & 1 have 



xlviii 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



We consider the point that Shakespeare had become owner 
of New Place in or before 1597 as completely made out, as, 
at such a distance of time, and with such imperfect informa- 
tion upon nearly all matters connected with his history 
could be at all expected'. 

We apprehend likewise, as we have already remarked 
(p. xxi), thiit the confirmation of arms in 1596, obtained as 
we beheve by WilUam Shakespeare, had reference to tlie 
permanent and substantial settlement of his family in 
Stratford, and to the purchase of a residence there consistent 
with the altered circumstances of that family — altered by 
its increased wealth and consequence, owing to the success 
of our great poet both as an actor and a dramatist. 

The removal of the Lord Admiral's players, under 
Henslowe and Alleyn, fi-om the Rose theatre on the Bank- 
side, to the new house called the Fortune, in Golding-laue, 
Cripplegate, soon after the date to which we are now 
referring, may lead to the opinion that that company did 
not find'ltself equal to sustain the rivalship with the Lord 
Chamberlain's servants, under Shakespeare and Burbage, at 
the Globe. That theatre was opened, as we have adduced 
reasons to believe, in the spring of 1595 : the Rose was a 
considerably older building, and the necessity for repairing 
it might enter into the calculation, when Henslowe and 
Alleyn thought of trying the experiment iu a different part 
of the town, and on the Middlesex side of the water. Thea- 
tres being at this date merely wooden structures, and much 
frequented, they would soon fall into decay, especially in a 
marshy situation like that of the Bankside : so damp was 
the soil in the neighbourhood, that the Globe was surrounded 
by a moat to keep it dry ; and, although we do not find the 
fact any where stated, it is most likely that the Rose was 
6imilai'ly drained. The Rose was in the first instance, and 
as far back as the reign of Edward VL, a liouse of entertain- 
ment with that sign, and it was converted into a theatre by 
Henslowe and a grocer of the name of Cholmley about the 
year 1584 ; but it seems to have early required considerable 
reparations, and they might be again necessary prior to 

especiall cawse. Yo'" shall frende me muche in helpeing me out of 
all the debeits I owe in London, I thanck god, and muche quiet to my 
mynde vf'^'' wolde not be indebited. I am now towards the Cowrte, 
in hope y answer for the dispatche of my Buysenes. Yo" shall 
nether loose creddytt nor monney by me, the Lorde willinge ; & nowe 
butt pswade yo'"' selfe see as I hope & yo^ shall nott need to feare ; 
but with all hartie thanckfuUness I wyll holde my tyme & content 
yo«' frend, & yf we Bargaine farther, yo" shall be the paie m' 
yo"' selfe. My tyme bidds me to hasten to an ende, & soe I comitt 
thys [to] yo"!^ care & hope of yo'^' helpe. I feare I shall nott be backe 
this night from the Cowrte. haste, the Lorde be w'" yo" & wth us 
all. amen. From the Bell in Carter Lane, the 25 October 1593. 

" Yo"" in all kyndenes, 

"Ryc. Qxtyset. 

" To my Loveing good frend 

& contryman M^ W" 

Shackespe thees." 
The deficiency as regards the direction of the letter, lamented by 
Malone, is not of so much importance, because we have proved that 
Shakespeare was resident in Southwark in 1.596; and he probably 
was so in 159S, because the reasons which, we have supposed, in- 
duced him to take up his abode there would still be in operation, in 
as much force as ever. 

1 In the garden of this house it is believed that Shakespeare planted 
a mulberry tree, about the year 1609 : such is the tradition, and we 
are disposed to think that it is founded in truth. In 1609, King 
James was anxious to introduce the mulberry (which had been im- 
ported about half a century earlier) into general cultivation, and the 
records in the State Paper Office show that in that year letters were 
written upon the subject to most of the justices of peace and deputy 
lieutenants in the kingdom : the plants were sold by the State at fix. 
the hundred. On the iOth November, 1609, 935Z. were paid out of the 
public purse for the planting of mulberry trees " near the ])alaoe of 
Westminster." The mulberry tree, said to have been planted by 
Shakespeare, was in existence up to about the year 1755 ; and in the 
spring of 174'2, Garrick, Macklin, and Delane the actor (not Dr. 
Delany, the friend of Swift, as Mr. Dyce, in his compendious Memoir. 
p. lix., states,) were entertained under it by Sir Hugh Clopton: New 
Place remained in possession of Shakespeare's sucoes.sors until the 
Restoration ; it was then repurchased by the Clopton family : about 
175"2 it was sold by the executor of Sir Hugh Clopton to a clergyman 
of the name of Gastrell, who, on some offence taken at the authorities 
of the borough of Stratford on the subject of rating the house, pulled 
it down, and cut down the mulberry tree. According to a letter in 
the Annual Register of 1760, the wood was bought by a silversmith, 
who " made many odd things of it for the curious." In our time we 
have seen as many relics, said to have been formed from this one 
mulberry tree, as could hardly have been furnished by all the mul- 
berry trees in the county of Warwick. 



1599, when Henslowe and Alleyn resolved to abandon 
Southwark. However, it may be doubted whether they 
would not have continued where they were, recollecting the 
convenient proximity of Paris Garden, (where bears, bulls, 
<fee. were baited, and in which they were also jointly inter- 
ested) but for the success of the Lord Chamberlain's jjlayera 
at the Globe, which had been in use four or five years". 
Henslowe and Alleyn seem to have found, that neither their 
plays nor their players could stand the competition of their 
rivals, and they accordingly removed to a vicinity where no 
play-house had previously existed. 

The Fortune theatre was commenced in Golding Lane, 
Ciipplegate, in the year 1599, and finished in 1600, and 
thither without delay Henslowe and Alleyn transported 
their whole dramatic establishment, strengthened in the 
spring of 1602 by the addition of that great and popular 
comic performer, William Kempe^. The association at the 
Globe was then left in almost undisputed possession of the 
Bankside. There were, indeed, occasional, and perhaps not 
uufrequeut, performances at the Rose, (although it had been 
stipulated with the pubhc authorities that it should be 
pulled down, if leave were given for the construction of the 
Fortune) as well as at the fiope and the Swan, but not by 
the regular associations which had previously occupied 
them ; and after the Fortune was opened, the speculation 
there was so profitable, that the Lord Admirals players 
had no motive for returning to their old quarters'*. 

The members of the two companies belonging to the 
Lord Chamberlain and to the Lord Admiral appear to have 
possessed so much influence in the summer of 1600, that 
(backed perhaps by the puritanical zeal of those who were 
unfriendly to all theatrical performances) they obtained an 
order from the privy council, dated 22d June, that no other 
pubUc jDlay-houscs should be permitted but the Globe in 
Surrey, and the Fortune in Middlesex. Nevertheless, the 
privy council registers, where this order is inserted, also 
contain distinct evidence that it was not obeyed, even in 
May 1601 ; for on the 10th of that month the Lords wrote 

2 We may be disposed to assign the following lines to about this 
period, or a little earlier: they relate to some theatrical wager in 
which Alleyn, of tlie Lord Admiral's players, was, for a part not 
named, to be matched against Kempe, of the Lord Chamberlain's 
servants. By the words '• Will's new play," there can be little doubt 
that some work by Shakespeare was intended; and we know from 
Heywood's ''Hierarchic of the Blessed Angels " 1635, that Shake- 
speare was constantly familiarly called " Will." The document is 
preserved at Dulwich, and it was fi.rst printed in the "Memoirs of 
Edward Alleyn," p. 13. 

"Sweet Nedde, nowe wynne an- other wager 

For thine old frende. and fellow stager. 

Tarlton hirnselfe thou doest excell, 

And Bentley beate, and conquer Knell, 

And now shall Kempe orecome as well. 

The moneyes downe. the place the Hope ; 

Phillippes shall hide his head and Pope. 

Feare not, the victorie is thine ; 

Thou still as macheles Ned shall shyne. 

If Roscius Richarel foames and fumes. 

The Globe shall have but emptie roomes, 

If thou doest act ; and Willes newe playe 

Shall be rehearst some other daye. 

Consent, then, Nedde ; do us this grace : 

Thou cannot faile in anie case ; 

For in the triall, come what maye, 

All sides shall brave Ned Allin saye." 
By "Roscius Richard " the writer of these lines, wno was the 
backer of Alleyn against Kempe, could have meant nobody but 
Richard Burbage. It will be recollected, that not very long after- 
wards Kempe became a member of the association of which Alleyn 
was the leader, and quitted that to which Shakespeare and Burbage 
were attached. It is possible that this wager, and Kempe's success 
in it, led Alleyn and Henslowe to hold out inducements to him to 
join them in their undertaking at the Fortune. Upon this point, 
however, we have no other evidence, than the mere fact that Kempe 
went over to the enemy. 

3 After his return from Rome, where he was seen in the autumn 
of 1601. 

* It was at the Fortune that Alleyn seems to have realized so much 
money in the few first years of the undertaking, that he was able in 
Nov. 1601 to purchase the manor of Kennington for £1065. and in the 
next year the manor of Lewisham and Dulwich for £.5000. These 
two suras, in money of the present day, would be equal to at least 
£25.000 ; but it is to be observed that for Dulwich, Alleyn only paid 
£2000 down, while the remaining sum was left upon mortgage. Irj 
the commencement of the seventeenth century theatrical speculations 
generally seem to have been highly lucrative. See " The Alleyn 
Papers," (printed by the Shakespeare Society,) p xiv. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



xlix 



to certain magistrates of Middlesex requiriuiT them to put a 
stop to the pterformauce of a phvy at the Curtain, iu which 
were introduced " some geutlemeu of good desert aud 
quahty, that are yet alive," but saying nothing about the 
closing of the house, alth<nigh it was open in deiaauce of the 
impei'ative command of the preceding year. We know 
also upon other testimony, that not only the Curtain, but 
theatres ou the Bankside, besides the Globe, (where per- 
formances were allowed) were then in occasional use. It is 
fair to presume, therefore, that the order of the 22d June, 
1600, was never strictly enforced, aud one of the most 
remarkable circumstances of the times is, the little atten- 
tion, as regards theatricals, that appears to have been paid 
to the absolute authority of the court. It seems exactly as 
if restrictive measures had been adopted in order to satisfy 
the importunity of particular individuals, but that there was 
no disposition ou the part of persons in autliority to cany 
them into execution. Such was probably the fact; for a 
yeav and a half after the order of the 22d June had been 
issued it was renewed, but, as far as we can learn, with just 
as httle effect as before.' 

Besides the second edition of " Romeo and Juliet " in 
1599, (which was most Hkely printed from a play-house 
manuscript, being very different fi'om the mutilated and 
manufactured copy of 159*7) live plays by our great di-a- 
matist found their way to the press iu 1000, viz. '' Titus An- 
dronicus," (which as we have before remarked had probably 
been originally published in 1594) "The Merchant of Ve- 
nice," "A Midsummer Night's Dream"," "Hemy TV." part 
ii., aud " Much Ado about JSTothiug." The last only was not 
menti.iuetl by Mercs iu 1598 ; and as to the periods when 
we may suppose the others to have been written, we must 
refer the reader to our several Introductions, where we 
have given the existing information upon the subject. " The 
Chronicle History of Henry V." also came out in the same 
year, but without the name of Shakespeare upon the title- 
pajje, aud it is, if possible, a more imperfect and garbled 
representation of the play, as it proceeded from the author's 
pen, than the " Romeo aud Juliet " of 1597. Whether any 
of the mauiigers of theatres at this date might not some- 
times be concerned in selling impressions of dramas, we 
have no sufficient means of deciding ; but we do not believe 
it, and we are satisfied that dramatic authors in general 
were content with disposing of their plays to the several 
companies, and looked for no emolument to be derived 
from pubheation^. We are not without something like 
'proof that actors now and then sold their parts in plaj^s to 
booksellers, and thus, by the combination of them aud other 
assistance, editions of popidar jjlays were surreptitiously 
printed. 

We ought not to pass over witliout notice a circumstance 
wliich happened in 1000, and is connected witli the question 
of the authorized or unauthorized publication of Shake- 
speare's plays. In that year a quarto impression of a play, 
called " The first part of the true and honourable History 
of the Life of Sir John Oldeastle, the good Lord Cobham," 

• See "Hist. Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage," Vol. i. p. 316, 
■where the p.nrticulars, which are here necessarily briefly and summa- 
rily dismissed, are given in detail. 

2 The clothing of Snug the joiner in a "lion's fell " in this play, 
Act V. sc. ]. speras to have suggested the humorous speech to Kinn- 
James at Linlithgow, on oOth June KilT, eight lines of which only 
are given in Nichols's '" Progresses ' of that monarch, Vol. iii. p. :i2ii. 
The -whole address, of twenty-two lines, exists in the State Paper 
office, where it was discovered by Mr. Lemon. It seems to have lieen 
the original MS. which was placed at the time in the hands of the 
king, and as it is a curiosity, we subjoin it. 

"A moveing engine, representing a fountaine, and running wine, 
came to the gate of the towne, in the midst of which was a lyon, 
and in the lyon a man, who delivered this learned speech to his 
majeslie. 

"Mo.=t royall sir. heere I doe you beseech, 
Who are a lyon, to hear a lyon's speech ; 
A miracle ; for since the dayes of jEsop, 
Till ours, noe Ij'on yet his voice did hois-up 
To such a Majestie. Then, King of Men, 
The king of beasts speaks lo thee from his denn, 
A fountaine nowe. That lyon, which was ledd 
By Androdus througli Rome, had not a head 
More rationall then this, bredd in this n.ation, 
■\Vhoe in thy presence wajbleth this oration. 



came out, on the title-page of which the name of William 
Shakespeare appeared at length. We find by Henslowe'a 
Diary that this tlrama was iu fact tlie authoi'ship of four 
poets, Anthony Muuday, Michael Drayton, Robert Wilson 
and Richard Hathway ; and to atti-ibute it to Shakespeare 
was evidently a mere trick by the bookseller, T[liomus] 
P[nvier], in the hope that it would be bought as his work. 
Malone remarked upon this fraud, but he was not aware, 
when he wrote, that it had been detected and corrected at 
the time, for since his day more than one copy of tlie " First- 
Part, ifec. of Sir Joh*i Oldeastle " has come to ligltt, upon 
the title-page of which uo name is to be found, the book- 
seller apparently having been compelled to cancel the leaf 
containing it. From tl\e iudift'ereuce Shakespeare seema 
uniformly to have displayed on matters of the kind, we 
may, possibly, conclude that the cancel was made at the 
instance of one of the four poets who were the real autlioi-y 
of the play ; but we have no means of speaking decisively 
upon the point, and the step may have been in some way 
connected with the objection taken by livuig members of the 
Oldeastle family to the name, which had been assigned by 
Shakespeare in the first instance to Falstaff'. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Death of John Shakespeare in IGOl. Performance of" T.velfth 
Night" in February, 1602. ■ Anecdote of Shakespeare and' 
Burbage : Manningham's Diary in tlie British Museum the 
anUiority for it. '''Othello," acted by Burbage and others 
at the Lord Keeper's in August, 1002. Death' of Elizabeth, 
and Arrival of James I. at Theobalds. English acioin iu 
Scotland in 15S9, and again iu 1599, 1000, and 1001 : larj^o 
rewards to them. The freedom of Aberdeen confeiTed In 
1601 upon Laurence Fletcher, the leader of the Eng]i.-<h 
company iu Scotland. Probability that Shakespeare never 
was in Scotland. 

TuE father of om- great poet died iu the autumn of 1601, 
aud he was buried at Stratford-upon-Avon'*. He seems to 
have left no will, and if he possessed any property, in land 
or houses, not made over to his family, we know not how it 
was divided. Of the eiglit children which his wife, Mary 
Ardeu, had brought him, the f )llowiug were then alive, and 
might be present at the funeral : — William, Gilbert, Joan, 
Richard, and Edmund. The latter years of John Shake- 
speare (who, if born in 1530 as Malone supposed, was in 
his seventy-first year) were doubtless easy aud comfortable, 
aud the prosperity of his eldest son must have placed him 
beyond the reach of pecuniary difficulties. 

Early in the spring of 1002, we meet with one of those 
rare facts which distinctly show how uncertain all conjec- 
ture must be respecting the date when Shakespeare's dramas 
were originally written and produced. Malone and Tvr- 
whitt, m 1790, conjectured that " Twelfth Night " had been 
written in 161-4: in his second edition Malone altered it to 

For though he heer inclosed bee in plaister, 
"When he was free he was this townes school-master. 
This Well you see, is not that Arethusa, 
The Nymph of Sicile : Noe, men may carous a 
Health of the plump Lya;us, noblest grapes. , 

From these faire conduits, and turne drunk like apes. 
This second spring 1 keep, as did that dragon 
Hesperian apples. And nowe, sir, a plague on 
This your poore towne, if to 't you bee not welcome .' 
But whoe can doubt of this, when, loe .' a Well come 
Is nowe unto the g.ate .' I would say more, 
But words now failing, dare not, least 1 roare. 
The eight lines in Nichols's " Progresses of James I." are from 
Drummond's Poem, and there can be little doubt that the whole 
speech was from his pen. 

•• It was a charge against Robert Greene, th.at, driven by the pres- 
sure of necessity, he had on one-occasion raised money by makinj; 
" a double sale " of his play called •' Orlando Furioso," 1594, first to 
the players and afterwards to the press. Such may have been the 
fact, but it was unquestionably an exception to the ordinary rule. 

* See the Introduction to " Henry IV." Part I. 

* On the Sth September, as we find by the subsequent entry in the 
parish register : — 

"IGUl. Septcmbr.S. Mr. Jahancs Shakspeare.'' 



1 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



1607, and Chalmers, iveigliing the evidence in favour of 
one date and of the other, thought neither correct, and fixed 
upon 1613', an opinion in -which Dr. Drake fully concurred". 
The truth is, that we have irrefragable evidence, from an 
eye-witness, of its existence on 2nd February, 1602, when 
it was played at the Reader's Feast in the Middle Temple. 
This eye-\fituess was a barrister of the name of Manning- 
ham, -^'ho left a Diary behind him, wliich has been pre- 
served in the British Museum ; but as we have inserted his 
account of the plot in oiu' introduction to the comedy, (Vol. 
iii. p. 317) no more is required here, th»u a mere mention 
of the circumstance. However, in another part of the same 
manuscript^ he gives an anecdote of Shakespeare and Bur- 
bage, which we quote, without f:irther remark than that it 
has been supposed to depend upon the authority of iS'icho- 
las Tooley^, but on looking at the original record again, we 
doubt whether it came from any such source. A " Mr. 
Towse " is repeatedly introduced as a person from whom 
Manningham derived information, and that name, though 
blotted, seems to be placed at the end of the paragraph, 
certainly without the addition of any Christian name. This 
cireums'tauee may make some difference as regards the au- 
thenticity of the story, because we know not who Mr. 
Towse niight be, while we are sure that Nicholas Tooley 
was a fellow-actor in the same company as both the indi- 
viduals to wliom the story relates. At the same time it 
was, very possibly, a mere invention of the " roguish play- 
ers," originating, as was often the case, in some older joke, 
and applied to Shakespeare and Burbage, because theu" 
Christian names happened to be William and RichaJxP. 

Elizabeth, from the- commencement of hev reign, seems 
ti^ have extended her personal patronage, as well as her 
public countenance, to the drama ; and scarcely a Christmas 
or a Slu'ovetide can be pointed out during the fort)--five 
veai's she occupied the throne, when there were not dra- 
matic enteitaiumeuts, eithei; at Whitehall, Greenwich, Xone- 
such, Riehnaond, or Windsor. The latest visit she paid to 
any of her nobility in the eormtry was to the Lord Keeper, 
Sir Thomas Egerton, at Harefield, only nine or ten months 
before her death, and it was upon this occasion, in the very 
begimiiug of August, 1602, that " Othello'' " (having been 
got up for her amusement, and the Lord Chamberlain's 

> Supplemental Apology, &c. p. 467. 

2 Shakspeare and his Times, vol. ii. p. 262. 

3 MS. Harl. No. 535:3. 

4 Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. i. p. 331. The 
Christian name is wanting in the Harl. MS. 

5 See "Hist. Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage." vol. i. p. 3.31. 
The writer of that work thus introduces the anecdote : — " If in the 
couise of my inquiries, I have been unlucky enough (I may perhaps 
say) to find anything which represents our great dramatist in a less 
favourable light, as a human being with human infirmities, I may 
lament it, but I do not therefore feel myself at liberty to conceal and 
suppress the fact " The anecdote is this. 

"Upon a tyme when Burbage played Rich. 3, there was a citizen 
grew so farre in liking with him, that before sliee went from the 
play, shee appointed him to come that night unto her, by the name 
of Rich, the 3. Shakespeare, overhearing their conclusion, went be- 
fore, was entertained, and at his game ere Burbage came. Then, 
message being brought, that Rich, the 3. was at the dore, Shake- 
speare caused returne to be made, that William the Conqueror was 
before Rich, the 3. Shakespeare's name Willm." 

This story may be a piece of scandal, but there is no doubt that 
Burbage was the original Richard III. As to the custom of ladies 
inviting players home to supper, see Middleton's " Mad "World, my 
Masters,"' Act v. sc. 2, in •' Dodsley's Old Plays,'" last edit. The 
players, in turn, sometimes invited the ladies, as we find by Field"s 
■• Amends for Ladies," Act iii. sc. 4, in the supplementary volume to 
" Dodsley's Old Plays," published in 1S29. 

6 See the "Introduction" to " Othello." Also "The Egerton Pa- 
pers." printed by the Camden Society, 1S40, p. 343. 

'' In a former note we have inserted the names of some of the 
principal characters, in plays of the time, sustained by Burbage. as 
they are given in the Epitaph upon his death, in 1619. Our readers 
may like to see the manner in which these characters are spoken of 
by the contemporaneous versifi.er. The production opens with this 
couplet : — 

'■ Some skilful limner help me, if not so, 
Some sad tragedian to express my woe ;" 

■which certainly does not promise much in the way of excellence ; 

but the enumeration of parts is all that is valuable, and it is this : — 

" No more young Hamlet, though but scant of breath, 

Shall cry, Revenge 1 for his dear father's death : 

Poor Romeo never more shall tears beget 

For Juliet's love, and cruel Capulet : 



! players brought down to the Lord Keeper's seat in Hert- 
fordshire for the purpose) was represented before her. In 

' this case, as in the preceding one respecting " Twelfth 
Night," all that we positively learn is that such drama was 
performed, and we are left to infer that it was a new play 
from other circumstances, as well as from the fact that it 
was customary on such festivities to exhibit some drama 

! that, as a novelty, was then attracting public attention. 
Hence we are led to believe, that " Twelfth Night " (not 
printed until it formed part of the folio of 1623) was writ- 
ten at the end of 1600, or in the beginning of 1601 ; and 

: that " Othello" (first publi.shed in 4to, 1622,) came from the 

I author's pen about a year afterwards. 

I In the memorandum ascertaining the performance of 
" Othello " at Harefield, the company by which it was re- 
presented is called " Burbages Players," that designation 
arising out of the fact, that he was looked upon as the 
leader of the association : he was certainly its most cele- 
brated actor, and we find from other sources that he was 
the representative of " the Moor of Venice'." Whether 
Shakespeare had any and what part in the tragedy, either 
theu or ujjon other occasions, is not known ; but we do not 
think any argument, one way or the other, is to be drawn 
from the fact that the company, when at Harefield, does 
not seem to have been under his uumediate government 
Whether he was or was not one of the "players" in 
"Othello," in August 1602, there can be httle doubt that as 
an actor, and moreover as one " excellent in liis quality," he 
must have been often seen and applauded by Ehzabeth. 
Chettle informs us after her death, in a passage already 
quoted, that she had " opened her royal ear to his lays ;" 
but this was obviously in his capacity of dramatist, and we 
have no du-ect evidence to establish that Shakespeare had 
e^-er performed at Court^ 

James I. readied Theobalds, in his journey from Edin- 
burgh to London, on the 7th May, 1603. Before he quitted 
his own capital he had had various opportunities of witr 
nessing the performances of English actors ; and it is an in- 
teresting, but at the same time a difficult question, whether 
Shakespeare had ever appeared before him, or, in other 
words, whether oiu" great dramatist had ever visited Scot- 
hmd I We have certainly no affirmative testimony upon 

Harry shall not be seen as King or Prince, 

They died with thee, dear Dick, — 

Not to revive again. Jeronimo 

Shall cease to mourn his son Horatio. 
I They cannot call thee from thy naked bed 

By horrid outcry ; and Antonio's dead. 

Edward shall lack a representative ; 

And Crookback, as befits, shall cease to live. 

Tyrant Macbeth, with unwash'd bloody hand, 

"We vainly now may hope to understand. 

Brutus and Marcius henceforth must be dumb, 

For ne'er thy like upon our stage shall come, 

To charm the faculty of ears and eyes, 

Unless we could command the dead to rise. 

Vindex is gone, and what a loss was he I 

Frankford, Brachiano, and Malevole. 

Heart-broke Philaster. and Amintas too, 

Are lost for ever, with the red-hair'd Jew, 

■Which sought the bankrupt Merchant's pound of flesh, 

By woman-lawyer caught in his own mesh. » * * 

And his whole action he would change with ease 

From ancient Lear to youthful Pericles. 

But let me not forget one chiefest part 

"Wherein. beyond the rest, he mov'd the heart ; 

The grieved Moor, made jealous by a slave, 

"Who sent his wife to fill a timeless grave, 

Then slew him.-elf upon the bloody bed. 

All these, and many more, with him are dead,'' &c; 
The MS. from which the above lines are copied seems, at least in one 
place, defective, but it might be cured by the addition of the words, 
•' and not long since." 

f A ballad was published on the death of Elizabetli, in the com- 
mencement of which Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and Thomas Greene," 
author of '• A Poet's Vision and a Prince's Glorie,'' 4to. 1603, were 
called upon to contribute some verses in honour of the late Queen : 

'' You poets all, brave Shakespeare, Johnson, Greene, 
Bestow your time to write for England's Queene," kc. 

Excepting for this notice of " brave Shakespeare," the production 
is utterly contemptible, and must have been the work of some of the 
" goblins and underelves " of poetry, who, according to a poem in H. 
Chettle's "England's Mourning Garment," had put forth upon the 
occasion " rude rhimes, and metres reasonless." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



li 



the poiut, beyond what maybe derived from some passages 
in " Maebeth," descriptive of jDarticular localities, with 
•u'hich passages our readers must be familiar : there is, 
however, ample room for conjecture ; and although, ou the 
whole, we are iuelincd to think that he was never north of 
the Tweed, it is indisputable that the company to which he 
belonged, or a part of it, had pcT'fornied in Eiliuburgh and 
Aberdeen, and doubtless in some intermediate places. We 
will briefly state the existing proofs of this fact. 

The year 1599 has been commonly supposed the earliest 
date at which an association of English actors was in Scot- 
land ; but it can be shown beyond contradiction that " her 
Majesty's players," meaning those of Queen Elizabeth, were 
in Edinburgh ten years earlier'. In 1589, Ashby, the am- 
bassador extraordinary from England to James A'^I. of 
Scotland, thus writes d) Lord Burghley, under date of the 
22d Oot^iber :— 

" My Lord Both\v[en] begins to shew himself willing and 
ready to do her Majesty any service, and desires hereafter to 
bo tliought of as ho shall de^erve : he slicweth great kindness 
to our nation, using lier Majesties Players and Cauouicrs with 
all courtesie=." 

In 1589, the date of Ashby's dispatch, Shakespeare had 
quitted Stratford about three years, and the question is, 
what company was intended to be designated as " her Ma- 
jesty's players." It is an admitted fact, that in 1583 the 
Queen selected twelve leading performers from the theat- 
rical servants of some of her nobility, and they were after- 
wards called " her Majesty's players ;" and we also now 
know, that in 1590 the Queen had two companies acting 
imder her name^ : in the autumn of the preceding year, it is 
likely that one of these associations had been sent to the 
Scottish capital for the amusement of the young king, and 
the company formed in 1583 may have been divided into 
two bodies for this express purpose. Sir John Smelair, in 
his " Statistical Account of Scotland," established that a 
body of comedians was in Perth in June, 1589 ; and al- 
though we are without evidence that they were English 
players, we may fairly enough assume thiit they were the 
same company spoken of by Ashby, as having been used 
courteously by Lord Bothwell in the October following. 
We have no means of ascertaining the names of any of the 
players, nor indeed, excepting the leaders Laneham and 
Duttou, can we state Avho were the members of the Queen's 
two companies in 1590. Shakespeare might be one of 
them ; but if he were, he might not belong to that division 
of the company which was dispatelied to Scotland. 

It is not at all improbable that English actors, having 
found their way north of the Tweed in 1589, would speechly 
repeat their visit ; but the next we hear of them is, not until 
after a long interval, in the autunm of 1599. The public 
records of Scotland show that in October, 1599, (exactly the 
same season as that in which, ten years earher, they are 
spoken of by Ashby) 43/. 6.?. M. were dcHvered to "liis 
Highness' self," to be given to " the English comedians :" in 
the next month they were paid 41/. 12.s'. at various times. 
In December they received no less than 333/. 6s\ 8f/. ; in 
April, 1600, 10/.; and in December, 1601, the royal bounty 
aniDimted to 400/.'' 

Thus we see, that English players were in Scotland from 
October, 1599, to December, 1601, a period of more than 
two years ; but still we are without a particle of proof that 
Shakespeare was one of the association. We cannot, how- 
ever, entertain a doubt that Laurence Fletcher, (whose 
name, we shall see presently, stands first in the patent 
granted by King Jimies on his arrival in London) was the 

1 Between September, 15S9, and September, 1590, Queen Eliza- 
beth had sent, as a present to tlie young King of Sgotland on his 
marriage, a splendid mask, with all the necessary appurtenances, 
and we find it charged for in the accounts of the department of the 
revels for that period. See " Hist, of Eng^l. Dram. Poetry and the 
Stage," vol. i. p. 270. It is most likely that the actors from London 
accompanied this gift. 

2 From MS. llarl. 4647, being copies of despatches from Mr. Ashby 
to dilferent members of the Council in London. We are indebted to 
Mr. N. Hill for directing our attention to this curious notice. 

3 See .Mr P. Cunningham's " Extracts from the Revels' Accounts," 
(printed for the Shakespeare Society,) p. xxxii. 



leader of the association which perfirmed in Edinlnivgh and 
elsewhere, because it appears from the registers of the town 
council of Aberdeen, that on the 9th October, 1601, the 
English players received 32 marks as a gratuity, and that 
on 22d October the freedom of the city was conferred upon 
Laurence Fletcher, who is especially styled " comedian- to 
his Majesty." The company had arrived in Aberdeen, and 
had been received by the public authoi-ities, under the sanc- 
tion of a special letter from James VI. ; and, although tliey 
were in fact the players of the Queen of England, they 
might on this accoutit be deemed and treated as the players 
of the King of Set)tland. 

Our chief reason for thinking it unlikely that Shakespeare 
would have accompanied his fellows to Scotland, at all 
events between October, 1599, and December, 1601, is that, 
as the principal writer for the company to whicli he was 
attached, he could not well have been spared, and beeatise 
we have good ground for believing that about that period 
he must have been unusually busy in the composition of 
plays. No fewer tJiau five dramas seem, as far as evidence, 
positive or conjectural, can be obtained, to l:)elong to the 
interval between 1598 and 1602; and the proof ajipears to 
us tolerably conclusive, that " Henry V.," " Twelftli Night," 
and "Hamlet," were written respectively in 1599, 1600, and 
1601. Besides, as ftir as Ave are able to decide such a point, 
the company to which our great dramatist belonged con- 
tinued to perform in London ; for although a detachment 
i under Laurence Fletcher nuiy Imve been sent to Scotland, 
] the main body of the association called the Lord Chamber- 
lain's players exhibited at court at the usual seasons in 
1599, 1600, and 160P. Therefore, if -Shakespeare visited 
Scotland at all, we think it must have been at an earUer 
' period, and there was imdoubtedly ample time between the 
years 1589 and 1599 for him to have done so. Neverthe- 
less, we have no tidings that any English actors were in any 
part of Scotland during those ten years. 



CHAPTER XV. 

Proclamation by James I. agahist plays on Sunday.^ Eciie^wal 
of theatrical performances in London. Patent of May 17tli, 
1603, to Laurence Fletcher, William Shakespeare, and 
others. Eoval iiatronage of three compiuiies of actors, 
Shakespeare's additional purchases in Stnitford-upon-Avon. 
Shakespeare m London in the autumn of 1603: and a can- 
didate for the otRee of Master of the Queen's Revels. Cha- 
racters Shakespeare is known to have performed. His 
retirement from the ^tage, as an actor, after April "Jth, 10o4. 

Before he even set foot in London, James I. thought it ne- 
cessary to put a stop to dramatic performances on Sunday. 
This fact has never been mentioned, because the proclama- 
tion he issued at Theobalds on 7th May, containing the para- 
graph for this pui-pose, has only recently come to hglit 
There had been a long pending struggle between the 
Puritans and the players upon this point, and each party 
seemed by turns to gain the victory; for various oi'ders 
were, from time to time, issued from authority, forbulduig 
exhibitions of the kind on the Sabbath, and those orders had 
been uniformly more or less contravened. We may sup- 
pose, that strong remonstrances havmg been matk^ to the 
King by some of those who attended him from Scotland, a 
clause with this special object was appended to a proclania- 
tion directed against monopolies and legal extortions. 1 ho 
mere circumstance of the company m which this paragraph, 

4 For these particulars of payments, and some other points con- 
nected with them, we are indebted to Mr. Laing,o. Edinburgh who 
has made extensive and valuable collections for a history ol the Stage 

'"s'xheTccounts of the revels' department at this period are not so 
complete as usual, and in Mr. P. Cunningharn s book we find no de- 
tails of any kind between 1587 and 1604 The interval was a period 
of the greatest possible interest, as regards the performance of the pro- 
ductions of Shakespeare, and we earnestly hope that the miSMng 
accounts may yet be recovered. 



agam^t dramatic performances on Sunday, is found, seems 
kr ^rove that it was an after-tliuuglit, and that it was in- 
serted, because his courtiers had urged that James ought 
not even to enter his new capital, until public steps had 
been taken to put an end to the profanation'. 

The Kiug, having issued this command, arrived at the 
Charter-house on the same day, and all the theatrical com- 

Eauies, which had temporarily suspended their performances, 
egan to act again on the 9th May^ Permission to this 
effect was given by James I., and communicated through 
the ordinary channel to the players, who soon found reason 
to rejoice in the accession of the new sovereign; for ten 
days after he reached London he took the Lord Chamber- 
lain's players into his pay and patronage, calling them " the 
King's servants," a title they always afterwards enjoyed. 
For this purpose he issued a warrant, under the privy seal, 
for making out a patent under the great seaP, authorizing 
tlie nine following actors, and others, to perform in liis name, 
not only at the Globe on the Baukside, but in any part of 
tlie kingdom ; viz. Laurence Fletcher, William Shakespeare, 
Richard Burbage, Augustine Phillippes, John Hemiuge, 
Henry Condell, "William Sly, Robert Armyu, and Richard 
Cowley. 

We miss from this list the names of Thomas Pope, Wil- 
liam Kempe, and Nicholas Tooley, who had belonged to the 
company in 1596; and instead of them we have Laurence 
Fletehei', Henry Condell, and Robert Armyn, with the ad- 
dition of Richard Cowley. Pope had been an actor in 1589, 
and perhaps in May, 1603, was an old man, for he died in 
the February following. Kempe had joiued the Lord Ad- 
miral's players soon after the opening of the Fortune, on his 
return from the Continent, for Ave find him in Henslowe's 
pay in 1602. Nicholas Tooley had also perhaps withdrawn 
fi-om the association at tliis date, or his name would hardly 

1 The paragraph is in these terms, and -m-e quote them because they 
have not been noticed by any historian of our stage. 

"And for that we are informed, tho,t there hath been heretofore 
great neglect in this kingdome of keeping the Sabbath day; for tlie 
better observing of the same and avoyding all impious prophanation, 
We do straightly charge and coramaund that no Beare-bayting, Bul- 
bayting. Enterludes, common Playes, or other like disordered or un- 
lawful exercises, or pastimes, be frequented, kept, or used at any time 
hereafter upon the Sabbath day. 

Given at our Court at Theobalds, the 7 day of May, in the 
first yeare of our Reigne." 

2 This fact we have upon the authority of Henslowe's Diary. See 
the Hist. Engl. Dram. Toetry and the Stage, vol. i. p. 346. 

3 It runs verbatim et literatim thus : — 

By The King. 

" Right trusty and welbeloved Counsellor, we greete you well, and 
will and commaund you, that under our privie Seale in your custody 
for the time being, you cause our letters to be derected to the keeper 
of our greate seale of England, commaunding him under our said 
greate Seale, he cause our letters to be made patents in forme follow- 
ing. James, by the grace of God, King of England, Scotland, Fraunce, 
and Irland, defender of the faith, &c. To all Justices. Maiors, Sheritls, 
Constables, Headboroughes, and other our Qtheers and loving subjects 
greeting. Know ye, that we of our speciall grace, certaine know- 
ledge, and meere motion have licenced and authorized, and by these 
presentes doe licence and authorize, these our servants, Lawrence 
Fletcher, William Shakespeare, Richard Burbage, Augustine Phil- 
lippes, John Hemmings, Henrie Condell, William Sly, Robert Armyn, 
Richard Cowlye, and the rest of their associats, freely to use & exer- 
cise the arte and faculty of playing Comedies, Tragedies. Histories, 
Enterludes, Moralls. Pastoralls, Stage plaies, and such other like, as 
that thei have already studied or hereafter shall use or studie, aswell 
for the recreation of our loving subjects, as for our solace and plea- 
sure, when we shall thinke good to see them, during our pleasure. 
And the said Comedies, Tragedies, Histories, Enterludes, Moralls, 
Pastoralls, Stage plaies, and such like, to shew & exercise publiquely 
to their best coramoditie, when the infection of the plague shall de- 
crease, as well witiiin theire now usuall howse called the Globe, 
within our county of Surrey, as also within anie towne halls, or mout 
halls, or other convenient places within the liberties cSc freedome of 
any other citie, universitie, towne. or borough whatsoever within our 
said realmes and dominions. Willing and commaunding you, and 
every of you, as you tender our pleasure, not only to permit and suffer 
them heerin, without any your letts, hinderances, or molestations, 
during our said pleasure, but also to be ayding or assisting to them, 
yf any wrong be to them ofl'ered. And to allowe them such former 
courtesies, as hathe bene given to men of their place and qualitie : 
and also what further favour you shall shew to these our servants for 
our sake, we shall take kindly at your hands. And these our letters 
shall be your sufficient warrant and discharge in this behalfe. Given 
under our Signet at our mannor of Greenewiche, the seaventeenth 
day of May in the first yere of our raigne of England, France, and 
Ireland, & of Scotland the six & thirtieth. Ex per Lake." 



have been omitted in the patent, as an established actor, 
and a man of some property and influence ; but he, as well 
as Kempe, not long subsequently rejoined the association 
with which they had been so long couuected. 

We may assume, perhaps, in the absence of any direct 
testimony, that Laurence Fletcher did not acquire his prom- 
inence in the company by any remarkable excellence as an 
actor. He had been in Scotland, and had performed with 
his associates before James in 1599, 1000, and 1601, and in 
the latter year he had been registered as " his Majesty's 
Comedian" at Aljerdeen. He might, therefore, have been a 
favourite with the King, and being also a considerable sharer 
in the association, he perhaps owed his place in the patent 
of May, 1603, to that circiunstauee''. The name of Shake- 
speare eoines next, and as author, actor, and sharer, we 
cannot be surprised at the situation he occupies. His pro- 
gress upward, in connexion with the profession, had been 
gradual and uniform : in 1589 he Was twelfth in a company 
of sixteen members: in 1596 he was fifth in a company of 
eight members; and in 1603 he was second in a company 
of nine members. 

The degree of encouragement and favour extended to ac- 
tors by James L in the very commencement of liis reign is 
remarkable. Not only did he take the Lord Chamberlain's 
players unto his own service, but the Queen adopted the 
company which had acted under the name of the Earl of 
Worcester, of which the celebrated dramatist, Thomas Hey- 
wood, was then one ; and the Prince of Wales that of the 
Lord Admiral, at the head of which was Edward AUeyn, 
the fouuder of Dulwieh College. These three royal asso- 
ciations, as they may be termed, were independent of others 
under the patronage of individual noblemen^ 

The policy of this course at such a time is evident, and 
Jiimes I. seems to have been impressed Avith the truth of 

The patent under the great seal, made out in consequence of this 
warrant, bears date two days afterwards. 

* Nothing seems to be known of the birth or origin of Laurence 
Fletcher, (who died in September, lOUs.) but we may suspect that he 
was an elder brother of John Fletcher, the dramatist. Bishop Fletcher, 
the father, died on 15 June, lo9(i, having made his will in October, 
1594, before he was translated from Worcester to London. This doc- 
ument seems never to have been examined, but it appears from it. as 
Mr. P. Cunningham informs us, that he had no fewer than nine 
children, although he only mentions his sons Nathaniel and John by 
name. He died poor, and among the Lansdowne MSS. is one, enti- 
tled "Reasons to move her Majesty to some commiseration towards 
the orphans of the late Bishop of London, Dr. Fletcher :" this is 
printed in Birch's "Memoirs." He incurred the lasting displeasure 
of Ciueen Elizabeth by marrying, for his second wife. Lady Baker 
of Kent, a woman of more than- questionable character, if we may 
believe general report, and a satirical poem of the time, handed dow n 
only in manuscript, which begins thus : — 

"The pride of prelacy, which now long since 
Was banish'd with the Pope, is sayd of late 
To have arriv'd at Bristowe, and from tlience 
By Worcester into London brought his state." 
It afterwards goes on thus : — 

" The Romaine Tarquin, in his folly blind, 
Of faire chaste Lucrece did a Lais make ; 
But owr proud Tarquin beares a braver mind, 
And of a Lais doth a Lucrece make." 
We cannot venture to quote the coarse epithets liberally bestowed 
upon Lady Baker, but the poem ends with these lines : — 
" But yet, if any will the reason find. 

Why he that look'd as lofty as a steeple, 
Should be so base as for to come behind. 

And take the leavings of the common people, 
'T is playne ; for in processions, you know, 
The priest must after all the people goe." 

We ought to have mentioned that the poem is headed "Bishop 
Fletcher and my Lady Baker." The Bishop had buried his first 
wife, Elizabeth, at Chelsea Church in December, 1592. Nathaniel 
Fletcher, mentioned above as included with his brother John in liis 
father's will, is spoken of on a preceding page as "servant" to .Mrs. 
White ; but who I\lrs. White might be, or what was the precise 
nature of " JS'^at. Fletcher's " servitude, we have no information. 

5 However, art Act of Parliament was very soon passed (1 Jac. I. c. 
7,) to expose strolling actors, although protected by the authority of 
a peer, to the penalties of 39 Eliz. c. 4. Itseems to have been found 
that the evil had increased to an excess which required this degree 
1 of correction; and Sir Edward Coke in his Charge to the Grand Jury 
at Norwich in 1607, (when at was printed) observes, "The abuse of 
stage-players, wherewith I find the country much troubled, may 
easily be reformed, they having no commission to play in any place 
without leave ; and therefore by your willingness if they be not en- 
tertained, you may soon be rid of them." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



liii 



the passage in " Hiinilet," (brought out, as we apprehend, 
very shortly before ho came to the throne) where it is said 
of these " abstracts and brief chronicles of the time," that 
it is " better to have a bad epitajDh, than their ill report while 
you live."* James made himself sure of their good report ; 
and an epigram, attributed to Shakespeare, has descended 
V) us, whieli doubtless was intended in some sort as a grate- 
ful return for the royal countenance bestowed upon the 
stage, and upon those who were connected with it. We 
CQ-pj it from a coeval manuscript in om- possession, which 
seems to have belonged to a curious accumulator of mat- 
ters of the kind, and which idso contains an mikuowu pro- 
duction by Dekker, as well as various other pieces by dra- 
matists and poets of the time. The lines are entitled, 

"Shakespeare on the King. 
" Crowns have their comp;iss, length of days their date, 
Trhunphs their 4omb, tcUcity her fate : 
(_)f nought but earth can earth make us pai'taker, 
But knowledge makes a king most like his Maker." 

"VVe have seen these lines in more than one other old 
manuscript, and as they were constantly attributed to 
Shakespeare, and in the form in which Ave have given them 
above, are in no respect unworthy of his pen, we have little 
doubt of their authenticity". 

Having established his fiimily in " the great house " called 
" New Place " in his native town m 1597, by the purchase 
of it from Hercules TJnderhill, Shakespeare seems to have 
contemplated considerable additions to his property there. 
In May, 1602, he laid out £320 upon 107 acres of land, 
which he bought of William and Jolm Combe^, and attached 
it to Itis dwelling. The original indenture and its counter- 
part are in esistenee, bearing date 1st May, 1602, but to 
neither of them is the signature of the poet affixed ; and it 
seems that he being absent, his brother Gilbert was his un- 
mediate agent in the transaction, and to Gilbert Shakespeare 
the property was delivered to the use of WUham Shake- 
speare. In the autumn of the same year he became the 
owner of a copyhold tenement (called a cotagium in the 
instrument) in Walker's Street, alias Dead Lane, Stratford, 
surrendered to him by Walter Getley^. In November of 
the next year he gave Hercules Underhill £60 for a mes- 
suage, barn, granary, garden, and orchard close to or in Strat- 
ford ; but in the original fine, preserved in the Chapter House, 
Westminster, the precise situation is not mentioned. In 
1608, therefore, Shakespeare's property, in or near Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon, besides what Jie might have bought of, or 
inherited from, his father, consisted of New Place, with 107 
acres of land attached to it, a tenement in Walker's Street, 
and the additional messuage, which he had recently pur- 
chased from UuderliiU. 

Whether our great dramatist was in Loudon at the period 
when the new king ascended the throne, we have no means 
of knowing, but that he was so in the following autumn Ave 
have positive proof; for in a letter written by Mrs. AUeyn, 
(the Avife of. Edward AUeyn, the actor) to her husband, 
then in the country, dated 20th October, 1603, she tells him 
that she had seen " Mr. Shakespeare of the Globe " in 
South wark*. At this date, according to the same authority, 

' Boswell appears to have had a manuscript copy of this epigram, 
but the peneral position in the last line was made to have a particu- 
lar application by the change of "a" to the. See Shakspeare by 
Uoswell. vol. ii. p. 4sl. There were other variations for the worse in 
Boswell's copy, but that which we have noticed completely altered 
the character of the production, and reduced it from a great general 
truth to a mere piece of personal flattery — " But knoAvledge makes 
the king most like his INIaker." 

2 iMucli has been said in all the Lives of our poet, from the time 
of Aubrey (who first gives the story) to our own, respecting a satirical 
epitaph upon a person of the name of John a Combe, supposed to 
have been made extempore by Shakespeare : Aubrey words it thus : — 
'■ Ten in the hundred the devil allows, 
But Combe will have twelve, he swears and he vows. 
If any one ask. Who lies in this tomb .' 
Ho ! quoth the devil, 'tis my John a Combe." 
Eowe changes the terms a little, but the point is the same, and in 
Brathwaite's "' Remains," IGlb, we have another version of the lines, 
where they are given as having been written by that author "upon 
one ,Iohn Combe, of Stratford-upon-Avon, a notable usurer." We 
are by no means satisfied that they were originally penned by Brath- 



most of the companies of players who had left Londf)n for 
the provinces, on account of the prevalence of the plague, 
and tlie consequent cessation of dramatic performances, had 
returned to the metropolis ; and it is not at all unlikely that 
Shakespeare Avas one of those Avho had returned, having 
taken the opportunity of visiting his family at Stratford- 
upon-Avon. 

Under Elizabeth the Children of the Chapel (originally 
the choir-boys of the j'oyal establishment) had become au 
acknowledged company of players, and these, besides her 
association of adult performers. Queen Anne took under 
her immediate patronage, with the style of the Children of 
her Majesty's Revels, lequiring that the pieces they pro- 
posed to •represent should first be submitted to, and have 
the approval of, the celebrated poet Samuel Daniel. The 
instrument of their appointment bears date 30th January, 
1603—4 ; and from a letter from Daniel to his patron. Sir 
Thomas Egerton, preserved among his papers, we may per- 
haps conclude that Shakespeare, as Avell as Michael Dray- 
ton, had been candidates for the post of master of the 
Queen's revels ; he says in it, " I cannot but knoAV, tliat I 
am lesse deserving than some that sued by other of the no- 
bihty unto her Majestic for this roome ;" and, after intro- 
ducing the name of " his good friend,'' Drayton, he adds the 
following, Avhich, we apprehend, refers with sufficient di&' 
tinctness to Shakespeare : — " It seemeth to myue humble 
judgement that one who is the authour of playes, now daylie 
presented on the pubhe stages of London, and the possessor 
of no small gaines, and moreover him selfe an actor in the 
Kiuges companie of comedians, could not with reason pre- 
tend to be Master of the Queene's Majesties Revells, for as 
much as he wold sometimes be asked to approve and allow 
of his OAvn writings." 

This objection Avould have applied Avith equal force to 
Drayton, had we not every reason to believe that before 
this date he had ceased to be a dramatic author. He had 
been a writer for Henslowe and Alleyn's company during 
several years, first at the Rose, and afterwards at the For- 
tune ; but he seems to have relinquished that species of 
composition about a year prior to the demise of Elizabeth, 
the last piece in Avhieh he Avas concerned, of which Ave have 
any intelligence, being noticed by Henslowe tinder date of 
May, 1502 : this play was called " The Harpies," and he 
Avas assisted in it by Dekker, Middletou, Webster, and 
Mimday. 

It is liighly probable that Shakespeare was a suitor for 
this office, in contemplation of a speedy retirement as an 
actor. We have already spoken of the presmued excel- 
lence of liis personations on the stage, and to the tradition 
that he was the original plaj'cr of the part of the Ghost in 
" Hamlet." Another chai'acter he is said to have sustained 
is Adam, in " As you Ulce it;" and his brother Gilbert, (AA'ho 
in 1602 had received, on behalf Wilham Shakespeare, the 
107 acres of land purchased from William and John Combe) 
who probably survived the Restoration, is supposed to have 
been the author of this tradition^. He had acted also in 
Ben Jonson's " Eveiy Man in his Himiour," in 1598, after 
(as Ave believe) introducing it to the company ; and he is 
supposed to have Avritten part of, as well as known to have 

waite, from being imputed to him in that volume, and by a passage 
in "Maroccus Kxtaticus," a tract printed as early as 15!)^, it is very 
evident that the connexion between the Devil and John a Combe, or 
John of Comber (as he is there called) was much older: — "Soheehad 
had his rent at the daie, the devill and John of Comber should not 
have fetcht Kate L. to Bridewell." There is no ground for supposing 
that Shakespeare was ever on bad terms with any of the Combes, 
and in his will he expressly left his sword to I\Ir. Thomas Combe. 
In a MS. of that time, now before us, we find the following given 
as an epitaph upon Sir William Stone : — 

'• Heer ten in the hundred lies dead and ingraved : 
But a hundred to ten his soul is not saved." 
And the couplet is printed in no very different form in " The Moro 
the Merrier,'' by H. P., 1(308. as well as in Camden's "Remains." 

3 A coeval copy of the court-roll is in the hands of the Shakespeare 
Society. Malone had seen it, and put his initials upon it. J>Jo doubt 
it was his intention to have used it in his unfinished Life of ShaJce- 
speare. 

* See the " Memoirs of Edward AUeyn," printed for the Shake- 
speare Society, p. 63. 

<> See the InUoduction to " As you like it." 



liv 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SIIAKESPEAEE. 



performed in, the same author's " Sejaous," in 1603*. This is 
the last we hear of him upon the stage, but that he continued 
a member of the company until April 9, 1604, we have 
the evidence of a document preserved at Dulwieh College, 
■where the names of the King's players are emmierated in 
the following order:— Burbage, Shakespeare, Fletcher, 
Phillips, Condell, Hcmiuge, Arrayu, Sly, Cowley, Ostler, 
and Day. If Shakespeare had not then actually ceased to 
perform, we need not hesitate in deciding that he quitted 
that department of the profession very shortly afterwards. 



CHAPTER XVL 

Immediate consequences of Shakespeare's retirement. Of- 
fences given by the company to the court, and to private 
individuals. " Gowry's Conspiracy:" " Biron's Conspi- 
racy " and " Tragedy." Suspension of theatrical perform- 
ances. Purchase of a lease of the tithes of Stratford, &c., 
by Shakespeare. "Hamlet" printed in 1603 and 1604. 
"Henry VUI." "Macbeth." Supposed autograph letter 
of Kinc; Jauies to Shakespeare. Susanna Shakespeare and 
John llall married in 1607. Death of Eduuuid Siiake- 
speare iu the same year. Deatli of Mury Shakespeare in 
160S. Shakespeare's great popularity: rated to the poor 
of Suutliwark. 

No sooner had our great dramatist ceased to take part m 
the public performances of the King's players, than the 
company appears to have thrown off the restraint by which 
it had been usually controlled ever since its formation, and 
to have produced plays which were objectionable to the 
court, as well as offensive to private persons. Shakespeare, 
from his abilities, station, and experience, must have pos- 
sessed great influence with the b<:>dy at large, and due de- 
ference, Ave may readily believe, was shown to his know- 
ledge and judgment in the selection and acceptance of 
plays sent in for approbation by authors of the time. The 
contrast between the conduct of the association immediately 
before, and immediately after his retirement, would lead us 
to conclude, not only that he was a man of prudence and 
discretion, but that the exercise of these qualities had in 
many instances kept his fellows from incurring the displea- 
sure of persons in power, and from exciting the animosity 
of particular individuals. We suppose Shakespeare to have 
ceased to act in the summer of 1604, and iu the winter of 
that very year we find the King's players giving offence to 
" some great counsellors " by perfornring a play upon the 
subject of Gowry's conspiracy. This fact we have upon 
the evidence of one of Sir K. "Wiuwood's correspondents, 
John Chamberlaine, who, in a letter dated 18th December, 
1604, uses these expressions: — "The tragedy of Gowry, 
with all action and actors, hath been twice represented by 
the Kuig's players, with exceeding concourse of all sorts of 
people ; but whether the matter or manner be not well 
handled, or that it be thought unfit that princes should be 
played on the stage in their lifetime, I hear that some great 
eouusellors are much displeased with it, and so, it is thought, 
it shall be forbidden." Whether it was so forbidden we do 

' From lines preceding it in the 4to, 1005, vre know that it was 
brought out at the Globe, and Ben Jonson admits that it was ill re- 
ceived by the audience. 

2 We may here notice two productions by this great and various 
author, one of which is mentioned by Ant. Wood (Ath. Oxon. edit. 
Bliss, vol. ii. p. 575), and the other by Walton (Hist. Engl. Poetr. 
vol. iv. p. 276, edit. 8vo), on the authority merely of the stationers' 
registers ; but none of our literary antiquaries seem to have been able 
to meet with them. They are both in existence. The first is a de- 
fence of his "Andromeda Liberata," 1614, which he wrote in cele- 
bration of the marriage of the Earl of Somerset and the Countess of 
Essex, which Chapman tells us had been " most maliciously misin- 
terpreted :•' it is called •' A free and oflenceless Justification " of his 
poem, and it was printed in 1614. It is chiefly in prose, but at 
the end is a dialogue in rhyme, between Pheme and Theodines, the 
last being meant for Chapman : Wood only supposes that Chapman 
wrote it, but if he could have read it he would have entertained no 
doubt. It appears that Somerset himself had conceived that " An- 
dromeda Liberata " was a covert attack upon him, and from this no- 
tion Chapman was anxious to relieve himself. The poetical dialogue 
IS thus opened by Pheme, and sufficiently explains the object of the 
■writer. • '' 



not hear upon the same or any other authority, but no such 
drama has come down to us. 

In the next year (at what particular part of it is not 
stated) Sir Leouard Hahday, then Lord Mayor of Loudon, 
backed no doubt by his brethren of the corporation, matle 
a complaint against the same company, " that Kempc, (who 
at this date had rejoined the association) Arinyn, and t)thers, 
players at the Blackfriars, have again not forborne to bring 
upon their sta^ge one or more of the worshipful aldermen 
of the city of Loudon, to tlieir great scandal and the lessen- 
ing of their authority ;" and the interj)ositiou of the privy 
council to prevent the abuse was therefore solicited. What 
was done in consequence, if anything were done, does n^'t 
appear iu any extant documeut. 

In the spring of the next year a still graver charge was 
brought against the body of actors of whom Shakespeare, 
until very recently, had been one ; and it originated in no 
less a person than tlie French ambassador. George Chai> 
man'^ had written two plays upon the history and execution 
of the Duke of Biron, containing, in the shape in which they 
were originally produced on the stage, such matter that M. 
Beaumont, the representative of the King of France in 
Loudon, thought it necessary to remonstrate against the re- 
petition, and the performance of it was prohibited : as soon, 
hoAvever, as the court had quitted London, the King's play- 
ers persisted iu acting it ; in consequence of which three 
of the players were arrested, (their names are not given) 
but the author made his escajje. These two dramas were 
printed iu 1608, and again iu 1625 ; and looking through 
them, we are at a loss to discover anytliing, beyond the his- 
torical incidents, which could have given offence ; but the 
truth certainly is, that all the objectionable portions were 
omitted iu the press : there can be uo doubt, on the author- 
ity of the despatch from the French ambassador to his 
court, that one of the dramas originally contained a scene 
in which the Queen of France and Mademoiselle Verneuil 
were introduced, the former, after having abused her, giving 
the latter a box on the ear. 

This information 'was conveyed to Paris under the date 
of the 5th April, 1606 ; and the French ambassador, appa- 
rently in order to make his court acquainted with the law- 
less character of dramatic performances at that date in 
England, adds a very singular paragraph, pro-ying that the 
King's players, only a few days before they had brought the 
Queen of France upon the stage, had not hesitated to intro- 
duce upon the same boards their oavu reigning sovereign in 
a most imseemly manner, malciug him swear violeutly, and 
beat a gentleman for interfering with his known propensity 
for the chase. This course indicates a most extraordinary 
degree of boldness on the part of the players ; but, never- 
theless, they were not prohibited from acting, until M. 
Beaumont had directed the attention of the public authori- 
ties to the iusidt offered to the Queen of France : then, an 
order was issued puttiug a stop to the acting of all plays 
in London ; but, according to the same authority, the com- 
panies had clubbed their money, and, attacking James I. on 
liis weak side, had offered a large sum to* be allowed to 
continue their performances. The French ambassador him- 
self apprehended that the appeal to the King's pecuniary 

" Ho, you ! Theodines ! you must not dreame 
Y'are thus disraist in peace : seas too extreame 
Your song hath stir'd up to be calm'd so soone : 
Nay, in your haven you shipwracke : y'are undone. 
Your Perseus is displeased, and sleighteth now 
Your work as idle, and as servile yow. 
The peoples god-voice hath exclaim'd away 
Your mistie clouds ; and he sees, cleare as day, 
Y'ave made him scandal'd for anothei's wrong. 
Wishing unpublisht your unpopular song." 
The other production, of which our knowledge has also hitherto 
been derived from the stationers' registers, is called '■ Petrarch's 
Seven Penitentiall Psalms, paraphrastically translated," with other 
poems of a miscellaneous kind at the end : it was printed in small 
dvo, in 1612, dedicated to Sir Edward Phillips, Master of the Rolls, 
where Chapman speaks of his yet unfinished translation of Homer, 
which, he adds, the Prince of Wales had commanded him to com- 
plete. The editor of the present work has a copy of Chapman's 
" Memorable Masque " on the marriage of the Palsgrave and Princess 
Elizabeth, corrected by Chapman in his owh hand ; but the errors 
are few, and not very important. It shows the patient accuracy of 
the accomplished writer. 



■w'ants would be effectual, and that permissiou, under certdn 
restrictions, would not long be withljcld'. 

Whatever emoluments Shakespeare had derived from the 
Blaekfriars or the Globe theatres, as an actor merely, we 
may be tolerably certain he relinquished when he ceased 
to perform. He would thus be able to devote more of his 
time to dramatic composition, and, as he continued a sharer 
in the two undertakings, perhaps his income on the whole 
was not much lessened. Certain it is, that in 1(305 he was 
in possession of a considerable sum, which he Avas anxious 
to invest advantageously in property in or near the place 
of his birth. Whatever may have been the circumstances 
under which he quitted Stratford, he always seems to have 
contemplated a permanent return thitlier, and kept his eyes 
constantly turned in the dii'cctiou of his birth-place. As 
long befoi-e as January, 1598, he had been advised "to deal 
in the matter of titlies " of Stratll)rd''' ; but perhaps at that 
date, having recently purchased New riace, he was not in 
sufficient funds for the purpose, or possibly the party in 
possession of the lease of the titlies, though not unwilling 
to dispose of it, required more than it was deemed worth. 
At all events, nothing was done on the subject for more than 
6ix years ; but on the 24th July, 1 GU5, we find WiUiam 
Shakespeare, who is described as ■' of Stratford-upon-Avon, 
gentleman," executmg an indenture for the purchase of the 
unexpired term of a long lease of the great tithes of " corn, 
grain, blade, and hay," and of the small tithes of " wool, 
lamb, and other small and privy tithes, herbage, oblations," 
<fec., in Stratford, Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe, 
in the county of Warwick. The ventior was Raphe Hu- 
band, of Ippesley, Esquire ; and from the draft of the deed, 
now before us^, we learn that the original lease, dated as far 
back as 1539, was "for four score and twelve years ;'' so 
that in 1605 it had still twenty -six years to run, and for 
this our great dramatist agreed to pay 440^ : by the receipt, 
contained in the same deed, it appears that he paid the 
whole of the money before it was executed by the parties. 
He might very fitly be described as of Stratford-upon- 
Avon, because he had there not only a substantial, settled 
residence for his family, but he was tlie owner of consider- 
able property, both in land and houses, in the town and 
neighbourhood ; and he had been before so described in 
1602, when he bought the 107 acres of WilUam and John 
Combe, which he annexed to his dwelling of New Place. 

A spurious edition of " Hamlet " having been published 
in 1603^, a more authentic copy came out in the next year, 
containing much that had been omitted, and more that had 
been grossly disfigured and misrepresented. We do not 
believe that Shakespeare, individually, had anything to do 
with this second and more correct impression, and we doubt 
much whether it was authorized by the company, which 
seems at all times to have done its utmost to prevent the 

1 "We derive these very curious and novel particulars from M. Von 
Raumer's " History of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries," 
translated by Lord Francis t^gerton, vol. ii. p. iJiy. Tlie terms are 
■wortli quoting, 

"April 5, 1606. I caused certain players to be forbid from acting 
the History of the Duke of J3iron : when, however, they saw that 
the whole court liad left town, th-ey persisted in acting it ; nay, they 
brought upon the stage the Queen of France and Mademoiselle Ver- 
neuil. The former, having first accosted the latter with very hard 
words, gave her a box on the ear. At my suit three of them were 
airested ; but the principal person, the author, escaped. 

••■One or two days before, they had brought forward their own 
King and all his favorites in a very strange fashion : they made him 
curse and swear because he had been robbed of a bird, and beat a 
gentleman because he had called olF the hounds froru the scent. 
They represent him as drunk at least once a-day, &c. 

" lie hns upon this made order, that no play shall be henceforth 
acted in London; for the repeal of which order they have already 
oli'erod 1011. UUO livres. Perhaps the permission will be again granted, 
but -upon condition that they represent no recent history, nor speak 
of the present time.'' 

2 In a letter from a resident in Stratford of the name of Abraham 
Sturley. It was originally published by IJoswell (vol. ii. p. 5li(5) at 
length, but the only part which relates to Shakespeare runs thus : 
we have not thought it necessary to preserve the uncouth abbrevia- 
tions of the original. 

"This is one special remembrance of your father's motion. It 
seemeth by him that our countriman, Mr. Shakespeare, is willing to 
disburse some money upon some od yard&land or other at Shottery, 
or near about us : he tlunketh it a very litt pattenie to move him to 



appearance of plays in print, lest to a certain extent the 
public curiosity should thereby be satisfied. 

The point is, of coiu'se, liable to dispute, but we have 
little doubt that "Henry VIII." was represented very soon 
after the accession of James I., to whom and to whose family 
it contains a highly complimentary allusion; and "Mac- 
beth," having been written in 1605, we suppose to have 
been pi-oduced at the Ghibe in the spring of 1606. Al- 
though it related to Scottish anntds, it was not like the 
play of Gowry's Conspiracy " (mentioned by Chamberlaine 
at the close of 1603), founded, to use Von llauuier's words, 
upon " recent history ;" and instead of running the slightest 
risk of givuig oH'ence, many of the sentin:ieuts and allusions 
it contained, especially that to the " two-fold balls and treble 
sceptres," in Act iv. scene 1, must have been highlj' accept- 
able to the King. It has been supposed, upon the authority 
of Sheflield Duke of Buckingham, that King James with 
his own hand wrote a letter to Shakespeare" in retui'n for 
the compliment paid to him in " Macbeth :" the Dulie of 
Buckingham is said to have had Davenaut's evidence for 
this anecdote, which was first told in print in the advertise- 
ment to Liutot's edition of Shakespeare's Poems in 1710". 
Rowc says nothing of it in his " Life," either in 1709 or 1714, 
so that, at all events, he did not adopt it; and it seems very 
improbable tliat James I. should have so far condescended, 
and very probable that the writer of Lintot's advertisement 
should not have been very scrupulous. We maj' conjec- 
ture, that a privy seal under the sign manual, (then the usual 
form of proceeding) granting to the King's players some 
extraordinary reward on the occasion, has been misrepre- 
sented as a private letter from the King to the dramatist. 

Malone speculated that "Macbeth" had been played be- 
fore King J ames and the King of Denmark, (who arrived 
in England on 6th July, 1606) but we have not a particle 
of testimony to establish that a tragedy relating to the as- 
sassination of a monarch by an ambitious vassal was ever 
represented at court : we should be surprised to discover 
any proof of the kind, because such incidents seem usuall 
to have been carefully avoided. 

The eldest daughter of William and Anne Shakespeare, 
Susanna, having been born in May, 1583, was rather more 
tlian twenty-four years old when she was married, on 6th 
June, 1607, to Mr. John Hall, of Stratford, who is styled 
" gentleman " in the register*^, but he was a professor of 
medicine, and subsequently practised as a physician. There 
appears to have been no reason en any side for oj^posing 
the match, and we may conjecture that the ceremony was 
performed in the presence of our great dramatist, during 
one of his summer excursions to his native town. About six 
months afterwards he lost his brother Edmund'', and his 
motlier in the autumn of the succeeding year. 

There is no doubt that Edmund Shakespeare, who was 

deale in the matter of our tithes. By the instructions you can give 
him theareof, and by the frendes he can make therefore, we chinke it 
a faire marke for him to shoote at, and not unpossible to hitt. It ob- 
tained would advance him in deetle, and would do us much good.'' 
The terms of this letter prove that Shakespeare's townsmen were of 
opinion that he was desirous of advancing himself aiaong the in- 
habitants of Stratford. 

^ It is about to be printed entire by the Shakespeare Society, to the 
council of which it has been handed over by the owner for the 
purpose. 

* The only copy of this impression is in the library of his Grace 
the Duke of Devonshire, and we have employed it to a certain extent 
in settling and explaining the text of the tragedy. See the Intro- 
duction to ■' liaralet." 

s That the story came through the Duke of Buckingham. fromDa- 
venant, seems to have been a conjectural addition by Oldys : the 
words in Lintot's advertisement are these: — " Tiiat most learned 
Prince, and great patron of learning, King James ths First, was 
pleased with his own hand to write an amicable letter to Mr. Shake- 
speare ; which letter, though now lost, remained long in the hand.s 
of Sir William Davenant, as a credible person nov.' living can' tes- 
tify." Dr. Farmer was the first to give currency to the notion, that 
the compliment to^the Stuart family in '• IMacbeth " v.'as the occasion 
of the letter. 

6 The terms are these : — 
"1G07. Junii 5. John Hall gentlema & Susanna Shaxspere." 

' He w.as buried at St. Saviour's, Soulhwark. in the iramediatfl 
vicinity of the (jlobe theatre ; the registration being in the follov.ring 
form, specifying, rather unusually, the occupation of the deceased. 
" 1007, Dec. 31. Edmund Shakespeare, a player." 



L- 



Ivi 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



not twcnty-eiglit at the time of his death, had embraced the 
profession of a player, having jjerhaps followed the fortunes 
of. his brother William, and attached himself to the same 
company. We, however, never meet with his name in any 
list of the associations of the tune, nor is he mentioned as an 
actor among the characters of any old play with wliieh we 
are acquainted. We may presume, therefoi-e, that he attain- 
ed no emineuee ; perliaps his principal employment might 
be under his brother in the management of his theatrical 
concerns, while he only took inferior parts when the assistance 
of a larger number of performers than usual was necessary. 

Mary'Shakespeare survived her sou Edmund about eight 
months, and was buried at Stratford on the 9th Sept. 1608^ 
There are few points of his hfe wliich can be stated Avith 
more oonfidence than that our great dramatist attended the 
funeral of his mother : filial piety and duty would of course 
impel him to visit Stratford on the occasion, and in proof 
that he did so, we may mention that on the 16th of the 
next mouth he stood godfather there to a boy of the name 
of William Walker. Shakespeare's mother had probably 
resided at New Place, the house of her son ; from whence, 
we may presume also, the body of her husband had been 
carried to the grave seven years before. If she were of 
full age when she was married to John Shakespeare in 
1557, she was about 72 years old at the tune of her decease. 

The reputation of our poet as a dramatist seems at this 
jjeriod to have been at its height. His " King Lear " was 
jjriuted three times for the same bookseller in 1608 ; and in 
order perhaps to increase its sale, (as well as to secure the 
purchaser against the old " King Leir," a play upon the 
same storv, being given to huii instead) the name of " M. 
William Shake-speare" was placed very conspicuously, and 
most unusually, at the top of the title-page. The same ob- 
servation will in part apply to " Pericles," which came out 
in 1609, with the name of the author rendered particularly 
obvious, although in the ordinary place. "Troilus and 
Cressida," which was published in the same year, also has 
the name of the author very distinctly legible, but in a some- 
what smaller type. In both the latter cases, it would hke- 
wisc seem, that there were plays by older or rival drama- 
tists upon the sanie incidents. The most noticeable proof 
of the advantage which a bookseller conceived he should 
derive from the announcement that the work he jjublished 
was by our poet, is afforded by the title-page of the collec- 
tion of his dispersed sonnets, which was ushered into the 
world as " Shakespeare's Sonnets," in very large capitals, as 
if that mere fact would be held a sufficient recommendation. 

In a former part of our memoir (p. xxv.) we have alluded 
to the circumstance, that in 1609 Shakespeare was rated to 
the poor of the Liberty of tlie Clink in a sum which might 
possibly indicate that he was the occupant of a commodious 
dwelling-house in Southwark. The fact that our great 
di'amatist paid six-pence a week to the poor there, (as high 
a sum as anybody in that immediate vicinity was assessed 
at) is stated in the account of the Life of Edward AUeyn, 
printed by the Shakespeare Society, (p. 90) and there it is 
too hastily inferred that he was rated at this sum upon a 

1 The following is a copy of the register. 

"1603. Septemb. 9, Mayry Shaxspere, Wydowe." 

2 The account (preserved at Duhvich College) does not state that 
the parties enumerated (consisting of 57 persons) were rated to the 
poor for dwelling-houses, but merely that they were rated and as- 
sessed to a weekly payment towards the relief of the poor, some for 
dwelling-houses, and others perhaps in respect to different kinds of 
property : it is thus entitled : — 

" A breif noat taken out of the poores booke, contayning the names 
of all thenhabitantes of this Liberty, which are rated and assessed to 
a weekely paiment towardes the relief of the poore. As it standes 
now encreased, this 6th day of April!, 1609. Delivered up to Phillip 
Henslowe, Esquior, churchwarden, by Francis Carter, one of the 
ovreseers of the same Liberty." It commences with these names : — 
Phillip Henslowe, esquior, assessed at weekely . . vjd 

Ed. AUeyn. assessed at weekely vjd 

The Ladye Buckley, weekly jiijd 

The account is in three divisions; and in the first, besides tho above 
we find tlie naiaes of 

Mr. Langworthe iijd 

Mr. Benfield iijd 

Mr. GrilRn ... ijd 

Mr. Toppin ■ . . . ij"" 

Mr. Louens [i. e. Lowin] .1 . . . . • ij'' 



dwelling-house occupied by himself This is very possibly 
the fact ; but, on the other hand, the truth may be, that he 
paid the rate not for any habitation, good or bad, large or 
small, but in respect of his theatrical property in tlie Globe, 
which was situated in tlie same distiict". The parish reg- 
ister of St. Saviour's establishes, that in 1601 the church- 
wardens had been instructed by the vestry " to talk with 
the players " respecting the ]5ayment of. tithes and contribu- 
tions to the maintenance of the poor ; and it is not very un- 
likely that some arrangement was made under which the 
sharers in the Globe, and Shakespeare as one of them, would 
be assessed. As a confiiinatory circumstance we may add, 
that when Henslowe and AUeyn were about to build tlie 
Fortune play-house, in 1599-1000, the inhabitants of the 
Lordship of Fiusbury, in the parish of Cripplegate, peti- 
tioned the privy council in favour of the undertaking, one 
of their reasons being, that " the erectors were contented to 
give a very hberal portion of money weekly towards the 
relief of the poor." Perhaps the parties interested in the 
Globe were contented to come to similar terms, and the 
parish to accept the money weekly from the various indi- 
viduals. Henslowe, AUeyn, Lowin, Town, Juby, Ac, wlio 
were either sharers, or actors and sharers, in tliat or other 
theatres in the same neighbourliood, contributed in dift'erent 
proportions for the same pui'pose, the largest amount being 
six-pence per week, which was paid by Shakespeare, Hens- 
lowe, and AUejTi'. 

The oi'dinary inhabitants included in the same list, double 
less, paid for their dAvellings, according to their several 
rents, and such may have been the case with Shakespeare : 
all we contend for is, that we ought not to conclude at once, 
that Shakespeare was the tenant of a house in the Liberty 
of the Clink, merely from the circumstance that he was 
rated to the poor. It is not unlikely that he was the occu- 
pier of a substantial dwelhng-house in the immediate neigh- 
bourhood of the Globe, where his presence and assistance 
would often be required ; and the amount of his income at 
this period would warrant such an expenditure, although we 
have no reason for thinking that such a house would be 
needed for Ids wife and family, because the existing evi- 
dence is opposed to the notion that they ever resided with 
him in London. 



CHAPTER XVIL 

Attempt of tho Lord Mayor and aldermen in 1603 to expel the 
King's players from the BlackfViars, and its faihire. Nego- 
tiation by the corporation to purchase the theatre and its 
appurtenances : interest and property of Shakespeare and 
other sharers. The income of Kichard Burbage at his 
death. Diary of the liev. J. Ward, Vicar of Stratford, and 
his statement regarding Shakespeiire's expenditure. Copy 
of a letter from Lord Southain]>ton on behalf of Sliakespearo 
and Burbage. Probable decision of Lord Chancellor Elles- 
mere in favour of tho company at tlio Blackfriars theatre. 

We have referred to the probable amount of the income of 
our great dramatist in 1609, and within the last ten years a 

Francis Carter ijd 

Gilbert Catherens ijd 

and twenty-one others. The next division includes a list of nineteen 
names, and at the head of it we find, 

Mr. Shakespeare vj"" 

Mr. Edw. Collins vjd 

John Burret vjd 

and all the rest pay a rate of either 2j<i or li'', including the following 
actors : 

Mr. Toune ijd ob. 

Mr. Jubye j"" ob. 

Richard Plunt jd ob. 

Simon Bird jd ob. 

The third division consists of seven persons who-only paid one penny 
per week, and among them we perceive the name of no individual 
who, according to other evidence, appears to have been in any way 
concerned with theatres: Malone (see his ''Inquiry,"' p. '21.5,) had 
seen this document, but he mis-states that it belongs to the year 160S, 
and not 16U9. 

3 John Northbrooke, in his Treatise against Piays, Plavers. &c., 
(Shakespeare Society's reprint, p. 121),) informs us that in 1:377 peop'e 
contributed weekly to the support of the poor ''according to tlicir 
ability, some a penny, sonie-two-pence, another four-pence, and tlie 
best commonly giveth but six-pence." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



Ivii 



dooumctit has been discovered, wbich enables us to form 
some judgrnent, though not perhaps au accurate estimate, 
of the sum he annually derived from the private theatre in 
the Blackffiars. 

From the outset of the undertaking, the Lord Mayor and 
aldermen of Ldiidon had been hostile to the establishment 
of players "within this precinct, so near to the boundaries, 
' but beyond the jurisdiction of the corporation ; and, as Ave 
have already shown, they had made several fruitless efforts 
to dislodge them. The attempt was renewed in 1608, when 
Sir Henry Montagu, the Attorney General of the day, gave 
an opinion in favour of the claim of the citizens to exercise 
their municipal powers within the precinct of the late dis- 
solved monastery of the Blackfriars. The question seems 
in some shape to have been brouglit before Baron Elles- 
mere, then Lord Chancellor of England, who required from 
the Lord Mayor and his brethren proofs that they had ex- 
ercised any authority in the disputed liberty. The distin- 
guish<;d lawj'ers of the day retained by the city Avere imme- 
diately employed in searching for records applicable to the 
point at issue ; but as far as we can judge, no guch proofs, 
as were thought necessary by the liighest legal authority 
of the time, and applicable to any recent period, were foi-th- 
coming. Lord Ellesmere, therefore, we may conclude, was 
opposed to the claim of the city. 

Failing in this endeavour to expel the King's players from 
their hold by force of law, the corporation appears to have 
taken a milder course, and negotiated with the players for 
the purchase of the Blackfriars theatre, with all its proper- 
ties and appm'tenances. To this negotiation we arc proba- 
bly indebted for a paper, which shows with great exactness 
and particularity the amount of interest then claimed by 
each shaver, those sharers being Richard Burbage, Laurence 
Fletcher\ William Shakespeare, John Hemiuge, Henry 
Condell, Joseph Taylor, and John Lowin, with four other 
I^ersons not named, each the own^r of half a share. 

We have inserted the document entire in a note'', and 
hence Ave find that Richard Burbage was the owner of the 
freeliold or fee, (which he no doubt inherited from his 
father) as yydl as the OAvner of four shares, the value of all 
which, taken together, he rated at 1933/. 6.s. 8d. Laurence 
Fletcher (if it be he, for the Christian name is written 
'• Laz,") was proprietor of three shares, for Avhieh he claimed 
lOOl. Sliakespearc was proprietor of the wardrobe and 
properties of the theatre, estimated at 500/., as well as of 
four shares, valued, Hke those of Burbage and Fletcher, at 
33/. 6s. Si7. each, or 933/. 6.s. 8c/., at seven years' purchase : 
his whole demand was 1433/. 6s. 8c/., or 500/. less than tliat 
of Burbage, in as much as the fee was considered Avorth 
1000/., while Shakespeare's wardrobe and properties were 
valued at 500/. According to the same calculation, Hem- 
iuge and Condell each required 466/. 13s. 4c/. for tlieir two 
shares, and Taylor 350/. for his share and a half, while the 
four unuamcd half-sharers put in their claim to be compen- 
s.atod at the same rate, 466/. 13s. 4d. This mode of esti- 
mating the Blackfriars theati'c made the value of it 6166/. 
13s. 4(/., and to tliis sum was to be added remimeration to 
the hired men of the company, Avho were not sharers, as 

' ThBse transactions most probably occurred before September, 
1603, because Laurence Fletcher died in that month. However, it is 
not quite certain that the "Laz. Fletcher," mentioned in the docu- 
ment, was Laurence Fletcher : we know of no person named Lazarus 
Fletcher, thouah he may have been the personal representative of 
Laurence Fletcher. 

- It is thus headed — 

•• For avoiding of the Playhouse in the Precinct of the Blacke Friers. 

£. s. d. 

Imp. Richard Burbidge oweth the Fee, and is alsoe a 
sharer therein. His interest he rateth at the grosse 
summc of lOUOi. for the Fee, and for his foure shares 
in the sumrae of 933/. 6s. Sd 1933 6 8 

Item. Laz. Fletcher oweth three shares, which he rateth 
at 700/., that is, at seven yeares purchase for each 
share, or -33;. 6s. 6(/., one yeare with another . . 700 

Item. W. Shakespeare asketh for the wardrobe and 
properties of the s-ame playhouse 500/., and for his 
4 shares, the same as his fellowes, Burbidge and 
Fletcher; viz. 933/. Cs. erf 1433 6 8 

Item. Heminge and Condell eche 2 shares . . . 933 6 8 

Item. Joseph Taylor 1 share and an halfe . . . 350 



well as to the Avidows and orjahans of deceased actors : the 
purchase money of the whole property was thus raised to 
at least 7000/. 

Each share, out of the twenty into Avhich the receipts of 
the theatre were divided, yielded, as was alleged, an annual 
profit of 33/. 6<. 8c/. ; and Shakespeare, owning four of these 
shares, his annual income, from them only, was 133/. &H. 8d. : 
he was besides proprietor of the wardrobe and properties, 
stated to be worth 500/.: these, Ave may conclude, he lent 
to the company for a certain consideration, and, reckoning 
wear and tear, ten per cent, seems a very low rate of pay- 
ment; we will take it, however, at that sum,- which would 
add 50/. a year to the 133/. 6s. 8c/. already mentioned, making 
together 183/. 6s. 8f/., besides what our great dramatist must 
have gained by the profits of his pen, upon Avhich we have 
no data for formiug any tiling like an accurate estimate. 
Without including any thing on this account, and supposing 
only that the Globe was as profitable for a summer theatre 
as the Blackfriars was for a winter theatre, it is evident 
that Shakespeare's income could hardly have been less than 
366/. 13s. 4d. Taking every known source of emolument 
into view, we consider 400/. a year the very lowest amount 
at which his income can be reckoned in 1608. 

The document upon which this calculation is founded is 
preserved among the papers of Lord Ellesmere, but a re- 
markable incidental confirmation of it has still more recently 
been brought to light in the State-paper office. Sir Dudley 
Carlton was ambassador at the Hague in 1619, and John 
Chamberlaine, wiiting to him on 19th of March in that 
year, and mentioning the death of Queen Anne, states that 
" the funeral is put off to the 29th of the next month, to the 
great hindci-ance of our players, which are forbidden to play 
so long as her body is above ground: one speeiall man 
among them, Burbage, is lately dead, and hath left, they 
say, better than 300/. land^" 

Burbage was interred at St. Leonard's, Shoreditch, on 
16th March, 1619, three days anterior to the date of Cham- 
berlame's letter^ having made his mractq^ative will four 
days before his burial: m it he said nothing about the 
amount of his property, but merely left his wife Wmifred 
his sole executrix. There can be no doubt, however, that 
the correspondent of Sir Dudley Carlton was correct in his 
information, and that Burbage died worth "better than" 
300/. a year in land, besides his " goods and chattels :" 300/. 
a year at that date was about 1500/. of our present money, 
and we have every reason to suppose that Shakespeare was 
quite in as good, if not in better circumstances. Until the 
letter of Chamberlaine was found, we had not the sUghtest 
knowledge of the amount of property Burbage had accu- 
mulated, he having been during his whole life merely an 
act(^r, and not combining in his own person the profits of a 
most successful dramatic author with those of a performer. 
Nevertheless, it must not be forgotten, that although Shake- 
speare continued a large sharer with the leading membei's 
of the company in 1608, he had retired from the stage about 
four years before ; and having ceased to act, but still re- 
taining his shares in the profits of the theatres Avith which 
he was connected, it is impossible to say what arrangement 

ftcm. Lowing also one share and an halfe . . . 350 
Jlctn. Foure more playeres with one halfe share to eche 
of them 406 13 4 



D 



Summa totalis . 6166 13 4 
Moreover, the hired men of the Companie demaund some fscompence 
for their great losse, and the AVidowes and Orphanes of Players, who 
are paide by the Sharers at divers rates and proportions, so as in the 
whole it will cost the Lo. Mayor and the Citizen.s at least 7000/." 

3 This new and valuable piece of information was pointed out to 
us by Mr. Lemon, who has been as indefatigable in his reseajches as 
liberal in the communication of the results of them. 

4 The 
death of 

" Astronomers and star-gazers this year 
AVrite but of four eclipses ; five appear. 
Death interposing Burbage, and their staying. 
Hath made a visible eclipse of playing." 
It has been conjectured that "their staying" referred to a temporary 
su'ipension of plays in consequence of the death of Burbage ; but the 
stay was the prohibition of acting until after the funeral of Queen 
Anne. 



n tne communication oi ine resiKcs oi meiii. 
passage above quoted renders Middleton's epigram on the 
Burbage (Works by Pyoe, vol. v. p. 503) quite clear :— 



Iviii 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAEE. 



he may have made with the rest of the company for the 
regular contribution of dramas, in lieu perhaps of his own 
personal exertions. 

In a woi-k pubUshed a few years ago, containing extracts 
from the Diary of the Rev. John Ward, who was vicar of 
Stratford-upon-Avon, and whose memoranda extend from 
1648 to 1679S it is stated that Shakespeare "in his elder 
days lived at Stratford, and supphed the stage with two 
plays eveiy year, and for it had an allowance so large, that 
be spent at the rate of 1000^. a year, as I have heard." We 
only adduce this passage to show what the opinion was as 
to Shakespeare's circumstances shortly after the Restora- 
tion^. We take it for granted that the sum of lOOOZ. (equal 
to nearly 5000?. now) is a considerable exaggeration, but it 
may warrant the behef that Shakespeare lived in good style 
and port, late in life, in his native town. It is very possible, 
too, though we think not probable, that after he retired to 
Stratford he continued to write, but it is utterly incredible 
that subsequent to his retirement he " supplied the stage 
with two plays every year." He might not be able at once 
to relinquish his old and confirmed habits of composition; 
but such other evidence as we possess is opposed to Ward's 
statement, to which he himself appends the cautionary 
words, " as I have heard." Of course he could have known 
nothing but by hearsay forty-six years after our poet's de- 
cease. He might, however, easily have Imown inhabitants 
of Stratford who well recollected Shakespeare, and, consid- 
ering the oppoi'tunities he possessed, it strikes us as very 
singular that he collected so little information. 

We have already adverted to the bounty of the Earl of 
Southampton to Shakespeare, which we have supposed to 
bave been consequent upon the dedication of " Venus and 
Adonis," and " Lucrece," to that nobleman, and coincident 
in point of date with the building of the Globe Theatre. 
Another document has been handed down to us among the 
papers of Lord EUesmere, which proves the strong interest 
Lord Southampton still took, about fifteen years afterwards, 
in Shakespeare's affairs, and in the prosperity of the com- 
pany to which he was attached : it has distinct reference 
also to the penchng and unequal struggle between the cor- 
poration of London and the players at the Blackftiars, of 
which we have already spoken. It is the copy of a letter 
subscribed H. S. (the initials of the Earl) to some nobleman 
m favour of our great dramatist, and of the chief performer 
in many of his plays, Richard Burbage ; and leeoUectiug 
what Lord Southampton had before done for Shakespeare, 
and the manner in which from the first he had j^atronized 
our stage and drama, it seems to us the most natural thing 
in the world for him to write a letter jJersonally on behalf 
of parties who had so many public and private claims. We 
may conclude that the original was not addressed to Lord 
EUesmere, or it would have been found in the depository 
of his papers, and not merely a transcript of it ; but a copy 
of it may have been furnished to the Lord Chancellor, in 
order to give him some information respecting the charac- 
ters of the parties upon whose cause he was called upon Ui 
decide. Lord EUesmere stood high in the confidence of his 

^ Diary of the Rev. John Ward, &c. Arranged by Charles Severn, 
M. D. London, 8vo, 1839. 

2 Mr. Ward was appointed to the vicarage of Stratford-upon-Avon 
in 1602. 

3 The copy was made ripon half a sheet of paper, and without ad- 
dress : it runs as follows : — 

" My verie honored Lord. The manie good ofRces I haue receiued 
at your Lordship's hands, which ought to make me backward in asking 
further favors, onely imbouldeneth me to require more in the same 
kinde. Your Lordship will be warned howe hereafter you graunt 
anie sute, seeing it draweth on more and greater demaunds. This 
which now presseth is to request your Lordship, in all you can, to be 
good to the poore players of tlie Black Fryers, who call them selves by 
authoritie the servaunts of his Majestic, and aske for the protection 
of their most gracious Maister and Sovereigne in this the tymqgpf their 
treble. They are threatened by the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of 
London, never friendly to their calling, with the distraction of their 
meanes of livelihood, by the pvilling downe of their plaiehouse, which 
is a priuate theatre, and hath neuer giuen occasion of anger by anie 
disorders. These bearers are two of the chiefe of the companie ; one 
of them by name Richard Burbidge, who humblie sueth for your 
Lordship's kinde helpe, for that he is a man famous as our English 
Ro-scius, one who fitteth the action to the word, and the word to the 
action most admirably. By the exercise of his qualitye, industry, 



sovereign : he had many important public duties to discharge 
besides those belonging to his great office ; and notwith- 
standing he had shown himself at all times a liberal patron 
of letters, and had had many works of value dedicated to 
him, we may readily imagine, that although he must have 
heard of Shakespeare and Burbage, he was in some degree 
of ignorance as to their individual deserts, which this com- 
munication was intended to remove. That it was not sent' 
to him by Lord Southampton, who probably was acquainted 
with him, may afford a proof of the delicacy of the Earl's 
mind, who would not seem directly to interpose while a 
question of the sort was pending before a judge, (though 
possibly not in his judicial capacity) the history of whose 
life establishes that where the exercise of his high functions 
was involved he was equally deaf to pubUc and to private 
influence. 

We have introduced an exact copy of the document in a 
uote^, aud it will be observed that it is without date ; but 
the subject of it shows beyond dis^Dute that it belongs to this 
period, while the lord mayor and aldermen were emleavour- 
ing to expel the players from a situation wliere they had 
been uninterruptedly estabhshed for more than thirty years. 
There can be no doubt that the object the jalayers had in 
view was attained, because we know that the lord mayor 
and his brethren were not allowed, until many years after- 
wards, to exercise any authority within the precinct and 
liberty of the Blackfriars, and that the Kiug's servants con- 
tinued to occupy the theatre long after the death of Shake- 
sjDcare. 



CHAPTER XVIIL 

Warrant to Daborne, Shakespeare, Field, and Kirkham, for 
the Children of the Queen's Revels, in Jan. 1610. Popu- 
larity of juvenile companies of actors. Stay of Daborne's 
warrant, and the reasons for it. Plays intended to be acted 
by the Children of the Queen's Revels. Shakespeare's 
dramiis between 1609 and 1612. His retirement to Stratford, 
and disposal of his property in the Blackfriars and Globe 
theatres. Alleyn's purchases in Blnckfriars in 1612. Shake- 
speare's purchase of a hoitae in Blackfriars from Henry 
Walker in 1613, and the possible cause of it expilaiued. 
Shakespeare described as of Stratford-upon-Avon. 

There is reason for believing that the important question 
of jurisdiction. had been decided in favotu" of the Kiug's 
players before January, 1609-10, because we have an in- 
strument of that date authorizing a juvenile company to 
exhibit at Blackfriars, as well as the association which had 
been in possession of the theatre ever since its original con- 
struction. One circumstance connected with this dooiunent, 
to which we shall presently advert, may however appear 
to cast a doubt upon the point, whether it had yet been 
finally determined that the corporation of London was by 
law excluded from the precinct of the Blackfriars. 

It is a fixet, of which it may be said we have conclusive 
proof, that almost from the first, if not from the first, the 

and good behaviour, he ha.th be come possessed of the Blacke Fryers 
playhouse, which h,ath bene iraployed for playes sithence it was 
builded by his Father, now nere 50 yeres agone. The other is a man 
no wliitt lesse deserving favor, and my especiall friende, lill of late 
an actor of good account in the companie, now a sharer in the same, 
and writer of some of our best English playes, which, as your Lord- 
ship knoM'eth, were most singularly liked of Quene Elizabeth, wlien 
the companie was called uppon to performe before her Maiestie at 
Court at Christmas and Shrovetide. His most gracious j\Iaie.-tie Kin" 
James alsoe, .sence his coming to the crowne, hath extended iiis royal 
favour to the companie in divers waies and at sundrie tyni-js. This 
other hath to name "William Shakespeare, and they are both of one 
countie, and indeede allmost of one towne : both are right famous in 
their qualityes, though it longeth not of your Lo. grauitie and wise- 
dome to resort vnto the places where they are wont to delight the 
publique eare. Their trust and sute nowe is not to bee molested in 
tlieir way of life, whereby they maintaine them selves and their 
wives and families, (being both married and of good reputation) as 
well as the widows and orphanes of some of their dead fellows. 
" Your Lo most bounden at com. 
" Copia vera." '-H. S." 

Ijord Southampton v/a.s clearly mistaken when he stated that the 
Blackfriars theatre had been built nearly fifty years : in liJ'JS it had 
been built about thirty-three years. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SIIAKESPEAEE. 



lix 



Blaekfriars theatre Lad been in the joiut possession of the 
Lord Chamberlain's servants and of a juvenile company 
called the Cliildren of the Chapel : they were also known as 
" her Majesty's Children," and " the Chihh-eu of the Blaek- 
friars ;" and it is not to be supposed that they employed 
the theatre on alternate days with their older competitors, 
but that, when the Lord Chamberlain's servants acted else- 
where in the summer, the Children of the Chapel com- 
menced their performances at the Blaekfriars.' After tlie 
opening of the Globe in 159o> we may presume that the 
Lord Clmmberlaiu's servants usually left the Blaekfriars 
theatre to be occupied by the Children of the Chapel during 
the seven months from April to October. 

The success of the juvenile companies in the commence- 
ment of the reign of James L, and even at the latter end 
of that of Elizabeth, was great; and we find Shakespeare 
alluding to it in very pointed terms in a well-lmown passage 
in " Hamlet,'' which we suppose to have been written in the 
winter of 1601, or in the spring of 1602. They seem to 
have gone on increasing in popularity, and very soon after 
James I. ascended the throne. Queen Anne took a company, 
called " the Children of the Queen's Revels," under her 
immediate patronage. There is no reason to doubt that 
they continued to perform at Blaekfriars, and in the very 
conmiencement of the year 1610 we find that Shakespeare 
either Avas, or intended to be, connected with them. At this 
period he probably contemplated an early retirement from 
the metropolis, and might wish- to avail himself, for a short 
period, of this new opportimity of profitable employment. 

Robert Daborne, the author of two dramas that liave been 
printed, and of several others that have been lost,"'' seems to 
have been a man of good family, and of some interest at court ; 
and in January 16(J9-10, he was able to procure a royal 
grant, auth<iriziug hun and others to provide and educate a 
inmiber of young actors, to be called " the Children of the 
Queen's Revels." As we have obseiwed, this Avas not a new 
association, because it had existed under that appellation, and 
under those of " the Children of the Chapel " and " the Chil- 
dren of the Blaekfiiars," from near the beginning of the reign 
of Elizabeth. Daborne, in 1609-10, was placed at the head 
of it, and not, perhaps, having sufficient means or funds of his 
own, he had, as was not unusual, partners in the undertak- 
ing : those partners were William Shakespeare, Nathaniel 
Field, (the celebrated actor, and very clever authoi-) and 
Edward Kirkham, who had previously enjoyed a privilege 
of the same kind'. A memorandum of the warrant to 
" Daborne and others," not there named, is inserted in the 
'• Entry Book of Patents and Warrants for Patents," kept 
by a person of the name of Tuthill, who Avas employed by 
Lord EUesmerc for the purpose, and Avhich book is pre- 
served among the jDapers handed down by his lordship to 
Lis successors. In the same dep(Jsitory we also find a draft 
of the Avarrant itself, tmder which Daborne and his partners, 
thereb named, Adz. Shakespeare, Field, and Kirkham, were 

1 See Hist. Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. iii. p. 275, where 
such is conjectured to havR been the arrangement. 

2 " The Christian turned Turk." lGl-2, and ■• The Poor Man's Com- 
fort," 10-5.). In ■' The Alleyn Papers," (printed by the Shakespeare 
Society.) may be seen much correspondence between Daborne and 
Henslowe respecting plavs he was then writing for the Fortune the- 
atre. By a letter from him, dated 2nd August, 1514, it appears that 
Lord Willoughby had sent for him, and it is most Ulcely that Da- 
borne went to Ireland under this nobleman's patronage. It is certain 
that, having been regularly educated, he went into the Cliurch, and 
had a living at or near NVaterford, whexe, in KJIS, he preached a 
sermon which is extant. While writing for Henslowe he was in 
great poverty, having sold most of the property he had with his wife. 
%Ve liave no information as to the precise time of liis death, but his 
'• Poor Man's Comfort" was certainly a posthumous production : he 
had sold it to one of the companies of the day before he took holy 
orders, and, lilce various other plays, after long remaining in manu- 
script, it Avas published. His lost plays, some of which he wrote in 
conjunction with other dramatists, appear from " The Alleyn Papers " 
to have been — 1. Machiavel and the Devil ; 2. The Arraignment of 
London ; 3. The Bellman of London ; 4. The Owl ; 5. The tihe Saint ; 
besides others the titles of which are not given. 

3 He was one of the masters of the Children of the Queen's Revels 
in 1G03-4. See Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. i. 
p. 352. 

* It runs thus : — 

'■Right trusty and welbeloved, &c., James, &c. To all Mayors, 
Sherifls, Justices of the Peace, ice. Whereas the Queene, our dearest 



I to proceed'' ; and it is a circumstance deserving notice, that 
j " the Children of the Queen's Revels " were thereby 
licensed not only to act " tragedies, comedies," &c. in tLe 
Blaekfriars tlicatre, but " elscAvLere within the realm of 
England ;" so that even places where the city authoritieg 
had indisputably a right to exercise jurisdiction were not 
exempted. 

It Avill be recollected that this had been a point in dis- 
pute in 1574, and that the words "as well witliin our city 
of London " were on this account excluded from the patent 
granted by Elizabeth to the players of Lord Leicester, 
though found in the l^i'ivy seal dated three days earlier.* 
For the same reason, probably, they are not contained in 
the patent of James I. to Fletcher, Shakespeare, and others, 
in 1603. We may be satisfied that the warrant of 1609-10 
to Daborne and his partners was not carried into efi"ect, and 
possibly on that account : although it may have been decided 
at tliis date that the lord mayor and aldermen had no power 
forcibly to exclude the actors from the Blaekfriars, it may 
Lave been Leld inexpedient to go the length of authorizing 
a young company to act within the very boimdaries of the 
city. So far the corporation may have prevailed, and this 
may be the cause why Ave never hear of any steps having 
been taken under the warrant of 1609-10. The word 
" stayed " is added at the conclusion of the draft, as if some 
good ground had been discovered for delaying, if not for 
entirely withholding it. Perhaps even the question of juris- 
diction had not been completely settled, and it may have 
been thought useless to concede a privilege which, after all, 
by the opei'ation of the law in favour of the claim of the 
city, might turn out to be of no value, because it could not 
be"acted upon. Certain it is, that the new scheme seems 
to have been entirely abandoned ; and Avhatever Shake- 
speare may have intended Avhen he became connected with 
it, he continued, as long as he remained in London, and as 
fur as any evidence enables us to judge, to write only for 
the company of the King's players, who persevered in their 
performances at the Blaekfriars in the Avinter, and at the 
Globe in tlie summer. 

It will be seen that to the draft in favour of " Daborne 
and otLers," as directors of the performances of the Children 
of the Queen's Revels, a fist is appended, apparently of 
dramatic performances in representing which the juvenile 
company was to be employed. Some of these may be con- 
sidered, knoAvn and estabhshed performances, such as " An- 
tonio," which perhaps Avas intended for the " Antonio and 
Mellida"of iLirston, ]5riuted in 1602; " Grisell," for the 
" Patient Grisell " of Dekker, Chcttle, and Haughton, printed 
in 1603; and " K. Edw. 2.," for Marlowe's "Edward II.," 
printed in 1598. Of others we have no information from 
any quarter, and only tAVo remind us at all of Shakespeare : 
" Kinsmen," may mean '• The Iavo Noble Kinsmen," in writ- 
ing Avhich, some sup]30se our great dramatist to have been 
concerned ; and " Taming of S," is possibly to be taken for 

wife, hath for her pleasure and recreation appointed her ser-,-aunts 
Robert Daiborne, &c. to provide and bring upp a convenient nomber 
of children, who shall be called the Children of her Majesties Revells, 
knowe ye that we have appointed and authorized, and by these pre- 
sents doe appoint and authorize the said Robert Daiborne, William 
Shakespeare, Nathaniel Field, and Edward Kirkham, i'rora time to 
time to provide and bring upp a convenient nomber of children, and 
, them to instruct and exercise in the quality of playing Tragedies, 
I Comedies, &c., by the name of the Children of the Revells to the 
Queene, within the Blackfryers, in our Citie of London, or els where 
within our realm of England. Wherefore we will and command 
you, and everie of you, to permitt her said servaunts to keppe acon- 
venient nomber of children, by the name of the Children ot the 
Revells to the Queene, and them to exercise in the qualitie of play- 
ing according to lier royal pleasure. Provided ahvaies, that no playes. 
&c. shall be by them presented, but such jdayes, &c. as have received 
the approbation and allowance of our Maister of the Revells lor the 
tyme being. And these our Ires, shall be your sufficient warrant in 
this behalle. In witnesse whereof, &c., 4" die Janij. 1G(I9. 
" Proud Povertie. Engl. Tragedie. 

Widow's Mite. False Friends. 

Antonio. ' Hato and Love. 

Kinsmen. Taming of S. 

Triumph of Truth. K. Edw 2 

Touchstone. !Mi"or of Life. 

Grisell. 
Stayed." 
5 See Hist. Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. i. p. 212. 



Ix 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAKE. 



" The Tamiag of the Shrew," or for the older play, "with 
nearly the same title, upon which it was founded. _ 

" Troilus and Cressida " and " Pericles " were printed in 
] 609, and to our mind there seems but little doubt that they 
had been written and prepared for the stage only a short : 
time before they came from the press. With the single ^ 
exception of "Othello," which came out in 4to in 1622, no 
other new drama by Shakespeare appeared in a i^rinted 
form between 1609 and the date of the publication of the 
foUo in 1623". We need not here discuss what plays, first 
found in that volume, were penned by our great dramatist 
after 1609, because we have separately considered^ the 
claims of each in our preliminary Introductions. " Timon 
of Athens," " Coriolanus," " Antony and Cleopatra," " Cym- 
beliue," " The Winter's Tale," and "The Tempest," seem to 
belong to a late period of our poet's theatrical career, and 
some of them were doubtless written between 1609 and the 
period, whatever that period might be, when he entirely 
relinquished dramatic composition. 

Between January 1609-10, when Shakespeare was one 
of the parties to whom the warrant for the Children of the 
Queen's Revels was conceded, and the year 1612, when it 
has been reasonably supposed that he quitted London to 
take up his permanent residence at Stratford, we are in 
possession of no facts connected with his personal history'^. 
It would seem both natural and prudent that, before he 
withdrew from the metropolis, he should dispose of liis 
theatrical property, which must necessarily be of fluctuating 
and uncertain value, depending much upon the presence 
and activity of the owner for its profitable management. 
In his will (unlike some of his contemporaries who expired 
in London) he says nothing of any such property, and we 
are left to infer that he did not die in _ possession of it, 
having disposed of it before he finally retired to Stratford. 

It is to be recollected also that the species of interest he 
had in the Blackfriars theatre, independently of liis shares 
in the receipts, was peculiarly perishable : it consisted of the 
wardrobe and properties, which in 1608, when the city 
autho)ities contemplated the purchase of the whole estab- 
lishment, were valued at 500/.; and we may feel assured 
that he would sell them to tlie company whicli had had the 
constant use of them, and doubtless had paid an annual 
consideration to the owner. The fee, or freehold, of the 
house and ground was in the hands of Richard Burbage, 
and from him it descended to his two sons: that was a per- 
manent and substantial possession, very different in its 
character and durability from the dresses and machinery 
which belonged to Shakespeare. The mere circumstance 
of the nature of Shakespeare's property in the Blackfriars 
seems to authorize the conclusion, that lie sold it before he 
retired to the place of his birth, where he meant to spend 
the rest of his days with his family, in the tranquil enjoy- 
ment of the independence he had secured by the exertions 
of five and twenty years. Supposing him to have begun 
his theatrical career at the enclof 1586, as we have ima- 
gined, the quarter of a century would be completed by the 

1 One copy of the folio is known with the date of lG-3'3 upon the 
title-page. The volume was entered at Stationers' Hall on the Sth 
Nov. ItiiJ, as if it had not been published until late in that year, 
unless we suppose the entry made by Blount and Jaggard some time 
after publication, in order to secure their right to the plays first 
printed there, which they thought might be invaded. 

2 We ought, perhaps to except a writ issued by the borough court 
in June 1610, at the suit of Shakespeare, for the recovery of a small 
sum. A similar occurrence had taken place in IG04, when our poet 
sought to recover II. l^s. Od. from a person of the name of Rogers, for 
corn sold to him. These facts are ascertained from the existing 
records of Stratford. 

2 See the " Memoirs of Ed ward Alleyn," p. 10.5, where a conjecture 
IS hastily hazarded that it might be Shakespeare's interest in the 
Blackfriars theatre. "Upon this question we agree with Mr. Knight 
in " Shakspere, a Biography," prefixed to his pictorial edition of the 
Poet"s works. 

* It is in the following form, upon a small damp-injured piece of 
paper, and obviously a mere memorandum. 
"April IGI'2, 
" Money paid by me E. A. for the Blackfryers . IGOu 

More for the Blackfryers 126'' 

More again for the Leasse ..... 310'' 
The writinges for the same and other small charges 3" 6' 8'' 



close of 1612, and for aught we know, that miglit be the 
period Shakespeare had in his mind fixed upon for the ter- 
mination of his t()ils and anxieties. 

It has been ascertained that Edward Alleyn, the actor- 
founder of the college of " God's Gift " at Dulwich, pur- 
chased property in the Blackfriars in April 1612'"', and al- 
though it may possibly have been theatrical, there seems 
sufficient reason to believe that it was not, but that it con- 
sisted of certain leasehold houses, for which according to 
lus own account-book, he paid a quarterly rent of 40/. Tlie 
brief memorandum upon this point, preserved at Dulwich, 
certainly relates to any thing rather than to the species of 
interest which Shakespeare indisputably had in the ward- 
robe and properties of the Blackfriars theatre^ : the terms 
Alleyn uses would apply only to tenements or ground, and 
as Burbage valued his freehold of the theatre at 1000/., we 
need not hesitate in deciding that the lease Alleyn pur- 
chased fir 599/. 6s. 8d. was not a lease of the play-house. 
We shall see presently that Shakespeare himself, though, 
under some peculiar circumstances, became the owner of a 
dwelling-house in the Blackfiiars, unconnected with the 
theatre, very soon after he had taken up his abode at Strat- 
ford, and Alleyn probably had made a similar, but a larger 
investment in the same neighbourhood in 1612. Whatever, 
in fact, became of Shakespeare's interest in the Blackfriars 
theatre, both as a sharer and as the owner of the wardrobe 
and properties, we need not hesitate in concluding that, in 
the then prosperous state of theatrical affairs in the metro- 
polis, he was easily able to procure a purchaser. 

He must also have had a considerable stalie in the Globe, 
but whether he was also the owner of the same species of 
pi'operty there, as at tlie Blackfriars, we can only speculate. 
We should think it highly probable that, as far as the mere 
wardrobe was concerned, the same dresses were made to 
serve for both theatres, and that when the summer season 
commenced on the Bankside, the necessary apparel was 
conveyed across the water from the Blackfriars, and re- 
mained there until the company returned to their winter 
quarters. There is no hint in any existing document what 
became of our great dramatist's interest in the Globe ; but 
here again we need not doubt, from the profit that had 
always attended the undertaking, that he could have had no 
difficulty in finding parties to take it oft' his hands. Burbage 
we know was rich, for he died in 1619^ worth 300/. a year 
in land, besides his personal projJerty, and he and others 
would have been glad to add to their cajDital, so advantage- 
ously employed, by purchasing Shakespeare's interest. 

It is possible, as we have said, that Shakespeare ccnti- 
nued to employ his pen for the stage after his retirement 
to Stratford, and the buyers of his shares might even make 
it a condition that he should do so for a time; but we much 
doubt whether, with his long experience of the necessity of 
personal superintendence, he would have continued a share- 
holder in any concern of the kind over which he had no 
control. During the whole of his life in connexion with the 
stage, even after he quitted it as an actor, he seems to have 

If this paper had any relation at all to the theatre in the Blackfriars, 
it is very evident that Shakespeare could neither grant nor sell a 
lease ; and it is quite clear that Burbage did not, because he remained 
in possession of the playhouse at the time of his death : his sons en- 
joyed it afterwards : and Alleyn continued to pay 40/. a quarter for 
the property he held until his decease in 16:26. 

5 We have already inserted an extract from an epitaph upon Bur- 
bage, in which the writer enumerates many of the characters he sus- 
tained. The following lines in Sloane MS. No. 17.^6, (pointed out 
to us by Mr. Bruce) are just worth preserving on account of the emi- 
nence of the man to whom they relate. 

"An Epitaph on Mr. RiohakB Buhbage, the Player. 
" This life's a play, scean'd out by nature's art, 

Where every man has his allotted parte. 

This man hath now, as many men can tell, 

Ended his part, and he hath acted well. 

The play now ended, thinke his grave to bee 

The retiring house of his sad tragedie ; 

Where to give his fame this be not afraid : — 

Here lies the best Tragedian ever play'd." 
From hence we might infer, against other authorities, that what 
w.as called the " tiring room " in theatres, was so called because the 
actors retired to it, and not nttircd in it. It most likely answered 
both purposes, but we sometimes find it called " the attiring room " 
by authors of the time. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



Ixi 



been obliged to reside iii London, apart from his family, for 
the purpose of "watehiug over his interests iu the two thea- 
fa'es to which he belonged : had he been merely an author, 
after he ceased to be an actor, he might have composed his 
dramas as wdl at Sti'atford as in London, visiting the me- 
tropolis only while a new play was in rehearsal and pre- 
Earation ; but such was clearly not the case, and we may 
e confident that when he retired to a place so distant 
from the scene of his triumphs, he did not allow his mind 
to be encumbered by the continuance of professional 
anxieties. 

It may seem difficult to reconcile with this consideration 
the undoubted fact, that iu the spring of 1613 Shakespeare 
purchased a house, and a small piece of ground attached to 
it, not far from the Blaclvfriars theatre, in which we believe 
him to have disposed of liis concern in the precediug year. 
Tlie documents relating to this transaction have comedown 
to us, and the indenture assigning the property from Henry 
Walker, " citizen of London and minstrel of Loudon,'' to 
William Shakespeare, " of Stratford-upon-Avon, in the 
county of Warwick, gentleman," bears date lOtli March, 
1612-13^: the consideration money was 140^.; the house 
was situated " within the precinct, circuit, and compass of 
the late Blackfi'iars," and we are farther informed that it 
stood " right agaiiist his Majesty's Wardrobe." It appears 
to have been merely a dwelling-liouse with a small yard, 
and not iu any way connected with the theatre, which was 
at some distance from the royal wardrobe, although John 
Heminge, the actor, was, with Shakespeare, a party to the 
deed, as well as William Johnson, vintner, and John Jack- 
son, gentleman. 

Shakespeare may have made this purchase as an accom- 
modation in some way to his " fiiend and fellow'' Heminge, 
and the two other persons named; and it is to be re- 
marked that, on the day after the date of the conveyance, 
Shakespeare mortgaged the house to Henry Walker, the 
vendor, for 60/., having paid down only 80/. on the 10th 
March. It is very possible that oiu' pciet advanced the 80/. 
to Heminge, Johnson, and Jackson, expecting that they 
would repay him, and furnish the remaining 60/. before the 
29th September, 1613, the time stipulated in the mortgage 
deed ; but as they did not do so, but left it to him, the 
house of course continued the property of Shakespeare, and 
after his death it was necessarily surrendered to the uses 
of his will by Heminge, Johnson, and Jackson^. 

Sueh may have been the nature of the transaction ; and 
if it were, it will account for the apparent (and, we have no 
doubt, only apparent) want of means on the part of Shake- 
speare to pay down the whole of the purchase-money in the 
first instance : he only agreed to lend 80/., leaving the par- 
ties whom he assisted to 2)rovide the rest, and by repaying 
him what he had advanced (if they had done so) to entitle 
themselves to the house in question. 

Shakespeare must have been in Lond(jn when he put his 
signature to the conveyance ; but we are to recollect, that 
the circumstance of his being described in it as " of Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon" is by no means decisive of the ftict, that 
his usual place of abode in the spring of 1613 was his 
native town : he had a similar description in the deeds by 
which he purchased 107 acres of land from John and Wil- 
liam Combe in 1602, and a lease of a moiety of the tithes 
from Raplie Huband in 1605, although it is indisputable 
that at those periods he was generally resident in London. 
From these facts it seems likely that our great dramatist 

1 It was sclJ by auction by Messrs. Evans, of Pall Mall, in 1841, 
for l(i'2/. 15.f. The autograph of our poet was appended to it, in the 
uffial manner. In the ne.Kt year the instruinent was again brought 
to the hammer of the same parties, when it produced nearly the sum 
for which it had been sold in L'^41. The autograph of Shakespeare, 
on the fly-leaf of Florio's translation of Montaigne's Essays, folio, 
l(i():3, (wiiich we feel .-satisfied is genuine) had been previously sold 
ty auction for lUl)/., and it is now deposited in the British Museum. 
We have a copy of the same book, but it has only upon the title- 
page the couinarativcly worthless signature of the reigning 
monarch. 

= By his will he left this house, occupied by a person of the name 
of John Robinson, to his daughter Jiusanna. 



preferred to be called " of Stratford-upon-Avon," contem- 
plating, as he probably did through the whole of his thea- 
trical life, a return thither as soon as his circumstances 
would enable him to do so with comfort and independence. 
We are thoroughly convinced, however, that, anterior to 
March, 1613, Shakespeare had taken up his permanent re- 
sidence yrith his family at Stratford. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Members of the Shakespeare family at Stratford in 1612. 
Joan Sliakespeare and VVilliani Hart: tlieir marriage and 
family. William Siiakespeare's chancery suit respecting 
the tithes of Stratford ; and the income he derived frotn 
the lease. The Globe burnt in 161S: its reconstniclion. 
Destructive fire at Stratford in 1614. Shakespeare's visit 
to London afterwards. Proposed inelosure of Welcombo 
fields. Allusion to Shakespeare in the liistorical poem of 
'• The Ghost of Eichanil the Third," published in 1614. 

The immediate members of the Shakespeare family re- 
sident at this date in Stratford were comparatively few. 
Richard Shakespeare had died at the age of forty'', only 
about a month before WilUam Shakespeare signed the 
deed for the purchase of the liouse in Blackfriars. Since 
the death of Edmund, Richard had been our poet's youngest 
brother, but regarding his way of life at Stratford we have 
no information. Gdbert Shakespeare, born two years and 
a half after William, was also probably at this time an in- 
habitant of the borough, or its immediate neighbourhood, 
and perhaps married, for iu the register, under date of 3rd 
February, 1611-12, we read an account of the binial of 
'■ Gilbcrtun Shakspeare, adulef;cc7is" who might be his son. 
Joan Shakespeare, who was five years younger than her 
brother William, liad been married at about the age of 
thirty to WilUam Hart, a hatter, iu Stratford ; but as the 
ceremony was not performed in that parish, it does not ap- 
pear in the register. Their first child, Wilham, was bap- 
tized on 28th August, 1600, and they had afterwards chil- 
dren of the names of Masy, Thomas, and Michael, born re- 
spectively iu 1603*, 1605, and 1608^ Our poet's eldest 
daughter, Susanna, who, as we have elsewhere stated, was 
married to Mr. John, afterwards Dr. Hall, m June, 1607, 
produced a daughter who was baptized Elizabeth on 21st 
February, 1607-8 ; so that Shakespeare was a grandfiither 
before he had reached his foi-ty -fifth year ; but Mrs. Hall 
had no ftirther increase of family. 

By whom New Place, otherwise called "the great 
house," was inhabited at this period, we can only conjecture. 
That Shakespeare's wife and his youngest daughter Judith 
(who completed her twenty-eighth year in February, 1612,) 
resided in it, we cannot doubt; but as it would be much 
more than they would require, even after they were per- 
manently joined by our great dramatist on his retirement 
from London, we may perhaps conclude that Mr. and Mrs. 
Hall were joint occupiers of it, and aided in keeping up 
the vivacity of the family 'circle. Shakespeare himself 
only conipleted his forty-eighth year in April, 1612, and 
every tradition and circumstance of liis fife tends to estab- 
lish not only the gentleness and Idnduess, but the habitual 
cheerfulness of his disposition. 

Nevertheless, although we suppose him to have sepa- 
rated himself from the labours and anxieties attendant 

3 The register of Stratford merely contains the following among 
the deaths in the parish : — 

'•1612. Feb. 4 Rich. Shakspeare.' 
* It appears bv the register that Mary Hart died in 1607. \\ hen 
Shakespeare made his will a blank wa.s left for the name of his ne- 
phew Thom.as Hart, as if he had not recollected it; but perhaps it 
was merely the omission of the scrivener. The Harts l^ved in a 
house belonging to Shakesv/eare. , l . j 

5 It has been generally stated that Charles Hart, the celebrated 
actor after the Restoration, wa-- the grand-nephew of Shakespeare, 
! son to the eldest son of Shakespeare's sister Joan, but ^ve are without 
po.-itive evidence upon the point. In IG'i'J a person of the name ot 
Hart kept a house of entertainment rlo.=e to the >ortune theatre, and 
I he may have been the son of Shakespeare s sister Joan, and tne 
! father of Charles Hart the actor, who died about 1679. 



Ixii 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



upon his theatrical concerns, he -was not without liis an- 
uoyances, thou.jh of a ditrerent kiud. We refer to a chan- 
cery suit in which he seems to have been involved by the 
purchase, in 1605, of the j-emaiuiiig term of a lease of part of 
the tithes of Stratford. It appears that a rent of 211. 18s. Ad. 
had been reserved, -wliieh was to be paid by cei'taiu lessees 
under peril of forfeiture, but that some of the parties, disre- 
garding the consequences, had refused to contribute their pro-' 
portions ; and Richard Lane, of Awston, Esquire, Tliomas 
Greene, of Stratford-upon-Avon, Esquire, and William 
Shakespeare, "of Stratford-upon-Avon, gentleman," Avere 
under the necessity of filing a bill before Lord Ellesmere, to 
compel all the persons deriving estates under the dissolved 
college of Stratford to pay their shares. What was the 
issue of the suit is not any where stated ; and the only im- 
poi'tant point in the draft of the bill, in the hands of the 
Shakespeare Society, is, that our great di-amatist therein 
stated the value of Ms "moiety" of the tithes to be 60i^.per 
annum. 

In the summer of 1613 a calamity happened which we 
do not believe affected our author's ^nmediate interests, on 
account of the strong probabiUty that he liad taken care to 
divest himself of all theatrical property befoi-e he finally 
took up liis residence in his birth-jjlaee. The Globe, wliieh 
had been in use for about eighteen years, was burned do^vn 
"" "Zyth June, 1613, in consequence of the thatch, with 



which it was partially covered, catching fire from the dis- 
charge of some theatrical artilleiy'. Jt is doubtful what 
play was then in a course of representation : Sir Hemy 
Wotton gives it the title of " All is True," and calls it " a 



a 

Stowe's 

2 



new play;" while Howes, in his continuation of .^.,,.„^, 
Avnales, distinctly states that it was "Henry the Eighthl' 
It is very possible that both may be right, and that Shake- 
speare's historical drama was that night revived under a 
new name, and therefore mistakenly called "a new play" 
by Sir Henry Wotton, although it 'had been nearly ten 
years on the sta^e. The Globe was rebuilt in the next 
year, as we are told on what may be considered good autho- 
rity, at the cost of King James and of many noblemen and 
gentlemen, who seem to have contributed sums of money 
for the purpose. If James L lent any pecuniary aid on the 
occasion, it affords another out of many proofs of his dis- 
position to encom-age the drama, and to assist the plavers 
who acted under the royal name'. Although Shakespeai-e 
might not be in any way pecuniarily affected by the event, 
we may be sure that he would not be backward in using 
his influence, and perhaps in rendering assistance by a o-ift 
of money, for the reconstruction of a playhouse in which\e 



John Taylor, the water-poet, was a spectator of the calamity 
(perhaps in his own wherry) and thus celebrated it in an epijrrani 
which he printed in 16U in his '■ Nipping and Snipping of Abuses,'' 

"Upon the Burnixo of the Globe. 
"Aspiring Phaeton, with pride inspirde. 
Misguiding Phcebus carre, the worlie he firde ; 
But Ovid did with fiction serve his turne. 
And I in action saw the Globe to burne.'' 

oofl See "Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage," vol. i p 
386, and vol. ni. p. 29S. ' ■* ' 

• ' "^l"^ l^f' T^!u ^^l?^] ."*''" """^ ^""^ ^moiys particulars respect- 
ing the late of the Blackfriars theatre, the Whitefriars (called the 
Salisbury Court) theatre, the Phcenix, the Fortune, and the Hope 
(which was also at times used for bear-baiting) is contained in some 
manuscript notes to a copy of Stowe's Aiinaki, by Howes, folio 1631 
m the possession of Mr. Pickering : they appear to have been made 
just after the last event mentioned in them. The burnin-^ of the 
Globe is there erroneously fixed in 1612. When, too, it is said that 
the Hope was built in 1010, the meaning must be that it was then 
reconstructed, so as to be adapted to both purposes, stage-plays and 
bear-baiting. The memoranda are thus headed: "A Sote of such 
passages as have beene omitted, and as I have scene, since the print- 
lar"ge 163l'^' "'"^ l^onion in 4to, 1618, and this Chronicle at 

^^ilt^'^^ ^^'"'''^\~'^% '^^"^^ ''^^y ^°"-°^' °» th« Bank side in 
bouthwarke. was burnt downe to the ground in the yeare 161'5 And 
new built up againe in the yeare 1G13, at the great charge of Kin" 
James, and many noble men, and others. And now pulled downe to 
the ground by Sir Mathew Brand on Munday, the 15 of April 1644 
to make tenements in the rome of it. ^ ' ' 

" The Black Friers play hou.se, in Black Friers London, which had 

b day of August, 1055, and tenements built in the roome 



had often acted, from which he had derived so much profit, 
and in the continuance of the performances at which so 
many of his friends and fellows were deeply interested. 

He must himself have had an escape from a simiLir dis- 
aster at Stratford in the very next yeai'. Fires had bi'oken 
out m the borough m 1594 and 1595, which had destroyed 
many of the houses, then built of wood, or of nuiterialsnot 
calculated to resist combustion ; but that which occurred vn 
the 9th July, 1614, seems to have done more damage than 
both Its predecessors. At the instance of various gentlemen 
m the neighbourhood, uicluding Sir Eulk Greville, Sir Rich- 
ard Veruey, and Sir Tliomas Lucv, King tlames i.-^sued a 
proclamation, or bi-ief, dated 11th May, 1615, in favour of 
the inhabitants of Stratford, authorizing the collection' of 
donations in the different churches of the kingdom for the 
restoration of the town ; and alleging that witlnn two hours 
t le fire had consumed " fifty-four dwelliug-Jjouses, many of 
them being very fair houses, besides barns, stables, and 
other houses of office, together also with great store of corn 
hay, straw, wood, and timbei-." The amount of loss is stated' 
on the same authority, to be " eight tli.,usaii(l pounds and 
upwards\" What was the issue of this charitable appeal 
to tlie whole kingdom, we know not. 

It is very certain that the dwelling of our great di-ama- 
t)st, called JS^ew Place, escaped the conflagration, and his 
property, as far as we can judge, seems to have been situ- 
ated in a part of the town which fortunatelv did not suffer 
fi'om the ravages of the fire. 

The name fvf Shakespeare is not found amon'>- th(jse of 
mhabitants whose certificate was stated to be the inimediate 
ground fir issuing the royal brief ^ but it is not at all un- 
likely that he was instrumental in obtaining it. We are 
sure that he was in London in November following the fii-e", 
and possibly was taking some steps in fiivour of his felh^w- 
townsmen. However, his principal business seems to have 
related to the projected inelosure of certain common lands 
m the neighljouihood of Stratford in which he had an m- 
terest. Some inquiries as to the rights of various parties 
were mstituted in September, 1614, as we gather from a 
document yet preserved, and which is now before us. Tlie 
mchviduals whose claims are set out are, " Mr Shakespeare " 
Thonias Parker, Mr. Lane, Sir Francis Smitli, Mace, Arthur 
Cawdrey, and " Mr. Wright, vicar of Bishopton." All that 
it is necessary to quote is the foUowiug, which refers to 
Shakespeare, and which, like the rest, is" placed under the 
head of " Auneient Freeholders in the fields of Old Strat- 
lord and Welcome." 

" Mr. Shakspeare, 4 yard land'': noe common, nor ground 



"The play hou.se in Salisbury Court, in Fleete streete, was pulled 
down by a company of souldiers, set on by the Sectaries of these sad 
times, on Saturday, the -ilth day of March. 1049. 

'-The Phenix. in Druery Lane, was pulled down aLso this dav 
-,\^"^^'"'^^y ^he 04th of March, 1049. bv the same souldiers ^' 
ihe Fortune play house, between White Crosse streete and Gold- 
ing Lane, was burned down to the ground in the vear 1618 And 
built againe, with bricke worke on the outside, in the year 1022 • and 
now puUd downe on the inside by these souldiers, thi.s 1019 
,^. ■-l*"=«°.P''><'n the Banke side in Southwarke. commonly called 
the Beare (garden : a play house for stage playes on MunJays. Wed- 
ncsdayes Fridayes and Saterdayes ; and for the baiting of thebeares 
on Tuesdays and Thursdayes-the .stage being made to take up and 
downe when they please. It was built in the vear 1010 ; and now 
pulled downe to make tenements by Thomas Walker. I peticoate 
maker m Cannon Streete, ou Tuesday the 25 day of March, 1050 
Seven of Mr. Godlries beares, by the command of Thomas Pride then 
hie Sherefe of_ Surry, were shot to death on Saturday, the 9 day of 
February, 10.», by a company of souldiers " 

* We take these particulars from a copy of the document "printed 
by Thomas Purfoot,'- who then had a patent for all proclamations. 
A.C. It has the royal arms, and the initials I. Pt. at the top of it as 
usual. It IS m the possession of the Shakespeare Society 

5 The name of his friend William Combe is found amon-r the " es- 
quires ' enumerated in the body of the in.strument 

6 This fa<;t appears in a letter, written by Thomas Greene, on 17th 
November 1014, m which he tells some person in Stratford that he 
da before ^"^ l^'s cousin Shakespeare," who had reached town the 

,C fiH',°"^f'Af°/'?^ "!■' ■^it'i<?«t mentioning his authority, that "in 
the fields of Old Stratford, where our poefs estate lay, a yard land 
contained only about twenty-seven acres," but that it varied much 
in ditterent places: he derives the term from the Saxon <r,n;l land 
Jirgata /frra..— Shakspeare, by Boswell. vol. ii. p. 25. According 
to the same authority, a yard land in Wilmecole consisted of more 
than ntty acres. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



Ixiii 



beyond Gospell bushc : noc ground in Sandfield, nor none in 
Slow Hill field beyond Bishopton, nor none in the enclosures 
beyond Bisliopton." 

The date of this paper is 5tli September, 3 614, and, as 
•we have said, we may presume that it was chiefly upon this 
business that Shakespeare came to Lmidon on tlie 16th No- 
vember. It shoukl ajipear tluit Thomas Greene, of Strat- 
ford, was othcially oppcsing tlie iuck)sure ou the part of the 
corporation ; and it is probable that Shakespeafe's wishes 
were accordant with those of the majority of the iuhabi- 
tiiuts : however this might be, (and it is liable to dispute 
which party Shakespeare favoured) the members of the mu- 
nicipal body of the borough were nearly mianimous, and, as 
far as we can learn from the imperfect particulars remain- 
ing upon this subject, they wished our pi^et to use his influence 
to resist tlie project, which seems to have been supported 
by Mr. Arthur Maiu-«'ariug, then resident in the family of 
Lord EUesmere as auditor of his domestic expenditure. 

It is very hkely that Shakespeare saw Maiuwariug ; and, 
as it was only five or six years since his name had been es- 
pecially brought under the notice of the Lord Chancellor, 
m relation to the claim of the city authorities to jurisdiction 
in the Blackfriars, it is not impossible that Shakespeare 
may have had an interview ■with Lord EUesmere, who 
Beems at all times to have been of a very accessible and 
kindly disposition. Greene was in London on the 17 th No- 
vember, and sent to Stratford a short account t>f his jjro- 
ceediugs on the question of the iuclosure, in which he men- 
tioned that he had seen Shakespeare and Mr. Hall (proba- 
bly meaning Shakespeare's son-in-hiw) on the preceduig 
day, who told him that they thought nothing would be 
done^ Greene retui'ned to Stratfortl soon afterwards, and 
having left our poet in London, at the instance of the cor- 
poration, he subsequently wrote two letters, one to Shake- 
speare, and the other to Maiuwariug, (the latter only has 
been preserved) setting forth in strong tei-ms the injury the 
iuclosui'e would do to Strattord, and the heavy loss the in- 
habitants had not long before sustained from the fu'e. A 
petition was also prepared and presented to the privy 
council, and we may gather that the opposition was effect- 
ual, because nothing was done in the business : the common 
fields of Welcombe, which it had been intended to inclose, 
remained open for pasture as before. 

How soon after the matter relating to the inclosure had 
been settled Shakespeare returned to Stratford, — how long 
he remained there, or whether he ever came to London 
again, — we are without information. He was very possibly 
in the metropoUs at the tinae when a narrative poem, 
founded in part upon his historical play of " Richard III.," 
was published, and which until now has escaped observa- 
tion, although it contains the clearest allusion, not indeed by 
name, to our author and to his tragedy. It is called " The 
Ghost of Richard the Third," and it bears date in 1614; 
but.the writer, C. B., only gives his initials'^ We know of 
no poet of that day to whom they would apply, excepting 
Charles Best, who has several pieces in Davison's " Poetical 
Rhapsody," 1602, but he has left nothing behind him to in- 

1 The memorandum of the contents of his letter (to which ■we have 
already referred on p. Ixii.) is in these terms, avoiding abbreviations : — 

" Jovis, 17 No. My cosen Shakespeare comyng yesterday, I went 
to see him, how he did. He told me that they assured him they ment 
to inclose no further than to Gospel bush, and so upp straight (leaving 
out part of the Dyngles to the field) to tlie gate in Clopton hedg, and 
take in Salisburys peece ; and that they mean in Aprill to survey the 
land, and then to gyve satisfaction, and not before : and he and Mr. 
Hall say they think there will be nolhyng done at all." 

In what wa}', or in what degree, Shakespeare and Greene were re- 
lated, so that the latter should call the former his "cousin," must 
remain a matter of speculation ; but it will be recollected that the 
parish register of Stratford shows that " Thomas Greene, alias Shake- 
speare," was buried on 0th March, 15-^!M)U. Whether Thomas 
Greene, the solicitor, was any relation to Thomas Greene, the actor, 
■we have no means of ascertaining. 

- And ttiese not on the title-page, but at the end of the prefatory 
matter : the whole title runs thus : — 

'•The Ghost of Richard the Third. Expressing himselfe in these 
three Parts. 1. His Character. 2 His Legend. 3. His Tragedie. 
Containing more of him than hath been heretofore shewed, either in 
Chronicles. Playes, or Poems. Laurea Desidiin jtrmbetur viilla. 
Printed by'G. Eld: for L Lisle: and are to be sold in Paules Church- 
yard, at the signe of the Tygers head. 161-1." 4to. 



dicate that he would be capable of a work of such power 
and variety. It is di-vided into three portions, the " Cha- 
racter," the " Legend," and the " Tragedy " of Richard III. ; 
and the second part opens with the follo"\ving stanzas, which 
show the high estimate the writer had formed of the genius 
of Sliakespeare : they are extremely interesting as a con- 
temporaneous tribute. Richard, narrating his own liistory, 
thtis speaks : — 

"To him that impt my fame with Clio's quill, 
Whose magick rai«'d me from Oblivion's den, 
That -^vrit my storie on the Muses hill, 
And with my actions dignified his pen ; 
He that from Helicon sends many a rill, 
Whose nectarcd veines are drunke by thirstie men ; 
Crown'd be his stile with fame, his head with bayes, 
And none detract, but gratulate his praise. 

" Yet if his scojnea have not cngrost all grace, 
The mueli fani'd action conld extend on stage ; 
if Time or Memory have left a place 
For uic to tin, t'enl'orme this ignorant age, 
To that intent I shew my horrid face. 
Imprest with feare and characters of rage : 
Nor wits nor chronicles could ere containe 
The hell-dcepe reaches of my soundlcsse brainc^." 

The above is the last extant panegyric upon Shake- 
speare during his hfetime, and it exceeds, in point of fervom* 
and zeal, if not injudicious criticism, any that had gone be- 
fore it ; for Richard tells the reader, that the writer of the 
scenes in which he bad figured on the stage had imped 
his fame with the quill of the historic muse, and that, by 
the magic of verse, he who had written so much and so 
finely, had raised him from oblivion. That C. B. was au 
author of distinction, and well known to some of the greatest 
poets of the day, we have upon their own evidence, fi'om 
the terms they use in their commendatory poems, sub- 
scribed by no less names than those of Ben Jonson*, George 
Chapman, William Browne, Robert Daboi-ne, and George 
Wither. The author professes to follow no particular 
original, whether iu prose or verse, narrative or dramatic, 
in " chronicles, plays, or poems," but to adopt the incidents 
as they had been banded down on various authorities. As 
we have stated, his work is one of great excellence, but it 
would be going too much out of our way to enter here into 
any farther examination of it. 



CHAPTER XX. 

Shakespeare's return to Stratford. Marriage of his daughter 
Judith to Thomas Quiney in February, 1616. Sliake- 
speare's will prepared in January, but dated March, 1616. 
His last illness : attended by Dr. Hall, his son-in-law. 
Uncertainty as to the nature of Shakespeare's fatal malady. 
His birth-day and death-day the same. Entry of his burial 
in the register at Stratford. His will, and circumstances to 
prove that it was prepared two months before it was execut- 
ed. His bequest to his wife, and provision for her by dower. 

The autumn seems to have been a very usual time for 
publishing new books, and Shakespeare having been in 

It is about to he reprinted by the Shakespeare Society, and on every 
account it well merits the distinction. 

2 We may suspect, in the last line but one, that the word " wits" 
has been misprinted for acts. The stanza which follows the above 
refers to another play, founded on a distinct portion of the same his- 
tory, and relating especially to Jane Shore : — 

"And what a peece of justice did I shew 

On mistresse Shore, when (with a fained hate 

To unchast life) 1 forced her to goe 

Barefoote on pennance, with dejected state. 

But now her fame by a vile play doth grow. 

Whose fate the women do commisserate," &c. 
The allusion may here be to Heywood's historical drama of '-Ed- 
ward IV." (reprinted by the Shakespeare Society), in which Shore's 
wife is introduced ; or it may be to a different drama upon the events 
of her life, which, it is known on various authorities, had been 
brought upon the stage. 

* It appears from Henslowe's Diary, that in June, 1602, Ben Jon- 
son was himself writing a historical play, called '-Richard Crook- 
back," for the Lord Admiral's players at the Fortune. We have no 
evidence that it was ever completed or represented. Ben Jonson's 
testimony in favour of the poem of 0. B. is compressed into a fe^v?- 
lines. 



Ixiv 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



London in the middle of November, 161-4, as we have re- 
marked, he ■was perhaps there when " The Ghost of Rich- 
ard the Third' came out, and, like Ben Jonson, Chapman, 
and others, might be acquainted witli the author. He j)ro- 
bably returned home before the winter, and passed the 
rest of his days in tranquil retirement, and in the enjoyment 
of the society of his friends, Avhether residing in the country, 
or occasionally visiting Ijim from the metropolis. " ITie 
latter part of his life," says Howe, "was spent, as all men 
of good seJise will wish theiis may be, in ease, retirement, 
and the society of his fi-iends ;" and he adds what cannot be 
doubted, that "his pleasurable Avit and good-nature en- 
gaged him in the acquaintance, and entitled him to the 
friendship of the gentlemen of the ucighbouiliood."' He 
must have been of a lively and companionable disposition ; 
and his long residence in London, amid the bustling and 
varied scenes connected with his public life, independently 
of his natural powers of conversation, could, not fail to ren- 
der his society most agreeable and desirable. We can 
readily believe that when any of his old associates of the 
stage, whether authors or actors, came to Stratford, tliey 
found a hearty welcome and free entertainment at his 
bouse : and that he would be the last man, in his pros- 
perity, to treat with slight or indilTerence those with whom, 
in the earlier part of his career, he had been yn terms of 
familiar intercourse. It could not be in Shakespeare's na- 
ture to disregard the claims of ancient friendship, especially 
if it approached him in a garb of comparative poverty. 

One of the very latest acts of his life was bestowing the 
hand of his daughter Judith upon Thomas Quiney, a vintner 
and wine-merchant of Stratford, the son of Richard Quiney. 
She must have been four years older than her husband, 
having, as already stated, been born on 2nd February, 1585, 
whUe he was not born until 26th February, 1589: he was 
consequently twenty -seven years old, and she thirty-one, at 
the time of their marriage in February, 1016' ; and Shake- 
speare thus became father-in-law to the son of the friend 
who, eighteen years before, had borrowed of him 80/., and 
who had died on 31st May, 1602, while he was bailiff of 
Stratford. As there was a chfFerence of four years in the 
ages of Judith Shakesj^eare and her husband, w^e ought 
perhaps to receive that fact as some testimony, that our 
great dramatist did not see sufficient evil in such dispropor- 
tion to induce him to oppose the union. 

His will had been prepared as long before its actual date i 
as 25th January, 1615-16, and this iiict is apparent on the 
face of it: it originally began " Vicesimo qninto die 
Januarij," (not Februarij, as Malone erroneously read it) 
but the word Januarij was subsequently struck through 
with a pen, and Martij substituted by interhneation. Pos- 
sibly it was not thought necessary to alter vicesimo q^iinto, 
or the 25th March might be the very day the will was exe- 
cuted : if it were, the signatures of the testator, upon each 
of the three sheets of paper of which the will consists, bear 
evidence (from the want of firmness in the writing) that he 
was at that time suffering imder sickness. It opens, it is 
true, by statpg that he was " in perfect health and me- 
mory," and such was doubtless the ease when the instru- 
ment was prepared in January, but the execution of it 

1 The registration in the books of Stratford church is tliis : 
"1015-16 Feabruary 10. Tho Queeny tow Judith Shakspere." 

The fruits of this marriage were three sons ; viz. Shakespeare 
baptized 23rd November, IPIG, and buried May 6th. 1617; Richard' 
baptized 9th February, 1617-lS. and buried '2(Jth February, 1638-9 • 
and Thomas, baptized '23rd January, ]619-'2U, and buried 2Sth 
January, 1638-9. Judith Quiney. their mother, did not die until 
after the Restoration, and was buried 9th February, 1661-3. The 
Stratford registers contain no entry of the burial of Thomas Quiney 
her husband, and it is very possible, therefore, that he. died and was 
buried in London. 

2 The Rev. John Ward's Diary, to which we have before referred, 
contains the following undated paragrapjh : — 

" Shakespeare, Drayton, and Ben Jonson, had a merie meeting. 
and, itt seems, drank too hard, for Shakespear died of a fevour there 
contracted." 

What credit may be due to this statement, preceded as it is by the 
words ■' it seems," implying a doubt on the subject in the writer's 
mind, -A-e must leave the reader to determine. That Shakespeare 
was of sober, though of companionable habits, we are thoroughly 
convinced : he could not have written seven-and-thirty plays (not 
reckoning alterations and additions now lost) in five-and-twenty 



j might be deferred until he was attacked by serious indis- 
I position, and then the date of the month only might be 
' altered, leaving the assertion as to health and memory as 
it had originally stood. What was the nature of Shake- 
speare's fatal illness we have no satisftietory means of 
knowing'^, but it was pr(;bably not of long duration ; and if 
Avhen he subscribed his will he had really been in health, 
. we are persuaded that at the age of only fifty-two lie would 
I have signed his name with greater steadiness and distinct- 
ness. All three signatures are more or less infirm and ille- 
gible, especially the two first, but he seems to have made 
an effort to Avrite his best when he affixed both his names 
at length at the end, " By me William Shakspeare." 

We hardly need entertain a doubt that he was attended 
in his last illness by his sou-in-law. Dr. Hall, who had then 
been married to Susanna Shakespeare more than eight years : 
we have expressed our opinion that Dr. and Mrs. Hall Hved 
in the same house Avith our poet, and it is to be recollected 
that in his will he leaves New Place to his daughter Susan- 
na. Hall must have been a man of c. msiderabie science for 
the time at wliich he practised, and he has left behind him 
proofs of his knowledge and skill in a number of cases 
which had come under his own eye, and which he deseiibed 
in Latin : these Avere afterwards translated from his manu- 
script, and published in 1657 by Jonas Cooke, with the title 
of " Select ObserA-ations on English Bodies'V but the ease 
of Dr. Hall's father-in-law is not found there, because, un- 
fortunately the " observations" only begin in 1617. One of 
the earliest of them shows that an epidemic, called the " ncAV 
fever," then prevailed in Stratford and"kivaded many." 
Possibly Shakespeare was one of these ; though, had such 
been the fact, it is not unlikely that, when speaking of " the 
Lady Beaufou" who suffered under it on July 1st, 1617, Dr. 
Hall Avould have referred back to the earher instance of his 
father-iu-hiAv''. He does advert to a tertian ague of which, 
at a period not mentioned, he had cured Michael Drayton, 
(" an excellent poet," as Hall terms him) when he was, per- 
haps, on a visit to Shakespeare. However, Drayton, as for- 
merly remarked, was a native of Warwickshire, and Dr. 
Hall may have been called in to attend him elsewhere. 

We are left, therefore, in utter uncertainty as to the im- 
mediate cause of the death of Shakespeare at an age Avhen 
he would be in full possession of his faculties, and Avhea in 
the ordinary course of nature he might have lived many 
years in_ the enjoyment of the society of his family and 
friends, in that grateful and easy retirement, Avhich had been 
earned by his genius and industry, and to obtain which had 
apparently been the main object of many years of toil, 
anxiety, and deprivation. 

Whatever doubt may prevail as to the day of the birth 
of Shakespeare, none can well exist as to the day of his 
death. The inscription on his monument in Stratford church 
tells us, 

"Obiit Anno Domini 1616. 
^taiis 53. die 23 Apr." 

And it is remarkable that he was born and died on the same 
day of the same month, supposing him, as we have every 
reason to believe, to have first seen the fight on the 23d 

years had he been otherwise ; and we are sure also, that if Drayton 
and Ben .Jonson visited him at Stratford, he would give them a free 
and hearty welcome. We have no reason to think that Drayton 
was at all given to intoxication, although it is certain that Ben Jon- 
son was a bountiful liver. 

3 For a copy of this curious and interesting work, we gladly express 
our obligations to Mr. William Pricker, of Hyde, near Manche.ster. 

* He several times speak.s of sicknesses in his own family, and of the 
manner in which he had removed them : a ca.se of his ow n, in which 
he mentions his age, accords with the statement in his inscription, 
and ascertains that he was thirty-two when he married Susanna 
Shakespeare in 1607. "Mrs. Hall, of Stratford, my wife," is more 
than once introduced in the course of the volume, as well as " Eliz- 
abeth Hall, my only daughter." I\Irs. Susanna Hall died in 1049, 
aged 66, and was buried at Stratford. Elizabeth Hall, her daughter 
by Dr. Hall, (baptized on the 21st Feb. 1607-8.) and grand-daughter 
to our poet, was married on the 22d April, 1626, to Mr. Thomas Nash, 
(who died in 1647) and on 5th June, 1649. to Mr. John Bernard, of 
Abingdon, who was knighted after the Restoration. Lady Bernard 
died childless in 1679, and was buried, not at Stratford with her own 
family, but at Abingdon with that of her second hu.sband. She was 
the last of the lineal descendants of AVilliam Shakespeare. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



Ixv 



April, 1564. It was most usual about that period to men- 
tion the day of death in inscriptions upon tomb-stones, tab- 
lets, and monuments ; and such was the case with other 
members of the Shakespeare family. We are thus ijj^ormed 
that his wife, Anne Shakespeare, " departed this life the 6th 
day of Augu. 1623' :" Dr. Hall " deceased Nove. 25. A". 
1635" :'' Thomas Nash, who married Hall's daughter, "died 
April 4, A. 1647':" Susanna Hall " deceased the 11th of 
July, A°. 1649''." Therefore, although the Latin inscription 
on the monument of our great dramatist may, from its form 
and punctuation, ajipear not so decisive as those we have 
quoted in English, there is in fact no grouud for disputing 
that he died on 23d April, 1616. It is quite certain from 
the register of Stratford tliat he was iutei'red on the 25th 
April, and the record of that event is placed among the 
burials in the following manner : 

" 1616. April 25, Will' Shakspere, Gent." 

"Whether fi'om the frequent prevalence of infectious dis- 
orders, or from any other cause, the custom of keeping the 
bodies of relatives unburied, for a week or more after death, 
seems eompai'atively of modern origin ; and we may illus- 
trate tliis point also by reference to facts regarding some of 
the members of the Shakespeare family. xYnne Shake- 
speare was buried two days after she died, viz. on the 8th 
Aug., 1623^ : Dr. I-Iall and 'ninmas Nash were buried on the 
day after they died" ; and although it is true that there was 
an interval of five days between the death and burial of 
Mrs. Hall, in 1649, it is very possible that her corpse was 
conveyed from some distance, to be interred among her re- 
lations at Stratford'. Nothing would be easier than to ac- 
cumulate instances to prove that in the time of Shakespeare, 
as well as before and afterwards, the custom was to bury 
persons very shortly subsequent to their decease. In the 
case of our poet, concluding that he expired on the 23d 
April, there was, as in the instance of his Avife, an interval 
of two days before his interment. 

Into the paiticular provisions of his will we need not en- 
ter at all at large, because we have printed it at the end of 
the present memoir fi-om the origiual, as it was filed in the 
Prerogative Comt**, probate having been granted on the 22d 
June following the date of it. His daughter Judith is there 
only called by her Christian name, although she had been 

1 The inPcriptioTi., upon a brass plate, let into a stone, is in these 
terms : — "We have to thank Mr. Bruce for tlie use of his copies of them, 
with wliich "we have compared our own. 

" Heere lyeth interred the Body of Anne, "Wife of William Shake- 
speare, who departed this life the 6th day of Augu. 1623. being of 
the age of 67 yeares. 

Ubera, tu mater, tn lac, vitamq ; dedisti, 

Vce mihi : pro tanto munere saxa dabo. 
Quam niallem amoveat lapidem bonus angel' ore' 

Exeat ut Christi corpus imago tua. 
Sed nil vota valent, venias cito Christe resurget 
Clausa licet tumulo mater, et astra petit." 

2 The following is the inscription commemorating him. 
"Heere lyeth the Body of lohn Hall, Gent: Hee marr : Pusanna 

ye daughter and coheire of "Will : Shakespeare, Gent. Hee deceased 
Nove. 25. A". 1635, aged 6U. 

Hallius hie situs est, medica celeberrimus arte, 

Expectans regni gaudia Iceta Dti. 
Dignus erat meritis, qui Nestora vinceret annis, 

In terris omnes, sed rapit osqua dies. 
Ne tumulo quid desit, adest fidissima conjux, 
Et vitiE comitem nunc quoq : mortis habet.'"* 
' His inscription, in several places difficult to be deciphered, is 
this : — 

"Heere resteth ye Body of Thomas Na-she, Ejq. He mar. Eliza- 
beth the daug. and heire of John Halle, Gent. He died ApriU 4. 
A. 1647, Aged 53. 

Fata manent omnes hunc non virtute carentem, 

Ut neque divitiis abstulit atra dies ; 
A.bstulit, at referet lux ultima : siste, viator, 
tii peritura paras per male parta peris." 
* The inscription to her runs thus : 

"Heere lyeth ye body of Susanna, "Wife to lohn Hall, Gent: ye 
daughter of William Shakespeare, Gent. Shee deceased y' 11th of 
July, AO. 1649. aged 66." 

JJugdale has handed do^vn the following verses upon her, which 
were originally engraved on the stone, but are not now to be found, 
half of It having been cut away to make room, for an inscription to 
Richard Watts, who died in 1707. 



married to Thomas Quiucy considerably more than a month 
anterior to the actual date of the will, and althougli his eld- 
est daughter Susanna is mentioned by her husbaml's patro- 
nymic. It seems evident, from the tenor of the whole in- 
strument, that when it Vt'as prepared Judith was not mar- 
ried", althougli her speedy union with Thomas Quiney wiis 
contemplated : the attoi-ney or scriveuei', Avho drew it, had 
first written " son and daughter," (meaning Judith and her 
intended husband) but erased the words " son and" after- 
wards, as the parties were not yet married, and Avcre not 
" son and daughter" to the testator. It is true that Thomas 
Quiney would not have been Shakespea)e's son, only his 
sou-indaw ; but the degrees of cdnsauguiiiity Aveie not at 
that time strictly marked and attended to, and in the same 
will Elizabeth Hall is called the testator's "niece," when 
she was, in fiict, his granddaugliter. 

The bequest which has attracted most attention is an in- 
terlineation in the folIov»'iug words, " Itm I gyve unto my 
wief my second best bed Avith tlie furniture." Upon this 
passage has been founded, by Malone and others, a charge 
against Shakespeare, that he only remembered his wife as 
an afterthought, and then merely gave her " an old bed." 
As to the last part of the jfccusation, it may be answered, 
that the " second best bed" was probably tliat in wliich the 
husband and wife had slept, when he Avas in Stratf jrd ear- 
lier in life, and every night since his I'etiremeut from the 
metropolis : the best bed Avas doubtless reserved for visitors : 
if, therefore, he were to leave his wife any express legacy 
of the kind, it was most natural and considerate that he 
should give her that piece of fiu'niture, Avhich for many years 
they had jointly occupied. "With regard to the second part 
of the ehai'ge, our great dramatist has of late years been re- 
lieved from the stigma, thus attempted to be thrown upon 
him, by the mere remark, that Shakespeare's property be- 
ing principally freehold, the widoAV by tlie ordinaiy opera- 
tion of the hiAV of England would be entitled to, what is le- 
gally knoAvu by the term, dower.'" It is extraoi-diuary that 
this explanaticiu sliould never have occurred to Malone, who 
was educated ti5 the legal profession ; but that many others 
should have Rdlowcd him in his unjust unputation is not 
remarkable, recollecting hoAV prone most of Sliakespeare's 
biographers have been to rej^eat errors, rather than ttike the 
trouble to inquire for themselves, to sift out truth, and to 
balance probabilities. 

Witty above her sexe, but that's not all ; . 
Wise to salvation was good Mistress Hall. 
Something of Shakespeare was in that, but this 
Wholy of him with whom she's now in blisse. 

Then, passenger, hast ne're a teare 

To weepe with her that wept for all ? 
That wept, yet set her selfe to cheere 

Them up with comforts cordiall. 
Her love shall live, her meicy spread. 
When thou hast ne're a teare to shed." 
The register informs us that she was buried on the 16th July, 1649. 
s The following is copied from the register . — 

" 1623, August 8. Mrs. Shakspeare." 
6 Their registrations of burial are in these terms : — 

"1635. Nov.'2C>. Johannes Hall, tnedicus peritissimus." 
"1647, AprillS. Thomas Nash, Gent." 
' The register contains as follows : — 

"1619. July 16. Mrs. Susanna Hall, widow." 

8 We are indebted to Sir F. Madden, Keeper of the MSS. in the 
British Museum, for the use of a most exact collation of Shakespeare's 
will ; in addition to wl;ich we have seveial times gone over every 
line and word of it. We have printed it as nearly as possible as it 
appears in the original. 

9 Another trifling circumstance leading to the conclusion that the 
will was prepared in .January, though not executed until March, is 
that Shakespeare's sister is called Jone Hart, and not Jone Hayt.widotv. 
Her husband had died a few davs before Shakespeare, and he was 
buried on 17 April, 1616, as " Will Hart, hatter.'' She was buried 
on 4 Nov. 1646. Both entries are contained in the parish registers of 
Stratford. 

1" This vindication of Shakespeare's memory from the supposed ne- 
glect of his wife w-e ow,e to Mr. Knight, In his "Pictorial Shak- 
spere." See the Postscript to •' Twelftii Night." When the expla- 
nation is once given, it seems so easy, that we wonder it was never 
before mentioned ; but like many discoveries of ditferent kinds, it is 
not less simple than important, and it is just that Mr. Knight should 
have full credit for it. 



'■'t'-f 



Ixvi 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

Monument to Shakespeare at Stratford-upon-Avon erected ' 
before 1623; probably under the superintendence of Dr. 
Hall, and Shakespeare's daughter Susanna. Difl'erence 
between the bust on tlie monuuient and the portrait on the 
title-page of the folio of 1623. Ben Jonson's testimony in 
favour of the likeness of the hatter. Shakespeare's perscnial 
appearance. His social and convivial qualities. " Wit- 
combats" mentioned by Fuller iu his " Wortliies." Epi- 
taplis upon Sir Thomas Stanley and Elias James. Con- 
clusion, llallam's character of Shakespeare. 

A MONUMENT to Shakespeare was erected anterior to the 
publication of the folio edition of his " Comedies, Histories, 
and Tragedies" in 1623, because it is thus distinctly men- 
tioned by Leonard Digges, in the earliest copy of commen- 
datory verses prefixed to that volume, which he states shall 
outlive the poet's tomb : — 

" when that stone is rent, 

And time dissolves thy Stratford Monument, 
Here we alive shall view thee still." 

This is the most ancient notice of it ; but bow long before 
1623 it had been placed in the church of Stratford-upon- 
Avon, we have no means of deciding. It represents the 
poet sitting under an arch, with a cushion before him, a pen 
in his right Iiaud, and his left resting upon a sheet of paper : 
it has been the opinion of the best judges that it was cut by 
an Eughsh sculptor, (perhaps Thomas Stanton) and we may 
conclude, without much hesitation, that the artist was em- 
ployed by Dr. Hall and his Av'ifc, and that the resemblance 
was as faithful as a bust, not modelled fi'om the life, but 
probably, under living instructions, from some picture or 
cast, could be expected to be. Shakespeare is there con- 
siderably fuller iu the face, than in the engraving on the 
title-page of the folio of 1623, which must 'have been made 
from a different original. It seems not unlikely that after 
he separated himself from the business and anxiety of a 
professional life, and withdrew to the permanent inhaling 
of his native air, he became more robust, and the half- 
length upon his nn>uument conveys the notion of a cheerful, 
good-tempered, and somewhat jovial man. The expression, 
we apprehend, is less intellectual than it must have been iu 
reality, and the forehead, though lofty and expansive, is not 
strongly marked with thought : on the whole, it has rather 
a look of gaiety and good humour than of thought and re- 
flection, and the lips are full, and apparently in the act of 
giving utterance to some amiable pleasantry. 

On a tablet below the bust are placed the following 
inscriptions, which we give literally : — 

" Ivdicio Pylivm, genio Socratem, arte Maronem, 
Terra tegit, popvlvs nioBret, Olympvs habet. 

Stay, Passenger, wliy goest thov by so fast ? 
Kead, if thov canst, whom enviovs Death hatli plast 
Within this monvment: Shakspeare; with whome 
Quick natvre dide : whose name doth deck y' Tombe 
Far more then cost ; sieth all y' he hath writt 
Leaves living art bvt page to serve his witt 

Obiit ano Do'. 1616. 
^tatis. 53. die 23 Ap^" 

On a flat grave stone in front of the monument, and not 
far from the wall against which it is fixed, we read these 
lines ; and Southwell's correspondent (whose letter was 
printed in 1838, from the original manuscript dated 1693) 
mforms us, sj)eaking of course from tradition, that they 
were written by Shakespeare himself : — 

" Good frend, for lesvs sake forbeare 
To digg the dvst enclaased heare : 

1 It uras originally, like many other monuments of the time, and 
some in Stratlord church, coloured after the life, and so it continued 
■until ]\Ialone, in his mistaken zeal for classical taste and severity, 
and forgetting the practice of the period at which the work was pro- 
duced, had it painted one uniform stone-colour. He thus exposed 
himself to much not unmerited ridicule. It was afterwards found 
impossible to restore the original colours. 

2 Besides, we may suppose that Jonson would be careful how he 
applauded the likeness, when there must have been so many persons 



Blest be y« man y' spares thes stones, 
And cvrst be he y' moves my bones." 

The half-length on the title-page of the folio of 1623» 
engrav^ by Martin Droeshout, has certainly an expression 
of greater gravity than the bust on Shakespeare's monu- 
ment; and, making some allowances, we can conceive the 
original of that resemblance more capable of producing the 
mighty works Shakespeare has left behind him, than the 
original of the bust : at all events, the first rather looks like 
the author of " Lear " and " Macbeth," and the last like the 
author of " Much Ado about Nothing" and "The Merry 
Waives of Windsor:" the one may be said to represent 
Sliakespeare during his later years at Stratford, happy in 
the intercourse of his family and friends, and the cheerful 
companion of his neighbours and townsmen ; and the other, 
Shakespeare in London, revolving the great works he had 
written or projected, andAvith his mind somewhat burdened 
by the cares of his professional life. The last, therefore, 
is obviously the likeness which ought to accompany his 
plays, and which his " friends and fellows," Heminge and 
Condell, preferred to the head upon the " Stratford Monu- 
ment," of the erection of wliich they must have been aware. 

There is one point iu which both the engraving and the 
bust in a degree concur, — Ave mean in the length of the 
upper lip, although the peculiarity seems exaggerated iu the 
bust. We have no such testimony in favour of the truth 
of the resemblance of the bust' as the engraving, opposite 
to which are the following lines, subscribed with the initials 
of Ben Jonson, and doubtless from his pen. Let the reader 
bear in mind that Ben Jonson was not a man who could be 
hired to commend, and that, taking it for granted he was 
sincere in his praise, he had the most unquestionable means 
of forming a judgment upon the subject of the likeness be- 
tween the living man and the dead representation^ We 
give Ben Jonson's testimonial exactly as it stands in the 
folio of 1623, for it afterwards went through various literal 
changes. 

" To THE Keader. 

" This Figure, that thou here seest put, 
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; 
Wherein the Grauer had a strife 
AVith Nature, to out-doo tlie life : 
O, could he but haue drawne liis wit 
As well in brasse, as he hath liit 
His face; the Print would then surpasso 
All, that was euer writ in brasse. 
But, since he cannot, Keader, looke 
Not on his Picture, but his Booke. 

B. I." 

With this evidence before us, we have not hesitated in 
having an exact copy of Droeshout's engraving executed 
for the present edition of the Works of Skakespeare. It is, 
we believe, the first time it has ever been selected for the 
purpose since the appearance of the folio of 1623 ; and, 
although it may not be recommended by the appearance 
of so high a style of art as some other imputed resem.- 
blances, there is certainly not one which has such un- 
doubted claims to our notice on the grounds of fidelity and 
authenticity. 

The foct that Droeshout was required to employ liis skill 
upon a bad picture may tend to confirm our reliance upon 
the likeness : had there been so many pictures of Shake- 
speare as some have contended, but as we are far fi-om 
believing, Heminge and Condell, wlien they were seeking 
for an appropriate ornament for the title-page of their folio, 
would hardly have chosen one which was an unskilful paint- 
ing, if it had not been a striking resemblance. If only half 
the pictures said, within the last century, to represent 
Shakespeare, were m fact from the life, the poet must have 

living, who could have contradicted him. had the praise not heen 
deserved. Jonson does not speak of the painter, but of the ■' graver," 
who we are inclined to think did full justice to the picture placed in 
his hands. Droeshout was a man of considerable eminence in his 
branch of art, and has left behind him undoubted proofs of his skill 
— some of them .so much superior to the liead of Shakespeare in the 
folio of lOii. as to lead to the conviction, that the pictm-e from which 
he worked was a very coarse specimen of art. 



THE LIFE OF AYILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



Ixvii 



possessed a vast stock of patience, if uot a largei' shave of 
vanity, when he devoted so much time to sitting to the 
artists of the day ; and the player-editors coukl have found 
no difficulty in procuring a picture, Avhicli had better pre- 
tensions to theu' approval To us, therefore, the very de- 
fects of the engraving, which accompanies the folio of 1623, 
are a recommendation, since they serve to show that it was 
both genuine and foithful. 

Aubrey is the only authority, beyond the inferences that 
may be drawn from the portraits, for the personal appear- 
ance of Shakespeare ; and he sums up oui- great poet's phy- 
sical and moral endowments in two lines; — "He was "a 
handsome well-shaped ^nan, veiy good company, and of a 
very ready, and pleasant, and smooth wit." We have every 
reason to suppose that this is a correct description of his 
personal appearance, but we are unable to add to it from 
any other source, unless indeed we were to rely upon a few 
equivocal jaassages in the " Sonnets." Uijon this authority 
it has been supposed by some that he was lame, and cer- 
tainly the 3lth and 89th Sonnets, without allowing for a 
figurative mode of expression, might be taken to import as 
much. If we were to consider the words literally, we 
should imagine that some accident had befallen him, which 
rendered it impossible that he should continue on the stage, 
and hence we could easilj' account for his early retirement 
from it. We know that such was the case with one of his 
most famous predecessors, Christopher Marlowe\ but we 
have no sufficient reason for believing it was the fact as re- 
gards Shakespeare: he is evidently speaking metaphori- 
cally in both places, where " lame " and " lameness " oceui'. 

His social quahties, his good temper, hilarity, vivacity, 
and what Aubrey calls his " vei-y ready, and pleasant, and 
smooth wit," (in our author's own words, " pleasant without 
scurrility, witty without affectation,") cannot be doubted, 
since, besides what may be gathered from his works, we 
have it from various quarters ; and although notliing very 
good of this kind may have descended to us, we have suffi- 
cient to show that he must have been a most welcome 
\-isitor in all companies. The epithet " gentle " has been 
frequently applied to him, twice by Ben Jonson, (in his 
lines before the engraving, and in his laudatory verses pre- 
fixed to the plays in the folio of 1623) and if it be not to be 
understood precisely in its modern acceptation, we may be 
sure that one distinguishing feature in his character was gen- 
eral kindliness: he may have been "sharp and sententious," 
but never needlessly bitter or ill-natured : his wit had no 
malice for an ingredient. Fuller speaks of the " wit-combats " 
between Shakespeare and Ben Jonson at the convivial 
meetings at the Mermaid clul:), established by Sir Walter 
Raleigh'"' ; and he adds, " which two I behold like a Spanish 
great galleon and an Enghsh man-of-war : Master Jonson, 
like the former, was built far higher in learning ; solid, but 
slow in his performances : Shakespeare, with the English 
man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn 
■with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds 

1 See the extract from a ballad on Marlotv-e (p. xxxi.). This cir- 
cumstance, had he known it, would materially have aided the mo- 
dern soeptick, who argued that Shakespeare and Marlowe were one 
and the same. 

2 Giflbrd (Ben .Tonson's Works, vol. I. p. Ixv.) fixes the date of the 
establishment of this club, at the Mermaid in Friday Street, about 
1603. and he adds that " here fur many years Ben Jonson repaired 
with Shakespeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, Selden, Cotton, Carew, Mar- 
tin, Donne, and many others, whose names, even at this distant 
period, call up a mingled feeling of reverence and respect." Of what 
passed at these many assemblies Beaumont thus speaks, addressing 
Ben Jonson :— 

' "What things h.nve we seen 



Done at the Mermaid I heard words that have been 
So nimble, and so full of subtle flame. 
As if that every one from whom they came 
Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest." 

The Mitre, in Fleet Street, seems to have been another tavern where 
the wits and poets of the day hilariously assembled. 

3 Worthies. Part iii. p. 1'26, folio edit. 

* Fuller has another simile, on the same page, respecting Shake- 
speare and his acquirements, which is worth quoting. "lie was an 
eminent instance of the truth of that rule, Porta imii Jit, se.d iiascitiir ; 
one is not made, but born a poet. Indeed his learning was very little, 
so that as Cornish diamonds are not polished by any lapidary, but are 



by the quickness of his wit and iuvcntion'V The simile is 
well chosen, and it came fiom a writer who seldom said 
anything ill*. Connected with Ben Jonson's soliiiity and 
slowness is a witticism between him and Shakespeare, said 
to have passed at a tavern. One of the Ashmoleau manu- 
scripts (No. 38) contains the following: — 

" Mr. Ben Johnson and Mr. Wm. Sliakespeare being 
nierrie at a. tavern, Mr. Jonson begins this for liis epitaph, 

Here lies Ben Jonson 
Who was once one : 

he gives it to Mr. Shakespeare to make up, wlio presently 
writt 

That, whHe lie liv'd, was a slow thing, 
And now, being dead, is Mo-thing." " 

It is certainly uot of much value, but there is a great 
differeuce between the estimate of an extempore joke 
at the moment of delivery, and the opinion we may 
form of it long afterwards, when it has been put upon 
paper, and transmitted to posterity under such names 
as those of Shakespeare and Jonson. The same ex- 
cuse, if required, may be made for two other pieces of 
unpretending pleasantry between the same parties, which 
we subjoin in a note, because they relate to such men, 
and have been handed down to us upon something like 
authority^. 

Of a different character is a production preserved by 
Dugdale, at the end of his Visitation of Salop, in the 
Heralds' College : it is an epitaph inscribed upon the tomb 
of Sir Thomas Stanley, in Tongue church ; and Dugdale, 
whose testimony is unimpeachable, distinctly states that 
" the following verses were made by WilHam Shakespeare, 
the late famous tragedian." 

" Written upon the east end of the tomb. 

" Ask who lies here, but do not weep ; 
He is not dead, he dotli but sleep. 
This stony register is for his bones ; 
His fame is more perpetual than these stones : 
And his own goodness, witli liitnself being gone, 
Shall live when eartlily monument is none^ 

" Written on the west end thereof. 
" Not monumental stone preserves our fame, 
Nor sky-aspiring )n-ramids our name. 
The memory of him for wliom tliis stands 
Shall out-live marble and defacers' hands. 
Wlien all to time's consumption shall be piven, 
Stanley, for whom this stands, sliall stand in heaven." 

With Malone and others, who have quoted them, we 
feel satisfied of the authenticity of these verses, though we 
may not perhaps think, as he\lid, that the last lme°bears 

pointed and smooth even as they are taken out of the earth, so nature 
itself was all the art which was used upon him." Of course Fuller 
is here only referring to Shakespeare's classical acquirements: bis 
"learning "of a different kind, perhaps, exceeded that of all the 
ancients put together. 

s " Shakespeare was god-father to one of Ben Jonson's children, 
and after the christening, being in a deepe study, Jonson came to 
cheere him up, and askt him why he was so melancholy ?— ' Xo, 
faith, Ben, (sayes he) not I; but t have been considering a great 
while what should be the fittest gift for me to bestow upon my god- 
child, and 1 have resolv'd at last.' — -J prythee what." says he. 
' I 'faith, Ben, I'll e'en give him a douzen of Latten spoones, and 
thou shalt translate them.' " 

Of course the joke depends upon the pun between Latin, and the 
mixed metal called latlen. The above is from a MS. of Sir R. 
L'Estrange, who quotes the authority of Dr. Donne. It is inserted in 
Mr. Thoms's amusing volume, printed for the Camden Society, 
under the title of "Anecdotes and Traditions." p. 2. The next is 
from a IMS. called " Poetical Characteristics," formerly in the Har- 
leian Collection : — 

" Verses by Ben Jonson and Shakespeare, occasioned by the motto 
to the Globe theatre — Totus 7nut:Jus agit hislrionem. 

" Jonson. If but stage-actors all the world displays. 

Where shall we find spectators of their plays? 
" Shakespeare. Little, rr much of what we see, we do; 
We are both actors and spectators too." 



Ixviii 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



such " strong marks of the hand of Shakespeare'." The 
coiacidence between the line 

" Nor aky-aspiring pyramids our name,"- 

and the passage in MUton's Ejjitaph upon Shakespeare, 
prefixed to the folio of 1632, 

" Or that his hallow'd relies should be hid 
Under a star-ypointing pyramid," 

seems, as far as we recollect, to have escaped notice. 

We have thus brought into a consecutive narrative (with 
as httle mterruption of its thread as, under the ch-cum- 
stanees, and with such disjointed materials, seemed to_ us 
possible) the particulars respecting the life of the " myriad- 
minded Shakespeare-," with which our predecessors were 
acquainted, or which, from various sources, we have been 
able, during a long series of years, to collect. Yet, after all, 
comparing what we really know of our great dramatist 
with what we might possibly have known, we cannot but be 
aware how little has been accomplished. " Of WilUam 
Shakespeare," says one of our greatest living authors of 

1 The following reaches us in a more questionable shape : it is 
from a MS. of the time of Charles I., preserved in the Bodleian Li- 
brary, which contains also poems by Herrick and others. 

" AN EPITAPH. 

" When God was pleas'd, the world unwilling yet, 
Ellas James to nature paid his debt, 
And here reposeth. As he lived he died, 
The saying in him strongly verified. 
Such life, such death : then, the known truth to tell, 
He liv'd a godly life, and died as well. 

Wm. Shakespeare." [ 



our greatest dead one, " whom, through the mouths of 
those whom he has inspired to body forth the modifications 
of lais immense mind, we seem to know better than any 
human writer, it may be truly said tluit we scarcely know 
anything. We see him, so far as we do see him, not in 
himself, but in a reflex image from the objectivity in which 
he is manifested : he is FalstafF, and Mercutit), and Mal- 
volio, and Jaques, and Portia, and Imogen, and Lear, and 
Othello; buttons he is scarcely a determined person, a sub- 
stantial reahtyof past time, the man Shakespeare^." We 
cannot flatter ourselves that we have done much to bring the 
reader better acquainted with " the man Shakespeare," 
but if we have done any tiling we shall be content; and, in- 
stead of attempting any character of our own, wc wiU subjoin 
one, in the words of the distinguished writer we have above 
quoted'', as brief in its form as it is comprehensive in its mat- 
ter : — " The name of Shakespeare is the greatest in our 
literature, — it is the greatest in all literature. No man ever 
came near to him in the creative powers of the mind ; no 
man had ever such strength at once, and such variety of 
imagination." 

If the details of his life be imperfect, the history of his 
mind is complete ; and we leave the reader to turn from the 
contemplation of " the man Shakespeare" to the study of 
THE POET Shakespeare. 

2 Coleridge's Table Talk, vol. ii. p. .301.— Mr. Hallam in his " In- 
troduction to the Literature of Europe," vol. iii. p. fe9. edit. 1843, 
somewhat less literally translates the Greek epithet, uvpiovovg, 
" thousand-souled." 

3 Hallam's " Introduction to the Literatureof Europe," vol. ii. p. 175. 
* Ibid. vol. iii. p. 89. 



SHAKESPEAEE'S WILL/ 



Vicesimo Quinto Die Martij^ Anno Regni Domini 
nostri Jacobi nimc Rex Anglie <fee. Decimo quarto 
& Scotie xlix" Annoq; Dommi 1616. 

T. W™J Shackspeare 

In the name of god Amen I William Shackspeare 
of Stratford vpon Avon in the couutie of warr gent in per- 
fect health & memoriegod be praysed doe make.tfe Ordayne 
this my last will & testament in manner & forme followeing 
That ys to saye First I Contend my Soule into the handes 
of god my Creator hoping & assuredlie beleeviug through 
thonelie merites of Jesus Christe my Saviour to be made 
partaker of lyfe everlastinge And my bodye to the Earth 
whereof yt ys made Item I Gyve & bequeath vnto my 
Daughter'' Jndyth One hundred & Fyftie poundes of law- 
full English money to be paied vnto her iu manner & forme 
followeing That ys to saye One hundred pounds iu discharge 
cf her marriage porcion'' within one yeare after my deceas 
with eonsideracion after the Rate of twoe Shillingcs iu the 
poimd for soe long tyme as the same shalbe vnpaied vnto 
her after my deceas & the Fyftie poundes Residewe thereof 
vpon her Surrendring of* or gyving of such sufiicieut Secu- 
ritie as the overseers of this my Will shall like of to Sur- 
render or graunte All her estate & Right that shall discend 
or come vnto her after my deceas or that shee'^ nowe hath 
of in or to one Copiehold tenemente with thappurtenauces 
lyeing & being iu Stratford vpon Avon aforesaied in the 

1 The following is from an exact transcript of the original "Will 
deposited in the Prerogative office, London, the only difference being 
that we have not thought it necessary to give the legal contractions 
of the scrivener: in all other respects, even to the misemployment 
of capital letters, and the omission of points our copy is most faithful. 

2 The word '' Marlij" is interlined above "Januanj," which is 
struck through with the pen. Malone (.Shaksp. by Boswell, vol. i. 
p. 6U1.) states that the word struck througli is Februarij, but this is 
a mistake. 



saied eountie of warr being parcell or holden of tlie man- 
nour of Romngton vnto my Daughter Susanna Hall & her 
heires for ever Item I Gyve & bequeatli vnto my saied 
Daughter Judith One hundred and Fyftie Poundes moi-e if 
shee or Anie issue of her bodie be Lyvinge att thend of 
three yeares next eusueing the Daie of the Date of this my 
Will during which tyme my executours to paie her eonsid- 
eracion from my deceas according to the Rate aforesaied 
And if she dye within the saied terme without issue of her 
bodye then my will ys & I Doe gyve & bequeath One Hun- 
dred Poundes thereof to my Neece Elizabeth Hall & the 
Fiftie Poundes to be sett fourth by my executours during the 
lief of my Sister Johane Harte & the vse and proffitt tiiere- 
of Comiugc shalbe payed to my saied Sister lone & after 
her deceas the saied 1'' shall Remaine Amougst the children 
of my saied Sister Equallie to be Devided Amongst them 
But if my saied Daughter Judith be lyving att thend of the * 
saied three Yeares or anie j^ssue of her bodye then my wdl 
ys & soe I Devise <fe bequeath the saied Hundred and Fyftie 
Poundes to be sett out by my executours & overseers' for the 
best benefitt of her & her issue & the stock" not to be" paied 
vnto her soe long as she shalbe marryed & Covert Baron'" 
but my will ys that she shall have the eonsideracion yeai'lie 
paied vnto her dm-ing her lief & after her deceas the saied 
stock and eonsideracion to bee paied to her children if she 
have Anie & if not to her executours or assigues she ly vuig 
the saied terme after my deceas Provided that if such hus- 

3 Before " Daughter" sonne and was originally written, but struck 
through with the pen. 

* The words ''in discharge of her marriage porcion" are interlined. 
5 The word •' of" is interlined. 

* The words " that shee" are interlined. 

' The words " by my executours and ovefseers" are interlined. 
s The words " the stock" are interlined. 
9 The words " to be" are interlined. 

1° After '■ Baron" the words " by my executours & overseers" are 
erased with the pen. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SIIAKESPEAKE. 



Ixix 



bond as she shall att thcnd of the saied three yeares be mar- 
ryed vuto or attaine after doe sufficienthe Assure vnto her 
<fe thissue of her bodie landes Auswereable to the porcion 
by this my will gyven vnto her & to be adiudged see by my 
exeeutours & overseers then ray -will ys that the saied Ol" 
shalbe paied to snch husbond as shaU make sueh assurance 
t(j his owne vse Item I gyve & bequeath vnto my saied sis- 
ter lone xx'' & all my wealing Apparrell to be paied & de- 
liuered within one yeare after my Deceas And I doe ■will 
& devise vnto her the house' with thappurteuances iu Strat- 
ford wlierein she dwelletli for her natural lief vnder the 
yearlie Rent of xii'^ Item I gyve & bequeatli'^ vnto her 
three sonns WilUam Harte Hart & Michaell Harte 

Fyve Pomidos A peece to be paied within one Yeare after 
my deceas^ her Item I gyve & bequeath unto the saied 
Elizabeth HalP All my Plate (except my brod silver & gilt 
bole") that I now have att the Date of this my will Item I 
gyve & bequeatli vnto the Poore of Stratford aforesaied tenn 
poundes to Mr Thomas Combe my Sword to Thomas Rus- 
sell Esquier Fyve poundes & to Frauncis Collins of the Bo- 
rough of Avarr in the countie of warr gentleman thirteene 
jDouudes Sixe shillinges & Eight pence to be paied within 
one Yeare after my Deeeas Item I gyve & bequeath to 
Hamlett Sadler" xxvi^ viij'^ to buy liim A Ringe to "William 
Raynoldes gent xxvj^ viij"* to buy him a Ringe'' to my godson 
William Wallrer xx' in gold to Anthonye Nashe gent xxvjs 
viij'i & to Mr John Nashe xxvj'' viij'''' & to my Fellowes John 
Hemynges Richard Burbage & Henry Cundell xxvj' viij'' 
Apeece to buy them Riuges^ Item I Gyve will bequeath <fe 
devise vuto my Daughter Susanna Hall for better enabUng 
of her to performe this my will & towardes the performans 
thereof '"All that Capitall messuage or tenemente with thap- 
purteuances in Stratford aforesaid" Called the new place 
wherein I nowe Dwell & two Messuages or tenementes with 
thappurtenances scituat lyeiug & being in Henley streete 
within the borough of Stratford aforesaied And all my 
barnes stables Orchardes gardens landes tenementes & here- 
ditamentes whatsoeuer scituat lyeing & being or to be had 
Reeeyved perceyved or taken within the towues Hamletes 
Villages Fieldes & groundes of Stratford vj^on Avon Old- 
stratford Bushopton & Welcombe or in auie of them in the 
said countie of warr And alsoe All that messuage or tene- 
mente with thapiJurtenances wherein One John Robinson 
dwelleth scituat lyeing & being in the blackfriers in London 
uere the Wardrobe & all other my landes tenementes & 
hereditamentes whatsoeuer To have &. to hold All & singu- 
ler the saied premisses with their appurtenances vnto the 

1 The -n-ords " the house" are interlined. 

" The first sheet ends with the word " bequeath," and the testator's 
signature is in the margin opposite. 

2 After '■ deceas" follow these words, struck through with the pen, 
'■ to be sett outfor her within one yeare after my deceas by my execu- 
to\irs with thadvise and direccions of my overseers for her best profitt 
vntill her mariage and then the same with the increase thereof to be 
paied vnto ;" the erasure ought also to have included the word "her,": 
which follows "vnto." 

■* The words "the saied Elizabeth Hall" are interlined above her^ 
which is struck through wiih the pen. 
This parenthesis is an interlineation. 

^ •' Hamlet Sadler" is an interlineation above Mr. Richard Tyler 
thelilcr, which is erased. 

' The words " to William Raynoldes gentleman xxvj' viij'' to buy 
him A Ringe" are interlined. 



saied Susanna Hall for & during the terme of her naturall 
Uef & after her deceas to the first sonne of her bodie law- 
fulUe yssueing &, to the heires Males of the bodie of the saied 
first Sonne lawfullie yssueing <fe for defalt of sueh issue to 
the second Sonne of her bodie lawfullie issueiuge &, to the 
heires males of the bodie of the saied Second Sonne lawful- 
lie yssueinge and for defalt of such heires to the third Sonne 
of the bodie of the saied Susanna Lawfullie yssueing" (fe of 
tk.e heires males of the bodie of the saied third sonne law- 
fullie yssueing And for defalt of such issue the same soe to 
be & Remaine to tlie Fourth'" Fyfth sixte& Seaveuth sonnes 
of her bodie lawfullie issueing one after Another cfe to the 
heu-es'^ Males of tlie bodies of the saied Foiu-th fifth Sixte 
and Seaveuth sonnes lawfullie yssueing in such manner as 
yt ys before Lymitted to be & Remaine to the fust second 
ik third Sonns of her bodie <fe to their heires Males And for 
defolt of sueh issue the saied premisses to be & Rem.aine to 
my sayed Neece Hall &, the heires Males of her bodie law- 
fullie yssueing <fe for defalt of such issue to my Daughter 
Judith & the heires Males of her body lawfullie issueiuge 
And for defalt of such issue to the Right heires of 
me tlie saied William Shackspeare for ever Item I gyve 
vnto my wiof my second best bed with the furniture'* Item 
I gyve &L bequeath to my saied Daughter Judith my broad 
silver gilt bole All the rest of my goodes Chattel Leases 
plate Jewels & household stuffe whatsoeuer after my Dettes 
and Legasies paied <fe my fuuerall expences discharged I 
gyve devise and bequeath to my Sonne in Lawe John Hall 
gent & my Daughter Susanna his wief whom I ordaine <fe 
make exeeutours of tliis my Last will and testament And I 
doe intreat & Appoint the saied'^ Thomas Russell Esquier & 
Frauncis Collins gent to be overseers hereof And doe Re- 
voke All former wills (fe pubhshethis to be my last will and 
testament In Witness whereof I have herevnto j^ut my 
hand'" the Daie & Yeare first aboue wiitten. 

" By me William Shakspcare. 



Witnes to the publishing 
hereof Fra : Collyns 
Julyus Shawe 
John Robinson 
Hamnet Sadler 
Robert Whattcott 



Probatum eora Magr. Willim 
Byrde Dcore Comiss. tte. xx"*" die 
men.sis Juuij Anno Dni 16 IG 
Juram*" Joharinis Hall vnius 
ex <tc Cui tfec De bene Ac Jurat 
Resvat ptate <fec. Susanue Hall 
alt ex «tc cfi venit <fec petitur 

(Inv' ex') 



8 After " xxvjs viijd" in gold was originally written, but erased 
with the pen. 

9 The words " & to my Fellowes John Hemynges Richard Bur- 
bage and Henry Cundell xxvjs vijjd to buy them Ringes" are inter- 
lined. 

'0 The words " for better enabling of her to performe this my will 
& towardes the performans thereof" are interlined. 

11 The words " in Stratford aforesaid" are interlined. 

12 After " Fourth" the word Sonne was first written, but erased with 
the pen. 

13 The second sheet ends with the word "heires," and the signa- 
ture of the testator is at the bottom of it 

1* The words " Item 1 gyve vnto my wief my second bet bed with 
the furniture" are interlined, 

15 The words '■ the saied" are interlined. 

16 The word •' hand" is interlined above scale., which is erased with 
the pen. 



-^^— — ^ — *— ' 



*-- "--^'■^-^'i 



INTEODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. 



THE TEMPEST. 

["The Tempest" was first printed in tLe folio edition 
of " Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and 
Tragedies," bearing date in 1623, where it stands first, and 
occupies nineteen jjages, viz. from p. 1, to p. 19 inclusive. 
It fills the same place in the folios of 1632, 1664, and 1685.] 

A MATEEiAL fuct, in reference to the date of the first pro- 
duction of "The Tempest," has only iDeen recently ascer- 
tained : we allude to the notice of the performance of it, before 
King James, on Nov. 1st, 1611,^ which is contained in the 
" Extracts from the Accounts of the Kevels at Court," edited 
by Mr. P. Cunningham for the Shakespeare Society, p. 211; 
the memorandum is in the following form : 

" Ilallomas nyght was i^resented att Whithall before the 
Kinges Majestie a play called the Tempest." 

In the margin is inserted the additional circumstance, that 
the performance was " by the King's Players ;" and there can 
be no reasonable doubt that it was Shakespeare's drama, 
which had been written for that company. When it had been 
BO written, is still a point of difficulty; but the probability, 
we think, is that it was selected by the Master of the Kevels, 
for representation at Court in 1611, on account of its novelty 
and popularity on the public stage. Eleven other dramas, 
as appears by the same document, were exhibited between 
Oct. 31, 1611, and the same day in the next year; and it is 
remarkable that ten of these (as far as we possess any infor- 
mation respecting them) were comparatively new plays, and 
with regard to the eleventh, it was not more than three years 
old.'' We may, perhaps, be warranted in inferring, therefore, 
that " The Tempest" was also not then an old ])tay. 

It seems to us, likewise, that the internal evidence, derived 
from style and language, clearly indicates that it was a late 
production, and that it belongs to about the same period of 
our great dramatist's literary history as his " Wintcr'.s Tale," 
which was also chosen for a Court-play, and represented at 
Whitehall only four days after " The Tempest" had been ex- 
hibited. In point of construction, it must be admitted at once 
that there is the most obvious dissimilarity, inasmuch as 
" The Winter's Tale" is a piece in which the unities are ut- 
terly disregarded, while in " The Tempest" they are strictly 
observed. It is only in the involved and parenthetical cha- 
racter of some of the speeches, and in psychological resem- 
blances, that we would institute a comparison between "Tlie 
Tempest" and the "Winter's Tale," and would infer from 
thence that they belong to about the same period. 

Without here adverting to the real or supposed origin of 
the story, or to temporary incidents which may liave sug- 
gested any part of the plot, we may remark that there is one 
piece of external evidence which strongly tends to confirm 
the opinion that "The Tempest" was composed not very 
long before Ben Jonson wrote one of his comedies: we allude 
to ins " Bartholomew Fair," and to a passage in " the Induc- 
tion," frequently mentioned, and which we concur in think- 
ing was intended as a hit not only at " Tlie Tempest," but at 
"The Winter's Tale." Ben Jonson's " Bartholomew Fair," 
was acted in 1614, and written perhaps in the preceding year,^ 
during the popularity of Shakespeare's two plays ; and there 

1 The earhest date hitherto discovered for the performance of 
" The Tempest " was the besinnins of the year 1613," which Mfilor.e 
established from Vertue's MSS. : it was then acted by " the King's 
Company, before Prince Charles, the Princess Elizabeth, and the 
Prince Palatine," but where, is not stated. 

2 See note 2 to the Introduction to " The Winter's Tale." The 
particular play to which we refer is entitled in the Revels' Account 
''Lucrecia," which may have been either T. Heywood's "Rape of 
Lucrece," first printed in 1608, or a different tragedy on the same 
incidents. 

s See " Alleyn Papers," printed by the Shakespeare Society, p. 67, 
where Daborne, under date of Nov. 13th, 1G13, speaks of "Jonson's 
play " as then about to be performed. Possibly it was deferred for 
a short time, as the title-page states that it was acted in 1614. It 
may have been written in 1612, for performance in 1013. 



we find the following words, which we reprint, for the first 
time, exactly as they stand in the original edition, whero 
Italic type seems to have been used to make the allusions 
more distinct and obvious: — "If there bee never a Servant, 
monster i' the Fayre, who can helpe it, he saves ; nor a nest 
oi Antiques? Hee is loth to make Nature afraid in his Flayes- 
like those that beget Tales, Temjjeds, and such like Drolle- 
I'iesy The words "servant-monster," "antiques," "Tales," 
" Tempests," and " drolleries," which last Shakespeare him- 
self employs in " The Tempest," (Act iii. sc. 8.) seem so ap- 
plicable, that they can hardly relate to any thing else. 

It may be urged, however, that what was represented at 
Court in 1611 was only a revival of an older play, acted before 
1596, and such may have been the case: we do not, however, 
think it probable, for several reasons. One of these is an 
apparently trifling circumstance, pointed out by Farmer; viz. 
that in "The Merchant of Venice," written before 1598, the 
name of Stephano is invariably pronounced with the accent 
on the second syllable, while in " The Tempest," the proper 
pronunciation is as constantly required by the verse. It 
seems certain, therefore, that Shakespeare found his error in 
the interval, and he may have learnt it from Ben Jonson's 
" Every Man in his Humour," in which Shakespeare per- 
formed, and in the original list of characters to which, in the 
edition of 1601, the names not only of Stephano, but of Pros- 
pero occur. 

Another circumstance shows, we tliink almost decisively, 
that "The Tempest" was not written until after 16i:>3, when 
the translation of Montaigne's Essays, by Florio, made its first 
appearance in print. In Act II. sc. 1, is a passage so closely 
copied from Florio's version, as to leave no doubt of identity .4 
If it be said that these lines may have been an insertion sul> 
sequent to the original production of the play, we answer, 
that the passage is not such as could have been introduced, 
like some others, to answer a temporary or complimentary 
purpose, and that it is given as a necessary and continuous 
portion of the dialogue. 

The Ecv. Mr. Hunter, in his very ingenious and elaborate 
" Disquisition on the Tempest," has referred to this and to 
other points, with a view of proving that every body has 
hitherto been mistaken, and that this play instead of being 
one of his latest, was one of Shakespeare's earliest works. 
With regard to the point derived from Montaigne's J2ssays 
by Florio, 1603, he has contended, that it the particidar essay 
were not separately printed before, (of whicli we have not the 
slightest hint) Shakespeare may have seen tlie translation in 
manuscript; but unless he so saw it in print or manuscript 
as early as 1595, nothing is established in tiivour of ilr. Hun- 
ter's argument ; and surely when other circumstances show 
that " The Tempest" was not written till 1610,^ we need not 
hesitate long in deciding that our great dramatist went to no 
manuscript authority, but took the passage almost verbatim, 
as he found it in the complete edition. In the same way 
Mr. Hunter has argued, that " The Tempest" was not omitted 
by Meres in his list in 1598, but that it is found there under 
its second title, of " Love's Labours Won;" but this is little 
better than a gratuitous assumption, even supposing we were 
to admit that "All's well that ends Well" is not the play in- 
tended by Meres." Our notion is, that "All 's well that ends 
Well" was originally called "Love's Labours Won," and 

J Malone (Shaksp. by Boswell, vol. xv. p. 78.) quotes this impor- 
tant passage from Florio's translation of Montaigne with a singular 
degree of incorrectness : with many minor variations he substitutes 
partitions for " dividences," and omits the words " no manuring of 
lands " altogether. This is a case in which verbal, and even literal, 
accuracy is important. 

6 In the Introduction to " The Winter's Tale," we have assign- 
ed a reason, founded upon a passage in R. Greene's "Pandosto." 
for believing that "The Tempest" was anterior in composition to 
that play. 

6 Mr. Hunter contends that in " The Tempest " " love's labours " 
are " won ;" but such is the case with every play in which the issue 
is successful passion, after difficulties and disappointments : in " The 
Tempest " they are fewer than in most other plays, since from 
first to last the'love of Ferdinand and Miranda is prosperous. At 



that it was revived, with some other changes, under a new 
name in 1605 or 1606. 

Neither can we agree with Mr. Hunter in thinking that lie 
has establislied, tliat notliing was suggested to Shakespeare 
by the storm, in July 1609, which dispersed the fleet under 
Sir George Somers and Sir Thomas Gates, of which an ac- 
count was published by a person of the name of Jourdan in 
the following year. This point was, to our mind, satisfacto- 
rily made out by Malone, and the mention of " the still-vcx'd 
Bcrmoothes" by Shakespeare seems directly to connect the 
drama with .Jourdan's "Discovery of the Bermudas, other- 
wise called the Isle of Devils," printed in 1610. We are told 
at the end of the play, in the folio of 1623, that the scene is 
laid "in an uninhabited island," and Mr. Hunter has con- 
tended that this island was Lampedusa, which unquestionably 
lies in the track which the ships in "The Tempest" would 
take. Our objection to this theory is two-fold : first, wo can- 
not persuade ourselves, that Shakespeare had any particular 
island in his mind; and secondly, if he had meant to lay his 
scene in Lampedusa, he could hardly have failed to introduce 
its name in some part of his performance : in consequence of 
the deficiency of scenery, &c., it was the constant custom 
with our early dramatists to mention distinctly, and often 
more than once, where the action was supjiosed to take place. 
As a minor point, we may add, that we know of no extant 
English aiithority to which he could have gone for informa- 
tion, and wo do i»t suppose that he consulted the Turco 
Groicke of Crusius, the only older authority quoted by Mr. 
Hunter. 

No novel, in prose or verse, to which Shakespeare resorted 
for the incidents of " The Tempest" has yet been discovered ; 
and although Collins, late in his brief career, mentioned to 
T. Warton that he had seen such a tale, it has never come to 
light, and we apprehend that he must have been mistaken. 
We have turned over the pages of, we believe, every Italian 
novelist, anterior to the age of Shakespeare, in hopes of find- 
ing some story containing traces of the incidents of "The 
Tempest," but without success. The ballad entitled " The 
luchanted Island," printed in "Farther Particulars regarding 
Shakespeare and his Works," is a more modern production 
tlian the play, from which it varies in the names, as well as in 
some points of the story, as if for the purpose of concealing 
its connection with a production which was popiilar on the 
stage. Our opinion decidedly is, that it was founded upon 
"The Tempest," and not upon any ancient narrative to which 
Shakespeare also might have been indebted. It may be re- 
marked, that here also no locality is given to the island : on 
the contrary, we are told, if it ever had any existence but in 
tlie imaginatiou of the poet, that it had disappeared: — 

"From that daie forth the Isle has beene 
By wandering sailors never seeno : 

Some say 'tis buryed deepe 
Beneath the sea, whicli breakes and rorea 
Above its savage rocky shores, 

j>for ere is knowne to sleepe." 

Mr. Thorns has pointed out some resemblances in the inci- 
dents of an early German play, entitled Die Schone Sidea, and 
"The Tempest:" his theory is, that a drama upon a similar 
story was at an early date performed in Germany, and that 
if it were not taken from Shakespeare's play, it was pei'haj^s 
derived from the same iinknown source. JMr. Thoms is 
preparing a translation of it for the Shakespeare Society, and 
we shall then be better able to form an opinion, as to the real 
or supposed connection betw^een the two. 

When Coleridge tells us (Lit. Kem. ii. p. 94.) that " ' The 
Tempest' is a specimen of the purely romantic Drama," he 
of course refers to the nature of the plot and personages: in 
one sense of the words, it is not a " romantic drama,'' inas- 
much as there are fev/ plays, ancient or modern, in which the 
unities are more exactly observed : the whole of the events 
occupy only a few hours. At the same time it is perfectly 
true, as the same enlightened and fanciful commentator adds, 
" It is a species of drama, which owes no allegiance to time 
or space, and in which, therefore, errors of cidronology and 
geography — no mortal sins in any species — arc venial faults, 
and count for nothing: it addresses itself entirely to the 
imaginative faculty." This opinion was delivered in 1818; 
and tbrcc years earlier Coleridge had spoken of " The Tem- 
pest," as certainly one of Shakespeare's latest works, judg- 
ing from the language only : Schlegel was of the same opinion, 
without, however, assigning any distinct reason, and insti- 
tuted a comparison between "The Tempest" and " Midsum- 
mer Night's Dream," adding, "The preponderance of thought 

all events " The Tempest" was played at Court under that title in 
IGll and 1(>1;>. Mr. Hunter also endeavours to establish that Ben 
Jonson alluded to '-The Tempest" in 1596, in the Prologue to 



in ' The Tempest,' exhibited in its profound and original cha- 
racterisation, strikes us at once ; but we nnist also admire the 
deep sense of the art (tkfsinnige Kunst) which is apparent in 
the structure of the whole, in the wise economy of its means, 
and in the skill with which the scaffolding is raised to sustain 
the marvellous aerial structure." Zfeber Drain. Kunst und 
Liu. Vol. iii. p. 123. edit. 1817. 



THE 
TWO GENTLEMEX OF YEKOIs^A. 

["The Two Gentlemen of Verona" was first printed in the 
folio of 1623, where it occupies nineteen pages, viz. from p. 
20 to p. 38, inclusive, in the division of " Comedies." It is 
there divided into Acts and Scenes. It also stands second 
in the later folios.] 

The only ascertained fact with which we are acquainted, in 
reference to " The Two Gentlemen of Verona," is, that it is 
included in the list of Shakespeare's Plays which Prancis 
Meres furnished in his I'ulladis Tcnnia, 1598. It comes first 
in that enumeration, and although this is a very slight cir- 
cumstance, it may atford some confirmation to the opinion, 
founded upon internal evidence of plot, style, and characters, 
that it was' one of the earliest, if not the very earliest of Shake- 
speare's original dramatic compositions. It is the second play 
in the folio of 1623, where it first appeared, but tl)at is no 
criterion of the period at which it was originally written. 

It would, we think, be idle to attempt to fix upon any par- 
ticular year : it is unquestionably the work .of a young and 
unpractised dramatist, and the conclusion is" especially inar- 
tificial and abrupt. It may have been written by our great 
dramatist very soon after he joined a theatrical company ; and 
at all events we do not think it likely that it was composed 
subsequently to 1591. We should be inclined to place it, as 
indeed it stands in the work of Meres, immediately before 
" Love's Labour 's Lost." Meres calls it the " Gentlemen of 
Verona." Malone, judging from two passages in the comedy, 
first argued that it was produced in 1595, but ho afterwards 
adopted 1591 as the more probable date. The quotations to 
which he refers, in truth, prove nothing, either as regards 
1595 or 1591. 

If " The Two Gentlemen of Verona " were not the oflfspring 
merely of the author's invention, we have yet to discover the 
source of its plot. Points of resemblance have been dwelt 
upon in connection with Sir Phihp Sidney's "Arcadia," 1590, 
and the " Diana" of Mouteniayor, which was not translated 
into English by B. Yonge until 1598 ; but the incidents, com- 
mon to the drama and to these two works, are only such as 
might be found in other romances, or would present thetn- 
selves spontaneously to the mind of a young poet: the one is 
the connnand of banditti by Valentine ; and the other tlie 
assumption of male attire by Julia, for a purpose nearly simi- 
lar to that of Viola in "Twelfth Night." Extracts from the 
"Arcadia" and the " Diana " are to be found in "Shake- 
speare's Library," vol. ii. The notion of some critics, that 
" The Two Gentlemen of Verona" contains few or no marks 
of Shakespeare's hand, is astrongproof of their incompetence 
to form a judgment. 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 

[" A Most pleasaunt and excellent conceited Comedie, of Syr 
lolin Falstalfe, and the merrie Wiucs of Windsor. Enter- 
mixed with sundrie variable and pleasing humors, of Syr 
Hugh the Welch knight, lustice Shallow, and his wise Cousin 
M. Slender. With the swaggering vaine of Auncient Pistoll, 
and Corporal Nym. By "VVilliam Shakespeare. As it hath 
bene diners tiines Acted by the right Honorable my Lord 
Chamberlaines seruants. i3oth before h.er Maiesiie, and 
elsewhere. London Printed by T. C. for Arthur Johnson, 
and are to be sold at his shop in Powles Church-yard, at the 
signe of the Flower de Leuse and the Crowne. 1602." 4to. 
27 leaves. 

"A Most pleasant and excellent conceited Comedy, of Sir 
lohn Falstafi'e, and the Merry Wiucs of V»'indsor. With the 
swafrgering vaine of Ancient Pistoll, and Corporall Nym. 
Wintten by W. Shakspeare. Printed for Arthur Johnson, 
1619." 4to. 28 leaves. 

"Every Man in his Humour;" but while we admit the acntcness, 
we cannot by any means allow the conclusiveness, of Mr. Hunter's 
reasoning. 



Ixxii 



mTRODUCTIO^ TO THE PLAYS. 



The 4to. of 1G30, was " printed by T. H. for E. Meiarlien." &c. 
In the folio, 1623, "The Merry Wines of Windsor" oc- 
cupies twenty-two pacres, viz. from p. 89 to p. CO inclusive, 
in the division of " Comedies." It also stands tliird in the 
three later folios.] 

This comedy was printed for the first time in a perfect 
state in the folio of 1623: it had come out in an imperfect 
state in 1602, and ag:iin in 161P, in both instances for a book- 
seller of tlie name of Arthur Johnson: Arthur Johnson ac- 
quired the right to publish it from John Busby, and the 
original entry,"and tlie assignment of the play, run thus in 
the Eegistcrs of the Stationers' Company. 

" 18 Jan. 1601. John Busby] An excellent and pleasant 
conceited commedie of Sir John Faulstof, and the 
Merry wyves of Windesor 

" Arth. Johnson] By assignment from Jno. Busbye 
a. B. An excellent and pleasant conceited comedie 
of Sir John Faulstafe, and the mery wyves of Wind- 
sor." 

January 1601, according to our present mode of reckoning 
the year, was .January 1602, and the "most pleasaunt and 
excellent conceited comedie of Syr John Falstatfe, and the 
merrio Wives of Windsor," (the title-page following the de- 
fici'iption in the entry) appe:ircd in quarto with the date 
of 1602. It has been the custom to look upon this edition as 
the first sketch of the drama, which Shakespeare afterwards 
enlarged and improved to the form in which it appears in the 
folio of 1623. After the most minute examination, we are 
not of that opinion: it has been universally admitted that the 
4to. of 1602 was piratical; and our conviction is that, like the 
first edition of " Henry V." in 1600, it was made up, for the 
purpose of sale, partly from notes taken at the theatre, and 
partly from memory, without even the assistance of any of the 
parts' as delivered out by the copyist of the theatre to the 
actors. It is to be observed, that John Busby, who assigned 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor" to Arthur Johnson in 1602, 
was the same bookseller who, two years before, had joined in 
the publication of the undoubtedly surreptitious " Henry V." 

An exact reprint of the 4to. of 1602 has recently been made 
by the Shakespeare Society, under the care of Mr. J. O. Ilal- 
liwell; and any person possessing it may easily institute a 
comparison between that very hasty and mangled outline, and 
the complete and authorized comedy in the folio of 1623, 
printed from the play-house manuscript in the liands of lle- 
min^e and Condell : on this conq^arison we rely for evidence 
to establish the position, that the 4to. of 1602 was not 9nly 
published without the consent of the author, or of the com- 
pany for which it was written, but that it was fraudulently 
made up by some person or persons who attended at the 
theatre for the purpose. It will be found that there is no va- 
riation in the progress of the plot, and that although one or 
two transpositions maybe pointed out, of most of the speeches, 
necessary to the conduct and development of the story, there 
is some germ or fragment: all are made to look like prose or 
verse, apparently at the mere caprice of the writer, and the 
edition is wretchedly printed in a large type, as if the object 
had been to bring it out with speed, in order to take advan- 
tage of a temporary interest. 

That temporary interest perhaps arose more immediately 
out the representation of the comedy before Queen Elizabeth, 
daring the Christmas holidays preceding the date of the entry 
in the Stationers'' Registers : the title-page states, that it had 
been acted " by the Lord Chamberlain s servants" before the 
Queen " and elsewhere :" " elsewhere," was perhaps at the 
Globe on the Bankside, and we may suppose, that it had been 
brought out in the commencement of the summer season of 
IGOO," before the death of Sir Thomas Lucy. If the " dozen 
white luces" in the first scene were meant to ridicule him, 
Shakespeare wouM certainly not have introduced the allusion 
at\er the death of the obje"ct of it. That it continued a fa- 
vourite play we can readily believe, and we learn that it was 
acted before James I., not long after he came to the throne : 
the fullowing memorandum is contained in the accounts of 
the " Bevels at Court" in the latter end of 1604. 

" By his Maiestie's plaiers. The Sunday followinge A 
"Play of the Merry Wiues of Winsori." 
This representation occurred on "the Sunday following" 
Kov. 1st., 1604. 

What has led some to imagine that the surreptitious im- 
pression of 1602 was the comedy as it first came from the 
hands of Shakespeare, is a tradition respecting the rapidity 
with which it was comjiosed. This tradition, when traced 
to its soiuce, can be carried back no farther than 1702: John 



Dennis in that year printed his "Comical Gallant," founded 
upon the "Merry Wives of Windsor," and in the dedication 
he states, that "the comedy was written at the command of 
Queen Elizabeth, and by her direction; and she was so eager 
to see it acted, that she commanded it to be finished in four- 
teen days." Dennis gives no authority for any part of this 
assertion, but because he knew Dryden, it is supposed to have 
come from liim; and because Dryden was acquainted with 
Davenaut, it lias been conjectured that the latter might have 
comnmnicated it to the former. We own that we place little 
or no reliance on the story, especially recollecting that Den- 
nis had to make out a case in favour of his alterations, by 
showing that Shakespeare had composed the comedy in an 
incredibly short period, and consequently that it was capable 
of improvement. The assertion by Demjis was repeated by 
Gildon, Pope, Theobald, &c., and hence it has obtained a 
degree of currency and credit to which it seems by no means 
entitled. 

It has been a disputed question in what part of the series 
of dramas in which Falstatf is introduced, " The Merry 
Wives of Vfindsor" ouglit to be read: .Johnson thought it 
came in between " Henry IV." part ii. and " Henry V. ;'' Ma- 
loue, on the other hand, argued that it should be placed be- 
tween the two parts of "Henry IV.;" but the truth is, that 
almost insuperable difficulties present themselves to either 
hypothesis, and we doubt much whether the one or tlie other 
is well founded. Shakespeare, having foftsome reason been 
induced to represent Falstaff in love, considered by what 
persons he might bo immediately surrounded, and Bardolph, 
Pistol, Nym, and Mrs. Quickly, naturally presented them- 
selves to his mind: he was aware that the audience, with 
whom they had been favourite characters, would expect them 
still to be Falstaff 's companions; and though Shakespeare 
had in fact hanged two of them in " Henry V.," and Mrs. 
Quickly had died, he might trust to the forgetfulness of those 
before whom the comedy was to be represented, and care 
little for the consideration, since so eagerly debated, in what 
part of the series " The Merry Wives of Windsor" ought to 
be read : Shakespeare might sit down to write the comedy 
without refiecting upon the manner in which he liad previ- 
ously disposed of some of the characters he was about to in- 
troduce. Any other mode of solving the modern difficulty 
seems unsatisfactory, and we do not believe that it ever pre- 
sented itself to the mind of our great dramatist. 

The earliest notice of any of the persons in " The Meri-y 
Wives of Windsor" is contained in Dekker'a play called 
"Satiromastix," 1602, where one of the characters observes, 
" We must have false fires to amaze these sjiangle-babies, 
these true lieirs of master Justice Shallow." This allusion 
must have been made soon after Shakespeare's comedy had 
appeared, unless, indeed, it were to the Justice Shallow of 
" Henry IV." part ii. 

With regard to the supposed sources of the plot, they have, 
all been collected by Mr. Halliwell in the appendix to his re- 
print of the imperfect edition of " The Merry Wives of Wind- 
sor," in 1602: the tale of "The Two Lovers of Pisa," the 
only known English version of the time, is also contained in 
"Shakespeare's Library," Vol. ii.; but our opinion is, that 
the true original of the story (if Shakespeare did not himself 
invent the incidents) has not come down to us. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 

["Measure for Measure" was first printed in the folio of 
" Mr. William Shakespeares Comedies, Histories, & Tra- 
gedies," 1623, where it occupies twenty-four pages, viz., 
from p. 61 to p. 84, inclusive, in the division of "Come- 
dies." It was, of course, reprinted in the later folios of 
1682, 1664, and 1685.] 

In the*" History of English Dramatic Poetry," TIL OS, it is 
remarked, that " although it seems clear th'at Shakespeare 
kept Whetstone's ' Promos and Cassandra' in his eye, while 
writing ' Measure for Measure,' it is probable that he also 
made use of some other dramatic composition or novel, in 
which the same story was treated." I was led to form this 
opinion from the constant habit of dramatists of that period 
to employ the productions of their predecessors, and from the 
extreme likelihood, that when our old phu'-writers were hunt- 
ing in all directions for stories which they could convert to 
their purpose, they w(mld not have passed over the novel l)y 
Giraldi Cinthio, which had not only been translated, but 



1 Peo Mr. Peter Cunningham's " Extracts from the Accounts of had no previous extrinsic knowledge of any early perforia-.nc: 
the Revels at Court," (printed for the Shakesp. Society) p. 203. We I " The Merry Wives of Windsor." 



mTKODUCTIO^ TO THE PLAYS. 



actually converted into a drama nearly a quarter of a century 
before the death of Elizabeth. Wlietstone's "Promos and 
Cassandra," a play in two parts, was printed in 1578, though, 
as far as we know, never acted, and he suljsequently intro- 
duced a translation of the novel (vvhicli he admitted to be its 
origin), in his " Heptameron of Civil Discourses." 4to. 1582'. 
No plays, liowever, exceptinnr "Promos and Ciussandra," and 
" Measure for Measure," founded on the same incidents, liave 
reached our day, and Wlietstone's is the only existing ancient 
version of the Italian novel. 

The Title of Cinthio's novel, the fifth of the eighth Deead 
of his Eecatommithi, gives a sufKcient account of fhe progress 
of the story as he relates it, and will sliow its eonnexionVith 
Shalvespeare's play :— " Juristo e mandate da Massimiano, 
Imperadore, in Ispruchi, ove fa prendere un giovane, viola- 
tore di una vergine, e condannalo a mortc: la sorella cerca di 
liberarlo: Juriste da speranza alia donna di pigliarla per mog- 
]ie, e di darle libero il fratello : ella con lui si giaco, e la notte 
istessa Juriste la tagliar al giovane la testa, e la manda alia 
sorella. Ella ne fa querela all' Imperadore, il quale fa sposare 
ad Juriste la donna : poscia lo fa dare ad essere ucciso. La don- 
na lo libera, e con lui si vive amorevolissimamente." — Whet- 
stone adopts these incidents pretty e.xactly in his "Promos 
and Cassandra ;" but Shakespeare varies from th.em chiefly 
by the introduction of Mariana, and by the final union be- 
tween the Duke and Isabella. "Whetstone lays his scene at 
Julio in Hungary, wliither Corvinus, the King, makes a pro- 
gress to ascertain the trutli of certain charges against Promos : 
Shakespeare lays his scene in Vieima, and represents the 
Duke as retiring from public view, and pl.acing his power in 
the hands of two deputies. Shakespeare was not indebted to 
"Whetstone for a sintrle thought, noY for a casual expression, 
excepting as far as similarity of situation may be said to have 
necessarily occasioned corresponding states of feelincr, and 
employment of language. In Whetstone's " Heptameron," 
the name of the lady who narrates the story of " Promos and 
Cassandr.a," is Isabella, and hence possibly Shakespeare might 
have adopted it. 

As to the tlate when " Measure for -Measure" was written, 
we have no positive information, but we now know that it 
was acted at Court on St. Stephen's night, (26 Dec.) 1604. 
This fact is stated in Edmund Tylney's account of the ex- 
penses of the revels from the end of (Jet. 1604, till the same 
date in 1605, preserved in the Audit Office ; the original 
memorandum of the master of the revels runs literatim, as 
follows:— ' 

" By his Ma'i^Plaiers. On St. Stivens uight*in the Hall, a 
Play ealed Mesur for Mesur." 

In the column of the account headed "The Poets which 
mayd the Plaies," we find the name of " Shaxberd" entered, 
which was the mode in which the ignorant scribe, wlio pre- 
pared the account, spelt the name of our great dranuUist. 
ilalone conjectured from certain allusions (s'uch as to " the 
war" with Spain, "the sweat," meaning the plague, &e.), 
thtit "Measure for Measure" was written in 1603;' and if we 
suppose it to have been selected for performance at Court on 
26th Dec. 1604, on account of its popularity at the theatre 
after its production, his supposition will receive some confir- 
mation. However, sucli could not have been the case with 
" the Comedy of Errors," and " Love's Labours Lost," whieli 
were written before 1598, and which were also performed at 
Christmas_ and Twelfth-.tidc, 1604-5. Tyrwhitt was at one 
time of opinion, from the passage in A. IL se. 4.— 

'• As these black masks 
Proclaim an ensliield beautv ten times louder 
Than beauty could displayed," 

that this drama " was written to be acted at Court, as Shake- 
speare would hardly have been guilty of such an indecorum 
to flatter a common audience." He was afterwards disposed 
to retract this notion ; but it is supported by the quotation 
from the Revels' accounts, unless we imagine, as is not at all 
impossible, that the lines respecting "black masks" and 
some others (to use Tyrwhitt's words), " of particular fl.attery 
to James," were inserted after it was known that the plav, oh 
account of its popularity, had been chosen for performance 
before the king. One of these passages seems to have been 
the following, which may have had reference to the crowds 
attending the arrival of James I. in London, not very long 
before "Measure for Measure" was acted at Whitehall':— 

" and even so 

The general, suliject to a well-wisli'd King, 
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness 
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love 
Must needs appear offence." 

1 "Wlietstone's "Heptameron'" is not paged, but "the rare His- 
torie ol i'romos and Cassandra," commences on Sign. N. ij b. 



Steevens quotes a passage from "a True Narration of the 
Entertainment" of the King on his way from Edinburgh to 
London, printed in 1603, where it is said, " he was faine to 
])ublish an inhibition against the inordinate and dajly accesse 
of people comming." ' Taken with the context," the lines 
above quoted read'like an insertion. 

We may, therefore, arrive pretty safely at the conclusion, 
that "Measure for Measure" was written either at the close 
of 1603, or in the beginning of 1604. 

"Measure for Measure" was first printed in the foho of 
1623; and exactly fifty years afterwards was published Sir 
William Daveuant's " Law against Lovers," founded upon 
it, and " Much ado about Nothing." With some ingenuitv 
in the combination of the plots, lie contrived to avail himself 
largely, and for his purpose judiciously, of the materials 
Shakespeare furnished. 

Of " Measure for Measure," Coleridge observes in his 
"Literary Eemains," ii. 122: "This play, which is Shake- 
speare's throughout, is to me the most painful, say rather, 
the only painful part of his genuine works. Tlie comic and 
tragic parts equally border on the nnTnTcnv—Xha one being 
disgusting, the other horrible; and the pardon and marriage 
ofAngelo not merely bafties the strong indign.ant claim of 
justice_(fur cruelty, with lust and damnable baseness, cannot 
be forgiven, because we cannot conceive them as being mo- 
rally repented of), but it is likewise degrading to the charac- 
ter of woman." In the course of Lectures on Shakespeare 
delivered in the year 1818, Coleridire pointed especially to the 
artifice of Isabella, and her seeming consent to the suit of 
Angelo, as the circumstances which tended to lower the 
character of the female sex. Ho then called " Iileasure for 
Measure" only the "least agreeable" of Shakespeare's 
dramas. 



THE COMEDY OF EEEOES. 

" The Comedie of Errors " was first printed in the folio of 1623, 
where it occupies sixteen pages, viz. from p. 85 to p. 100 
inclusive, in the division of " Comedies." It was re-printed 
in the three subsequent impressions of the same volume. 




E 



probability, was repeated at Windsor on twelfth night," 1582-3, 
though, in the accounts of the Master of the Revels, it is called 
" The Historic of Ferrar." Boswell (Mai. Shakesp. 111.406.) 
not very happily conjectured, that this "Historie of Ferrar" 
was some piece" by George Ferrars, as if it had been named 
after its author, who had been dead some years : the fact, no 
doubt, is, that the clerk who prepared the account merely 
wrote the title by his ear. Thus we see that, shortly before 
Shakespeare is supposed to have come to London, a play was 
in course of performance upon which liis own " Comedy of 
Errors" might be founded. "The Historie of Error" was, 
probably, an early adaptation of the Menaclimi of Plautus, 
of which a free translation was published in 1595, under the 
following title: — 

" A pleasant and fine Conceited Comsedie, taken out of 
the most excellent wittie Poet Plautus: Chosen purposely 
from out the rest, as least harmefull, and vet most deligiitfull. 
Written in English by W. W.— London", Printed bv Tho. 
Crecde, and are to be sold by William Barley, at his s"hop in 
Gratious streete. 1595." 4to. 

The title-page, therefore, does not I'as we miarht be led to 
suppose from Steevens's rei)rint in the '' Six Old Plavs ") men- 
tion the IferKuchmi by name, but we learn it from" the com- 
mencement of the piece itself. 

Eitson was of opinion, " that Shakespeare was not under 
the sliglitest obligation " to the translation of the MfncEchmi, 
by W. W., suTOOsed, by Ant. Wood (Ath. Oxon. by Bliss, 
I. 766.), to be \\ . Warner; and most liuely Ritson was right, 
not from want of resemblance, but because "The Comedy of 
Errors" was, in all probability, anterior in point of date, "and 
because Shakespeare may have availed himself of the old 
drama which, as has been noticed, was performed at court in 
1576-7, and in 1582-3. That court-drama, we may infer, had 
its origin in Plautus; and it was, perhaps, the popularity of 
Shakespeare's " Comedy of Errors " which inclueed Creeda 
to print Warner's version of the Mcnoichmi in 1595. There 
are various points of likeness between Warner's MencecTnni 
and Shakespeare's " Comedy of Errors ;" but those points 
we may suppose to have bcei; derived intermediately through 
the court-drama, and not directly from Plautus'. Sir % , 

I In Act I. and Act II. of " The Comedy of Errors," in the folio of 
16'23_ Antipholus of Syracuse is twice called Erotes and Errotis, which. 



Ixxiv 



INTRODUCTION' TO THE PLAYS. 



Blactstone entertained tlie belief, from the "lonjr hobbling 
verses" in the "Comedy of Errors," thtit it was "among 
Shakesfieare's more early proaiictions :" this is plausible, but 
we imatririe, from their o'eneral dissimilarity to the style of onr 
great dramatist, that tlicse "long hobbling verses" formed a 
portion of the old conrt-drama, of which Shakesjieare niadc 
as much use as answered his purpose: they are quite in the 
style of plays anterior to the time of Shakespeare, and it is 
easy to distinguish such portions of the comedy as he must 
have written. 

The earliest notice we have of "The Comedy of Errors,' is 
by Meres, in his Palladis Tamia, 1598, where he gives it to 
Shakespeare under the name of " Errors*." How much before 
that time it had been written and produced on the stage, we 
can only speculate. Malone refers to a part of the dialogue 
in Act in. sc. 2, where Dromio of Syracuse is conversing with 
his master about the " kitchen wench " who insisted upon 
making love to him, and who was so fat and round—" spher- 
ical Hire a globe"— that Dromio "could find out countries in 
her:"— 

^'■Ant. S. 'Where France? 

Dro. S. In her forehead ; arm'd and reverted, making war against 
her heir." 

It is supposed tliat an equivoque was intended on the word 
"heir" (which is printed m thefulio of 1G23 "heire," at that 
period an unusual way of spelling " hair"), and that Shake- 
speare alluded to the civil war in France, whicli began in the 
middle of 1589, and did not terminate until the close of 1593. 
This notion seems well-founded, for otherwise there would 
be no joke in the reply; and it accords pretty exactly with 
the time when we may" believe " The Comedy of Errors " to 
have been written. But liere we have a range of four years 
and a lialf, and we can arrive at no nearer approximation to 
a precise date. As a mere conjecture it may be stated that 
Shakespeare would not liave inserted the allusion to the hos- 
tility between France and her " heir," after the war had been 
so long carried on, that interest in, or attention to it in this 
country would have been relaxed. 

Another question by Antipholus, and the answer of Dromio, 
immediately preceding what is above quoted, is remarkable 
on a different account : — 

Ant. S. Where Scotland ? 
'■ Dro. S. I found it bv the barrenness ; hard, in the palm of the 
hand." 

"From tliis passage," (says Malone) "we may learn that 
this comedy was not revived after the accession of the Seot- 
tisli monarch to the English throne; otherwise it would ]iro- 
bably have been struck out by the Master of the llevels." 
However, we are now certain (a curious fact hitherto un- 
known), that "The Comedy of Errors" was represented at 
"Whitehall on the 28th December, 1G04. In the accoiuit of 
tlie Master of the Kevels of the expenses of his department, 
from the end of October 1604, to Shrove Tuesday, 1605, pre- 
served in the Audit Office, we read the stibscqucnt entiy : — 

" By his Ma"' Plaiers. On Inosents Night, the plaie of 
Errors," the name of Shaxberd, or Shakespeare, being in- 
serted in the margin as " the Poet which mayd the Plaie." 
" The Comedy of Errors " was, thereibre, not only " revived," 
but represented at court very soon after James I. came to tlie 
crown: we maybe confident, however, that the question and 
answer respecting Scotland were not repeated on the occasion, 
though retained in the MS. used liy the actor-editors for the 
folio of 1623. 

In his Lectures on Shakespeare in 1818, Coleridge passed 
over "The Comedy of Errors" without any particular or 
separate observation; but in his "Literary Eemains " we 
find it twice mentioned (vol. ii. 90 and 114), in mueli the same 
terms. " Shakespeare," he observes, " iias in tliis piece 
presented us with a legitimate farce, in exactest consonance 
with the philosophical principles and character of farce, as 
distinguished from comedy and entertainments. A proper 
farce is mainly distinguished from comedy by the license 
allowed, and even required, in the fable, in order to produce 
strange and laughable situations. The story need not be 
probable ; it is enough that it is possible. A comedy would 
scarcely allow even the two Antipholuses ; because, although 
there have been instances of almost undistinguishable likeness 

is conjectured to be a corruption of erraticvs. Antipholus of Ephesus. 
in the same way, is once called Sere.pt us (misprinted, perhaps, for 
surreptus) ; but in the last three acts they are distinguished as " An- 
tipholus of Syraousla," and "Antipholus of Ephesus." The epithets 
of erraticus and surreptus were not obtained by Shakespeare from 
Warner, but possibly from the old court dram.a. 

1 The Ust supplied by Meres is of twelve plays; and, if anything is 
%o be gathered from the circumstance, he places " Errors " second, 
• Gentlemen of Verona" coming before it. 



in two persons, yet these are mere individual accidents, casus 
hidentis naturce, and the verum, will not excuse the inverlsi 
mile. But farce dares add the two Dromios, and is justified 
in so doing by the laws of its end and constitution." 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 

[" Much adoe about Nothing. As it hath beensundrie times 

publikely acted by the riglit lionourable, the Lord Cham- 

berlainc his seruarits. Written by William Shakespeare. — 

London I'rinted by V. S. for Andrew Wise, and William 

Aspley. 1600." 4to. 86 leaves. 

It is also printed in the division of " Comedies " in the folio 

1623, where it occupies twenty-one pages, viz., from p. 101, 

to p. 121, inclusive. It was reprinted in the other folios.] 

We have no information respecting " Much Ado about 

Nothing" anterior to the appearance of the 4to. edition in 

1600, exceptincf that it was entered for publication on the 

books of the Stationers' Company, on the 23d of August in 

tliat year, in the following manner: — 

"23 Aug. 1600. 

And. Wise Wm. Aspley] Two books, the one called Muche 

adoe about Nothinge, and the other The Second Parte 

of the History of King Henry the iiiith, with the Humors 

of Sir John Fallstatf: wrytten by Mr. Shakespeare." 

There is another memorandum in the same register, bearing 

date on the "4th August," without the year, wliich runs in 

these terms: — "As you like yt, a book." Henry the fflft, a 

book. Everyman in his humor, a book. The'Comedie of 

Much Adoe about Nothinge, a book." Opposite the titles 

of these plays are added the words, " to be staied." This 

last entry, there is little doubt, belongs to the year 1600, for 

such is the date immediately preceding it; and, as Malone 

observes, the clerk seeing 1600 just above his pen, when he 

inserted the notice fur staying the publication of " Much Ado 

abiiut Nothing" and the two other yilays, did not think it 

necessary to repeat the figures. The caveat of the 4th August 

against the ]niblication liad most likely been withdrawn by 

tiie 23rd of the same month. The object of the " stay" was 

probably to prevent the publication of " Henry V.," "Every 

Man in his Humour," and " Much Ado about Nothing," by 

any other booksellers than Wise and Aspley. 

The 4to. of " Much Ado about Nothing," which came out 
in 1600, (and we know of no other impression in that form) 
is a v.ell-printcd work for the time, and the type is unusually 
good. It contains no hint from which we can at all distinctly 
infer the date of its composition^, but Malone supposed that 
it was written early in the year in wliich it came from the 
press. Considering, however, that the comedy would have 
to be got up, acted, and become popular, before it was pub- 
lished, or entered for publication, the time of its composition 
by Shakespeare may reasonably lie carried back as far as the 
autumn of 1599. That it was popular, we can hardly doubt; 
and the extracts from the Stationers' Kegisters seem to show 
that apprehensions were felt, lest rival booksellers should 
procure it to be printed. 

It is not included by Meres in the list lie furnishes in his 
Palladis Tur/da, 1598'; and "England's Parnassus," 1600, 
contains no quotation from it. If any conclusion could be 
drawn from this fact, it might be, that it was written subse- 
quent to the appearance of one work, and prior to the publi- 
cation of the other. Kespecting an early performance of it at 
Court, Steeveus sup])lics us with the subsequent information; 
— " ' Much Ado about Nothing ' (as I understand from one 
of Mr. Vertue's MSS.) formei-ly passed under tlic title of 
'Benedick and Beatrix.' Heminse, the player, received on 
the 20th May, 1613, the sum of £40, and £20 more as liis 
Majesty's gratuity, for exhibiting six plays at Hampton Court, 
among which was this comedy." The change of title, if in- 
deed it were made, could only have been temporary. The 
divisions of Acts (Scenes are not marked) were first made in 
the folio of 1623. The adaptation of "Much Ado about 
Nothing," coupled with the chief incidents of another of 
Shakespeare's dramas, (see the " Introduction " to " Measure 
for Measure,'') by Sir William Davenant, was first printed in 
the edition of his works in 1073. 
The serious portion of the plot of " Much Ado about 

2 Chalmers (Suppl. Apol. .381.) conjectures that when Beatrice says, 
"Yes, you had musty victuals, and he hath holp to eat it," Shake- 
speare meant a sarcasm upon the manner in which the army under 
the Earl of Essex had been supplied with bad provisions during the 
Irish campaign. Most readers will consider this an overstrained spec- 
ulation, although, in point of date, it accords pretty accurately with 
the time when " Jluoh Ado about Nothing " may have been 
written. 



Nothiiio:," which relates to Hero, Chiudio, and "John the 
Bastard," is extremely similar to the story of Arlodaiite and 
Geneura, in Ariosto's " Orlaudo Fiirioso," B. v. It was sepa- 
rately versified in EncrHsh by Teter Beverley, in imitation 
of Arthur Brooke's Eomeus and Juliet," 1.562, and of Ber- 
nard Garter's "Two English Lovers," 1563; and it was 
]irinted by Thomas East, without date, two or three years 
after those poems had appeared. It was licensed for the press 
in 1565; and Warton informs us (Ilist. Engl. Poetry, iv. 810, 
edit. 1824) that it was reprinted in 1600, the year in which 
"Much Ado about Nothing" came from the press. This 
fact is important, because either Shakespeare's attention 
might be directed to the story by tlie circumstance, or (which 
seems more probable) Beverley's poem might then be repub- 
lished, in consequence of its connexion in point of story with 
Shakespeare's comedy. 

Sir John Harinirton's translation of the whole "Orlando 
Fnrioso"was originally published in 1591, but there is no 
special indication in " Much Ado about Nothing " thatSiiake- 
speare availed himself of it. In a note at the end of the canto 
occupied by Ariodante and Geneura, Sir John Harington 
added this sentence : — " Howsoever it was, surely the tale is 
a pretty comical matter, and hath been written in English 
verse some few years past (learnedly and with good grace), 
though in verse of another kind by M. George Turbi-rvil." 
If this note be correct, and Harington did not confound Tuber- 
ville with Beverley, the translation by the former has been 
lost. Spenser's VLM-sion of the same incidents, for they are 
evidently borrowed from Ariosto, in B. 1 1, c. 4, of iiis 
" Faerie Qucene," was printed in 1590 ; but Shakespeare is not 
to be traced to this source. In Ariosto and in Spenser the 
rival of Ariodante has himself the interview with the female 
attendant on Geneura; while in Shakespeare " John the Bas- 
tard " employs a creature of his own for the purpose. Shake- 
speare's plot may, therefore, have had an entirely ditfcrent i 
origin, possibly sonic translation, not now extant, of Bandello's 
twenty-second novel, in vol.i.of the Lucca edition, 4to. 1554, 
which is entitled, " Como il S. Timbreo di Cardtma, essendo 
col Kc Piero d' Aragona in Messina, s'innamora di Fenieia Lio- 
nata; e i varii fortunevoli accidenti, che avvennero jirima die 
per inoglie hi prendesse." It is rendered tiie more likely that 
Shakespeare employed a lost version of this novel by the cir- 
cumstance, that m Italian the incident in which slie, who may 
be called the false Hero, is concerned, is conducted much in 
the same way as in Shakespeare. Jloreover, Bamlello lays 
his scene in Messina; tlie father of the lady is named Lionato; 
and Don Pedro, or Piero, of Arragon, is the friend of the 
lover who is duped by his rival. 

Nobody has observed UPon tlie important fact, in connexion 
with " Much Ado about Nothing," that a " History of Ario- 
dante and Geneuora" was played before Queen Elizabeth, by 
"Mulcastcr's children," in 1582-3. How far Shakespeare 
might be indebted to this production we cannot at all deter- 
mine; but it is certain that the serious incidents he employed 
in his comedy had at an early date formed the subject of a 
dramatic representation'. 

In the ensuing text the 4to. 1600, has been followed, with 
due notice of any variations in the folio of 1623. The first 
impression contains several jiassages not inserted in the re- 
yirint (for such it undoubtedly was) under the care of Heminge 
and Condell, and the text of the 4to is to be preferred in 
nearly all instances of variation. 



I 



LOYE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 

["A pleasant Conceited Comedie called, Lotres labors lost. As 
it was presented before her Ilio-hnes this last Christmas. 
Newly corrected and augmented By W. Shakespere. Im- 
printed at London by Wi \V. for CutbertBiuiiy. 1598." 4to, 
88 leaves. 

In the folio, 1623, "Love's Labour's Lost" occupies 23 
pages, iu the division of " Comedies," viz., from p. 122 to 

1 Thomas Jordan's " Royal Arbnr of Loyal Pnesie." Svo, 16G-1, con- 
tains an ill-wrilten ballad, called ''The Rpvnltition. a love-story," 
founded upon the serious portion of " Much Ado aljout Nothinfr." 

2 Farther on this great psychological critic observes: — "If this 
juvenile drama had been the only one extant of our Sliakespearc, and 
we possessed the tradition only of his riper works, or accounts of them 
in writers who had not even mentioned tliis jilay. how many of .Shake- 
speare's characteristic features might we not still have discovered in 
' Love's Labour's Iiost,' though as in a portrait taken of him in his 
boyhood 1 I can never sufiiciently admire the wonderful activity of 
thought throughout the whole of the first scene of the play, rendered 
natural, as it is, by the choice of the characters and the whimsical 
determination on which the drama is founded — a whimsical determina- 
tion certainly, yet not altogether so very improbable to those who are 



144, inclusive. It was reprinted in 1631, 4to, " by "W. S., 
:br John Smetliwicke;" and the title-page states that it was 
published " as it was acted by his Majesties Seruants at 
the Blacke-Friers and the Globe." It is merely a copy from 
the folio, 1628, with the addition of some errors of the 
jjress.] 

There is a general concurrence of opinion that " Love's 
Labour 's I^ost " was one of Shakespeare's earliest productions 
for the stage. In his course of Lectures delivered in 1818, 
Coleridge was so convinced upon this point, that he said, 
" the internal evidence was indisputable;" and in his "Lite- 
rary Kemains," II. 102, we find him using tliese expressions: 
— "The characters in this play are either impersonated out 
of Sludccspcai'c's own multiformity, by imaginative self-piosi- 
tion, or out of such as a country town and a school-boy's ob- 
servation might sujipiy'." The only olnection to this theory 
is, that at the time " Love's Labour 's Lost " was composed, 
the author seems to have been acquainted in some degree 
with the nature of the Italian comic performances; but this 
acquaintance he might have acquired comjiaratively early in 
life. The character of Arniado is that of a Spanish braggart, 
very much such a personage as was common on the Italian 
stage, and figures in GV Jngannatl, (which, as the Kev. Jo- 
seph Hunter was the first to point out, Shakespeare saw before 
he wrote his "Twelfth Night,") un.ler the name of Giglio: 
in the same comedy we have M. Piero Fedante, a not unusual 
character in pieces of that description. Holofernes is repeat- 
edly called " the Pedant " in the old copies of " Love's La- 
bour 's Lost^," wliilo Arniado is more frequently introduced 
as " the Braggart " than liy his name. Steevens, after staling 
that lie had not been able to discover any novel from which, 
this Comedy had been derived, adds that " the story has most 
of tlie ft'atures of an ancient romance;" but it is not at all 
impossible that Shakes])eare found some corresponding inci- 
dents in an Italian play. However, after a long search, I 
have not met with any such ]iroduction, although, if used by 
Shakespeare, it most likely came into this country in a printed 
form. 

The question whether Shakespeare visited Italy, and at 
what period of his life, cannot propei'ly be considered here; 
but it is a very important point in relation both to his bio- 
graphy and works. It was certainly a very general custom 
for fiu'r poets to travel thither towards the close of the reign 
of Elizabeth, and various instances of the kind are on record. 
Robert Greene tells ns in his " Eepentance," 1592, that he 
had been in Italy and Spain ; Thomas Nash, about the same 
date, mentions what he had seen in France and Italy; and 
Daniel has several early soimets on his "going to Italv," and 
on his resilience there. Some of our mo-t celebrated actors 
of that time also made journeys across the Alps; and Mr. Hal- 
liwell, in the notes to liis "Coventi'y Mysteries," printed for 
the Shakespeare Society, has shown that Kemp, the comedian, 
who, as we have seen, performed Dogberry in "Much Ado 
about Nothing," was in Borne in 1601. 

It is vain to attempt to fi.x with any degree of precision 
the date when " l^ove's Labour's Lost" came from the 
author's pen. It is very certain that Biron and Rosaline are 
early sketches of two characters to which Shakespeare subse- 
quently gave greater force and effect — Benedick and Beatrice ; 
but this otdy shows, what canncit be doubted, that " Love'a 
Labour's Lost" was anterior in composition to "Much Ado 
about Nothing." " Love's Labour 's Lost " was first printed, 
as far as we now know, in 1598, 4to, and then it professed on 
the title-page to have been " newly corrected and augmented :" 
we are likewise there told that it was presented before Queen 
Elizabeth "this last Christmas." It was not uncommon for 
dramatists to revise and add to their plays when they were 
selected for exhibition at court, and such may have been the 
case with " Love's Labour 's Lost." " The last Christmas " 
probably meant Christmas, 1598 ; for the year at this period 
did not end until 25th March. It seems likely tliat the coni- 
edy had been written six or even eight years before, that it 
was revived iu 1593, with certain corrections and augmenta- 

conversant in the history of the middle ages, with their Courts of 
Love, and ail that lighter drapery of chivalry, which engaged even 
mighty kings, with a sort of serio-comic interest, and may well be 
supposed to have occupied more completely Ihe smaller princes, at a 
lime when the noble's or prince's court contained the only theatre of 
the domain or principality." 

3 It was asserted by Warburton. that in the character of Holofernes 
Shakespeare intended to ridicule Florio, and that our great poet here 
condescended to personal satire. The only apparent oft'ence by Florio 
was a passage in his " Second Fruits," 1591, where he complained of 
the want of decorum in English dramatic representations. The pro- 
vocation was evidently insufficient, and we may safely dismiss the 
whole conjecture as unfounded. 



Ixxvi 



INTRODUCTIO"N" TO THE PLAYS. 



tioiis for perforiTwnce before the Qneen ; and this circum- 
stance may luive led to its publication immediately afterwards. 
The evidence derived iVom passa,(re3 and allusions in the 
]iiece, to which Malone refers in his " Chronological Order," 
is clearly of little value, and he does not himself place much 
confidence in it. "Love Labour Lost" is mentioned by 
Meres in 1598, and in the same year came out a poem by 
K[obert] T[ofte] entitled '-Alba," in the commencement of 
one of the stanzas of which this comedy is introduced by 
name : — 

" Love's Labour Lost I once did see, a play 
Ycleped so." 

This does not read as if the writer intended to say that he had 
seen it recently. There is a coincidence in Act III. sc. 1, 
which requires notice ; Costard there jokes upon the ditfercnce 
between "renuineration"and "fruerdon ;" and Steevens con- 
tended that Shakespeare was " certainly indebted for his vein 
of jocularity" in this instance to a tract by I[ervase] M[ark- 
ham], called, " A Health to the Gentlemanly Profession of 
Servinij Men," wliich Dr. Fanner informed him was pub- 
lished in 1578. The fact, however, is, that this tract did not 
appear until 1598. tlie year in which '• Love's Labour 's Lost" 
came from the press. " It was, possibly, a current jest, and it 
will be found quoted correctly from the original, and not as 
Steevcns inserted it, in a note upon the passage. 

It is capable of proof that the play, as it stands in the folio 
of 1623, was reprinted from the 4to. of 1598, as it adopts 
\ario\is errors of the press, which could not have found their 
way into the folio, had it been taken from a distinct manu- 
script. There are, lioVvever, variations, \vhich might show that 
the player-editors of the folio resorted occasionally to some 
authority besides the 4to. These differences are pointed out 
in the notes. The 4to. has no divisions into Acts and Scenes; 
and the folio only distinguishes the Acts, but with considera- 
ble inequality : thus the third Act only occupies about a page 
and a iialf, while the fifth Act (misprinted Actus Quartus) 
tills nine pages. Nevertheless, it would have been taking too 
great a liberty to alter the arrangement in this respect, al- 
tiiough, as the reader will perceive, it might be improved 
without nuieh difficulty. 

There is no entry of " Love's Labour 's Lost" at Stationers' 
Hall, until 22d Jan. 1606-7, when it was transferred by Burby 
(the publisher of it in 1598) to Ling, who perha]:)S contem- 
]ilated a new edition. If it were printed in 1606 or 1607, no 
s;ich impression has come down to us. Its next appearance 
was in the folio, 1623; but another 4to, of no authority, was 
published in 1681, the year before the date of the second 
lolio. 



MIDSUMMEE-NIGHT'S DEEAM. 

[" A Midsonnner nights dreame. As it hath beene sundry 
times publiekely acted, by the Right honourable, the Lord 
Chamberlaine his seruants. Written by William Shake- 
speare. Imprinted at London, for Thomas Fisher, and are 
to be soulde at his shoppe, at the Signe of the White Hart, 
in Fleetestreete, 1600." 32 leaves. 
"A Midsommer night's dreame. As it hath beene sundry 
times publikely acted, by the Kifjht honourable, the Lord 
Chamberlaine his seruants. Written by William Shake- 
speare. Fi-intcd by James Roberts, 1600." 32 leaves. 
In the folio, 1G23, it occupies 18 ]iages, viz., from p. 145 to 
162 inclusive, in the division of "Comedies." It is of 
course, like the other jilays, inserted in the later folios.] 
This drama, which on the title-pages of the earliest impres- 
sions is not called comeJy, history, nor tragedy, but which is 
included by the player-editors of the first folio among the 
"comedies" of Shakespeare, was twice printed in 1600, "for 
Thomas Fisher" and " by James Roberts." Fisher was a 
bookseller, and employed some unnamed printer ; but Roberts 
was a printer as well as a bookseller. The only entry of it at 
Stationers' Hall is to Fisher, and it runs as follows: — 

"8 Oct. 1600. Tho. FysherJ A booke called a Mydsomer 
nights Dreame." 

^ 8vo. 1841, p. G. The following are the terms Forman employs; 
and they are subjoined, that the reader may compare them with the 
passage in "Midsummer-Night's Dream," A. ii. sc. 1. " Ther was 
moch sicknes but lyttle death, moch fruit, and many plombs of all 
sorts this yeare and small nuts, but fewe walnuts. This monethes 
of .Tune and July were very wet and wonderful cold like winter, that 
the Itl dae of Julii many did syt by the fyer. yt was so cold; and soe 
was yt in Maye and .Tune; and scarce too fair dais together all that 
tvme, but yt rayned every day more or lesse. Yf yt did not raine, 
then was yt cold and cloudye. iMani murders were done this quarter. 
There were many great fludes this sommer, and about Michelmas, 
thorowe the abundaunce of raine that fell sodeinly, the brige of 



There is no memorandum regarding the impression by Ro- 
berts, which perhaps was xmauthorized, although Heminge 
and Condell followed his text when they included " Midsum- 
mer-Night's Dream" in the folio of 1623. In some instances 
the folio adopts tlie evident misprints of Roberts, while such 
improvements as it makes are not obtained from Fisher's 
more accurate copy: both the errors and emendations, if not 
merely trifling, are pointed out iu our notes. The chief differ- 
ence between the two quartos and the folio is, that in the 
latter the Acts, but not the Scenes, are distinguished. 

We know from the Palludls Tamia of Meres, that " Mid- 
summer Night's Dream" was in existence jit least two years 
before it came from the press. On the question when it was 
written, two pieces of internal evidence liave been esjieeially 
noticed. Mr. Halliwell, in his " Introduction to a Midsum- 
mer-Night's Di'eam " has produced a passage from the Diary 
of Dr. Simon Forman, which in some points tallies with the 
descrijition of the state of the weather, and the condition of 
the country given by the Fairy Queen. i The memorandum 
in Fornian's Diary relates to the year 1594, and Stowe's Chro- 
nicle may be quoted to the same effect. 

The other suppose^l temporary allusion occurs in Act v. 
sc. 1. and is contained in the lines, — 

" The thrice three Muses mourning for the death 
Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary," 

which some have imagined to refer to the death of Spenser. 
If so, it nmst have been an insertion in the drama subsequent 
to its first production, because Spenser was not dead in 1598, 
when "Midsummer-Night's Dream" was mentioned by 
Meres. It is very doubtful whether any particular reference 
were intended by Shakespeare, who, perhaps, only meant to 
advert in strong terms to the general neglect of learning. T. 
Warton carried the question back to shortly subsequent to 
the year 1591, when Spenser's "Tears of the Pluses" was 
printed, wliich, from the time of Rowe to that of Malone, was 
supposed to contain passages highly laudatory of Shakespeare. 
There is a slight coincidence of expression between ISjienser 
and Shakespeare, in the poem of the one, and in the drama 
of the other, which deserves remark ; Spenser says, — 

'•Our pleasant Willy, ah, is dead of late. 
And one of Shakespeare's lines is, — 

" Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary." 

Yet it is quite clear, from a subsequent stanza in " The Tears 
of the Muses," that Spenser did not refer to the natural death 
of " Willy," whoever he were, but merely that he " rather 
chose to sit in idle cell," than write in such unfavourable 
times. In the same manner, Shakespeare might not mean 
that Spenser (if the allusion indeed be to him) was actually 
" deceased," but merely, as Spenser expresses it in his '• Colin 
Clout," that he was " dead in dole." The allusion to Queen 
Elizabeth as the " fair vestal, throned by the west," in A. ii. 
sc. 1, affords no note of time. 

It seems liighly probable that "A Midsummer-Night's 
Dream " was not written before the autumn of 1594, and if the 
speech of Titania in A. ii. sc. 1, were intended to describe the 
real state of the kingdom, from the extraordinary wetness of 
the season, we may infer that the drama came from the pen 
of Shakespeare at the close of 1594, or in the beginning of 
1595. 

" The Knight's Tale " of Chaucer, and the same poet's 
"Tysbe of Babylone," together witli Arthur Golding's trans- 
lation of the story of Pyramus and Thisbe from Ovid, are the 
only sources yet pointed out of the plots introduced and cm- 
ployed by Shakespeare. Oberon, Titania, and Robin Gno<l- 
fellow, or Puck, are mentioned, as belonging to the fairy 
mythology, by many authors of tlie time. The Percy Society 
not lon^ since reprinted a tract called " Robin Goo'd-fellow, 
his Mad Pranks and Merry Jests," from an edition in 1628 ; 
but there is little doubt that it originally came out at least 
forty years earlier^: together with a ballad inserted in the 
Introduction to that reprint, it shows how Shakespeare 
availed himself of existing popular superstitions. In " Percy's 
Rehques" (III. 254, edit. 1812,) is :i ballad entitled "The 

Ware was broken downe, and at Stratford Bowe, the water was never 
seen so byg as yt was : and in the lattere end of October, the waters 
burst downe the bridge at Cambridge. In Barkshire were many gret 
waters, wherewith was moch harm done sodenly." MS. Ashm. 334, 
fol. lOo. 

2 A wood-cut is on the title-page, intended to represent Robin 
Goodfellow : he is like a Satyr, with hoofs and liorns, and a broom 
over his shoulder. Sir Hugh Evans, in " The Merry Wives of Wind- 
sor," was no doubt thus dressed, when he represented Puck, or Robin 
Goodfellow. A copy of the wood-cut may be seen in " The Bridge- 
water Library Catalogue," 4to, 1837, p. 258. 



INTRODUCTIOI^ TO THE PLAYS. 



Ixxvii 



Merry Pranks of Robin Good-fellow," attributed to Beu Jon- 
son, of which I have a version iu a MS. of the time : it is the 
more curious, because it has the initials B. J. at the end. It 
contains some variations and an additional stanza, which, 
considerinL' the subject of the poem, it may be worth while 
here to subjoin : — 

" When as my fellow elfes and I 
In circled ring do trip around, 
If that our sports by any eye 
Do happen to be seen or found ; 
If that they 
No words do say, 
But mum continue as they go, 
Each night I do 
Put groat in shoe. 
And wind out laughing, ho, ho, ho!" 

The incidents connected with the life of Eobin Good-fellow 
were, no doiibt, worked np by different dramatists in differ- 
ent ways; and in " lienslowe's Diary" are inserted two 
entries of money paid to Ilein-y Chettle for a play lie was 
writing in Sept. 1602, under the title of " Robin Good-fellow." 

There is every reason to believe that, " Midsummer-Night's 
Dream" was popular: in 1622, the year befire it was re- 
})rinted In the first folio, it is thus mentioned by Taylor, the 
water-poet, in his " Sir Greirory Nonsense :" — " I say, as it is 
applausfully written, and commended to posterity, in the 
Midsummer-Night's Dream: — if we offend, it is with our 
good will: we came with no intent but to offend, and show 
"our simjile skill." — (See A. v. sc. 1.) 

It apj)ears by a MS. preserved in the Library at Lambeth 
Palace, that "Midsummer-Night's Dream" was represented 
at the house of John Williams, Bishop of Lincoln, on 27th 
Sept. 1681. Ilist. of Eng. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, ii. 26. 



THE MERCHANT OF YENICE. 

["The excellent History of the Merchant of Venice. With 
the extreme cruelty of Shylocke the lew towards the saide 
Mercjiant, in cutting a iust pound of his flesh. And tlie 
obtaining of Portia, by the chovse of three caskets. Written 
by W. Shakespeare. Printed' by J. Roberts, 1600." 4to, 
40 leaves. 
" The must excellent Historic of the Merchant of Venice. 
With the cxtreame crucltie of Shylocke the lewe towards 
the sayd Merchant, in cutting a iust pound of his flesh : and 
the obtayning of Portia by the chovse of three chests. As 
it hath beene diuers times acted by the Lord Chamberlaine 
his Seruants. Written by William Shakespeare. At Lon- 
don, Printed by I. E., for Thomas Ileyes, and are to be sold 
iu Panics Church-yard, at the sii^ne of the Greene Dragon, 
1600." 4to, 3S leaves. 
It is also printed in the folio, 1623, where it occupies 22 pages, 
viz.. from p. 163 to p. 184, inclusive, in the division of " Co- 
medies." Besides its appearance in the later folios, the Mer- 
chant of Venice was republished in 4to, in 1637 and 1652.] 
The two plots of " The Merchant of Venice " are found as 
distinct novels in various ancient foreign authorities, but no 
English original of either of them of the age of Shakespeare 
has been discovered. That there were such originals is highly 
probable, but if so they have perished with many other relics 
of our popular literature. Whether the separate incidents, 
relating to the bond and to the caskets, were ever combined 
in the same novel, at all as Shakespeare combined them in 
liis drama, cannot of course be determined. Steevens asserts 
broadly, that " a play comprehending the distinct plots of 
Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice had been exhibited long 
before he commenced a writer;'' and the evidence he adduces 
is a passage from Gosson's " School of Abuse," 1579, where 
he especially praises two plays " showne at the Bull," one 
called "The Jew," and the other " Ptolome :" of the former 
Gosson states, that it " represented the greedinesse of worldly 
chusers, and bloody minds of usurers." (Shakespeare Socie- 
ty's Reprint, p. 80.) The terms, " worldly chusers," may 
certainly have reference to the choice of the caskets; and the 
conduct of Shyloek may very well be intended by the words, 
" bloody minds of usurers." It is possible, therefore, that a 
theatrical performance should have existed, anterior to the 
time of Shakespeare, in wliich the separate plots were miited: 
and it is not nnlikely that some novel had been published 
which gave the same incidents in a narrative form. " On the 
whol«," says the learned and judicious Tyrwhitt, " I am in- 
clined to suspect that Shakespeare followed some hitherto 
unknown novelist, who had saved him the trouble of working 
lip the two stories into one." 

Both stories are found separately in the Latin Gesta Eoma- 
fiorum, with considerable variations : that of the bond is 
chap, xlviii. of MS. Ilarl. 2270, as referred to by Tyrwhitt; 



and that of the caskets is chap, xcix, of the same colleetion. 
The Pecorone of Ser Giovanni Fiorentino also contains a novel 
very similar to that of " The Merchant of Venice," with re- 
spect to the bond, the disguise and agency of Portia, and the 
gift of the ring. This narrative {Giorn. iv. nov. 1) was writ- 
ten as early as the year 1378, but not printed in Italy until 
1554 ; and it is remarkable that the scene of certain romantic 
adventures, in which the hero was engaged, is there laid in 
the dwelling of a lady at Belmont. These adventures seem 
afterwards \o have been changed, in some English version, 
for the incidents of the caskets. In Boccaccio's Decameron 
(Giorn. X., nov. 1) a choice of caskets is introduced, but it 
does not in other respects resemble the choice as we find it 
in Shakespeare ; while the latter, even to the inscriptions, is 
extremely like the history in the Gesta Romanormn. 

The earliest notice in English, with a date, of any circum- 
stances connected with the bond and its forfeiture, is con- 
tained in "The Orator: handling a Hundred several Dis- 
courses," a translation from the French of Alexander Silvayn, 
by Anthony Munday, who published it under the name of 
Lazarus Plot, iu 15',t6, 4to. There, with the head of " Decla- 
mation 95," we find one " Of a Jew, who would for his debt 
have a pound of flesh of a Christian;" and it is followed by 
" The Christian's Answer," but nothing is said of the inci- 
dents, out of which these "declamations" arose. Of the old 
ballad of " The Crueltie of Gernutus, a Jewe," in " Percy's 
Eeliques," I. 228 (edit. 1812) no dated edition is known ; but 
most readers will be inclined to agree with Warton (" Obser- 
vations on the Faerie Queene," 1. 128,) that it was not found- 
ed upon Shakespeare's play, and was anterior to it: it might 
owe its origin to the ancient drama of " The Jew," mentioned 
by Gosson. " Henslowe's Diary," under date of 25th Aug. 
1594, contains an entry relating to the performance of " The 
Venetian Comedy," which Malone conjectured might mean 
" The Merchant of Venice ;" and it is a circumstance not to 
be passed over, that in 1594 the company of actors to which 
Shakespeare was attached was playing at the theatre in New- 
ington Butts, in conjunction, as far as we can now learn, with 
the company of whi.eh Henslowe was chief manager. 

Meres has " The Merchant of Venice " iu his list, which 
was published in 1598, and we have no means of knowing 
how long prior to that date it was written. If it were " The 
Venetian Comedy " of Henslowe, it was in a course of per- 
formance in August, 1594. The earliest entry regarding "The 
Merchant of Venice" in the Stationers' Register is curious, 
from its particularity : — 

"22 July, 1598, James Eobertes.] A booke of the Mar- 
chaunt of Venyce, or otherwise called the Jewe of Ve- 
nyse. Provided that yt bee not prynted by the said 
James Robertes, or anye other whatsoever, without 
lycence first had from the right honourable the Lord 
Chamberlen." 

Shakespeare was one of the players of the Lord Chamber- 
lain, and the object seems to have been to prevent the pub- 
lication of the play without the consent of the company, to be 
signified through the nobleman under whose patronage they 
acted. This caution was given two years before "The Mer- 
chant of Venice " actually came from the press : we find it 
published iu 1600, both by J. Roberts and by Thomas Heyes, 
in favour of the last of whom we meet with another entry iu 
the Stationers' books, without any proviso, dated, — 

"28 Oct., 1600, Tho. Haies.] The booke of the Merchant 
of Venyee." 

By this time the "licence" of the Lord Chamberlain for 
printing tlie play had probably been obtained. At the bottom 
of the title-page of Roberts's edition of 1600, no place is stated 
where it was to be purchased: it is merely, "Printed by J. 
Roberts, 1600 ;" while the imprint to tlie edition of Heyes 
informs us that it was " printed by I. R.," and tliat it was 
" to be sold in Pauls Church-yard," &c. I. R., the printer 
of the edition of Heyes, was, most likely, J. Roberts ; but it 
is entirely a distinct impression to that which appeared in the 
same year with the name of Roberts. The edition of Roberts 
is, on "the whole, to be preferred to that of Heyes; but the 
! editors of the folio of 1623 indisputably employed that of 
j Heyes, adopting various misprints, but inserting also several 
improvements of the text. These are pointed out iu our 
notes in the course of the play. The similarity between the 
i names of Salanio, Salarino, ancl Salerio, in the Jjramatin Per- 
somv, has led to some confusion of the speakers in all the 
copies, quarto and folio, which it has not always been found 
easy to set right. 

" The Merchant of Venice " was performed before James I., 

'on Shrove-Sunday, and again on Shrove-Tuesday, 1605: 

hence we have a right to infer tliat it gave great satisfaction 

1 at court. The fact is thus recorded in the original account 



Ixxviii 



INTEODUCTIOK TO THE PLAYS. 



of expenses, made out by the Master of the Eevels, and still 
preserved in the Audit Office : — 

"By His Ma"^ Flaiers. Ou Shrovsunday a play of the 

Marchant of Venis." 
" By his Ma''" Players. On Shrovtusday a play cauled 

the Martchant of Venis againe, commauded by the 

Kings Ma''=." 
The name of Shaxberd, for Shakespeare, as "the poet 
which made the play," is added in the margin opposite both 
these entries. Notwithstanding the popularity of this drama 
before the closing of the theatres in 1642, it seems to have 
been so much forgotten soon after the Restoration, that in 
1664, Thomas Jordan made a, ballad out of the story of it in 
his " Koyal Arbor of Loyal Poesie," and thought himself at 
liberty to pervert the original, by making the Jew's daughter 
the principal instrument of punishing her own father : at 
the trial, she takes the office which Shakespeare assigns to 
Portia. 



AS you LIKE IT. 

["As You Like It" was first printed in the folio of 1623, where 
it occupies twenty-three pages, viz. from p. 185 to p. 207 
inclusive, in the division of " Comedies." It preserved its 
place in the three subsequent impressions of that volume 
in 1632, 1664, and 16S5.] 

"As You Like It" is not only founded upon, but in some 
points very closely copied from, a novel by Thomas Lodge, 
under the title of " Rosalynde ; P^uphues Golden Legacie," 
which was originally printed in 4to, 1590, a second time in 
1592, and a third edition came out in 1598. We have no in- 
telligence of any re-impression of it between 1592 and 1598. 
This third edition perhaps appeared early in 1598 ; and we 
are disposed to think, that the re-jiublication of so popular a 
work directed Shakespeare's attention to it. If so, " As You 
Like It" may have been written in the summer of 1598, and 
first acted in the winter of the same, or in the spring of the 
following year.i 

The only entry in the registers of the Stationers' Company 
relating to" "As You Like It," is confirmatory of this suppo- 
sition. It has been already referred to in the " Introduction" 
to " Much Ado about Nothing" and it will be well to insert 
it here, precisely in the manner in which it stands in the 
original record : — 

" 4 August. 

" As you like yt, a book. Henry the ffift, a book. Every 
man in his humor, a book. The Commedie of Much 
adoo about uothinge, a book." 

Opposite this memorandum are added the words " To be 
staled." It will be remarked, that there is an important de- 
ficiency in the entry, as regards the purpose to which we 
wish to apply it: — the date of the year is not given ; but Ma- 
lone conjectured, and in that conjecture I have expressed con- 
currence, that the clerk who wrote the titles of the four plays, 
with the date of " 4 August," did not think it necessary there 
to repeat the year 1600, as it was found in the memorandum 
immediately preceding that we have above quoted. Shake- 
speare's " Henry the Fifth," and " Much Ado about Nothing," 
were both priiited in 1600, and Ben Jonson's " Every Man in 
his Humour" in the year following; though Gifford, in his 
edition of that poet's works (vol. i. p. 2), by a strange error, 
states, that the first impression was in 1603. The " stay," as 
regards " Henry the Fifth," " Every Man in his Humour," and 
" Much Ado about Nothing," was doubtless soon removed ; 
for " Henry the Fifth " was entered again for publication on 
the 14th August; and, as has been already shown. Wise and 
Aspley took the same course with "Much Ado about No- 
thing'' on the 23rd August. There is no known edition of 
"As You Like It" prior to its appearance in the folio of 
1623, (where it is divided into Scenes, as well as Acts) and 
we may possibly assume that the " stay" was not, for some 
unexplained and uncertain reason, removed as to that comedy. 

Malone relied upon a piece of internal evidence, which, if 
examined, seems to be of no value in settling the question 
when "As You Like It" was first written. The following 
words are put into the mouth of Rosalind :—" I weep for 
nothing, like Diana in the fountain" (A. iv. sc. 1), which 
Malone supposed to refer to an alabaster fisrure of Diana on 
the east of Cheapside, which, according to Stowe's " Survey 
of London," was set up in 1598, and was in decay in 1603. 
This figure of Diana did not "weep;" for Stowe expressly 
states that the water came " prilling from her naked breast." 
Therefore, this passage proves nothing as far as respects the 

1 If we suppose that the third edition of Lodfre's " Rosalynde" was 
occasioned by the popularity of Shakespeare's comedy, founded upon 



date of " As You Like It." Shakespeare probably intended 
to make no allusion to any particular fountain. 

It is not to.be forgotten, in deciding upon the probable date 
of " As You Like It," that Meres makes no mention of it in 
bis Palladis Taniia^ 1598 ; and as it was entered at Stationers' 
Hall on the 4th August [1600], we may conclude that it was 
written and acted in that interval. In A. iii. sc. 5. a line from 
the first Sestiad of Marlowe's " Hero and Leander " is quoted ; 
and as that poem was first printed in 1598, "As You Like It" 
may not have been written until after it appeared. 

There is no doubt that Lodge, when composiiiij his " Rosa- 
lynde : Euphues Golden Legacie," which he did, as he in- 
forms us, while on a voyage with Captain Clarke, " to the isl- 
ands of Terceras and the Canaries," had either " Tlie Coke's 
Tale of Gamelyn" (falsely attributed to Chaucer, as Tyrwhitt 
contends in his Introd. to the Cant. Tales, I. clxxxiii. Edit. 
1830.) strongly in his recollection, or, which does not seem 
very probable in such a situation, with a manuscript of it 
actually before him. It was not printed until more than a 
century afterwards. According to Farmer, Shakespeare 
looked no farther than Lodge's novel, which he followed in 
" As You Like It" quite as closely as he did Greene's " Pan- 
dosto" in the " Winter's Tale." Tliere are one or two coin- 
cidences of expression between " As You Like It " and " The 
Coke's Tale of Gamelyn," but not perhaps more than might 
be accidental, and the opinion of Farmer appears to be suffi- 
ciently borne out. Lodge's " Rosalynde " has been recently 
printed as part of " Shakespeare's Library," and it will be 
easy, therefore, for the reader to trace the particular resem- 
blances between it and " As You Like It." 

In his Lectures in 1818, Coleridge eloquently and justly 
praised the pastoral beauty and simplicity of "As You' Like 
It;" but he did not attempt to compare it witli Lodse's " Ro- 
salynde," where the descriptions of persons and of scenery 
are comparatively forced and artificial : — " Shakespeare," said 
Coleridge, " never gives a description of rustic scenery merely 
for its own sake, or to show how well he can p;unt natural 
objects: he is never tedious or elaborate, but while he now 
and then displays marvellous accuracy and minuteness of 
knowledge, he usually only touches upon the larger features 
and broader characteristics, leaving the fillings up to the ima- 
gination. Thus in ' As You Like It' he describes an oak of 
many centuries growth in a single line : — 

' Under an oak whose antique root peeps out.' 
Other and inferior writers would have dwelt on this descrip- 
tion, and worked it out with all the pettiness and iniperli- 
nence of detail. In Shakespeare the ' antique root ' furnishes 
the whole picture." 

These expressions are copied from notes made at the time; 
and they partially, though imperfectly, supply an obvious 
deficiency of general criticism in vol. ii. p. 115, of Coleridge's 
" Literary Remains." 

Adam Spencer is a character in " The Coke's Tale of Game- 
lyn,'' and in Lodge's " Rosalynde :" and a great additional in- 
terest attaches to it, because it is supposed, with some ayipear- 
aiicc of truth, that the part was originally sustained by Shake- 
speare himself We have this statement on the authority of 
Oldys's MSS.: he is said to have derived it, intermediately of 
course, from Gilbert Shakespeare, who survived the ResTora- 
tiou, and who had a faint recollection of having seen his bro- 
ther William "in one of his own comedies, wherein, being to 
personate a decrepit old man, he wore a long beard, and ap- 
peared so weak ami drooping, and unable to walk, that he 
was forced to be supported and carried by another p)erson to 
a table, at which he was seated among some company, who 
were eatinEr, and one of them sung a song." This description 
very exactly tallies with " As You Like It," A. ii. sc. 7. 

Shakespeare found no prototypes in Lodge, nor in any 
other work yet discovered, for the characters of Jaqnes, 
Touchstone, and Audrey. On the admirable manner in which 
he has made them part of the staple of his story, and on the 
importance of these additions, it is needless to enlarcre. It is 
rather singular, that Shakes]>eare should have introduced twu 
characters of the name of .Jaques into the same play ; but in the 
old impressions, Jaques de Bois, in the prefixes to his sp)eeehes, 
is merely called the " Second Brother." 



TAMING OF THE SHKEW. 

[" The Taming of the Shrew" was first printed in the folio of 
1623, where it occupies twenty-two paees, viz. from p. 208 
to page 229 inclusive, in the division of " Comedies." It 
was reprinted in the three later folios.] 

one of the earlier impressions in 1590 or 1592. it 'would show that " As 
You Like It " was acted in 159S', and might have been written in 1597 



INTEODUCTIOX TO THE PLAYS. 



Ixxix 



Shakespeare was indebted for nearly the whole plot of his 
"Tiuuino: of the Shrew" to an older play, published in 1594, 
under the title of " The Taminsr of a Shrew." The mere cir- 
cumstance of the adoption of the title, substituting only the 
definite for the indefinite article, proves that he had not the 
slifrhtest intention of concealin"' liis obligation. 

When Steevens published the "Six Old Plays," more or 
less employed by Shakespeare in six of his own dramas, no 
earlier edition of the " Taming of a Shrew" than that of 1607 
was known. It was conjectured, however, that it had come 
from the press at an earlier date, and Pope appeared to have 
been once in possession of a copy of it, published as early as 
1594. This copy lias since been recovered, and is now in the 
collection of the Duke of Devonshire: the exact title of it is 
as follows : — 

" A Pleasant Conceited Historic, called The taming of a 
Shrew. As it was sundry times acted by the Eight honorable 
the Earle of Pembrook his seruants. Printed at London by 
Peter Siiort and are to be sold by Cutbert Burble, at his shop 
at the Eoyall Exchange. 1594." 4to. 

It was reprinted in 1596, and a copy of that edition is in 
the possession of Lord Fi'ancis Egerton. The impression of 
1607, the copy used by Steevens, is iu the collection of the 
Duke of Devonshire. 

There are three entries in the Eegisters of the Stationers' 
Company relating to " The Taming of a Shrew" but not one 
referring to Shakespeare's " Taming of the Shrew. "i When 
Blonnte and Jaggard, on the 8th JS!"ov. 1623, entered "Mr. 
"William Shakspeere's Comedyes, Histories, and Tragedyes, 
soe many of the said copies as are not formerly entered to 
other men," they did not include " The Taming of the Shrew:" 
hence an inference might be drawn, that at some previous 
time it had been "entered to other men ;" but no such entry 
has been found, and Shakespeare's comedy, probably, was 
never printed until it was inserted in the folio of 1623. 

On the question, wlien it was originally composed, opinions, 
including my own, have varied considerably ; but I now think 
we can arrive at a tolerably satisfactory decision. Malone first 
believed that "The Taming of the Shrew" was written in 
1606, and subsequently gave 1596 as its probable date. It 
appears to me, that nobody has sufficiently attended to the 
apparently unimportant fact that in "Hamlet" Shakespeare 
mistakenly introduces the name of Baptista as that of a wo- 
man, while in "The Taming of the Shrew" Baptista is tlie 
father of Katharine and Bianca. Had he been aware when he 
wrote "Hamlet" that Baptista was the name of a man, he 
would hardly have used it for that of a woman: but before he 
produced "The Taming of the Shrew" he had detected his 
own error. The great probability is, that "Hamlet" was 
■written at the earliest in 1601, and "The Taming of the 
Shrew" perhaps came from the pen of ita author not very 
lonw afterwards. 

The recent reprint of " The Pleasant Comedy of Patient 
Grissill," byDeklcer, Chettle, and Haughton, from the edition 
of 1603, tends to throw light on this point. Henslowe's Diary 
establishes, that the three dramatists above named were writ- 
ing it in the. winter of 1599. It contains various allusions to 
the taming of shrews ; and it is to be recollected that the old 
"Taming of a Shrew" was acted by Henslowe's company, 
and is mentioned by him under the date of 11th June, 1594. 
One of the passages in " Patient Grissill," which seems to con- 
iiect the two, occurs iu Act v. so. 2, where Sir Owen pro- 
ducing his wands, says to the marquess, " I will learn your 
•medicines to tame shrews." This expression is remarkable, 
because we iind by Hcnslovs'c's Diary that, in July, 1602, 
Dekker received a payment from the old manager, on account 
of a comedy he was writing under the title of " A Medicine 
for a curst Wife." My conjecture is, that Shakespeare (in 
coalition, possibly, with some other dramatist, who wrote the 
portions wliichare admitted not to be in Shakespeare's manner) 
produced his " Taming of the Shrew" soon after " Patient 
Grissill" had been brought upon the stage, and as a sort of 
counterpart to it ; and that Dekker followed up the subject in 
the summer of 1602 by his " Medicine for a curst Wife," hav- 
ing been incited by the success of Shakespeare's "Taming of 
the Shrew " at a rival theatre. At this time the old " Taming 
of a Shrew" had been laid by as a public performance, and 
Shakespeare having very nearly adopted its title, Dekker took 
a different one, in accordance with the expression he had used 
two or three years before in " I'atient Grissill^." 

The silence of Meres iu 1598 regarding any such play by 

1 Malone was mi>;taken when he snid (Shakespeare by Boswell, 
vol. ii. p. :34'2.) that '■ our author's {renuine play was entered at Sta- 
tioners' Ilall" on the 17th Nov. The entry is of the 19th Nov. and 
not of Shakespeare's '• Taming of tlie Shrew," but of the old " Tam- 
ing of a Shrew." 



Shakespeare is also important : had it then been written, he 
could scarcely have failed to mention it; so that we have 
strong negative evidence of its non-existence before the 
appearance of Palladis Tamia. When Sir John Harington, 
in his " Metamorphosis of Ajax," 1596, says, " Bead the booke 
of 'Taming a Shrew,' which hath made a number of us so 
perfect that now every one can rule a shrew in our country, 
save he that hath her," he meant the old "Taming of a 
Shrew," reprinted in the same year. In that play we have 
not only the comedy in which Petruchio and Katharine are 
chiefly engaged, but the Induction, which is carried out to 
the close ; for Sly and the Tapster conclude the piece, as they 
had begun it. 

As it is evident that Shakespeare made great use of the old 
comedy, both in his Induction and in the body of his play, it 
is not necessary to inquire particularly to what originals the 
writer of "The Taming of a Shrew" resorted. As regards 
the Induction, Douce was of opinion that the story of " The 
Sleeper awakened," in the " Arabian Nights' Entertain- 
ments," was the source of the many imitations which have, 
from time to time, been referred to. Warton (Hist. Engl. 
Poetry, iv. 117. Edit. 1824) tells us, that among the books of 
Collins was a collection of tales by Eichard Edwards, dated 
in 1570, and including "the Induction of the Tinker in 
Shakespeare's ' Taming of the Shrew.' " This tnight be the 
original employed by the author of the old "Taming of a 
Slirew." For the play itself he, perhaps, availed himself of 
some now unknown translation of Nott. viii. fab. 2, of the 
PiacevoU Notti of Straparola. 

The SvpposUi of Ariosto, freely translated by Gascoyne, 
(before 1566, when it was acted at Grey's Inn) under the title 
of" The Supposes," seems to have afforded Shakespeare part 
of his plot: it relates to the manner in which Lucentio and 
Tranio pass off the Pedant as Vincentio, which is not found 
in the old " Taming of a Shrew." In the listof persons pre- 
ceding Gascoyne's "Supposes" Shakespeare found the name 
of Petruchio, (a character not so called by Ariosto,) and hence, 
perhaps, he adopted it. It affords another slight link of con- 
nexion between "The Taming of the Shrew" and "The 
Supposes;" but there exists a third, still slighter, of which no 
notice has been taken. It consists of the use of the word 
" supposes," in A. v. sc. 1, exactly in the substantive sense 
in which it is employed by Gascoyne, and in reference to that 
part of the story which had been derived from his trivfislation. 
IIow little Shakespeare's "Taming of the Shrew " was known 
in the besrinning of the eifrhteenth century, mav be judged 
from the fact, that " The Tatler," No. 281, contains the story 
of it, told as of a gentleman's family then residing in Lincoln- 
shire. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS "WELL. 

[" All 's Well that Ends Well " was first printed in the folio 

of 1623, and occupies, twenty-five pages, viz. from p. 230 to 

p. 254 inclusive, in the division of " Comedies." It fills 

the same space and place in the three later folios.] 

The most interesting question in connexion with " All 's 

Well that Ends Well " is, whether it was originally called 

"Love's Labour's Won?" If it were, we may be sure that 

it was written before 1598; because in that year, and under 

the title of " Love Labours Wonne," it is included by Francis 

Meres in the list of Shakespeare's plays introduced into his 

Palladis Tarnw. 

It was the opinion of Coleridge, an opinion which he first 
delivered in 1813, and again in 1818, though it is not found 
in his "Literary Eemains," that "All's Well that Ends 
Well," as it has come down to us, was written at two differ- 
ent, and rather distant periods of the poet's life. He pointed 
out ver}' clearly two distinct styles, not only of thought, but 
of expression ; and Professor Tieck, at a later date, adopted 
and enforced the same belief. So far we are disposed to agree 
with Tieck; but when he adds, that some passages in "All 's 
Well that Ends Well," which it is difficult to understand and 
explain, are relics of the first draught of the play, we do not 
concur, because they are chiefly to be discovered in that por- 
tion of the drama which affords evidence of riper thouirlit, 
and of a more involved and constrained mode of writing. 
Surely those parts which reminded Tieck, as he slates, of 
" Venus and Adonis," are to be placed among the earlier 
efforts of Shakespeare. There can be Httle doubt, liowever, 

2 If we suppose Shakespeare, in Act iv. sc. 1, to allude to T. Iley- 
wood's play. "A Woman Killed with Kindness." it would show that 
•' The Taminsof the Shrew" was written after Feb. 1602-3; but the 
expression was probably proverbial, and for this reason Hey wood took 
it as the title of his tragedy. 



Ixxx 



INTRODUCTIOIT TO THE PLAYS. 



that Coleridije and Ticek are right ia tlieir conclusion, tiiat 
"All's Well that Ends Well," which was printed for the 
first time in the folio of 1623, contains indications of the 
workin.ijs of Shakespeare's mind, and specimens of his com- 
position at two seiiarute dates of his career. 

It has been a point recently controverted, whether the 
"Love Labours Won" of Meres were the same piece as 
"All's Well that Ends Well." The supposition that they 
were identical was first promulgated by l)r. Farmer, in 1767, 
in his " Essay on the Icarnins of Shakespeare." On the 
other hand, the Eev. Joseph Hunter, in his " Disquisition 
on the Tempest," 8vo. 1839, has contended that by "Love 
Labours Won" Meres meant "The Tempest," and that it 
originally bore " Love Labours Won " as its second title. I 
do 'not think that Mr. Hunter, with all his acuteness and 
learning, has made out his case satisfactorily; and in our In- 
troduction to " The Tempest," some reasons will be found for 
assicjning that play to the year 1610, or 1611. Mr. Hunter 
argues that " The'Tempest,"" even more than "All's Well 
that Ends Well," deserves the significant name of "Love 
Labours Won ;" and he certainly is successful iu showing, 
that "AU's Well that Ends Well" bespoke its own title in 
two separate quotations.' Tlicy are from towards the close 
of the play ; and here, perhaps, we meet with the strongest 
evidences that this portion was one of its author's later elforts. 

My notion is (and the speculation deserves no stroncrer 
tcrni) that " All 's Well that Ends Well " was in the first in- 
stance, and prior to 1598, called " Love's Labour 's Won," 
and that it had a clear reference to " Love's Labour's Lost," 
of which it miglit be considered the counterpart. It was then, 
perhaps, laid by for some years, and revived by its author, 
Avith alterations and additions, about 1605 or 1606, when the 
new title of " All 's Well that Ends Well " was given to it. 
At this date, however, "Love's Labour's Lost " probably 
continued to be represented ; and we learn from the Eevels' 
Accounts that it was chosen for performance at court between 
Jan. 1 and Jan. 6, 1604^5. The entry runs in these terms : — 
"Betwin Newers Day and Twelfe Day, a play of Loves 
Labours Lost." 
The name of the author, and of the company by whom the 
piece was acted, are not in this instance given. We have no 
information that " All 's Well that Ends W' ell " met with the 
same distinction; and possibly Shakespeare altered its name, 
in order to give an appearance of greater novelty to the repre- 
sentation on its revival. This surmise, if well founded, would 
at'oount for tlie difterence in the titles, as we find them iu 
Meres and in the folio of 1623. 

Without here entering into the question, whether Shake- 
speare understood Italian, of which, we think, little doubt 
can be entertained, we need not suppose that he went to Boc- 
caccio's Decameron for the story of "All 's Well that Ends 
W^cll," because he found it already translated to his hands, in 
"The Palace of Pleasure," by William Painter, of which the 
first volume was published in 1566, and the second in 1567. ^ 
It is the 9tli novel of the third day of Boccaccio, and the 28th 
novel of the first volume of " The Palace of Pleasure." In 
the Decameron, it bears the following title, which is very lite- 
rally translated by Painter: — " Gighetta di Nerbona gtuirisce 
il Ee di Fraucia d'una fistola: domanda per marito Beltramo 
di Eossiglione ; il quale contra sua voglia sposatala, a Firenze 
se ne va per isdesruo ; dove vaghegcjiando una giovane, in 
persona di lei Giglietta giacque con lui, e hebbene due figliu- 
oli; perche egli poi havutala cara per moglie la tiene." The 
English version tjy Painter maybe read in "Shakespeare's 
Library ;" and hence it will appear, that the poet was only 
indebted to Boccaccio for the mere outline of his plot, as re- 
gards Helena, Bertram, the Widow, and Diana. All that 
belongs to the characters of the Countess, the Clown, and 
Parolies, and the comic business in which the last is engaged, 
were, as far as we now know, the invention of Shakespeare. 
The only names Boccaccio (and after him Painter) gives are 
Giglietta and Beltramo: the latter Shakespeare anglicised to 
Bertram, and he changed Giglietta to Helena, probably be- 
cause he had already made Juliet the name of one of his hero- 
ines. Shakespeare much degrades the character of Bertram, 



1 The two passages run as follows :- 



" We must away ; 



towards the end of the drama, by the duplicity, and even 
falsehood, he makes him display: Coleridge (Lit. Eem. ii. 121) 
was oflended by the fact, that in A. iii. sc. 5, Helena, " Shake- 
speare's loveliest character," speaks that which is untrue 
under the appearance of necessity ; but Bertram is convicted 
by the King of telling a deliberate untruth, and of persisting 
in it, in the face of the whole court of France. In Boccaccio 
the winding up of the story occurs at Eousillon, as in Shake- 
speare, but the King is no party to the scene. 

The substitution of Helena for Diana (as in " Measure for 
Measure " we had that of Mariana for Isabella) was a common 
incident in Italian novels. One of these was inserted in 
"Narbonus: the Laberynth of Libertie," by Austin Saker, 
4to, 1580: a romance in which the scene is laid in Vienna, 
but the numners are those of London : there the object was 
to impose a wife upon her reluctant husband ; but the resem- 
blance to the same incident in " All 's W^ell that Ends Well " 
is only general. 



Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us : 

All 's well that ends well ; still the fine 's the crown." 

A. iv. sc. 4. 

" All 's well that ends well yet. 

Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit." 

Mr. Hunter prints " All 's well that ends well " in Italic, and with 
capitals, in both instances, as if it were a title ; but in the original 
edition the words appear only in the ordinary type and in the usual 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OE, WHAT YOU 

WILL. 

["Twelfe Night, Or what you Will," was first printed in the 
folio of 1623, where it occupies twenty-one pages; viz. from 
p. 255 to 275 inclusive, in the division of " Comedies," 
p. 276 having been left blank, and unpaged. It appears in 
the same form in the three later folios.] 

We have no record of the performance of " Twelfth-Niffht" 
at court, nor is there any mention of it in the books at Sta- 
tioners' Ilall until November S, 1623, when it was registered 
by Blount and Jagsrard, as about to be included in the first 
folio of "Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, 
and Tragedies." It appeared originally in that volume, under 
the double title, " Twelftli-Kight, or'What You Will," with 
the Acts and Scenes duly noted. 

W'e cannot determine with precision when it was first 
written, but we know that it was acted on the celebration of 
the Eeaders' Feast at the Middle Temple on Feb. 2, 1602, 
according to our modern computation of the year. The fact 
of its performance we have on tlie evidence of an eye-witness, 
who seems to have been a barrister, and whose Diary, in his 
own hand-writing, is preserved in the British Museutn (Ilarl. 
MSS. 5353). The memorandum runs, literatim, as follows: — 

"Feby. 2, 160112]. At our feast we had a play called 
Twelve-Night, or What You Will, much like the comedy of 
errors, or Menechmi in Plautus, but most like and ncere to 
that in Italian, called Inganni. A good practise in it to make 
the steward believe his lady widdowe was in love with him, 
by counterfaytinga letter, as from his lady, in gcuerail termes 
telling him what slice liked best in him, and prescribing his 
gestures, inscribing his apparaile, &c., and then when he 
came to practise, making him beleeve they tooke him to be 
mad." 

This remarkable entry was pointed out in the "History of 
English Dramatic Poetry and the Stage," vol. i. p. 827. Svo, 
1831, and the Eev. Joseph Hunter, in his " Disquisition on 
The Tempest," 8vo, 1839, has ascertained that it was made 
by a person of the name of Manningham. It puts an end to 
the conjecture of Malone, that " Twelfth-Night " was written 
in 1607, and to the less probable speculation of Tyrwhitt, tihat 
it was not produced mitii 1614. Even if it should be objected 
that we have no evidence to show that this Comedy was com- 
posed shortly prior to its representation at the Middle Tem- 
ple, it may be answered, that it is capable of proof that it was 
written posterior to the publication of the translation of Lin- 
schoten's " Discours of Voyages into the East and West In- 
dies." In A. ii. sc. 2. Maria says of Malvolio : — "He does 
smile his face into more lines than are in the new map, ■ft-itli 
the augmentation of the Indies." W^hen Malone prepared 
his "Chronological Order" he had "not been able to learn 
the date of the map here alluded to," but Liuschoten's "Dis- 
cours of Voyages" was pirblished in folio in English in 1598, 
and in that volume is inserted "the new map with the aug- 
mentation of the Indies." Meres takes no notice of " Twelfth- 
way. According to my supposition, these passages, as well as an- 
other in the Epilogue, "All is well ended, if this suit is won," were 
added when the comedy was revived in 1605 or 1606, and when a new 
name was given to it. " All 's well that ends well " is merely a 
proverbial phrase, which was in use in our language long before 
Shakespeare wrote. See note 1, p. 97. of '• The Comedy of Errors." 

2 They were published together in 1575, and hence has arisen the 
error into which some modern editors have fallen, when they suppose 
that '' The Palace of Pleasure " was first printed in that year. Painter 
dates the dedication of his "second tome" "From my pore house, 
besides the Towre of London, the iiij. of November, 1507.'' 



INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. 



Ixxxi 



Niglit" in Ills ]ist, published in the same year, and wc inay 
conchide that the Comedy was not tlien in existence. The 
words "new map," employed by Shakespeare, may be 
thouijht to show that Linschoten's " Disconrs " had not made 
its a]Vpearance long before "Twelfth-Night" was produced; 
but on the whole, we are inclined to fix the period of its com- 
position at the end of 1600, or in the beginning of 1601 : it 
might be acted at the Globe in the snmnier of the same year, 
and from thence transferred to the Middle Temple about six 
months afterwards, on account of its continued popularity. 

Several originals of "Twelfth-Night," in English, French, 
and Italian, have been pointed out, nearly all of them dis- 
covered within the present century, and to these we shall now 
advert. 

A voluminous and various author of the name of Baruabe 
Eich, who had been brought up a soldier, published a volume, 
which ho called " Eicli his Farewell to Military Profession," 
without date, but between the years 1578 and 1581 : a re- 
imjircssion of it appeared in 1606, and it contains a novel 
entitled "Apolonius and Silla," which has many points of 
resemblance to Shakespeare's comedy. To this production 
more particular reference is not necessary, as it forms part 
of the publication called " Shakespeare's Library." If our 
great dramatist at all availed himself of its incidents, he must 
of course have used an earlier edition than that of 1606. One 
minute circumstance in relation to it may deserve notice. 
Manningham in his Diary calls Olivia a " widow," and in 
Eich's novel the lady Julina, who answers to Olivia, is a 
widow, but in Shakespeare she never had been married. It 
is possible that in the form in which the comedy was per- 
formed on Feb. 2, 1601-2, she was a widow, and that the 
author subsequently made the change ; but it is more likely, 
as Olivia must have been in mourning for the loss of her 
brother, that Manningham mistook her condition, and con- 
cluded hastily that she lamented the loss of her husband. 

Eich furnishes us with the title of no work to which he was 
indebted; but we may conclude that, either immediately or 
intermediately, he derived his chief materials from the Italian 
of Bandello, or from the French of Belleforest. In Bandello 
it forms the thirty-sixtli novel of the Stconda Parte, in the 
Lucca edit. 1554. 4to, where it bears the subsequent title: — 
"Nicuola, innamorata di Lattantio, v;i a servirlo vestita da 
paggio ; e dopo molti casi seco si marita: e eio che ad un 
suo fratello avvenne." In the collection by Belleforest, 
printed at Paris in 1572, 12mo, it is headed as follows: — 
" Comme une fille Eomaine, se vestant en page, servist long 
temps un sien amy sans estrc cogneue, et depuis I'eust a 
mary, avcc autres divers discours." Although Belleforest 
inserts no names in his title, he adopts those of Bandello, but 
abridges or omits many of the speeches and some portions of 
the narrative : what in Bandello occupies several pages is some- 
times included by Belleforest in a single paragraph. We quote 
the subsequent passage, because it will more exactly show the 
degree of connexion between " Twelfth-Night" and the old 
French version : it is where Nicuola, the Viola of Shakespeare, 
disguised as a page, and under the name of Eomule, has an 
interview with Catelle, the Olivia of "Twelfth-Night," on 
behalf of Lattance, who answers to the Duke. 

" Mais Catelle, qui avoit plus I'oeil sur I'orateur et sur la 
naive beaute, que I'oreille aux paroles venant d'ailleiirs, estoit 
en une estrange peine, et volontiers se fut jettee a sou col 
pour le baiser tout a son aise; mais la honte la retint pour un 
temps : h la fin n'en pouvant plus, et vaincue de ceste impa- 
tience d'amour, et se trouvant favorisee de la commodite, ne 
scent de tant se commander, que I'embrassaut fort estroite- 
ment elle ne le baisast d'une douzaine de fois, et ce avec telle 
lascivite et gestes efl'rontez, que Eomule s'apparceut bien que 
cette-cy avait plus chere sou accoiutance que les ambassades 
de celuy qui la courtisoit. A ceste cause luy dit, Je vous 
prie, madame, me faire tant de bien que me donnant conge, 
j'aye de vous quelque gracieiise responce, avec laquelle je 
puisse ftiire content et joyeux mon seigneur, lequel est en 
Boucy et tourment contiuuel pour ne sgavoir votre volontd 
vei-s luy, et s'il a rien acquis eu vos bonnes graces. Catelle, 
humant de plus en plus le venin d'amour par les yeux, luy 
eembloit que Eomule devint de fois a autre plus beau." 

Upon the novel by Bandello two Italian plays were com- 
posed, which were printed, and have come down to our time. 
The title of one of these is given by Manningham, where he 
says that Sliakespeare's " Twelfth-Night" was " most like 
and neere to that in Italian called tnganni.'''' It was first 
acted in 1547, and the earliest edition of it, with which I am 
acquainted, did not appear until 1582, when it bore the title 
of GV Iiuianni Comedia del Siffnor N. S. The other Italian 
drama, founded upon Bandello's novel, bears a somewhat 
similar title : — GV Jngannati Commedia degV Accademici Iiv- 



tronati di Siena, which was several times printed; last, per- 
haps, in the collection Delle Uovinwdie degV Accademici Intro- 
nati di Siena, 1611, 12mo. Whether our great dramatist saw 
cither of these pieces before he wrote his " Twelfth-Night" 
may admit of doubt; but looking at the terms Manningham 
employs, it might seem as if it were a matter understood, at 
the time " Twelfth-Night " was acted at the Temple on Feb. 
2, 1G02, that it was founded upon the Inganiii. There is no 
indication in the MS. Diary that the writer of it was versed 
in Italian literature, and GV Inganni might at that day be a 
known comedy of which it was believed Shakespeare had 
availed himself. An analysis of it is given in a small tract, 
called " Farther Particulars of Shakespeare and his Works," 
Svo, 1839, but as only fifty copies of it were printed, it may 
be necessary here to enter into some few details of its plot, 
conduct, and characters. The " Argument," or explanatory 
Prologue, which precedes the first scene, will show that the 
author of GV Inganni did not adhere to Bandello by any 
means closely, and that he adopted entirely different names 
for his personages. 

" Anselmo, a Genoese merchant who traded to the Levant, 
having left his wife in Genoa gi'cat with child, had two chil- 
dren by her, one a boy called Fortunato, and the other a 
girl named Gineura. After he had borne for four years the 
desire of seeing his wife and family, he returned home to 
them, and wishing to depart again, he took them with him; 
and when they were embarked on board the vessel, he dressed 
them both in short clothes for frreater convenience, so that the 
girl looked like a boy. And on the voyage to Soria he was 
taken by Corsairs and carried into Natolia, where he re- 
mained in slavery for fourteen years. His children had a 
different fortune ; for the boy was several times sold, but 
finally here in this city, which, on this occasion, shall he Na- 
ples ; and he now serves Dorotea, a courtesan, who lives there 
at that little door. The mother and Gineura, after various 
accidents, were bonght by M. Massimo Caraccioli, who lives 
where you see this door ; but by the advice of the mother, 
who has been dead six years, Gineura has changed her name 
and caused herself to be called Euberto ; and, as her mother 
while living persuaded her, always gave herself out to be a 
boy, thinking in this way that she should be better able to 
preserve her chastity. Fortunato and Euberto, by the infor- 
mation of their mother, know themselves to be brother and 
sister. M. Massimo has a son, whom they call Gostanzo, and 
a daughter named Portia. Gostanzo is in love with Dorotea, 
the courtesan to whom Fortunato is servant^ Portia, his 
sister, is in love with Euberto, notwithstanding she is a girl, 
because she has always been thought a man. Euberto, the 
girl, not knowing how to satisfy the desires of Portia, who 
constantly importunes her, has sometimes at night conveyed 
her brother into the house in her place : he has got Portia with 
child, and she is now every hour expecting to be brought to 
bed. On the other hand, Euberto, as a girl and in love with 
her young master Gostanzo, has double si;ffering — one from 
the passion which torments her, and the other from the fear 
lest the pregnancy of Portia should be discovered. Massimo, 
the father of Portia and Gostanzo, is aware of the condition 
of his daughter, and has sent to Genoa to inquire into the 
pai-entage of Euberto, in order that if he find him ignoble, 
and unworthy to be the husband of his daughter, whom he 
believes to be with child by him, he may have him killed. 
But, by what I have heard, the father of the twins, who has 
escaped from the hands of the Turks, ought this day to be 
returned with the messenger, and I think that every thing 
will be accommodated." 

In this play, therefore. Portia, who is the Olivia of Shake- 
speare, is not stated to be a widow, and our great dramatist 
avoided the needless indelicacy of representing her to be with 
child. In GV Inganni, Gineura {i. e. Viola,) as will have 
been seen tVom the "A rgument," is not page to the man with 
whom she is in love, but to Portia : while Gostanzo, whose 
affection Gineura is anxious to obtain, is brother to her mis- 
tress. This of course makes an important difference in the 
relative situations of the parties, because Gineura, disguised 
as EiTberto, is not employed to carry letters and messages 
between the characters who represent the Duke and Olivia. 
Gostanzo being in love with a courtesan, named Dorotea, in 
the first Act, Gineura endeavours to dissuade him from his 
lawless passion, in a manner that distanth', and only dis- 
tantly, reminds us of Shakespeare. Euberto (i. e. Gineura) 
tells Gostanzo to find some object worthy of his aflfection:— 

" Gostanzo. And where shall I find her? 

Riiberto. I know one who is more lost for love of you, than you are, 

for this carrion. 
Gostanzo. Is she fair? 
Rubcrto. Indiflerently. 



Ixxxii 



IKTRODUCTIOK TO THE PLAYS. 



Gostanto. Where is she? 

Ruberto. Not far from you. 

Gostanzo. And will she be content that I should lie with her. 

Ruberto. If God wills that you should do it. 

Gostanzo. How shall I get to her ? 

Ruberto. As you would come to me. 

Gostanzo. How do you know that she loves me? 

Ruberto. Because she often talks to me of her love. 

Gostanzo. Do I know her? 

Ruberto. As well as you know me. 

Gostanzo. Is she young ? 

Ruberto. Of my age. 

Gostanzo. And loves me? 

Ruberto. Adores you. 

Gostanzo. Have I ever seen her ? 

Ruberto. As often as vou have seen me. 

Gostanzo. Why does'she not discover herself to me? 

Ruberto. Because she sees you the slave of another woman. 

The resemblance between Gineura and her brother Fortu- 
nato is so great, that Portia has mistaken the one for the 
other, and in the end, like Sebastian and Olivia, they are 
united ; while Gostanzo, being cured of his passion for Doro- 
tea, and grateful for the persevering and disinterested afi'ec- 
tion of Gineura, is married to her. Our great dramatist has 
given an actual, as well as an intellectual elevation to the whole 
subject, by the manner in which he has treated it; and has 
converted what may, in most respects, be considered a low 
comedy into a fine romantic drama. 

So liiuch for GV Inganni, and it now remains to speak of 
GP Jn'jannatl, a comedy to which, in relation to " Twelfth- 
Nislit," attention was first directed by the Eev. Joseph Hunter 
in liifl " Disquisition on Shakespeare's Tempest," p. 78. GV 
Li'/annatl follows Bandello's novel with more exactness tlian 
GV IngaAni, though both cliange the names of the parties; 
and here we have the important feature that the heroine, 
called Lelia, (disguised as Fabio) is page to Plamminio, with 
whom she is in love, but who is in love witli a lady named 
Isabella. Lelia, as in Shakespeare, is employed by Flammi- 
nio to forward his suit with Isabella. "What succeeds is part 
of the Dialogue between Leli'a, in her male attire, and Flain- 
luinio : — 

" Lelia. Do as I advise. Abandon Isabella, and love one who loves 
you in return. You may not find her as beautiful ; but, tell me, is 
there nobody else whom you can love, and who loves you ? 

Flamminio. There was a young lady named Lelia, whom, I was a 
thousand times about to tell you, you are much like. She w-as thought 
the fairest, the cleverest, and the most courteous damsel of this coun- 
try. I will show you her one of these days, for I formerly looked upon 
her with some regard. She was then rich and about the court, and I 
continued in love with her for nearly a year, during which time she 
showed me much favour. Afterwards she went to JVIirandola, and it 
was my fate to fall in love with Isabella, who has been as cruel to 
me as Lelia was kind. 

Lelia. Then you deserve the treatment you have received. Since 
you slighted her who loved you, you ought to be slighted in return 
by others. 

Flamminio. What do you say? 

Lelia. If this poor girl were your first love, and still loves you more 
than ever, why did you abandon her for Isabella? I know not who 
could pardon that offence. Ah! signer Flamminio, you did her 
grievous wTong. 

Flamminio. You are only a boy, Fabio, and know not the power 
of love. I tell you that I cannot help loving Isabella : I adore her, 
nor do I wish to think of any other woman." 

Elsewhere the resemblance between " Twelfth-Night" and 
GV I/waniuiii, in point of situation is quite as strong, but 
there the likeness ends, for in the dialogue we can trace no 
connexion between the two. The author of the Italian com- 
edy has obviously founded himself entirely upon Bandello's 
novel, of which there might be some translation in the time 
of Shakespeare more nearly approaching tlie original, than 
the version which Kieh published before our great dramatist 
visited the metropolis. Whether any such literal translation 
had or had not been made, Shakespeare may have gone to 
the Italian story, and Le NoveUe di Bandello were very well 
known in England as early as about the middle of the six- 
teenth century. If Shakespeare had followed Rich we should 
probably have discovered some verbal trace of his obligation, 
as in the cases where he followed Painter's " Palace of Plea- 
sure," or, still more strikingly, where he availed himself of 
the works of Greene and Lodge. In GV Ingannati we find 

1 From the Introduction to the same work, we find that " The 
Winter's Tale " was also represented at court on Easter Tuesday, 
1618. 

2 The expenses of eleven other plays are included in the same ac- 
count, viz. ''The Tempest," " King and no King," "The City Gal- 
lant," "The Almanack," "The Twins' Tragedy," "Cupid's Re- 
venge," "The Silver Age," " Lucretia," "The Nobleman," " Hy- 
men's Holiday," and " The Maid's Tragedy." At most, only one of 
these had been printed before they were thus acted, and some of them 



nothing but incident in common with " Twelfth-Night." 
The vast inferiority of the former to the latter in language and 
sentiment may be seen in every page, in every line. The 
mistake of the brother for the sister, by Isabelhi, is the same 
in both, and it terminates in a somewhat similar manner, for 
the female attendant of the lady, meeting Fabricio (who is 
dressed, like his sister Lelia, in white) in the street, conducts 
him to her mistress, who receives him with open arms. 
Flamminio and Lelia are of course united at the end of the 
comedv. 

The 'likeness between GV Ingannati and '' Twelfth-Night" 
is certainly in some points of the story, stronger than that; 
between GV Inganni and Shakespeare's drama; but to neither 
can we say, with any degree of certainty, that our great dra- 
matist resorted, althougli he had perhaps read both, when he 
was considering the best mode of adapting to tlie stiige the 
incidents of Bandello's novel. There is no hint, in any source 
yet discovered, for the smallest portion of the comic business 
of " Twelfth-Night," In both the Italian dramas it is of the 
most homely and vulgar materials, by the intervention of em- 
pirics, braggarts, pedants, and servants, who deal in the 
coarsest jokes, and are guilty of the grossest butfoonery. 
Shakespeare shows his infinite superiority in each depart- 
ment: in the more serious portion of his drama he employed 
the incidents furnished bj' jiredecessors as the mere scaffold- 
ing for the erection of his own beautiful edifice; and for the 
comic scenes, combining so admirably with, and assisting so 
importantly in the j'rogress of the main plot, he seems, as 
usual, to have drawn merely upon his own interminable re- 
sources. 

It was an opinion, confidently stated by Coleridge in his 
lectures in 1818, that the passage in Act ii. sc. 4, beginning 

•'Too old, by heaven : let still the woman take 
An elder than herself," &c. 

had a direct application to the circumstances of his own mar- 
riage with Anne Hathaway, who was so much senior to the 
poet. Some of Shakespeare's biograpliers had previouisly 
enforced this notion, and others have since followed it up; 
but Coleridge took the opportunity of enlarging eloquently on 
the manner in which young poets liave frequently connected 
themselves with women of very ordinary personal and mental 
attractions, the imagination supplying all deficiencies, clothing 
the object of affection with grace and beauty, and furnishing 
her with every accomplishment. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 

["The Winter's Tale" was first printed in folio in 1623, 
where it occupies twenty-seven pages, from p. 277 to 303, 
and is the last in the division of " Comedies." The back 
of p. 803 is left blank and unpaged. The later folios adopt 
the same arrangement.] 

Little doubt can be entertained, that " The Winter's Tale " 
was produced at the Globe, very soon after that theatre had 
been opened for what might be called the summer season in 
1611. In the winter, as has been well ascertained, the king's 
players performed at "the private house in Black-friars," 
and they, usually removed to the Globe, which was 0]ien to 
the sky, late in the spring. 

Three pieces of evidence tend to the conclusion, that "The 
Winter's Tale" was brought out early in 1611: the first of 
these has never until now been adduced, and it consists of 
the following entry in the account of the Master of the Revels, 
Sir Georare Buc, trom the 31st of October, IGll, to the same 
day, 1612:— 

" The 5th of November : A jilay called the winters 
uightes Tayle." 
No author's name is mentioned, but the piece was represented 
at Whitehall, by "the king's players," as we find stated in 
the marffin, and there can'bc uo hesitation in deciding that 
" The Winter's Night's Tayle " was Shakespeare's " Winter's 
Tale." The fact of its performance has been established by 
Mr. Peter Cunningham, in his valuable work, entitled, " Ex- 
tracts from the Accounts of the Revels at Court," Svo, 1812, 
printed for the Shakespeare Society^. " The Winter's Tide " 
was probably selected on account of its novelty and popu- 
larity!'. 

never came from the press. " The Nobleman," by Cyril Tourneur, 
was entered at Stationers' Hall for publication on 15th February, 
IGU. "Lucretia" may have been a different play from Heywood's 
" Rape of Lucrece," which bears date in IfiOS : if so, there is no ex- 
ception, and all that came from the press at any period were printed 
subsequently to 1611-12, the earliest in 1613, and the latest m 165.5 
Hence a strong inference may be drawn, that they were all dramas 
which had been recommended for court-performance by their novelty 
and popularity. 



INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. 



Ixxxiii 



The second piece of evidence on tliis point has also recent- 
ly come to light. It is contained in a MS. Diary, or Note- 
book, kept by Dr. Simon Forman, (MSS. Ashm. 208 ) in 
which, under date of the 15th May. 1611, he states that he 
saw " The Winter's Tale" at the Globe Theatre : this was the 
May precedniff the representation of it at Court on the 5th 
Ivovember. He gives the following brief account of the plot 
which ingeniously inclndes all the main incidents :— ' 

_" Observe there how Leontes, king of Sicilia, was overcome 
with jealousy of his wife with the king of Bohemia, his friend 
that came to see him ; and how he contrived his death, and 
would have had his cup-bearer to have poisoned [him], who 
gave the king of Bohemia warning thereof, and fled with him 
to Lohemia. Eemember, also, how he sent to the oracle of 
Apollo, and the answer of Apollo that she was guiltless and 
that the king was jealous, &c. ; and liow, except the child was 
found again that was lost, the king should die without issue; 
tor tlie child was carried into Bohemia, and there laid in a 
torest, and brought up by a shepherd; and the kinsr of Bohe- 
mia s son married that wench, and how tliev fled into Sicilia 
to Leontes ; and the shepherd having showed the letter of the 
nobleman whom Leontes sent, it was that child, and [by] the 
jewels found about her, she was known to be Leontes''dauo-li- 
ter, and was then sixteen years old. Eemember, also, the 
rogue that came in all tattered, like Coll Pipci, and how he 
feigned him sick, and to have been robbed of all he had : and 
how he cozened the poor man of all Ids money, and after 
came to the sheep-sheer with a pedlar's packe, and there 
cozenea them again of all their money. And how he chano'ed 
apparel with the king of Bohemia's son, and then how*he 
turned courtier, &c. Beware of trusting feigned be"-o-ars or 
fawning fellows." ""^ 

_ We have reason to think that " The Winter's Tale " was in 
Jts first run on the 15th May, 1611, and that the Globe Thea- 
tre had not then been long opened for the season. 

The opinion that the play was then a novelty, is strongly 
conhrmed by the third piece of evidence, which Malone dis- 
covered late m hie, and which induced him to relinquish his 
earlier opinion, that "The Winter's Tale" was written in 
Tr TT ,^o""<i a memorandum in the office-book of Sir 
Henry Herbert, Master of the Eevels, dated the 19th Auc^ust 
1623, 111 which it was stated that " The Winter's Tale," was 
an old play formerly allowed of by Sir George Buc." Sir 
George Buc was Master of the Eevels from October, 1610 
until May 1622 Sir George Buc must, therefore have 
licensed " The Winter's Tale" between October, 1610, when 
he was fippomted to his office, and May, 1611, when Forman 
saw It at the Globe. ■" ^ 

It might have been composed by Shakespeare in the autumn 
and winter of 1610-11, with a view to its production on the 



Bank-side, as soon as the usual performances by the Kino-'s 
players commenced there. Sir Ilenry Herbert informs Ss 
that when he gave permission to revive " The Winter's Tale " 
m August 162.3, "the allowed book" (that to which Sir 
George Buc had appended his signature) " was missing." It 
had no doubt been destroyed when the Globe Theatre was 
consumed by fire on 29th June, 1613. 

We have seen that "The Tempest" and "The Winter's 
ialo were both acted at Whitehall, and included in Sir 
George Buc's account of the expenses of the Eevels from 
October, 1611, to October, 1612'. How much older "The 
iempestj' might be than " The Winter's Tale," we have no 
means of determining; but there is a circumstance which 
shows that tbe composition of " The Tempest " was anterior 
to that of "The Winter's Tale;" and this brings us to speak 
of the novel upon which the latter is founded. " 

As early as the year 1588, Eobert Greene printed a tract 
urlf^ '' Pandost<): The Triumph of Time," better known as 

ihe History of Dorastus and Fawnia," the title it bore in 
some of the later copies. As fin- as we now know, it was not 
reprinted until 1607, and a third impression appeared in 1609: 
It afterwards went through many editions^; but it seems not 
unlikely that Shakespeare was directed to it, as a proper sub- 
ject tor dramatic representation, by the third impression 
which came out the year before we suppose him to have com- 
menced writing his " Winter's Tale^.*^ In many respects our 

1 The circumstance that " The Tempest" and " The Winter's Tale " 
were both acted at court at this period, and that they might belon<r to 
!!f 1, Ir*^ f"iZ ^^^^°^ composition, seems to give great additional 
probability to the opinion, that Ben Jonson alluded to them in the 
lollowing passage in the Induction to his " Bartholomew Fair," which 
was acted in 1614 while t^hakespeare's two plays were still' high in 
popular favour :-" If there be never a Servant-monster V the Fair, 
who can help it, he says ? nor a nest of Anticks ? He is loth to make 
nature afraid in his Playes. like those that beget Tales, Tempests, 
and such like Droller,es." The Italic type and the capitals are al 
tliey stand in the original edition in folio, 1C31. Gifford (Ben Jon- 
son s Works, Vol. IV. p. 370) could not be brought to acknowledge 



great dramatist follows Greene's story very closelv, as mav 
be seen by some of the notes in the course of the'plav -uid 
by the recent republication of " Pandosto " from the unique 
copy of 1588, in " Shakespeare's Library." There is how- 
ever, one remarkable variation, which it is necessary to point 
out. Greene says : — j f 

"The guard left her" (the Queen) "in this peri,lexitie 
and earned the child to the king, who, quite devoide of pitv' 
commanded that without delay it should be put in the bo-tt' 
having neither sail nor rudder to guide it, and so to be ear- 
ned nito the midst of the sea, and there left to the wind and 
wave, as the destinies please to appoint." 

The child thus " left to the wind and wave" is the Perdita 
of Shakespeare, who describes the way in which the infant 
was exposed very differently, and probably for this reason:— 
that in " The Tempest " he had previously (perhaps not long 
before) represented Prospero and Miranda turned adrift at 
sea m the same manner as Greene had stated his heroine to 
have been disposed of. When, therefore, Shakespeare came 
to wnte "The Wmter's Tale," instead of following Greene, 
as he had usually done in other minor circumstances he 
vaned from the original narrative, in onler to avoid an obicc- 
tionable similanty of incident in his two dramas. It is true 
that in the conclusion Shakespeare has also made important 
and most judicious changes in the story; since nothino' could 
well be more revolting than for Pandosto (who answers to 
Leontes) first to fall dotingly in love with his own daughter 
and afterwards to commit suicide. The termination to which 
our gi-eat dramatist brings the incidents is at once strikinf^- 
natural, and beautiful, and is an equal triumph of iud^meut 
and power. j o " 

It is, perhaps, singular that Malone, who observed upon 
the "involved parenthetical sentences" prevailing in "The 
Winter's Tale," did not in that very peculiarity fi*iid a proof 
that It must have been one of Shakespeare's later productions 
Jn the Stationers' Eegisters there is no earlier entry of it than 
that of Nov. 8, 1623, when the publication of the fir.st folio 
was contemplated by Blount and Jaggard : it originally ap- 
peared m that volume, where it is regularly divided^intoActs 
and Scenes: the " Wynter's Nighte's Pastime," noticed in 
the registers under date of May 22, 1594, must have been a 
difierent work. If any proof of the kind were wanted, we 
learn Irom two lines in " Dido, Queen of Carthage," by Mar- 
lowe and Nash, 1594, 4to, that " a winter's tale" was a then 
current phrase : — 

" Who would not undergoe all kinde of toyle 
To be well stor"d with such a tvinter's tale?^ 



Sign. D. .3 b. 

In representing Bohemia to be a maritime country, Shake- 
speare adopted the popular notion, as it had been encouraged 
smce 1588 by Greene's " Pandosto." With regard to the pre- 
vailing ignorance of geography, the subsequent passao-e from 
John Taylor's " Travels to Prague in Bohemia," a journey per- 
formed by him in 1620, shows that the satiricalwriter did not 
consider it strange that an alderman of London was not aware 
that a fleet of ships could not ai-rive at a port of Bohemia ■— 
" I am no sooner eased of him, but Gregory Gandergoose "an 
Alderman of Gotham, catches me by the goll, demanding if 
Bohemia be a great town, and whether there be any meat in 
it, and whether the last fleet of ships be arrived there." It 
is to be observed, that Shakespeare reverses the scene of 
" Pandosto," and represents as passing in Sicily, what Greene 
had made to occur in Bohemia. In several "places he more 
verbally followed Greene in this play than lie did even Lodge 
in "As You Like it;" but the general variations are fn-eater 
from "Pandosto" than from "Eosalynde." Shake'spearo 
does not adojit one of the appellations given bv Greene • and 
it may he noticed that, just anterior to the tiiiie of our 'poet 
the name he assigns to the Queen of Leontes had been em- 
ployed as that of a male character: in " The rare Triumphs 
of Love and Fortune," acted at court in 1581-2, and printed 
in 1589, Hermione is the lover of the heroine. 

_" The idea of this delightful drama " (says Coleridge in his 
Lit. Eem. vol. ii. p. 250) is a genuine jealou.sy of disposition, 
and it should be immediately followed by the perusal of 
' Othello,' which is the direct contrast of it in every particu- 

that the words " Servant-monster," "Anticks," " Tales," and "Tem- 
pests," applied to Shakespeare, but with our present information the 
iact seems hardly disputable. 

= How long it continued popular, may be judged from the fact that 
it was printed as a chap-book as recentlv as the year 1735, when it 
was called '• The Fortunate Lovers ; or the History of Ilorastus. Prince 
of Sicily, and of Fawnia, only daughter and heir to the King of Bo- 
hemia," I'imo. 

^ In a note upon a passage in Act iii. sc. 2, a reason is assigned for 
thinking that Shakespeare did not employ the first edition of Greene's 
novel, but in all probability that of 1609. 



Ixxxiv 



INTRODUCTION" TO THE PLAYS. 



lar. For jealousy is a vice of the mind, a culpable tendency 
of temper, having certain well known and well defined eft'ects 
and concomitants, all of which are vi)^ible in Lcoiites, and I 
boldly say, not one of which marks its presence in Othello : — 
such 'as, first, an excitability by tlie most inadequate causes, 
and an eagerness to snatch at proofs ; secondly, a grossness 
of conception, and a disposition to degrade the object of the 
passion by sensual fancies and images ; thirdly, a sense of 
shame of his own feelings exhibited "in a solitary moodiness 
of humour, and yet from the violence of the passion forced to 
utter itself, and therefore catching occasions to ease the mind 
by ambiguities, and equivoques, by talking to those who can- 
not, and who are known not to be able to understand what 
is said to them ; in short, by soliloquy in the form of dialogue, 
and hence a confused, broken, and fragmentary manner; 
fourthly, a dread of vulgar ridicule, as distinct from a high 
sense o'f honour, or a mistaken sense of duty ; and lastly, and 
immediately consequent on this, a spirit of selfish vindictive- 



ness.' 



In his lectures in 1815, Coleridge dwelt on the " not easily 
jealous " frame of Othello's mind, and on the art of the great 
poet in working upon his generous and unsuspecting nature : 
he contrasted the characters of Othello and Leontes in this 
respect, the latter from predisposition requiring no such ma- 
lignant instigator as lago. 



THE 

LIFE AND DEATH OF IQNG JOHN. 

[" The Life and Death of King John " was first printed in the 
folio of 1623, where it occupies twenty-two pages ; viz. from 
p. 1 to p. 22 inclusive, a new pagination beginning with the 
" Histories." It occupies the 'same place and the same 
space ill the re-impressions of 1632, 1664, and 1685.] 
" Kixo John," the earliest of Shakespeare's "Histories" 
in the folio of 1623, (where they are arranged according to the 
reigns of the ditierent monarclis) first appeared in that vol- 
ume,i and the Eegisters of the Stationers' Company have 
searched in vain for any entry regarding it: it is not enume- 
rated by Blount and .Jaggard on the 8th Nov. 1623, when 
they ins'erted a list of the pieces, " not formerly entered to 
other men," about to be included in their folio : hence an in- 
ference might be drawn that there had been some previous 
entry of "King John" " to other men," and, perhaps, even 
that the play had been already published^. 

It seems indisputable that ShaKespcare's " King John " was 
founded upon an older play, three times printed anterior to 
the publication of the folio of 1623: "The first and second 
part of the troublesome Eeign of Jolm, King of England," 
came from the press in 159i, 1611, and 1622.3 Malone, and 
others who have adverted to this production, have obviously 
not had the several impressions before them. The earliest 
copy, that of 1501, has no name on tlie title-page: that of 1611 
has"" W. Sh." to indicate the author, and that of 1622, " W. 
Shakespeare," the sur-uame only at length.* Steevens once 
thought that the ascription of it to Shakespeare by fraudulent 
booksellers, wlio wished it to be taken for his popular work, 
was correct, but he subsequently abandoned this untenable 
opinion. Pope attributed it jointly to Sliakespeare and Wil- 
liam Rowley ; and Farmer " made no doubt that Eowley wrote 
the first King John." There is, however, reason to believe 
that Rowley was not an author at so early a date : his first 
extant printed work Avas a play, in writing which he aided 
John Day and George Wilkins, called " The Travels of three 
English Brothers," 1607. In 1591, he must have been very 
young ; but we are not therefore to conclude decisively that 
his name is not, at any period and in any way, to be connect- 
ed with a drama on the incidents of the reign of King John ; 
for the tradition of Pope's time may have been founded upon 

1 It purports to be diyided into acts and scenes, but very irregularly : 
thus what is called Actus Secundus fills no more than about half a 
page, and Actus Quartus is twice repeated. The later folios adopt 
this defective arrangement, excepting that in that of 1632 Actus 
Quintus is made to precede Actus Quartus. 

2 On the 29th Nov. 1614, " a booke called the Historie of George 
Lord Faulconbridge, bastard son of Richard Cordelion," was entered 
on the Stationers' Registers, but this was evidently the prose romance 
of which an edition in 1616, 4to. is extant. Going back to 1558, it 
appears that a book, called " Cur de Lion," was entered on the Sta- 
tioners' Register of that year. 

3 '• It was written, I believe (says Malone), by Robert Greene, or 
George Peele," biit he produces nothing in support of his opinion. 
The mention of " the Scythian Tamberlaine," in the Prologue to the 
edition of the old " King John," in 1591, might lead us to suppose 
that it was the production of Marlowe, who did not die until 1593 ; 
but the style of the two parts is evidently different : rhyming couplets 
are much more abvindant in the first than in the second, and there is 
reason to believe, according to the frequent custom of that age, that 



the fiiet that, at some later date, he was instrumental in a re- 
vival of the old "King John." 

How long the old " King John" had been in possession of 
the stage prior to 1591, when it was originally printed, we 
have no precise information*, but Shakespeare found it there, 
and took the course usual with dramatists of the limee, by 
applying to his own purposes as much of it as ho thought 
would be advantageous. He converted the " two parts " into 
one drama, and in many of its main features followed the 
story, not as he knew it in history, but as it was fixed in po- 
pular belief. In some particulars he much improved upon the 
conduct of the incidents: for instance, in the first aci of the 
old "King John," Lady Falconbridge is, needlessly and ob- 
jectionably, made a spectator of the scene in which the bas- 
tardy of her son Philip is discussed before King John and his 
mother. Another amendment of the original is the absence 
of Constance from the stage when the marriage between 
Lewis and Blanch is debated and determined. A third ma- 
terial variation ought not to be passed over without remark. 
Although Shakespeare, like tlie author or authors of the old 
" King John," employs the Bastard furcibly to raise money 
from the monasteries in England, he avoids the scenes of ex- 
tortion and ribaldry of the elder play, in whicli the monks 
and nuns are turned into ridicule, and the indecency and 
licentiousness of their lives exposed. Supposing the old 
"King John" to have been brought upon the stage not long 
after the defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588, when the 
hatred of the Roman Catholics was at its height, such an ex- 
hibition mtrst have been extremely gratifying to the taste of 
vulgar audiences. Shakespeare might justly hold in contempt 
such a mode of securing applause ; or, possibly, his own re- 
ligious tenets (a point which is considered at length, with 
the addition of some new information, in the biography of 
the poet) might induce him to touch lightly upon such mat- 
ters. Certain it is, that the elder drama contains much coarse 
abuse of the Roman Catholics, and violent invective against 
the ambition of the pontiff, little of which is found in Shake- 
speare. It is, however, easy to discover reasons why ho 
would I'efuse to pander to popular prejudice, without sup- 
posing him to feel direct sympathy with the enemies of the 
Reformation. 

Some of the principal incidents of the reign of John had 
been converted into a drama, with the purpose of promoting 
the Reformation, very early in the reign of Elizabeth, if not 
in that of Edward VI. We refer to the play of " Kynge 
Johan," by Bishop Bale, which, like the old " King John," 
is in two parts, though we can trace no other particular re- 
semblance. It was printed by the Camden Society, from the 
author's original MS. (in the library of the duke of Devon- 
shire) in 1888, and is a specimen of the mixture of allegory 
and history in the same play, perhaps unexampled. As it 
was, doubtless, unknown both to the author or authors of the 
old "King John," as well as to Shakespeare, it requires no 
farther notice here, than to show at how early a date that por- 
tion of our annals had been brought upon the stage. 

Upon the question, when " King John " was written by 
Shakespeare, we have no knowledge beyond the fact that 
Francis Meres introduces it into his list in 1598. Malone spe- 
culated that it was composed in 1596, but he does not place 
reliance upon the internal evidence he himself adduces, which 
certainly is of a more than usually vague character. Chalmers, 
on the other hand, would assign the play to 1598, but the 
chance seems to be, that it was written a short time before it 
was spoken of by Meres : we should be disposed to assign it 
to a date between 1596 and 1598, when the old " King John," 
which was pi'obably in a course of representation in 1591, had 
gone a little out of recollection, and when Meres would have 
had time to become acquainted with Shakespeare's drama, 
from its popularity either at the Globe or Blackfriars' The- 
atres. 

more than one dramatist was concerned in the composition of the 
play. 

* The edition of 1591 was printed for Sampson Clarke : that of 1611, 
by Valentine Simmes. for John Helme ; and that of 1622, by Aug. 
Mathews, for Thomas Dewe. 

5 The edition of 1591 is preceded by a Prologue, omitted in the two 
later impressions, which makes it quite clear that the old " King 
John," was posterior to Marlowe's " Tamberlaine :" it begins, 

" You that with friendly grace of smoothed brow, 
Have entertained the Scythian Tamberlaine," &.O. 

In the Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. iii. p. 112, 
reasons are assigned for believing that Marlowe's " Tamberlaine " was 
acted about 15S7. 

6 In Henslowe's MS. Diary, under the date of May, 1598, we meet 
with an entry of a play by Robert Wilson, Henr>' Chettle, Anthony 
Munday, and Michael Drayton, entitled '• The Funerals of Richard 
Cordelion." It possibly had no connexion with the portion of historj 
to which Shakespeare's play and the old " King John " relate. 



I 



mXEODUCTIOK TO THE PLAYS. 



Ixxxv 



KING KICHAED II. 

[" Tlie Trasredie of King Kichard the second. As it hath 
beene publikely acted by the right Honourable the Lorde 
Chamberlaine his Scruants. London Printed by Valentine 
Sinimes for Androw Wise, and are to be sold at his shop 
in Panics cliurcli yard at the sigue of tlie Angel. 1597. 
4to. 37 leaves. 
" Tl'.o Tragcdie of King Kichard the second. As it hath beene 
publikely acted by the Eight Honourable the Lord Cham- 
berlaine his seruauts. By William Shake-speare. London 
Printed by Valentine Simmes for Andrew Wise, and are 
to be sold at his shop in Paules churchyard at the signe of 
the Angel. 1598." 4to. S6 leaves. 
"The Tragcdie of King Ki chard the Second: with new ad- 
ditions of the Parliament Sceane, and the deposing of King 
Eichard. As it hath been lately acted by the Kinges Ma- 
iesties seruantes, at the Globe. By William Shake-speare. 
At London, Printed by W. W. for Mathew Law, and arc 
to bo sold at liis sliop in Paulo's churchyard, at the signe 
oftheFoxe. 160S." 4to. 39 leaves. 
" The Tragedie of King Eichard the Second : with new ad- 
ditions of the Parliament Sceane, and tlie deposing of King 
Eichard. As it hatli been lately acted by the Kinges Ma- 
iesties seruants, at the Globe. By William Shake-speare. 
At London, Printed for Mathew Law, and are to be sold 
at his shop in Paules Cliurch-yard, at the signe of the Foxe. 
1615." 4to. 39 leaves. 
In the folio of 1623, " The life and death of King Kichard the 
Second" occupies twenty-three images, viz. from p. 23 to 
p. 45, inclusive. The three other folios reprint it in the 
same form, and in all it is divided into Acts and Scenes.] 
Above we have given the titles of four quarto editions of 
" King Eichard IL," which preceded the publicaion of the 
folio of 1628, and whicli were all published during the life- 
time of Shakespeare : tliey bear date respectively in 1597, 
1598, 1608, and 1615. It will be observed that the title of 
the edition of 1608 states that it contains "new additions 
of the Parliament Scene,' and tlie deposing of King Eichard." 
The Duke of Devonshire is in possession of an unique copy, 
dated 1608, the title of which merely follows the wording of 
the preceding impression of 1598, omitting any notice of 
" new additions," tliough containing the whole of them'. 
The name of our great dramatist first appears in connection 
with this historical play in 1598, as if Simmes the printer, and 
Wise the stationer, when they printed and published their 
edition of 1597, did not know, or were not authorized to state, 
that Shakespeare was the writer of it. Precisely the same 
was the case witli "King Eichard HL," printed and pnb- 
lislied by the same parties in the same year, and of whicli 
also a second edition appeared in 1598, with the name of the 
author. 

We will first speak regarding the date of the original pro- 
duction of " Eichard IL," and then of the period when it is 
hkely that the " new additions" were inserted. 

It was entered on the Stationers' Eegister in 1597, in the 
following manner : — 

" 29 Aug. 1597. 
Andrew Wise.] The Tragedye of Eichard the Seconde." 
This memorandum was made anterior, but perhaps only 
shortly anterior, to the actual publication of " Eichard II. ," 
and it forms tlie earliest notice of its existence. Malone sup- 
poses that it was written in 1593, but he does not produce a 
single fact or argument to establish his position ; nor perhaps 
could any be adduced beyond the circumstance, that having 
assigned the " Comedy of Errors " to 1592, and " Love's La- 
bour 's Lost" to 1594, he had left an interval between those 
years in which he could place not only " Eichard II." but 
" Eichard III." In fact, we can arrive at no nearer approx- 
imation ; althougli Chalmers, in liis " Supplemental Apology," 
contended that a note of time was to be found in the allusions 
in the first and second Acts to the disturbances in Ireland. 
It is quite certain that the rebellion in that country was re- 
newed in 1594, and proclaimed in 1595 : but it is far from 

1 There is another circumstance belonging to the title-page of the 
Duke of Devonshire's copy which deserves notice : it states that the 
play was printed " as it hath been publikely acted by the Ri^ht Ho- 
nourable the Lord Chamberlaine, his seruantes." the company to 
which Shakespeare belonged were not called the servants of the Lord 
Chamberlain after James I. came to the throne, but " the King's 
Majesty's servants," as in the title-page of the other copy of 1G08. 
This fact might give rise to the supposition, that it had been intended 
to reprint an edition of Richard IL, including " the Parliament 
scene," but not mentioning it, before the death of Elizabeth; but 
that for some reason it was postponed for about five years. 

2 There might be many reasons why the exhibition of the deposing 
of Richard IL would be objectionable to Elizabeth, especially after 



clear that any reference to it was intended by Shakespeare. 
Where the matter is so extremely doubtful, we shall not at- 
tempt to fix on any particular year. If any argument, one 
rt'ay or tlie other, could be founded upon the publication of 
Daniel's " Civil Wars," in 1595, it would show that that poet 
had made alterations in subsequent editions of his poem, in 
order, pcrluqis, to fall in more with the popular notions re- 
garding the history of tlie time, as produced by the success 
of the plav of our great dramatist. Mercs mentions " Eichard 
the 2" ill" 1598. 

Eespecting the " new additions " of " tlic deposing of King 
Eichard " we have some evidence, the existence of which was 
not known in the time of Malone, who conjectured that this 
scene had originally formed part of Shakespeare's play, and 
was "suppressed in the printed copy of 1597, from tlic fear 
of oflendin<r Elizabeth," and not publislied, with the rest, 
until 1608=."'Such may have been the case, but we now know 
that there were two separate plays upon the events of the 
reign of Kichard II. , and the deposition seems to have formed 
a portion of both. On the 30th Aprl, 1611, Dr. Simon For- 
man saw " Eichard 2," as he expressly calls it, at the Globe 
Theatre, for which Shakespeare was a writer, at which he had 
been an actor, and in the receipts of wliicli he was interested. 
In his original Diary, (MS. Ashm. 208,) preserved in the 
Bodleian Library, Forman inserts the following account of, 
and observations upon, the plot of the "Eichard II.," he 
having been present at tlie representation: — 

"Eemember therein how Jack Straw, by his overmuch 
boldness, not being politic, nor suspecting any thing, was 
suddenly, at Smithfield Bars, stabbed by Walworth, the 
Mavor of London ; and so he and his whole army was over- 
thrown. Therefore, in such case, or the like, never admit 
any party without a bar between, for a man cannot be too 
wise, nor keep himself too safe. Also, remember how the 
Duke of Gloustcr, the Earl of Arundel, Oxford, and others, 
crossing the King in his humour about the Duke of Erland 
(Ireland) and Bushy, were glad to fly and raise a host of men : 
and being in his castle, how the Duke of Erland came by 
niG;ht to betray him, with 300 men ; but, having privy warning 
thereof, kept his gates fast, and would not suffer the enemy 
to enter, which went back again with a fly in his ear, and 
after was slain by the Earl of Arundel in the battle. Eemem- 
ber, also, when the Duke (/•. e. of Gloucester) and Arundel. came 
to London with their armv. King Eichard came forth to them, 
and met them, and gave them fliir words, and promised them 
pardon, and that all should be well, if they would discharge 
their armv ; upon whose promises and fair speeches they did 
it : and after, the King bid them all to a banquet, and so be- 
trayed them, and cut' off their heads, &c., because they had 
not his pardon under his hand and seal before, but his word. 
Eemember therein, also, how the Duke of Lancaster privily 
contrived all villainv to set them all together by the ears, and 
to make the nobility to envy the King, and mislike him and 
his £rovcrnment ; bv which means he made his own son king, 
which was Henry'Bolingbroke. Eemember, also, how the 
Duke of Lancaster asked a wise man whether himself should 
ever be kinsr ; and he told him no, but his son should be a 
kinsr: and when he had told him, he hanged him up for his 
labour, because he should not bruit abroad, or speak thereof 
to others. This was a policy in the Commonwealth's opinion, 
but I sav it' was a villain's part, and a Judas' kiss, to hang 
the man'for telling him the truth. Beware by this example 
of noblemen and their fair words, and say little to them, lest 
they do the like to thee for thy good will." 

The quotation was first published in " New Particulars re- 
garding Shakespeare and his Works," 8vo, 1836, where it 
was suggested that this " Kichard II." might be the play 
which Sir Gilly Merrick and others are known to have pro- 
cured to be acted the afternoon before the insurrection 
headed by the Earls of Essex and Southampton, in 1601 ; 
(Bacon's Works by Mallet, iv. 320) but in a letter, published 
in a note to the same tract, Mr. Amyot argued, that " the 
deposing of King Eichard " probably formed no part ot the 
play Forman saw, and tliat it might actually be another, and 

the insurrection of Lords Essex and Southampton. Thorpe'.s Custu- 
male Roffense, p. 89, contains an account of an mteri'iew between 
Lamharde (when he presented his pandect of the records of the Tower) 
and Elizabeth, shortly subsequent to that event, m which she ob- 
served, " I am Richard the Second, know you not that ? Lambarde 
replied, " Such a wicked imagination was determined and attempted 
by a most unkind gentleman, the most adorned creature that ever 
your Majestie made." " He (said the Queen) that will forgett God 
will alsoe forgett his benefactors." The publication of the edition 
of 1603, without the mention on the title-page of -'the Paxliaraent 
Scene, and the deposing of King Richard,' might have been con- 
templated about this date. 



Ixxxvi 



INTKODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. 



a lost play by Shakespeare, intended as a "first part " to his 
extant drama on the later portion of the reign of that monarch. 
It is also true that Fornian says nothing of the formal depo- 
sition of Eichard II. ; but he tells us that in the course of the 
drama the Duke of Lancaster " made his own son King," and 
he could not do so without something like a deposition ex- 
hibited or narrated. It is also to be observed, that if For- 
man's account be at all correct, Shakespeare could never have 
exhibited the characters of the King and of Gaunt so incon- 
sistently in two parts of the same play. The Richard and 
the Gaunt of Forman, with their treachery and cruelty, are 
totally xmlike the Eichard and Gaunt of Shakespeare. For 
these reasons we may, perhaps, arrive at the conclusion, that 
it was a distinct draina, and not by Shakespeare. We rnay 
presume, also, that it was the very piece which Sir Gilly 
Merrick procured to be represented, and for the performance 
of which, according to a passage in the arraignment of Ouflfe 
and Merrick, the latter paid forty shillings additional, because 
it was an old play, and not likely to attract an audience. 

The very description of the plot given by Forman reads as 
if it were an old play, with the iisual quantity of blood and 
treachery. How it came to be popular enough, in 1611, to bo 
performed at the Globe must be matter of mere speculation : 
perhaps the revival of it by the party of the Earls of Essex 
and Southampton had recalled public attention to it, and im- 
provements might have been made which would render it a 
favourite in 1611, though it had been neglected in 1601. 

Out of those improvements, and out of this renewed popu- 
larity, may, possibly, have grown the " new additions," which 
were first printed with the impression of Shakespeare's 
" Eichard II." in 1G08', and which solely relate to the deposing 
of the King. On the other hand, if these " new additions," 
as they wei-e termed in 1608, were only a suppressed part of the 
original play, there seems no sufficient ground for concluding 
that it was not Shakespeare's drama which was acted at the 
instance of Sir Gilly Merrick in 1601. If it were written in 
1593, as Malone imagined, or even in 1596, according to the 
speculation of Chalmers, it might be called an old play in 1601, 
considering the rapidity with which dramas were often writ- 
ten and brought out at the period of which we are speaking. 
If neither Shakespeare'fs play, nor that described by Forman, 
were tlie pieces selected by Sir Gilly Merrick, there must 
have been three distinct plays, in the possession of the com- 
panv acting at the Globe, upon the events of the reign of 
Eichard IL 

For the incidents of this " most admirable of all Shake- 
speare's purely historical plays," as Coleridge calls it, (Lit. 
Ecm. ii. 164,) our great poet appears to have gone no farther 
than Ilolinshed, who was himself indebted to Hall and Fabian. 
However, Shakespeare has nowhere felt himself bound to ad- 
liere to chronology when it better answered his purpose to 
desert it. Tlius, the Prince of Wales, afterwards Henry V., 
is spoken of in Act v. sc. 3, as frequenting taverns and stews, 
when he was in fact only twelve years old. Marston, in a 
short address before his " Wonder of Women," 1606, aiming 
a blow at Ben Jonson, puts the duty of a dramatic author 
in tliis respect upon its true footing, when he says, " I have 
not laboured to tie myself to relate anything as a historian, 
but to enlarge everything as a poet ;" and what we have just 
referred to in this play is exactly one of those anachronisms 
which, in the words of Schlegel, Shakespeare committed 
" purposely and most deliberately^." His design, of course, 
was in this instance to link together "Eichard II." and the 
first part of " Henry IV." 

Of the four quarto editions of "Eichard II." the most valu- 
able, for its readings and general accuracy beyond all dispute, 
is the impression of 1597. The other three quartos were, 
more or less, printed from it, and the folio of 1623 seems to 
have taken the latest, that of 1615, as the foundation of its 
text; but, from a few words found only in the folio, it may 
seem that the player-editors referred also to some extrinsic 
authority. It is quite certain, however, that the folio copied 
obvious and indisputable blunders from the quarto of 1615. 
There are no fewer than eight places where the folio omits 
passatres inserted in the quartos, in one instance to the de- 
struclion of the continuity of the sense, and in most to the 
detriment of the play. Hence not only the expediency, but 
the absolute necessity of referring to the quarto copies, from 
which we have restored all the missing lines, and have dis- 
tinguished them by placing them between brackets. 

1 It may perhaps he inferred that there was an intention to publish 
the " history," -with these " new additions," in 1603 ; at all events, in 
that year the right in " Richard II." " Richard III." and " Henry IV." 
part i. was transferred to Matthew Law, in whose name the plays 
came out when the next editions of them appeared. The entry re- 
lating to them in the books of the Stationers' Company runs 
thus : — 



FIKST PAET OF KING HENKY IV. 

[" The History of Ilenrie the Fovrth ; With the battell at 
Shrewsburie, betweene the King and I^ord Henry Percy, 
surnamed Ilenrie Hotspur of tlie North. With the humor- 
ous conceits of Sir John Falstiilfte. At London, printed by 
P. S. for Andrew Wise, dwelling in Panics Churchyard, at 
the signe of the Angell. 1598." ito. 40 leaves. 

" The History of Henry the Fovrth ; With the battell at 
Shrewsburie, betweene the King and Lord Henry Percy, 
surnamed Henry Hotspur of the North. With the humor- 
ous conceits of Sir lohn Falstalfl'e. Newly corrected by 
W. Shake-speare. At London, Printed byS.S. for Andrew 
Wise, dwelling in Panics Churchyard, at the signe of the 
AngcU. 1599." 4to. 40 leaves. 

" The" History of Henrie the Fourth, With the battell at 
Shrewsburie, betweene the King, and Lord Henry Percy, 
Burnaraed Henry Hotspur of the North. With the humor- 
ous conceits of Sir lohn Falstaltfe. Newly corrected by 
W. Shake-speare. London Printed by Valentine Simmes, 
for Mathew Law, and are to be solde at his shop in Panics 
Churchyard, at the signe of the Fox. 1604." 4to. 40 leaves. 

"The History of Henry the fourth. With the battell of 
Shrewseburie, betweene the King, and Lord Henry Percy, 
surnamed Henry Hotspur of the North. With the hnmor- 
ous conceitcs of Sir lohn Falstaltfe. Newly corrected by 
W. Shake-speare. London, Printed for Mathew Law, and 
are to be sold at his shop in Paules Churchyard, ncere unto 
S. Augustines gate, at the signe of the Foxe. 1608." 4to. 
40 leaves. 

The 4to edition of 1613 also consists of 40 leaves : and the only 
differences between its title-page and that of 1608 are the 
date, and the statement that it was " Printed bv W. W." 

In the folio of 1623, " The First Part of Henry the Fourth, 
with tlie Life and Death of Henry Sirnamed Hot-spvrre," 
occupies twenty-six pages, viz. from p. 46 to p. 73 inclusive. 
In the later folios itis reprinted in the same form.] 

At the time when Shakespeare selected the portion of his- 
tory included in the following play, as a fit subject for drama- 
tic representation, the stage was in possession of an old play, 
entitled, " The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth," of 
which three early impressions, one printed in 1598, and two 
others without elate, have come down to us : a copy of one 
edition without date is in the Collection of the Duke of 
Devonshire; and, judging from the type and other circum- 
stances, we may conclude that it was anterior to the impression 
of 1598, and that it made its appearance shortly after 1594, on 
the 14tli of May of which year it was entered on the Station- 
er.s' Eegisters. Eichard Tarlton, who died in 1588; was an 
actor in that piece, but how long before 1588 it had been pro- 
duced, we have no means of ascertaining. It is, in fact, in 
prose, although many portions of it are printed to look like 
verse, because, at tlie date when it first came from tlie press, 
blank-verse had become popular on the stage, and the book- 
seller probably was desirous of giving the old play a modern 
apjiearance. Our most ancient public dramas were composed 
in rhyme : to rhyme seems to liave succeeded prose ; and 
prose, about the date when Shakespeare is believed to have 
originally come to London, was displaced by blank-verse, in- 
termixed with couplets and stanzas. " The Famous Victories 
of Henry the Fifth" seems to belong to the middle period ; 
and as Stephen Gosson, in his "School of Abuse," 1579, leads 
us to suppose that at that time prose was not v^ry usunJ in 
theatrical performances, it may be conjectured that " The 
Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth" was not written until 
after 1580. 

That a play upon the events of the reign of Henry Y. was 
upon the stage in 1592, we have the indisputable evidence of 
Thomas Nash, in his notorious work, " Pierce Penniless, his 
Supplication," which went through three editions in the same 
year : we quote from the first, (Sign. H 2.) where he says, 
" What a glorious thing it is to have Henry the Fifth repre- 
sented on the Stage, leading the French King prisoner, and 
forcing him and the Dolphin to sweare fealtie." We know 
also that a drama, called "Harry tlie V.," was performed by 
Henslowe's Company on the 28th November, 1595, and it ap- 
pears likely that it was a revival of " The Famous Victories," 
with some important additions, which gave it the attraction 
of a new play ; for the receipts (as we find by Henslowe's 

"27 June 1603 

" Matth. Lawe] in full Coiirte, iij Enterludes or playes. The 

iirst of Richard the 3d. The second of Richard the 2d. 

The third of Henry the 4, the first pte. all Kings." 

2 " Ich unternehme darzuthun., dass Shakespeare's Anachronismen 

mehrentheils geflissentlich und mit grossem Bedacht angebracht 

sind." — Ueber dramatische Kunst and Litteratur, vol. ii. 43. 



mTEODUCTIO^N" TO THE PLAYS. 



Ixxxvii 



Diary) were of such an amount as was generally only pro- 
duced by a first representation. Out of this circumstance 
may have arisen the pu})lieation of the early undated edition 
in the possession of tlie Duke of Devonshire. The reproduc- 
tion of "The Famous Victories" by a rival company, and the 
appearance of it from the press, possibly led Shakespeare to 
consider in what way, and with what improvements, he could 
avail himself of some of the same incidents for the theatre to 
which he belonged. This event would at once make the sub- 
iect popular, and hence, perhaps, the re-impression of " The 
i'amous Victories of Henry the Fifth" in 1598i. The year 
1596 may possibly have been the date when Shakespeare wrote 
his " Henry IV." Part i. 

It is to be observed, that the incidents which are summarily 
dismissed in one old play, are extended by our frreat dramatist 
over three — the two parts of " Henry IV." and " Henry V." 
It is impossible to institute any parallel between " The Fa- 
mous Victories" and Shakespeare's dramas ; for, besides that 
the former has reached us evidently in an imperfect shape, the 
immeasurable superiority of the latter is such, as to render 
any attempt to trace resemblance rather a matter of contrast 
than comparison. Who might be the writer of " The Famous 
Victories," it would be idle to speculate ; but it is decidedly 
inferior to most of the extant works of Marlowe, Greene, 
Peele, Kyd, Lodge, or any other of the more celebrated pre- 
decessors of Shakespeare. 

Sir John Oldcaslle is one of the persons in " The Famous 
Victories;" and no doubt can be entertained that the charac- 
ter of Sir John Falstaff, in the first part of Shakespeare's 
" Henry IV.," was originally called Sir John Oldcastle. If any 
hesitation could formerly have been felt upon this point, it 
must have been recently entirely removed by Mr. Halliwell's 
very curious and interesting tract, " On the character of Sir 
John Falstaff, as originally exhibited by Shakespeare," 12mo. 
1841. How the identity of Oldcastle and Falstaff could ever 
have been questioned after the discovery of the following 

£assage in a plaj? by Nathaniel Field, called, "Amends for 
radies," 1G18, it is difficult to comprehend : the lines seem to 
us decisive : — 

"Did you never see 

The play where the fat knight, hight Oldcastle, 
Did tell you truly what this honour was ?" 

This can allude to nothing but to Falstaff 's speech in Act v. 
sc. 2, of the ensuing play ; and it would also show (as Mr. 
Halliwell points out) that Falstaff sometimes " retained the 
name of Oldcastle after the author had altered it to that of 
Falstaff=." This fact is i-emarkable, recollecting that " Amends 
for Ladies" could hardly have been written before 1611, that 
prior to that date no fewer than four editions of " Henry IV." 
Part i., had been printed, on the title-pages of which Falstaff 
was prominently introduced, and that he was called by no 
other name from the beginning to the end of that drama. 
The case is somewhat different with respect to Shakespeare's 
" Henry IV." Part ii., which contains a singular confirmatory 
piece of evidence that Falstaff' was still called Oldcastle after 
that continuation of the " history" had been written and per- 
formed. In Acti. sc. 2 of the drama. Old. is given as the j^re- 
fix to one of Falstaff 's speeches. The error is met with in no 
other part of the play, and when the MS. for the quarto, 1600, 
was corrected for the press, this single passage escaped obser- 
vation, and the ancient reading was preserved itntil it was 
expunged in the folio of 1623. Malone and Steevens, in op- 
position to Theobald, argue that Old. was not meant for Old- 
castle, but was the commencement of the name of some actor : 
none such belonged to Shakespeare's company, and the pro- 
bability is all in favour of Theobald's supposition. 

This change must have been made by Shakespeare anterior 
to the spring of 1598, because we then meet with the subse- 
quent entry in the Stationers' Eegisters, relating to the earliest 
edition of " Henrv IV." Part i. 
" 25 'Feb. 1597. 
Andrew Wisse] A booke intitled the Historye of 
Henry the iiii"", with his battaile of Shrewsbur5'e 
against Henry Ilottspurre of the Northe with the 
couceipted Itlirth of Sir John Falstaffe'." 

1 The third edition of " The Famous Victories" was printed after 
James I. came to the tlirone : it has no date, but it states on the title- 
page that " it was acted by the King's Majesty-s servants." This 
assertion was probably untrue, the object of the stationer being to 
induce buyers to believe that it was the same play as Shakespeare's 
work, which was certainly performed by " the King's Majesty's ser- 
vants." From tliis impression Steevens reprinted it in the '• Six Old 
Plays." 8vo. 1779. 

2 The same conclusion may perhaps be drawn from the mention of 
" fat Sir John Oldcastle," in " The Meeting of Gallants at an Ordi- 
narie," 1G04, 4to, a tract recently reprinted, under the editorial care 
of Mr. Halliwell, for the Percy Society. 



As the year did not then end until the 25th March, the 25th 
February, 1597, was of course the 25th February, 1598; and 
pursuant to the above entry, Andrew "Wise published the 
first edition of " The History of Henry IV." with the date of 
1598 : we may infer, therefore, that it was ready, or nearly 
ready, to be issued at 1)he time the memorandum was made at 
Stationers' Hall : on the title-page, " the humorous conceits 
of Sir John Falstalffe" are made peculiarly obvious. It is 
certain, then, that before the play was printed, the name of 
Oldcastle liad been altered to that of Falstaff. The reason for 
the change is asserted to liave been, that some descendants 
of "Sir iJohn Oldcastle, the good Lord Cobham," (as he is 
called upon the title-page of a play which relates to his his- 
tory, printed in leOO'*,) remonstrated against the ridicule 
thrown upon the cliaracter of the protestaut martyr, by the 
introduction into Shakespeare's dramaof a person bearing the 
same name. Such, unquestionably, may have been the case ; 
but it is possible also that Shakespeare, finding that his play, 
and his Sir John Oldcastle were often confounded with " The 
Famous Victories" and with Sir John Oldcastle of that drama, 
made the change with a view that they should bo dis- 
tinguished. That he did not quite succeed, is evident from 
the quotation we have made from Field's " Amends for 
Ladies." 

Kespecting the manner in which Falstaff was attired on the 
stage in the time of Shakespeare, we meet with a curious 
passage in a manuscript, the handwriting of Inigo Jones, the 
property of the Duke of Devonshire. The Surveyor of the 
Works, describing the dress of a person who was to figure in 
one of the court masques, early in the reign of .James L, says, 
that he is to be dressed " like a Sir John Falstaff, in a robe 
of russet, quite low, with a great belly, like a swollen man, 
long moustachios, the shoes short, and out of them great toes, 
like naked feet : buskins, to show a great swollen leg." Wc 
are, perhaps, only to understand from this description, that 
the appearance of the character was to bear a general resem- 
blance to that of Sir John Falstaff, as exhibited on the stage 
at the Globe or Blackfriars' Theatres. 

Although we are without any contctnporaneous notices of 
the performance of Shakespeare's "Henry IV." Part i., there 
cannot be a doubt that it was extraordinarily popular. It 
went through five distinct impressions in 4to, in 1598, 1599, 
1604, 1608, and 1613, before it was printed in the first folio. 
There was also an edition in 1689, which deserves notice, be- 
cause it was not a reprint of the play as it had appeared either 
in the first or second folios, but of the 4to. of 1618, that text 
being for some reason preferred. Meres introduces " Henry 
the IVth" into his list in 1598, and we need feel little doubt 
that he alluded to Part i., because, on the preceding page, 
(fo. 281, b) he makes a quotation from one of Falstaff's 
speeches,—" there is nothing but roguery in villainous man," 
— thougli without acknowledging the source from which it 
was taken. We may be tolerably sure, however, that " Henry 
IV." Part ii., had then been produced by Shakespeare, but it 
is not distinguished by Meres, and he also makes no men- 
tion of " Henry V.," the events of whose reign, to his mar- 
riage with Catherine of France, were included in the old play 
of " The Famous Victories." 

With regard to the text of this play, it is unquestionably 
found in its purest state in the earliest 4to. of 1598, and to 
that we have mainly adhered, assigning reasons in our notes 
when we have varied fronr it. The editors of the folio, 1623, 
copied implicitly the4to. impression nearest to their own day, 
that of 1613, adopting many of its defects, and, as far as we 
can I'udge, resorting to no MS. authority, nor to the previous 
quartos of 1598, 1599, 1004, and 1608. Several decided errors, 
made in reprint of 1599, were repeated and multiplied in the 
subsequent quarto impressions, and from thence found their 
way into the folio. Near the end of Act i. we meet with a 
curious proof of what we have advanced : we tliere find a line, 
thus distinctly printed in the 4to, 1598 : — 

" I'le steale to Glendower and Lo: Mortimer :" 

that is, "I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer," Lo: 
being a common abbreviation of " Lord ;" but the composi- 

3 There is another entry, under date 27th June, 1603, by which 
" Henry the 4 the first pte." seems to have been transferred by Wise 
to Law. for whom the edition of 1604 was in fact printed. 

* Mr.' Halliwell does not seem to have been aware, when speaking 
of " The First part of the true and honorable History of the Life of 
Sir John Oldcastle, the good Lord Cobham," a play attributed to 
Shakespeare on the title-page of most of the copies printed in 1600, 
that two other copies of it have recently been discovered, which have 
no author's name. Hence it might be inferred, that the original 
title-page was cancelled at the instance of o\ir great dramatist, and 
another substituted. 



Ixxxviii 



INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. 



tor of tho 4to, lfti>s>, strm^tfoly luismuloi'stniuUnsj it, pr'mtod it 
Rs follows :— 

'■ U<t stpt>li> to OWn>U>\vi>i- «n>l U>«> MiM'iim<>r ;" 
«s ifl.o; ot"t)>o -tto. "l^sK>i, woiv to bo t;\ko)» nti tho intorjootion, 
lo! thou \is(i:>lly priuioii Av, !>i\>l so tho l>hu\vlor \v:\s tolK<\\o>l 
ii\ t.l\o siihsoviuoiit .lunrtos, ii\ohulinj; tliatol'UiUs tK>ii> \vlio»\oo 
it wus traustVnvvl, litonitim, to tho t'olio, h!'.':'-. Tho orror is 
i\>i>0!>toii in tlio tolio, U'l.'VJ; hiit NortvMi, llio prititor ot'tlu>4to, 
liii'^H, \vl».\ !>s i>us hoou ivmarivoil, vlivi not !uloj^>l tlio lo\l ot' 
citl\or ol' tlio lolios, snw that thoiv must ho !» hlnuvlor ii> tlio 
lino, utul althon^jh ho >liil not know oxaotly how to sot it right, 
ho at Icttst nvsvilo sonso of it, by givinjr it, 

" 1 '11 stoal lo lil<<n\lo\v<>r ainl ti> MorliiHor," 
AVo only iwKhtoo this instnnoo us ono i>ivof, ont of mivny 
wliiolt tni.iht bo hi\Mt>jht t"orw!\i\l, to ostahlish tho snporiority 
of tho toxt of tho tto. of tM>S, to iiny of thosubsonuonl »v- 
iinpivssions. 

SEO(>NO PART OF KING IIKNKV IV. 

"Tht> t^ooond purt of Uonrio tho fourth, v'outiuuinjr to his 
iloath, Mtui ooivuiitiou of Uonrio tho tit't. With tho huiuout-s 
of Sir lohu Kiilstall'o, uuvl swajjjjoriuir ristoU. As it luUli 
boon sundrio tintos publikoly aotovl by tho risrht honouniblo, 
tho l.onl (."hrtuiborhiino l>is soruanls! Wriiton by William 
Sh;»kos|>0!U-o, Lv>Uvlou rrii\toil by V. S. tor Audrow Wiso, 
ttuvl William Asjiloy. ItVO. " 4lo. 4S Wvos. 
Othor ovn>ios of tho sumo oJitiou, in v^uurto, not ivutuining 

Siiin. K .^ nnd K (!, havo only -U loavos. 
In tlio tbrh\ lt'oJ;>. "Tlio Sooond Tart of llonrv tho Fo\irth, 
tvutainiinj his IVath; un^l tlio (.'oronat ion ot Kiu>r Houry 
tho Kitl,'^ ovvupios twouty-nino pajTos in tho ilivisiou of 
"llistorios, " v>/.. iVom p." 7-1 to j'. lOd inolusivo, tho last 
two not boiusT numborovl. Tasros m> uiul l>0, by an on\u- i^f 
tho pivss, aiv uumboivd lU atul OvJ. In tho roj>riut of tho 
lv>lio, lt>;>>-\ this uiistuko is ropoutod. In tho two lator folios 
tho pairiuationoontiuuod tVom tho bogiuniiig to tho oud of 
tho voluuio. 

Wk may stuto with mon.> wrtuinty than usual, that " llonvy 
IV." I'ari ii. was wriiton boloiv tlio *JMh Fob. loi>S. In tho 
pivliminary notiiv of " llonry IV," Tart. i. it is moutionoii, 
that .Vol ii.so. 'J. of tho " history " botoro us oontuins a }>iooo 
of ovidonoo that FalstalV was still oallovl OKloastlo whon it was 
writton; vi.'.. that tho pivtlxof ('/</. is rotainod in tho viuarto, 
ItiOO. bototv u siHHH'li whioli boloiiirs to Kalstutf, and wliioli 
is ussisTuod to him in tho folio of Uii)f>. Now, wo know thut 
tho namo of t.>!dv>astlo was ohaUiixHl to that of FalstatVantorior 
to tho ontry of " Houry IV. " l\>rt i. in tho books of tho Sta- 
tiouo>-s' (.'o'mpany on tlio "J.^tll Foh. l6i>T-S. This oiroiimstuuoo 
overturns Malono's thoory, tliat "llonry IN'." Part ii. was 
not writton until lo5>v». It ivquiivs no proof that it was jiro- 
vhuH>d allor •' Kiohai\l 11." boouuso that play is quotovl in it. 

Tho momorjindmu in tho Slatioiiors' Koj^istors, prior to tho 
publioatioii of tho loUowiiiir play, is insortod litoratim in Vol. 
»i, p. 1S;>: it boai-s dato on USd Ausr. If'OO, und it was niado 
by Audivw Wiso and William Asploy, ■who bi\Mii;ht out 
" Tlio Sooondo Fsu'tooftho History ol Ivingo Houry tho iiiii>>," 
4to. in that your. 

Tliort> was only ono odition of " llonrv IV. " Pnrt ii. in lf>00, 
bnt somo ivpios vary importantly. Tlio i^lay was ovidontly 
pivduwd tVom tho i>ivss in hasto ; and oosidos othor hn;^> 
omissions, a wliolo soono, tormiusr tho oommoiioomonV of Aot 
5ii. was loft out. Most of tho oopios aiv without tlioso pajros, 
but thoy aro fouuil in tlioso of tiio Huko of Povoushiro and 
Malono. 'fho stationor must havo disoovoivd tho orror at\or 
tho publioation, and shoot F. was uooordiujily roprintod, in 
orvlor to supply tho dofoot. 

Tho f>lio 1(!l'S was i;»kon tVvMU a oomploto oopy of tho odi- 
tjon of IfnH* ; and, nioivovor, tho uotoi^oditvirs, pivbably t'ivm 
a play-houso manusoript in tlioir hands, t'lirnishod many othor 
linos wantiujr in tho ouarto. On tho othor haul, tiio quarto, 
IfnV, ooutuins sovorul passai^^s not touiul in tho folio, 1(>'_'S. 
Our toxt inoludos both, vpivporly distin^uishod in tho notosi 
in onlor that no syllable wliioh oumo from tho pon of Shako- 
spoaro mav bo K^t^ Even if wo suppose our srivat dramatist 
to havo himself rt>joeted cerluin portions, pivsorvod in the 
quarto, the oxolusion of them by a modern editor would bo 
\mpardonable, as they I'orm j\iri of the history of the poet's 
mind. 



KING IIEXRY V. 



" The Croniele History of Honry the fit>, With liis IxUtell 
fought at As;in Court' iu Fnmeo. Tosiither with Aunlim.it 



Vistoll. .\o it hath bene nundry times playd by tho l{i«;ht; 
honorable tho l.orvl (Miamborlaino his soruaiits. l,on<1v>n 
Trintod by TItomas ("roodo, f,\r Tli(>. Millitiirlon, aiiil lohii 
Ihisby. And are to bo soKl at his house in ('arior l.auo, 
next tho I'owlo head. UiOO. .Ittn >JT loavos. 

"'flio Chroniolo llisiory of llonry the tit\, Willi his ballell 
I'ought at Agin t'ourt in Fraiioo". Tojiollior willi .Vuiiiient 
risioll. As it hutli bono suudrv titiu-s playd by the Ixiv'lit 
honorable tho Lord tMiamborlaiiio his soruauts. l.oiulon 
Printed by Thomas t'roodo, I'or Thomas rmiior, and are to 
bo soUl at his shop in t'ornhill, at tho signo of tho (.'at and 
rarrets, nearo tho Kxelianv'o. ItiO".'. '' -Ito, 'Ji! leaves. 

"The t'lironiele History of Honry the tit\, with his baltell 
fought, at Agin Oourl in Frane'o. Togothor with anoiont 
FisloU. As it hath l>ono sundry times i>la\vl l>.\ tho Kight 
llonourablo the Lord t'hamborlaino his Ser'iiants. rrinud 
lor T. r. U!OS." -Ito. >J7 leaves. 

"The Life of llonry tho Fil\" in the folio of If.'.'S, oeeiipios 
twenty-seven pages, vi/.. iVom p. (>l» to «\ l>,'> iiu>hisive. Tho 
psigiiialion Aoni •• llonry IV.' Tart ii, to "Houry V." i.<« 
not oontiiiuod, but a new series begins with " Henry V." 
on p, fo.t, and is tvgularly followed to the end of tho '' His- 
tories." Tho tbiio, ItU'oJ, adopts this error, but it is avoided 
in tho two later t'olio impressions. 

It is a eiroumstanoe deserving remark, that not one of tho 
title-pages of tho quarto evlifuiiis of " Henry V." attribute.'* 
the authorship of the play to Shakespeare. It was printed 
three sovor.-vl times during the life of the }HH>t, but in no iii- 
stunoo with his name, 'flio tliet, no dimbl, is, that there never 
was an authorized edition of " Henry \'. " until it appeared 
in the fv>lio of l(i".';'>, and that the quarto inipivssioiis were 
surreptitious, and were iniMishod without the eonsent of the 
uttthor, or of the eompaiiy to whioli he was attaehed. They 
oumo out in liUH\ l(>0'->, and U>OS, the one being merely a re- 
print of the other; and, eonsideriiig the imi>orfeetuess and 
detieienev of the text in the quarto of 1('>00, it is porh.-ips 
stnmgo tliat no imiirovements were made in the subsequent 
impivssions. The arania must have enjoyed irreat popularity ; 
it must have boon playovl over and over agaui at the theatre, 
and >et the publie in'terost, as far as jH>nisal is eoneerned, 
woiiKl seem to have been satistled with a brief, rude, and mu- 
tilated representution of the performanee. The quartos v>an 
bo looked upon in no other light than as tVagnu-nts of the 
original play, printed in haste t'or the satistaetion of public 
euriosity. 

The viuar os bear strong external and internal evideneo of 
thmd : the earliest of them was not published by a bookseller 
or booksollei"S by whom Sliakespe;iro's genuine dramas wei-o 
issued; and the seeoiul and third eame t"i'oin the hands of 
Thomas Favier, who was instrumental in sriving to the world 
somo pioivs, with the oompositi'Mi of whioli SllakesJ^eare had 
no ooneern, thougli aseribed to him on the title-page. Tho 
, internal evideneo shows that the edition was made up, not 
tlvm any authentie manuserint, nor even from ar.y eombiiia- 
: tion of the separate parts vlelivoi-od out to the aetors by tho 
! oopyist of the theatre, but tVoni what eouKl be taken down in 
short-hand, or ooutd be remembered, while the iH'rt'ormanix) 
was taking plaee. It is true that the quarto impressions eon- 
I tniu not the slightest hint of the Cliorusses, nor of wliolo 
I soones, and long speeehes, t'ouud in the t'olio of l(i"J!^>: und 
tho inl'ervMieo seems to be that "Henry V." was originally 
prodiieod by Shakespeare in a oomparatively ineoiunlete state, 
and that large portions eontiiinetl in the t'olio, ana of wliioh 
no traeo oun be pointed out in the quartos, were added at a 
subsequent date, to give greater novelty and atti-jietion to tho 
drama. Suoli, we know, was a very eommon oourse with all 
our early stago-poets. A play ealled " Henry V. '■ was repre- 
sented at Court on the 7th .Ian. IdOo, as wo learn tVoni "Tho 
Kxtraots tVv>m tho Awounts of the Kevels, " edited by Mr. 
F. t'unningham, aiul printed by the Shakespeare Soeiety, 
p. '2i,M ; niul these imoortant additions may have been inserted 
tor tJiat oeoasion. Tlio entry runs, literatim, us follows : — 
" On the 7 of Junuarv was plavod tho play of Henry 
thetlt't." 
In tho margin wo aro informed that it wns noted by his Ma- 
jesty's pluyoi-s, but the name of the author is not in this iii- 
stun'eo given, ult hough "Shaxberd" is plaeed opposite the 
title of "Measure for Measure," stated to have oeen exhi- 
bited on a provvding night. The faet that the aetors belonged 
to Shakespeare's eompany renders it most probable that liis 
play was perlbrmed on the ovvasion ; but it is to be iveoUeeted 
also, that the old play of " The Famous \"ietories of Henry 
the Fitlh" purports oil the titlo-pago to have been " aeted by 
I tiio King's M;yestv's servants, " even at so late a date as lt>17, 
: when tlio last edit"ion of it made its appearauee. Nevorthe- 
.loss, wo may perhaps tuko it for gnuiled, that tho "Henry 



mTRODUCTIOK TO THE PLAYS. 



Ixxxix 



the flfr, " played at Whitehall by the kind's BervantB, on 7th I This historical drama is first found in the folio of 1623 : no 
Jan. 1605, was SliakcHpeare'i* l)i«torieal drama; and it may i earlier edition of it in any shape, or in any degree of imper- 



not be too much to presume, that moht of theadditioiiB (Cho 
ruHBCs excepted; included in the folio of 1Q23, were written in 
ConHequeiice of the Belection of " Henry V. " by the Master 
of the lievulrt for reprcnentation before JamcH 1. 

Our opinion, then, in that HhakcHpeare did not originally 
write his " Henry V. " by any means as we find it in the folio 
of 1623, and tiiat it was first produced without various scenes 
and Hpeeches subsequently written and introduced; we are 
jierfectly convinced that the three quarto editions of ICOO, 
1602, and 1608 do not at all contain the play as it was acted 
in the first instance ; hiut were hastily made up from notes 
taken at the theatre during the performance, subsequently 
patched tojrether. Now and then we meet with a few con- 
secutive lines, similar to the authentic copy, but in general 
the text is miserably mangled and disfigured. We might find 
proofs in support of our position in every part of the play, 
tout as in his ''Twenty quartos" Steevens has reprinted that 
of 1608, it will be needless to select more than a single speci- 
men. We give the tcjJt as we find it, literatim, in the quarto, 
1600, from the copy in the Library of the Duke of Devon- 
Bhire : our extract is from Act i. sc. 2, the speech of the King, 
just before the French Ambassadors are called in : — 

" Call in the meniienger nent from the Dolphin, 
And by your aid, the noble sineweo of our land 
France beine onri!. weele bring it to our awe. 
Or break it all in piecen : 

Eyther our Chronicle* ishal with full mouth speak 
Freely of our ax;t»!. 

Or eUe like toonglessfl mutes 

Not wor»hipt with a paper epitaph." 

Such is the speech as it is abridged and corrupted in the 
quarto, 1600 : the correct text, as contained in the folio of 
1623, may be found in this edition. 

It not unfrequently happened that the person who took 
down the lines as the actors delivered them, for the purpose 
of publishing the quarto, 1600, misheard what was said, and 
used wrong words which in sound nearly resembled the right : 
thus, earlier in the same scene, the Arcubishop of Canterbury 
Bays, according to the folio, 1623, 

" They of thoHe Marcheii, g-racious Bovereign, 
Shall be a wall sufficient to defend 
Our inland from the pilfering borderers." 

In the quarto, 1600, the materials for which were probably 
cnrrcptiiiously obtained at the theatre, the passage is thus 
given : — 

"The Marches, graciouis soveraigne, fihalhe sufficient 
To guard yonr England from the pilfering borderers." 

We might multiply instances of the same kind, but we do 
not think there can be any reasonable doubt upon the point. 

The quartos, as we have stated, contain no hint of the 
ChoruHses, but a passage in that which precedes Act v. cer- 
tainly relates to the expedition of the Earl of Essex to Ireland, 
between the 15th April and the 28th Sept. 15&9, and must 
have been written during his ab.sence : — 

"As. by a lower but loving likelihood, 
Were now the general of our gracious empress 
(As in good time he may) from Ireland coming. 
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, 
How many would the peaceful city quit 
To welcome him." 

The above lines were, therefore, composed between the 15th 
April and the 28th Sept. 1599, and most likely the Chorusses 
fornu"'! r:irt /if tlif> r''"'"^c r« i-TK'-'n.-i"'.- r^-'c-d, altliongh the 
Bhort-hand writer did not think it a necessary portion of the 
performance to be included in the earliest quarto, 1600, which 
was to be brought on with great speed ; and perhaps the 
length of these and other recitations might somewhat baffle 
his skill. Upon this supposition, the question when Shake- 
speare wrote his " Ilcnry V. " is brought to a narrow point; 
and confirmed as it is by the omission of all mention of the 
play by Meres, in his PallMdw Tamia, 1598, we need feel lit- 
tle doubt that hLs first sketch came from the pen of Shake- 
epeare, for performance at the Globe theatre, early in the 
summer of 1599. The enlarged drama, as it stands in the 
folio of 1623, we are disposed to believe was not put into the 
complete shape in which it has there come down to us, until 
shortly before the date when it was played at Court. 



FIKST PART OF KING IIENPY VI. 

" The first Part of Henry the Sixt " was printed originally in 
the folio of 1623, where it occupies twenty- four pages' viz. 
from p. 96 to p. 119 inclusive, in the division of ''His- 
tories. " It was reprinted in the folios 1632, 1664, and 1685. 



fectness, hac been discovered. ' Of the second and third part* 
of "Henry VI., " copies in quarto, under different titles, 
lengthened in some speeches, and abbreviated in others, are 
extant ; but the first part of " Henry VI, " af^peared originally 
in the collected edition of ''Mr. William Shakespeare's Come- 
dies, Histories, and Tragedies, " put forth under the care of 
his fellow-actors, Heininge and Condell. 

This single fact is sufficient, in our mind, to establish 
Shakes^^eare's claim to the authorship of it, even were we to 
take Malone's ussertion for granted Cwliich we are by no 
means inclined to do) that the internal evidence is all opposed 
to that claim. Wlien Hemiiige and Condell puVjlished the 
folio of 1623, many of Shakespeare's contemporaries, authors, 
actors, and auditors, were alive ; and the player-editors, if they 
would have been (fuilty of the dishonesty, would hardly have 
committed the folly ot inserting a play in their volume'which 
was not his production, and perhaps well known to have 
Vjeen the work of some rival dramatist. If we imagine the fre- 
quenters of theatres to have been comparatively ignorant upon 
such a point, living authors and living actrjrs must have been 
aware of the truth, and in the face of these Hemingeand Condell 
would not have ventured to appropriate to Shakespeare what 
had really come from the ];>en of another. That tricks of the 
kind were sometimes played by fraudulent booksellers, in 
publishing single plays, is certainly true ; but Hemingeand 
Condell were actors of repute, and men of character: they 
were presenting to the world, in an important volume, scat- 
tered performances, in order to " keep the memory of bo 
worthy a friend and fellow alive, as was our Shakespeare, " 
and we cannot Vjelieve that they would have incluaed any 
drama to which he had no title. In all probability they had 
acted with Shakespeare in the fir.-;t part of "Henry VI.:" 
they had received his instructions and directions from time 
to time with reference to the performance of it, and they must 
almost necessarily have been acquainted with the real state 
of the property in it. 

Our opinion is therefore directly adverse to that of Malone, 
who, having been " long struck with the many evident 
SJiahegpeareanisms in these plays, " afterwards came to the 
conclusion that he had been entirely mistaken, and that none 
of these peculiarities were to be traced in the first part of 
" Henry VI. : " "I am, therefore (he added), decisively of 
opinion, that this play was not written by Shakespeare." To 
support this notion, he published a " Dissertation ■ on tho 
Three Parts of King Henry VI.," in which he argued that 
the first part was not only not the authorship of Shakespeare, 
but that it was not written by the same persons who baa 
composed the second and third parts of " Ilenry VI." 

W ith reference to the question, how far and at what time 
Shakespeare became connected with the plays, known as the 
three parts of " Ilenry VI.," it is necessary to observe, that 
it was very usual in the time of our great dramatist, for one 
poet to take up the production of another, and, by making 
additions to and improvements in it, to appropriate it to his 
own use, or to the use of the theatre to which he belonged. 
This practice applied to the works of living as well as of dead 
poets, and it ha.s been conjectured that when Kobert Greene, 
in his " Groatsworth of W it," 1592, spoke of Shakespeare, as 
" the only Shake-scene in a country," and as " an upstart 
crow beautified with our feathers," he alluded chiefly to the 
manner in which Shakespeare had employed certain dramas, 
by Greene and others, as the foundation of his three parts oi 
'• Henry VI." These certain dramas were some undiscovered 
original of the first part of " Henry VI. ; " the first part of 
" The Contention betwixt the Two Famous Houses of York 
and Lancaster," 1600 ; and " The True Tragedy of Eichard 
Duke of York," 1595. It was by making additions, altera- 
tions, and improvements in these three pieces, that Shake- 
speare's name became associated with them as their author, 
and hence the player-editors felt themselves justified in in- 
serting them among his other works in the folio of 1623. 

There are two other theories respecting the elder plays we 
have mentioned, neither of them, as it seems to us, supported 
by sufficient testimony. One of them is, that the first part 
of " Henry VI.," as it is contained in the foUo of 1623, the 
first part of the " Contention," 1594, and the " True Tra- 
gedy, " 1595, were in fact productions by Shakespeare him- 
self, which he subsequently enlarged and corrected: the 
other theory is, that the two latter were early editions of the 
same dramas that we find in the folio, and that the imper- 
fections or variations in the quarto impressions are to be ac- 
counted for by the surreptitious manner in which the manu- 
script, from which they were printed, was obtained by the 
booksellers. In support of the first of these opinions, little 



xc 



INTEODUCTIOX TO THE PLAYS. 



better than conjecture can be produced, contradicted by the 
expressions of 'Greene in 1502, as far as those expressions 
apply to these plays ; and with reo-ard to the second opinion, 
in some places tlie qn;irto editions of tlie tirst part of the 
"Contention" and the "True Tra'/edy" are fuller, hy many 
lines, than the copy in the folio, 16-^3, which would hardly 
have been the case, had the dialoi/iie been taken down in 
short-hand, and corrected by memory: in tiie next place, the 
speeches liave such a decree of completeness and rcfrulaiity 
as to render it very improbable tliat they were obtained by so 
uncertain and imperteet an expedient. We tliink it most 
likely that the first part of " Henry VI." was founded upon a 
previous play, althou.ijh none such' has been hrontrht to light: 
and that the materials for the second and third parts of 
" Henry VI." were mainly derived from tlie older dnmias of 
the first part of " Tiie Contention betwixt the Two Famous 
Houses of York and Lancaster," and " The True Tragedy of 
Eichard Duke of York." 

Althougli no such drama has cnme down to us, we know, 
on the authority of Henslowe's Diary, that there was a play 
called " Harey the VI." acted on 8d March, 1591-2, and so 
popular as to" have been repeated twelve times. This was, 
perhaps, the piece which Shakespeare subsequently altered 
and improved, and to wdiich Nash alludes in his "Pierce 
Penniless," 1592 (sign. H. 2.), where he speaks of " brave 
Talbot" having been made "to triumph again on the stage," 
after having been two liundred years in his tomb. Malone 
(Shaltespeare, by Boswell, vol. iii. p. 298.) concludes deci- 
sively in the affirmative on both these points, forgetting, 
however, that the " Harey the VI." acted by Henslowe's com- 
pany, might possibly be a play got up and represented in eon- 
sequence" of tlie success of the drama in tlie authorship of 
which Shakes])care was concerned. 

If our great dramatist founded liis first part of " Henry VI." 
upon the play produced by Henslowe's company, of course, it 
could not "have been written until after March, 1592 ; but with 
regard to tlie precise date of its composiiion we must remain 
in uncertainty. Malone's later notion was, as we have already 
observed, that Shakespeare's hand was not to be traced in 
any part of it ; but Steevens called attention to several re- 
markable coincidences of expression, arid passages misht be 
pointed out so mucli in the spirit and character of Shake- 
sjieare, that we cannot conceive them to have come from any 
other pen. Coleridge has instanced the opening of the play 
as unliko Shakespeare's metre (Lit. Eeniains, vol. ii. p. 184.) : 
he was nnquestionably right ; but he did not advert to the 
fact, of wliicli tliere isthe strongest presumptive evidence, 
that more than one autlior was engaged on the work. The 
very discordance of style forms part of the proof; and in his 
lectures in 1815, Coleridge adduced many lines which he be- 
lieved must have been written by Shakespeare. 



wdshcd to have it believed, that the old play was the jiroduc- 
tion of our great dramatist. 

Shakpspearc's property, according to (nir present notions, 
was only in the additions and improvements he introduced, 
which are included in the folio of 1623. In Act. iv. sc. 1, is 
a line necessarily taken from "the first part of the Conten- 
tion," as the sense, without it, is incomplete ; but the old 
play has many passages which Shakesjieare rejected, and the 
murder of Duke Humphrey is somewhat dilfcreiitly managed. 
In general, however, Siiakespearc adopted the whole conduct 
of the story, and did not think it necessary to correct the ob- 
vious liistorical errors of the original. 

It is impossible to assign a date to this play excepting by 
conjecture. Its success, perhaps, led to the entry at Station- 
ers'' Hall of the older play in March, 1593, and to its appear- 
ance from the press in 1594. 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY YL 

"The second Part of Henry the Sixt, with the death of the 

Good Duke Hvmfrey," was first printed in the folio of 1623, 

where it occupies twenty-seven pages ; viz. from p. 120 to 

p. 146 inclusive, in the division of " Histories." It fills the 

same place in the subsequent folio impressions. 

The "history" is an alteration of a play printed in 1594, 

under the fallowing title: " The First part of tlie Contention 

betwixt the two famous houses of Yorke and Lancaster, with 

the death of the good Duke Humphrey: And the banishment 

and death of the Duke of Suflrblke, and the Tragicall endof 

the proud Cardinall of Winchester, with the notable Kebellion 

of laeke Cade : And the Duke of Yorkes first elaime unto the 

Crowne. London Printed by Thomas Creed, for Thomas 

Millington, and are to be sold at his shop under Saint Peter's 

Church in Cornwall. 1594." By whom it was written we 

have no information ; but it was entered on the Stationers' 

Kegisters on the 12th March, 1593. Millington published a 

second edition of it in 1600 : on the 19th April, 1602, it was 

assigned by Millington to Tho. Pavier, and we hear of it 

again, in tihe Stationers' Register, merely as "Yorke and 

Lancaster," on the 8th November, 1630. 

The name of Shakespeare was not connected with "the 
first part of the Contention," until about the year 1619, when 
T. P. (Thomas Pavier) printed a new edition of the first, and 
what ho called "the second, part" of the same play, with the 
name of " William Shakspeare, Gent." upon the general title- 
page. The object of Pavier was no doubt fraudulent : he 

1 Chettle acknowledges the important share he had in the publica- 
tion of " The Groatsworth of Wit," in his "Kind-heart's Dream," 
■which was printed at the close of 1592, or in the beginning of 1593. 
See the excellent reprint of this very curious and interesting tract 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY YL 

" The third Part of Henry the Sixt, with the death of the 
Duke of Yorke," was first printed in the folio of 1623, where 
it occupies twenty-six pages, in the division of " Histories," 
viz. 'from p. 147 to p. 172, inclusive, pages 165 and ]GC being 
misprinted 167 and 168, so that these numbers are twice 
inserted. The error is corrected in the folio, 1682. The 
play is also contained in the folios of 1664 and 1685. 
None of the commentators ever saw the first edition of the 
drama upon which, we may pi-esume, Shakespeare founded 
his third part of " Henry VI. :" it bears the following title : — 
" The true Tragcdie of Kichard Duke of Yorke, and the death 
of the good King Ilenrie the Sixt, with the whole contention 
betweene the two houses Lancaster and Yorke, as it was sun- 
drie times acted by the Right Honourable the Earle of Pem- 
brooke his seruants. Printed at London by P. S. for Thomas 
Millington, and are to be sold at his shoppe under Saint 
Peters Church in Cornwal. 1595." 8vo. This play, like "the 
First Part of the Contention," was reprinted for the same 
bookseller in 1600, 4to. About the year 1619 a re-impressiou 
of both plays was published by T. P. ; and the name of 
Shakespeare, as has been already observed in our Introduc- 
tion to " Henry VI." part ii., first appears in connection Avith 
these "histories" in that edition. 

Believing that Shakespeare was not the writer of " The 
First Part"'of the Contention," 1594, nor of " The True Tra- 
gedy of Eichard Duke of York, 1595, and that Malone estab- 
lished his position, that Shakespeare only enlarged and altered 
them, it becomes a question by whom they were produced. 
Chalmers, who possessed the onlj- known copy of " The True 
Tragedy," 1595, without scruple assigned that piece to Chris- 
ftopher'^tlarlowe. Although there is no ground whatever for 
giving it to Marlowe, there is some reason lor supposing that 
it came from the pen of Robert Greene. 

In the Introduction to "Henry VI." parti., we alluded, as 
fitr as was there necessary, to the language of Greene, when 
speaking of Shakcspcare'in his "Groatsworth of Wit," 1592. 
This tract was not published until after the death of its author 
in Sept. 1592, when it appeared under the editorship of Henry 
Chettle' ; and what follows is the whole that relates to our 
great dramatist : — " Yes, trust them not ; for there is an up- 
start crow beautified with our feathers, that with his figer''s 
heart, u'rapp'd in a player^s Jiide, supposes he is as well able 
to bombast out a blank verse as the best of yon ; and being 
an absolute Johannes Factotum, is in his own conceit the 
only Shakescene in a countrey." (Dyce's Edit, of Greene's 
Works, 1. Ixxxi.) In this extract, although Greene talks of 
"an upstart crow beautified with oui- feathers," he seems to 
have referred principally to his own works, and to the manner 
in which Shakespeare had availed himself of them. Tliis 
opinion is somewhat confirmed by two lines in a tract called 
"Greene's Funerals," by E. B.,"l594, where the wiiter is 
adverting to the obligations of other authors to Greene : — 

"Nay more, the men that so eclips'd his fame 
Purloined his plumes — can they deny the same?" 

Here E. B. nearly adopts Greene's words, " beautifi'd with 
our feathers,'''' and applies to him individnallywdiat Greene, 
perhaps to avoid the eliarge of egotism and vanity, lii\d stated 
more generally. It may be mentioned, also, as a confirmatory 
circumstance, that the words " tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a 
player's hide," in our extract from the " Groatsworth of 
Wit," are a repetition, with the omission of an interjection and 

made for the Percy Society, under the editorial care of l\Ir. If imbault. 
In his address to the "■ Gentlemen Readers," Chettle apologizes to 
Shakespeare (not by name) for having been instrumental in the pub- 
lication of Greene's attack upon him. 



INTRODUCTION" TO THE PLAYS. 



xci 



the change of a word, of a line in " The True Trngcdy," 1595, 

" ! tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide." 
Thus Greene, when eharginir Shakcsi)eare with having ap- 
propriated liis plays, parodies a line of his own, as if to show 
the particular productions to which he alluded'. 

Another fiet tends to the same conclusion: it is a striking 
coincidence between a passage in " The True Tragedy" aiul 
some lines in one of Greene's acknowledged di-auuis, " Al- 
plionsus. King of Arragon," printed, in 1599, by Thomas 
Creed, the same printer who, in 1594, liad produced from his 
press an edition of "The First Part of the Contention." In 
" Alphonsus" the hero kills Flaminiiis, his enemy, and tluis 
addresses the dying man : — 

" Go, pack thee hence unto the Styjjian lake, 
And make report unto thy traitorous sire, 
How well thou hast enjoy'd the diadem, 
Which he by treason set upon thy head : 
And if he afk thee who did send thee doivn, 
Alphonsus say, who now must wear thy crown.'" 

In "The True Tragedy," 1595, Eichard, while stabbing 
Henry VI. a second time, exclaims, 

" If any spark of life remain in thee, 
Down, down to hell ; and say I sent thee thither." 

Shakespeare, when altering " The True Tragedy" for his 
own theatre, (fur, as originally composed, it had been played 
by the Earl of Pembroke's servants, for whom Greene was in 
the habit of writing) adopted the line, 

"0 tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide," 

without the change of a letter, and the couplet last quoted 
with only a very slight variation ; 

"If any spark of life be yet remaining, 
Down, down to hell ; and say I sent thee thither." 

As in "Henry VI." part ii., Shakespeare availed himself 
of "The First Part of the Contention," 1594:, so in "Henry 
VI." part iii., he applied to his own purposes much of "The 
True Tragedy of Eichard Duke of York," 1595. He made, 
however, considerable omissions, as well as large additions, 
and in the last two Acts he sometimes varied materially from 
the conduct of the story as he found it in the older play. One 
improvement may be noticed, as it shows the extreme simpli- 
city of our stage just before what we may consider Shake- 
speare's time; and it is to be ascertained by comparing two 
scenes of his " Henry VI." part iii., (Act iv. sc. 2 and 3) with 
a portion of " The True Tragedy." In the older play, War- 
wick, Oxford, and Clarence, aided by a party of soldiers, 
standing on one part of the stage, concert a plan for surpris- 
ing Edward IV. in his tent on another part of the starre. 
Having resolved upon the enterprise, they merely cross the 
boards of Edward's encampment, the audience being required 
to suppose that the assailing party had travelled from their 
own quarters in order to arrive at Edward's tent. Sliake- 
speare showed his superior judgment by chaneing the })lace, 
and by interposing a dialogue between the Watchmen, who 
guard the Kinsr's tent. Eoiiert Greene, in his "Pinner of 
Wakefield," (See "Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the 
Stage," vol. ill. p. 368.) relied on t!ie imagination of his audi- 
tors, exactly in the same way as the author of "The True 
Tragedy." 

It is to be observed of " Henry VI." part iii., as was re- 
marked in the Introduction to the second part of the same 
play, that a line, necessary to the sense, was omitted in the 
folio, 1623, and has been introduced into our text from " The 
True Tragedy," 1595. It occurs in Act ii. sc. 6, and it was, 
probably, accidentally omitted by the copyist of the manu- 
script from which Shakespeare's "history," as it appears in 
the folio, was printed. 



KING RICHARD in. 

" The Tragedy of King Richard the third. Containing, His 
treacherous Plots agairist liis brother Clarence : the pittie- 
fiill murther of his innocent nephewes : his tyraunicall vsur- 

1 There is a trifling fact connected with " Henry VI." part i, a no- 
tice of which ought not to he omitted, when considering the question 
of the authorship of some vet undiscovered original, upon which that 
play might be founded. In Act v. sc. .3, tliese two lines occur : — 

" She 's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd ; 
She is a woman, therefore to be won." 
The last of the.se lines is inserted in Greene's "Planetomachia," 
printed as early as 1585. In " The First Part of the Contention" a 
pirate is mentioned, who is introduced into another of Greene's pro- 
ductions. 

2 By the title-pages of the four earliest editions on the opposite leaf, 
it will be seen, that it was professed by Andrew Wise, that the play 
»n 1G02, had been " newly augmentedj" although it was in fact only 



pation : with the whole course of his detested life, and 
most dcsenied death. As it Ijath beeue lately Acted by the 
Eiglit honourable the Lord (Ihamberluine his seruants. At 
London, Printed by Valentine Sims, for Andrew Wise, 
dwelling in Panics Churcli-yard, at tlie signe of the Angell, 
1597." 4to. 47 leaves. 

"The Tragedie of King Eicliard the third. Conteining 
his treacherous Plots against his brotlier Clarence: the 
pitiful nnirther of liis innocent Nephewes: his tyrannicall 
vsurpation : with the whole course of his detested life, and 
most deserned death. As it hath beene lately Acted by the 
Eiizht lioiiouralde the Lord Chaiuberlaine his seruants. By 
William Shake-speare. London Printed by Thomas Creede, 
for Andrew Witse, dwelling in Panics Church-yard, at the 
signe of the Angell. 1598." 4to. 47 leaves. 

" The Tragedie of King Eichard the third. Conteining his 
treacherous Plots ajrainst his brother Clarence : the pittifull 
murther of liis innocent Nephewes : his tyrannicall vsurpa- 
tion : with the whole course of his detested life, and most 
deserued death. As it hath bene lately Acted by the Eight 
Honourable the Lord Chamberlaine his seruants. Newly 
augmented. By William Shakespeare. London Pi-inted by 
Thomas Creede, for Andrew Wise, dwellinsr in Paules 
Church-yard, at the signe of the Angell. 16U2." 4to. 46 
leaves. 

" The Tragedie of King Eichard the third. Conteining his 
treacherous Plots against his brother Clarence : the pittifull 
murther of his innocent Nephewes : his tyrannicall vsurpa- 
tion : witli the whole course of his detested life, and most 
deserued death. As it hath bin lately Acted by the Eight 
Honourable tlie Lord Chamberlaine liis seruants. Newly 
augmented, by William Shake-speare. London, Printed 
by Thomas Creede, and are to be sold by Matthew Lawe, 
dwelling in Paules Chnrcli-yard,'at the signe of the Foxe, 
near S. Austins gate, 1605." 4to. 46 leaves. 

In the folio of 1623, " The Tragedy of Eichard tlie Third : 
with the Landing of the Earle of Eiehmond, and the Bat- 
tell at BoRworth Field," occupies thirty-two pages ; viz. 
from p. 173 to ]>. 204 inclusive. There is no material varia- 
tion in the later folios. 

The popularity of Shakespeare's " Eichard the Third" must 
have been great, judging only from the various quarto edition.s 
which preceded the publication of it in the folio of 1628. It 
originally came out in 1597, without the name of the author : 
it was reprinted in 1598, with " by William Shake-speare" 
on the title-page, and again in 1602^, ali three impressions 
having been made for the same bookseller, Andrew Wise. 
On the 27th June, 1603, it was assigned to Mathew Lawe, as 
appears by an entry in tlie Stationers' Eejristers ; accordingly, 
lie ]iublished the fourth edition of it with the date of 1605 : 
the fifth edition was ])rinted for the same bookseller in 1613'. 
This seems to have been the last time it came out in quarto, 
anterior to its a]ipearance in the first folio'*; but after that 
date, three other quarto impressions are known, viz. in 1624, 
1629, and 1634, and it is remarkable that tliese were all mere 
reprints of tiie earlier quartos,, not one of them including any 
of the passages which the player-editors of the folio first in- 
serted in their volume. This fact might show that the pub- 
lishers of the later quartos did not know that there were any 
material variations between the earlier quartos and the folio, 
that they did not think them of importance, or that the pro- 
jectors of the folio were considered to liave some species of 
copyright in the additions. These additions, extending in 
one instance to more than fifty lines, are pointed out in our 
notes. It will also be found that more than one speech in 
the folio is unintelligible without aid from the quartos ; and 
for some other characteristic omissions, particularly for one 
in Act iv. sc. 2, it is not possible to account. 

With respect to the additions in the folio of 1623, we have 
no means of ascertaining whether they formed part of the 
oritjinal play. Stevens was of opinion that the quarto, 1597, 
contained a better text than the folio: such is not our 
opinion; for though the quarto sets right several doubtful 
i7ratters, it is not well printed, even for a production of that 

a reprint of the previous impressions of 1.597 and 1.598, for the same 
bookseller. It is possible that the augmentations observable in the 
folio of 1623 were made shortly before 1602, and that "Wise wished it 
to be thought, that his edition of that year contained them. The 
quarto reprints, subsequent to that of 1602, all purport to have been 
'• newly augmented." 

3 Malono gives the date 1G12, and in his copy at Oxford the last 
figure is blurred. The title-page in no respect differs from that of 
1605, excepting that the play is said to have been "acted by the 
King's Majesty's servants." They were not so called, until after 
May, 160.3. 

* An impression in 1C22 is mentioned in some lists, bnt the exist- 
ence of a copy of that date is doubtful. 



xcn 



INTRODUCTION" TO THE PLAYS. 



(lay, ami bears marks of liavini? been brought out in liaste, 
!Uid from an imperfect manuscript. The copy of tlie " his- 
tory" in the fuliu of 1G23 was in some places a reprint of the 
quarto, 1G02, as several obvious errors of the press are re- 
]>Ci\tQd,ri/:/hf for "flilit," helps for "helms," &c. For the ad- 
ilitions, a manuscript was no doubt employed ; and the va- 
riations in some scenes, particularly near the middle of tlie 
play, arc so numerous, and the corrections so frequent, that 
it is probable a transcript belonging to the theatre was there 
consulted. Our text is that of tlie folio, with due notice of 
all the chief variations. 

The earliest entry in the Stationers' Kecristers relating to 
Shakespeare's " Kiehard the Third," is in these terms : — 
" 20 Oct. 1.^.97 

Andrew Wise] The Traeedie of KingeEichardthe Third, 
with the death of the Duke of Clarence." 
This memorandum, probably, immediately preceded the 
publication of the quarto, 1507. The only other entry relat- 
ing to "Kiehard the Third" we have already mentioned, 
and the exact words of it maybe seen in a note to our Intro- 
duction to " Eichard the Second." 

It is certain that there was a historical drama iipon some 
of the events of the reign of Eichard III. anterior to that of 
Shakespeare. T. Warton quoted Sir John Ilarington's 
" Apologie for Poetry," prefixed to his translation of Ariosto 
in l.jyi, respecting a tragedy of " Eichard the Third," acted 
at St. John's, Cambriilge, which would "Iiave moved Pha- 
laris, the tyrant, and terrified all tyrannous-minded men ;" 
and Steevens adduced Heywood's " Apology for Actors'," 
1612, to the same effect, without apparently being aware that 
Ileywood was professedly only repeating the words of Har- 
ington. Both those authors, however, referred to a Latin 
drama on the story of Eichard 111., written by Dr. Legiie, 
and acted at Cambridge before 1583. Steevens followed up 
his quotation from Heywood by the copy of an pntry in the 
Stationers' Ecgisters, dated June 19, 1594, relating to an 
Entrlisli play on the same subject. When Steevens wrote, 
and for many years afterwards, it was not known that such a 
drama had ever been printed ; but in 1821 Boswell reprinted 
a large fragment of it (with many errors) from a copy want- 
ing the commencement. A perfect copy of this very rare 
])lay is in the collection of the Duke of Devonshire, and from 
it we transcribe the following title-page : — 

"The true Tragedic of Eichard the third: "Wlierein is 
showne the deiith of Edward the fourth, with the smothering 
of the two yoong Princes in the Tower : With a lamentable 
ende of Shore's wife, an example for all wicked women. 
And lastly, the couiunction and ioyning of the two noble 
Houses, Lancaster and Yorke. As it was playd by the 
Qucenes Maiesties Players. London Printed by Tliomas 
Creede, and are to be sold by William Barley, at his shop in 
Newgate Market, neare Christ Church doore". 1594." 

This title-page so nearly corresponds with the entry in the 
Stationers' Eegisters^, as to leave no doubt that the latter re- 
ferred to the former. The piece itself, as a literary composi- 
tion, deserves little remark, but as a drama it possesses se- 
veral peculiar features. It is in some respects unlike any 
relic of the kind, and was evidently written several years 
before it came from Creede's press. It opens with a singular 
dialogue between Truth and Poetry : — 

" Pnetrie. Truth, well met. 

" Truth. Thnnkes, Poetrie : what makes tho\i upon a stage? 

" roet._ Shadowes. 

" Truth. Then, will I adde bodies to the shadowes. 
Thoroioye dep.-irt. and give Truth leave 
To shew her pageant. 

" Poet. Why, will Truth be a Player? 

" Truth. No : but Tra^iedia like for to present 
A Trajedie in England done but late, 
That will revive the hearts of drooping mindes. 

" Poet. Whereof? 

" Truth. I\Iarry, thus." 

Hence Truth proceeds with a sort of argument of the play; 
but before the Induction begins, the ghost of George, Duke 
of Clarence, had passed over the stage, delivering two lines 
as he went, which we give precisely as in the original copy 
now before us : — 

" Cresse cruor sati^tiinis, satietur xam^uine cresse, 
Quod spero scitio. O scitio, scitio. vendicta.'^^ 

The drama itself afterwards opens with a scene represent- 

1 Stevens calls it ''The Actors' Vindication," as indeed it was enti- 
tled when it was republished (with alterations and insertions) by 
Cartwrifjht the Comedian, without date, but during the Civil Wars. 
See the reprint of this tract by the Shakespeare Society, the text being 
taken from the first impression. 

- It is .as follows, being rather unusually particular : — 

Tho. Creede] An Enterlude entitled the Tragedie of Richard 
the Third, wherein is showen the Death of Edward the Fourthe, 



ng the death of Edward IV., and the whole story is thence- 
forward most inartificially and clumsily conducted, with a 
total disregard of dates, facts, and places, by characters im- 
perfectly drawn and ill sustained. Shore's wife plays a con- 
spicuous part ; and the tragedy does not finish with the 
battle of Bosworth Field, but is carried on subsequently, 
although the plot is clearly at an end. The conclusion is 
quite as remarkable as the commencement. After the death 
of Eichard, Eeport (a personification like some of those in the 
old Moralities) enters, and holds a dialogue with a Page, to 
inform the audience of certain matters not exhibited ; and 
after a long scene between Eichmond, the Queen mother, 
Princess Elizabeth, &c., two Messengers enter, and, mixing 
with the personages of the play, detail the succession of 
events and of monarchs from the death of Eichard until the 
accession of Elizabeth. The Queen mother then comes for- 
ward, and pronounces an elaborate panegyric upon Elizabeth, 
ending with these lines : — 

"For which, if ere her life be taen away, 
God grant her soule may live in heaven for aye ; 
For if her Graces dayes be brought to end. 
Your hope is gone, on whom did peace depend." 

As in this sort of epilogue no allusion is made to the 
Spanish Armada, though other public events of less promi- 
nence are touched upon, we may perhaps infer thai the 
drama was written before the year 1588. 

The style in which it is composed also deserves observation : 
it is partly in prose, partly in heavy blank-verse, (such as 
was penned before Marlowe had introduced his improve- 
ments, and Shakespeare had adopted and advanced them) 
partly in ten-syllable rhyming couplets, and stanzas, and 
partly in the long fourteen-syllable metre, which seems to 
have been popular even before prose was employed upon our 
stage. In every point of view it may be asserted, tliat few 
more curious dramatic relics exist in our language. It is per- 
haps the most ancient printed specimen of conqiosition for a 
public theatre, of which the subject was derived from Eng- 
lish history. 

Boswell asserts that " The True Tragedy of Eichard the 
Third " had " evidently been used and read by Shakespeare," 
but we cannot trace any resemblances, but such as were pro- 
bably purely accidental, and are merely trivial. Two persons 
could hardly take up the same period of our annals, as the 
ground-work of a drama, without some coincidences ; but 
there is no point, either in the conduct of the plot or in the 
language in which it is clothed, where our great dramatist 
does not show his measureless superiority. The portion of 
the story in which the two plays make the nearest approach 
to each other, is just before the murder of tlie princes, where 
Eicliard strangely takes a page into his confidence respecting 
the fittest agent for the purpose. 

It is not to be concluded, because the title-page of " The 
True Tragedy of Eichard the Third " expresses that it was 
acted " by the Queen's Majesty's Players," that it was the 
association to which Shakespeare belonged, and which be- 
came " the King's Players " after James I. ascended tlie 
throne. In 1583, the Queen selected a company from the 
theatrical servants of several of her nobility ; (Hist, of Engl. 
Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. i. 254;) and in 1590 there 
were two companies, galled " her Majesty's Players," one 
under the management of Laneham, and the other of Lau- 
rence Dutton'. By one of these companies "The True Tra- 
gedy of Eichard the Third" must have been performed. 
Until the death of Elizabeth, the association to which Sliakc- 
spearc \Vu.-= laiached was u&uully called "the Lord Chamber- 
lain's Servants." 

In the " Meinoirs of Edward Alleyn," p. 121, it is shown 
that Henslowe's company, subsequent to 1599, was either in 
possession of a play upon the story of Eichard III., or that 
some of tho poets he employed were engaged upon such a • 
drama. From the sketch of five scenes, there inserted, we 
may judge that it was a distinct performance from "The 
True Tragedy of Eichard the Third." By an entry in Hen- 
slowe's Diary, dated 22d June, 1602, we learn that Ben Jon- 
son received lOl. in earnest of a play called " Eichard Crook- 
back," and for certain additions he was to make to Kyd's 
Spanish Tragedy. Considering the success of Shakespeare's 
" Eichard the Third," and the active contention, at certain 
periods, between tlie company to which Shakespeare be- 

with the Smotheringe of the twoo Princes in the Tower, with 
a lamentable End of Shores wife, and the conjunction of the 
twoo Houses of Lancaster and York. 
3 This new fact in the history of our early drama and theatres, we 
owe to Mr. Peter Cunningham, who establishes it beyond contradic- 
tion, in his interesting and important volume of " Extracts from the 
Accounts of the Revels at Court," printed for the Shakespeare So- 
ciety. Introd. p. xxxii. 



INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. 



XCUl 



longed, niul tluit under the management of Henslowe, it 
niuy be looked uf)on as singular, tliai the latter slioukl have 
been without a drama on that portion of Englisli liistory 
until after 1599 ; and it is certainly not less singular, tliat as 
late as 1602 Ben Jonson should have been occupied in writ- 
ing a new play ui)on the subject. Possibly, about that date 
Shakespeare's " liichard the Third " had been revived with 
the additions; and lienee the employment of Jonson on a 
rival drama, and the publication of the third edition of Shake- 
speare's tragedy after an interval of four years. 

Malono was of opinion that Shakespeare wrote "Richard 
the Third " in 1593, but did not adduce a particle of evidence, 
and none in fact exists. We should be disposed to place it 
somewhat nearer the time of publication. 



KING HENRY YIII. 

" The Famous History of the Life of King Henry the Eight," 
was first printed in the folio of 1623, where it occuines 
twenty-eight paires ; viz. from p. 205 to p. 232, inclusive. 
It is the last ])l;)y in the division of " Histories." It fills 
the same place in the later impressions in the same form. 

The ])rincipal question, in relation to Shakespeare's 
" Henry the Eighth," is, when it was written. We are satis- 
fied, both by the internal and external evidence, that it 
came from the poet's pen after James I. had ascended tlie 
til rone. 

Independently of the whole character of the drama, which 
was little calculated to please Elizabeth, it seems to us that 
Cranmer's prophecy, in Act v. sc. 4, is quite decisive. There 
the poet first speaks of Elizabeth, and of the advantages de- 
rived from her rule, and then proceeds in the clearest 
manner to notice her successor : — 

'• Nor shall this peace sleep with her : but as when 
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phcenix, 
Her ashes new create another heir. 
As great in estimation as herself; 
So shall she leave her blessedness to one 
(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness) 
Who from the sacred ashes of her honour 
Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, 
And so stand fix'd.*' 

Ingenuity cannot pervert these lines to any other meaning ; 
but it has been said that they, and some others which follow 
them, were a subsequent introduction ; and, moreover, that 
they were the work of Ben Jonson, on some revival of the 
play in the reign of James I. There does not exist the 
slightest evidence to establish either proposition. Any per- 
son, reading the whole of Cranmer's speech at the christening, 
can hardly fail to perceive such an entireuess and sequence 
of thoughts and words in it, as to make it very unlikely 
that it was not dictated by the same intellect, and written 
by the same pen. Malone and others made up their minds 
that " Henry the Eighth " was produced before the death of 
Elizabeth ; and finding the passage we have quoted directly 
in the teeth of this supposition, they charged it as a subse- 
quent addition, fixed the authorship of it upon a diiferent 
poet, and printed it within brackets. 

As to external evidence, there is one fact wliich has never 
had sufficient importance given to it. We allude to the fol- 
lowing memorandum in the Registers of the Stationers' 
Company : — 

"12 Feb. 1604 

" Nath. Butterl Yf he get good allowance for the En- 

terlude of K. Henry 8th before he begyn to print it ; 

and then procure the wardens hands to yt for the 

entrance of yt : he is to have the same for his copy." 

Chalmers asserted, without qualification, that this entry 
referred to a eontcm.poraneous play by Samuel Rowley, under 
the title of "When you see me yon know me," 1605; but 
the " enterlude " is expressly called in the entry " K. Henry 
8th," and we feel no hesitation in concluding that it referred 
to Shakespeare's drama, which liad probably been brought 
out at the Globe Theatre in the summer of 1604. The me- 
morandum, judging from its terms, seems to have been made, 
not at the instance of Nathaniel Butter, the bookseller, but 
of the company to which Shakespeare belonged, and in order 
to prevent a surreptitious publication of tlie play. The 
"12 Fob. 1604," was, of course, according to our present 
reckoning tlie 12 Feb. 1605, and at that date Butter liad not 
bcgim to print "Henry the Eighth." No edition of it is 



known before it appeared in the folio of 1623, and we may 
infer that Butter failed in getting "good allowance" with 
"the wardens' hands to it." 

The Globe Theatre was destroyed on 29th June, 1613, the 
thatch with which it was covered having been fired bv the 
discharge of some small pieces of ordnance. (Hist, of tngl. 
Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. iii. p. 298.) It has been 
stated by Howes, in his continuation of Stowe's Chronicle, 
that the play then in a course of representation was " Henry 
the Eighth ;" but Sir Henry Wotton, who is very particular 
in his description of the calamity, asserts that the play was 
called " All is True." There is little doubt that he is right, 
because a ballad, printed on the occasion, has the burden of 
"All is True" at the end of every stanza. The question 
then is, whether this was Sliakcspeare's " Henry the Eighth" 
under a ditferent title, or a dillcrent play? Sir Henry Wot- 
ton informs us in terms that it was "a new play," and as he 
was right in the title, we may liave the more faith in his 
statement respecting the novelty of the performance. 

In the instance of "Henry the Eighth," as of many other 
works by our great dramatist, there is ground for believing 
that there existed a preceding play on the same story. Hen- 
slowe's Diary affords us some curious and important evi- 
dence on this point, unknown to Malone. According to this 
authority two plays were written in the year 1601 for the 
Earl of Nottingham's players, on the events of the life of 
Cardinal Wolsey, including necessarily some of the chief in- 
cidents of the reign of Henry VIII. These plays consisted 
of a first and second part, the one called "The Rising of 
Cardinal Wolsey," and the other, " Cardinal Wolsey." We 
collect that the last was produced first, and the success it met 
with on the stage was perhaps the occasion of the second 
drama, containing, in fact, the conmieneemcnt of the story. 
Of this course of proceeding Ilenslowe's Diary furnishes 
several othet examples. 

The earliest entry relating to " Cardinal Wolsey," (the 
second play in the order of the incidents, though the earliest 
in point of production) is dated 5lh June, 1601, when Henry 
Ciiettle was paid 20«. " for writing the book of Cardinal 
Wolsey." On the 14th July he was paid 40s. more on the 
same account, and in the whole, between 5th June and 17th 
July, he was paid 6l., as large a sum as he usually obtained 
for a new play. 

We have no positive testimony of the success of " Cardi- 
nal Wolsey," of which Chettle was the sole author ; but we 
are led to infer it, because very soon afterwards we find no 
fewer than four poets engaged upon the production of the 
drama under the title of "The Rising of Cardinal Wolsey," 
which, doubtless, related to his early life, and to his gradual 
advance in the favour of Henry "VIIL These four poets were 
Drayton, Chettle, Munday, and Wentworth Smith; and so 
many pens, we may conjecture, were employed, that the play 
might be brought out with all dispatch, in order to follow up 
the popularity of what may be looked upon as the second 
part of the same "history." Another memorandum in Ilen- 
slowe's Diary tends to the same conclusion, for it appears 
that the play was licensed piece-meal by the Master of the 
Revels, that it might be put into rehearsal as it proceeded, 
and represented immediately after it was finished. 

A farther j)oint established by the same authority is, that 
Ilenslowe expended an unusual amount in getting up the 
drama. On the 10th Aug. 1601, he paid no less than 2lZ. for 
" velvet, sattin, and taifeta" for the dresses, a sum equal now 
to about 100^. Upon the costumes only, in the whole, 
considerably more than WOl. were laid out, reckoning the 
value of money in 1601 at about five times its value at 
present. 

We may conclude with tolerable certainty that Shakespear'^ 
wrote " Henry the Eighth " in the winter of 1603-4, and 
that it was first acted at the Globe soon after the commence- 
ment of the season there, which seems to have begun to- 
wards the close of April, as soon as a theatre open to the 
weather could be conveniently employed. The coronation 
procession of Anne Bullen forms a prominent feature in the 
drama ; and as tlie coronation of James I. and Anne of Den- 
mark took place on the 24th July, 1603, we may not unrea- 
sonably suppose that the audiences at the Globe were in- 
tended to be reminded of that event, and that the show, do- 
tailed with such unusual minuteness in the folio of 1623, was 
meant as a remote imitation of its splendour. Tiie opinion, 
that Siiakespearc's " Henry the PJighth " was undoubtedly 
written after the accession of James I., was expressed and 
printed by us nearly twenty years ago. The words "aged 
princess,"' (no part of the imputed addition by Ben Jonson) 
would never have been used by Shakespeare during the life 
of Elizabeth. 



XCIV 



INTEODIICTIOX TO THE PLAYS. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 

The Famous Illstorie of Troylns and Cresseiil. Excellently 
expressing the beginning of their loues, with the conceited 
wooing of Pandarns Prince of Licia. "Written by Wil- 
liam Shakespeare. London Imprinted by G. E!d for K. 
Bonian and H. Walley, and iire to be sold at, the spred Eagle 
in Paules Church-yeard, oucr against the great North doore. 
1609. 4to. 46 leaves. 
The Historie of Troylns and Cresseida. As it -was acted by 
the Kings Maiesties seruants at the Globe. "Written by 
William" Shakespeare. London Imprinted by G. Eld for 
E. Bonian and H. Walley, and are to be sold at the sprcd 
Eagle in Paules Chnrcli-yeard, ouer against the great 
North doore. 1609. 4to. 45 leaves. 
In the folio of 1623, " The Tragedie of Troylusand Cressida" 
occupies twenty-nine pages, the Prologue lillin? the first 
page and the last being left blank. It retains its place in 
the later folios ; but in that of 1G8.5 tlie Prologne is placed 
at the head of the page on which the play commences. 
"We will first state the facts respecting the early impressions 
of " Troilus and Cressida," and then make such observations 
ujion them as seem necessary. 

The play was originally printed in 1609. It was formerly 
supposed that there were two editions in that year, but they 
were merely different issues of the same impression : the 
body of the work (with two exceptions, pointed out hereafter) 
is alike in each ; they were from the types of the same 
printer, and were published by the same booksellers. The 
title-pages, as may be seen on the opposite leaf, vary ma- 
terially : but there is another more remarkable alteration. 
On the title-page of the copies first circulated, it is not stated 
that the drama had been represented by any company ; and 
in a sort of preface headed, " A never Writes to an ever 
Eeader. News," it is asserted that it had never been "staled 
with the stage, never clapper-clawed with the palms of the 
vulgar;" in other words, that the play had not been acted. 
This was pi'obably then true ; but as " Ti'oilus and Cressida" 
was very soon afterwards brought upon the stage, it became 
necessary for the publishers to substitute a new title-page, 
and to suppress their preface : accordingly a re-issue of tliC 
same edition took place, by the title-page of wliieh it ap- 
peared, that the play was printed " as it was acted by the 
King's Majesty's servants at the Globe." 

In the Stationers' Eegisters are two entries, of distinct dates, 
relating to a play, or plays, called, " Troilus and Cressida :" 
they are in the followins; terms : — 
"7 Feb. 1602-f? 
" Mr. Eoberts] The booke of Troilus and Cresseda, as 
yt is acted by my Lo. Chamberlens men." 
"23 Jan. 160S-9 
" Eich. Bonion and Ilen. AVhalleys] Entered for their 
copie under t' hands of ilr. Segar Deputy to 
Sir Geo. Bueke, and Mr. Warden Lownes": A 
booke called the History of Troylus and Cressula." 
The edition of 1609 was, doubtless, published in conse- 
quence of the entry of "28 Jan. 1608-9;" but if Eoberts 
printed a " Troilus and Cressida," whether by Shakespeare 
or by any other dramatist, in consequence of the earlier entry 
of "7 Feb. 1602-3," none such has come down to our time. 
Shakespeare's tragedy was not again printed, as tiir as can 
now be ascertained, until it appeared, nnder rather peculiar 
circumstances, in the folio of 1623. 

In that volume the dramatic works of Shakespeare, as is 
well known, are printed in three divisions — "Comedies," 
" Histories," and " Tragedies ;" and a list of them, under 
those heads is inserted at t)ie coTnmenccment. In that list 
" Troilus and Cressida " is not found ; and it is farther re- 
markable, that it is inserted near tlie middle of the folio of 
1623, without any paging, excepting that the second leaf is 
numbered 79 and 80 : the signatures also do not correspond 
with any others in the series. Hence it was inferred by 
Farmer, that the insertion of " Troilus and Cressida " was 
an afterthought by the player-editors, and that when the rest 
of the folio was printed, they had not intended to include it. 
It seems to us, that there is no adequate ground for this 
notion, and that the peculi.ar circumstances to which we have 
alluded may be sufficiently accounted for by the supposition 
that " Troilus and Cressida " was given to, and executed by 
a different printer. The paging of the folio of 1623 is in 
several places irregular, and in the division of " Tragedies " 
(at the head of which "Troilus and Cressida" is '^placed) 
there Is a mistake of 100 pages. The list of " Comedies," 

1 We infer this from the terms of the entry m the Stationers' 
Registers, in which Sir George Buck, and his deputy, Pegar, are 
mentioned. It is upon this evidence only that we know that Segar 



"Histories," and "Tragedies," at the beeinning of the 
volume was most likely printed last, and the person wh.o 
formed it accidentally omitted " Troilus and Cressida," be- 
cause it had been as accidentally omitted in the pagination. 
No copy of the folio of 1623 is, we believe, known, which 
does not contain " Troilus and Cressida :" it is not there di- 
vided into acts and scenes, although at the commencement of 
tlie piece we have Actus I'rimiis, Scmnu Prima. 

Such are the facts connected with the appearance of the 
tragedy in quarto and folio. It seems very evident that 
" Troilus and Cressida" was acted in the interval between the 
first and the second issue of the quarto, as printed by G. Eld 
for lioiiian and Walley in the early part of 1609. It is prob- 
able that our great dramatist prepared it tor the stage in the 
winter of 1608-9, with a view to its jiroduction at the Globe 
as soon as the season connneneed at that theatre : before it 
vs-as so produced, and after it had been licensed, ^ Bonian and 
Walley seem to have possessed themselves of a copy of it; 
and having procured it to be printed, issued it to the world 
as "a new jilay, never staled with the stage, never clapper- 
clawed with the palms of the vulgar." That they had ob- 
tained it without the consent of the company, "the grand 
possessors," as they are called, may be gathered from the 
conclusion of the preface. The second issue of Bonian and 
Walley's edition of 1609 was not made until after the tragedy 
had been acted at the Globe, as is stated on the title-])age. 
This is an easy and intelligible mode of accounting for tlie 
main differences in the quarto copies ; and it enables us with 
some plausibility to conjecture, that the date when Shakes- 
peare wrote "Troilus and Cressida" was not long before it 
was first represented, and a still shorter time before it was 
first printed. 

Some difficulty has arisen out of the entry, already quoted, 
of a "Troilus and Cressida" in the Stationers' books, with 
the date of 7th Feb. 1602-3, in which entry it is stated that 
the ]ilay was "acted by the Lord Chamberlain's servants ;" 
the company to which Shakespeare belonged having been so 
denominated anterior to the license of James I. in May, 1603. 
This circumstance formed JIalone's chief ground for contend- 
ing that Shakespeare wrote his "Troilus and Cressida" in 
1602. It may, however, be reasonably inferred that this was 
a different play on the same subject. Every body must be 
struck with the remarkable inequality of some parts of 
Shakespeare's "Troilus and Cressida," especially towards 
the conclusion : they could hardly liavo been written by the 
pen v.'hich produced the magnificent speeches of Ulysses and 
other earlier portions, and were probably relics of a drama 
acted by the Lord Chamberlain's servants about 1602, and in 
the springof 1603 intended to be printed by Eoberts. In April 
and May, 1599, it appears by Henslowe's Diary that lie paid 
various sums to Dekker and Chettle for a play they were then 
writing under the title of "Troilus and Cressida :" it may be 
concluded tliat it was soon afterwards acted by the Earl of 
Nottingham's players, for whom it was composed ; and the 
" Troilus and Cressida," entered by Eoberts on the 7th Feb. 
1602-3, may have been a tragedy, not by Shakespeare, brought 
out by the Lord Chamberlain's servants at the Globe, in com- 
petition with their rivals at the Eose or Fortune. Of this 
piece it is not impossible that Shakespeare in some degree 
availed himself; and he might be too much in haste to have 
time to alter and improve all that his own taste and genius 
would otherwise have rejected. 

This brings us to the question of the source from wliich 
Shakespeare derived his plot : how far lie did, or did not, 
tbllow the older play we suppose him to have employed, it 
is not possible to determine. In 1581 "a proper ballad, 
dialogue-wise, between Troilus and Cressida" was entered 
on the Stationers' Eegisters by Edward White, and in the lax 
form of expression of that day this may have been a dramatic 
performance. More than a century earlier, viz. in 1471, Cax- 
ton had printed his " Eeeuyell of the Ilistoryes of Troye," 
which at various dates, and in a cheap form, was reprinted. 
Lydgate's " History, Sege, and Destruccyon of Troye " came 
from Pynson's press in 1513 ; but Shakespeare seems to have 
been so attentive a reader of Chaucer's five books of " Troylus 
and Creseyda" (of which the last edition, anterior to the pro- 
duction of Shakespeare's play, appeared in 1602) as to have 
been considerably indebted to them. It is not easy to trace 
any direct or indirect obligations on the part of Shakespeare 
to Chapman's translation of Homer, of which the earliest 
portion came out in 1598. It is well known that the adven- 
tures of Troilus and Cressida are not any where mentioned in 
the Iliad. 



acted for the Master of the Bevels, 
appointed until ICIO. 



Sir George Buck was not formally 



mTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS, 



xcv 



After adverting to the real or supposed orijrin of the story 
of " Troilus and Cressida," Coleridge remarks in his Literary 
Remains, vol. ii. p. ISO, tliat it "can scarcely be classed with 
his dramas of Greek and Roman History; but it forms an in- 
termediate link between the fictitious Greek and Roman His- 
tories, which we may call legendary dramas, and the pi^oper 
ancient histories ; tliat is, between the Peiiclea or Titus An- 
dronicus, and the Coriolanns or Julius Csesar." lie then ad- 
verts to the characters of the liero and hei'oine, and the 
purpose Shakespeare had in view of pourtraying them, and 
goes on to observe: — -"I am half inclined to believe that 
Shakespeare's main object, or shall I rather say, his rulin£r 
impulse, was to translate the poetic heroes of paganism into 
the not less rude, but more intellectually vigorous, and more 
featurehf, warriors of Christian chivalry. — and to substantiate 
the distinct and graceful profiles or outlines of the Homeric 
epic into the flesh and blood of the romantic drama, — in 
sh'irt, to sfive a grand history-piece in the robust style of 
Albert Durer." Consistently in some degree with this (ipinion, 
Schlegel remarks, that " the wliolc play is one continued irony 
of the crown of all heroic tales — the tale of Troy," and after 
dwelling briefly upon this point, he adds : — '' in all this let no 
man conceive that an indignity was intended to Homer: 
Shakespeare iiad not the Iliad before him, but the chivalrous 
romances of the Trojan war derived from Dares I'hrygius." 
Shakespeare, in fact, found the story popular, and he applied 
it to a popular purpose in a popular manner. 

One reason for thinking that "Troilus and Cressida" 
came from the hands of aditierent printer, though little or 
no distinction can be traced in the type, is thattliere is hardly 
any play in the folio of 1623 which contains so many errors 
of the press. The quarto of 1609 vi'as unquestionably the 
f:)undation of the text of the folio, for in various instances 
the latter adopts the literal blunders of the former: it besides 
introduces not a few important corruptions, for which it is not 
easy to account, so that the languafie of Shakespeare, on the 
whole, is perhaps best represented in the quarto. Tliere are, 
however, some valuable additions in the folio, not found in 
the quarto, while on the other hand the quarto contains 
passages omitted in the folio, though sometimes absolutely 
necessary to the sense. The variations, whether important 
or comparatively insignificant, are noted at the foot of the 
page ; but there are two instances deserving notice in which 
our text difiers from that of all preceding editions. It has 
been thought that the quarto inijircssions of 1609, as far as 
regards the body of the play, are identical. Such is not pre- 
cisely the case, and a copy of the drama issued after it had 
been " acted by the Kind's Majesty's servants at the Globe," 
belonging to the Duke of Devonshire, contains two valuable 
improvements of the text, as it had been given in the earlier 
copies published before it had been performed. The first of 
these occurs in Act iii. sc. 2, where Troilus, anticipating the 
entrance of Cressida, exclaims, as we find the passage in all 
modern editions, 

"I am giddy : expectation whirls me round. 
Th' imaginary relish is so sweet 
That it enchants my sense ; what will it be 
When that the wat'ry palate tastes indeed 
Love's thrice-reputed nectar ?" 

For " thrice-reputed nectar," tlie Duke of Devonshire's 
copy of the quarto, 1609, has '■^ Vhx'ia^-repui'ed nectar," or 
thrice purified and refined nectar. The other instance of the 
same kind occurs near the end of the play (Act v. sc. 7.) 
where Achilles is excitincr his armed Myrmidons to the 
slaughter of Hector, and tells them, 

" Empale him with your weapons round about : 
In fellest manner execute your arms." 

Thus it stands in all editions, from the folio of 1623 down- 
wards, and the commentators have been at some pains to ex- 
glain the phrase "execute your arms,'''' when in truth, as 
teevens suspected, it is nothing but a mispi-int for "execute 
your aims," as appears upon the authority of the quarto, 
1609, in the collection of the Dnke of Devonshire: for 
Achilles, to charge his followers to encircle Hector with their 
weapons, and then to execute their aims against him in the 
fellest manner, requires no explanation, and is an improve- 

1 A never Writer to an ever Reader. News.] This address, or 
epistle, is only found in such copies of " Troilus and Cressida" as do 
not state on the title-page that it '• was acted by the King's Majesty's 
seri'ants at the Globe." See Introduction. 

2 — and set up a new English inquisition.] This prophecy has 
been well verified of late years, when (to say notliinffof tlie prices 
of first editions of Shakespeare's undoubted works) 11)0^. have been 
given for a copy of the ohl •'Taming of a Shrew," I'lni, and 1:30/. for 
''The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York," 1.59.J, merely because 
they were plays which Shakespeare made use of in his compositions. 



ment of the received text. This copy of tlie second issue of 
the quarto, 1609, seems originally to have belonged to Hum- 
phry Dyson, a curious collector, who considerably outlived 
Shakespeare, and who registers on the title-page, witli the 
attestation of his signature, that " Ti'oihis and Cressida" was 
" printed amongcst the workes" of Shakespeare, referring of 
course to the lolio of 1623. 

Dryden jiroduced an alteration of "Troilus and Cressida" 
at the Dorr^et Garden Theatre in 1679, and it was printed in 
the same year : in the preface he states that he had " refined 
Shakespeare's language, which before was obsolete." 

A D D E E S S 

PREFIXED TO SOME COPIES OF THE EDITION OF 1609. 



A never Writer to an ever Reader. Neti\s\ 

Eternal reader, you lutve here a new play, never staled with 
the stage, never clapper-clawed with the palms of the vulgar, 
and yet passing full of the palm comical ; for it is a birtli of 
your brain, that never undertook any thing comical vainly: 
and were but the vain names of comedies changed for tlie 
titles of commodities, or of plays fur pleas, you should see all 
tliose grand censors, tliat now style them such vanities, flock 
to them for the main grace of tlieir gravities ; especially this 
authoi-'s comedies, that are so framed to the life, that they 
serve for the most connnon commentaries of all the actions 
of our lives, showing such a dexterity and power of wit, that 
the most displeased v.ith plays are pleased with his comedies. 
And all such dull and heavy-witted worldlings, as were never 
capable of the wit of a cumedy, coming by report of them to 
his representations, have found that wit there that they never 
fiiund in tliemselves, and have parted better-witled tluiu they 
Came ; feeling an edge of wit set upon them, more than ever 
they dreamed they had brain to grind it on. So nnich and 
such savoured salt of wit is in his comedies, that they seem 
(for their height of pleasure) to be born in that sea that 
brought tbrth Venus. Amongst all there is none more witty 
than this ; and had I time I would comment upon it, thougli 
I know it needs not, (for so much as will make you think 
your testern well bestowed) but for so much wortli, as even 
poor I know to be stuffed in it. It deserves such a labour, 
as well as the best comedy in Terence or Tlautus : and believe 
this, that when he is gone, and his comedies out of sale, you 
will scramble for them, and set up a new English inquisition. 2 
Take this for a warning, and at the peril of your jileasure's 
loss, and judgment's, refuse not, nor like this the less for not 
being sullied with the smoky breath of the multitude; but 
thank tbrtune for the scape it hath made amongst you, since 
by the grand possessors' wills, I believe, you should h.ive 
prayed for them, rather than been prayed.^ And so I leave 
all such to be prayed for (for the states of their wits' healths) 
that will not praise it. — Vale. 



COEIOLANUS. 

" The Tragedy of Coriolanns" was first printed in the folio 
of 1623, where it occupies thirty pages, viz. from p. 1 to p. 
30 inclusive, a new pagination commencing with that 
drama. In the folio of 1632 the new pagination begins 
with " Ti'oilus and Cressida," and in the folios of 1664 and 
16S5 " Coriolanns" is inserted in the same order. 
NoTHi.vQ has yet been di.scovcred to lead to tlie belief that 
there was a play on the story of Coriolanns anterior to Shake- 
speare's tragedy. Ilenslowe's Diary contains no hint of the 
kind. 
j The materi:ils for this drama appear to have been derived 
exclusively from "the Life of Caius ?*Iartins Coriolanns," in 
the early translation of Plutarch by Sir Thomas North. That 
, translation came from the jn'css in folio in 1579, v.ith the fol- 
lowing title: " The Lives of the noble Grecians and Romanes, 
compared together by that grave learned Philosopher and 
Historiographer, Plut'arke of Chceroiiea." It was avowedly 

3 — rather than been prayed.] This passage refers, prob.ably, to 
the unwillingness of the company to which Shakespeare belonged 
to allow any of their plays to be printed. Such .seems to have been 
the case with all the associations of actors, and hence the imperfect 
manner in which most of the dramas of the lime have come down to 
us. anil the few that issued from the pre.'js, compared with the num- 
ber tliat WPi-o v.-ritten. The word '-them," in "prayed for them," 
refers, as i\lr. Barron Field suggests to me, rot to the " grand pos- 
sessors," but to '• his comedies," mentioned above. 



XCVl 



INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. 



made from the Frcncli of Amiot, Bishop of Anxerrc, and ap- 
pears to have been very popiihir: tliouijli publi-shed at a high 
price (equal to about 51. of our present moiie>'), it was 
several times reprinted; and we ina.y, perliaps, presume that 
our great dramatist made use of an impression nearer his own 
time, possibly tiiat of 1595. In many of the jirincipal 
speeches he has followed this authority with verbal exact- 
ness ; and he was indebted to it for the whole conduct of his 
plot. The action occupies less than four years, for it com- 
mences subsequent to the retirement of the people to Mons 
Sacer in 262, after tiie fuundation of Kome, and terminatea 
with the death of Coriolanus in A. U. C. 266. 

"The Tragedy of Coriolanus" originally appeared in the 
foIiooflC23, where it is divided into acts but not into scenes; 
and it was registered at Stationers' Hall by Blount and Jag- 
gard on the 8th of November of that year, as one of the 
"copies" which had not been "entered to other men." 
Hence we infer that there had been no previous edition of it 
in quarto. Malone su]iposed that " Coriolanus" was written 
in 1610; but wc are destitute of all evidence on the point, 
beyond what may be derived from the style of composition : 
this would certainly induce us to tix it somewhat late in the 
career of our great dramatist. 

It is on the whole well printed for the time in the folio of 
1623; but in Act ii. sc. 3, either the transcriber of the manu- 
script or the compositor must have omitted a line, which 
Pope supplied from conjecture (with the aid of North's 
Plutarch), and whicli has ever since been received into Ihe 
text, because it is absolutely necessary to the intelligibility 
of the passage. For the sake of greater distinction, we have 
printed the line within brackets, besides pointing out the 
circumstance iu a note. 



to recollect that our dramatic poets were then only beginning 
to throw oft' the shackles of rhyme, and their versification par- 
took of the weight and monotony which were the usual accom- 
paniments of couplets. "Titus Andronicus" is to bo read 
under this impression, and many passages will then be found 
in it which, we think, are remarkable indications of skill and 
power in an impractised dramatist : as a poetical production 
it has not hitherto had justice done to it, on account, partly, 
of the revolting nature of the plot. Compared with the ver- 
sification of Greene, Peele, or Lodge, the lines in " Titus Ai> 
dronicus" will be found to run with ease and variety, and 
they are scarcely inferior to the later and better productions 
of Marlowe. Neither is internal evidence wholly wanting, for 
words and phrases employed by Shakespeare in his other 
works may be pointed out ; and in Act iii. sc. 1, we meet a re- 
markable expression, which is also contained in " Venus and 
Adonis." 

With reference to the general complexity of the drama, and 
the character of the plot, it must also be borne in mind that 
it was produced at a time, when scenes of horror were especi- 
ally welcome to public audiences, and when pieces were actu- 
ally recommended to their admiration in conseq\ienee of the 
blood and slaughter with which they abounded. Shakespeare, 
perhaps, took up the subject on this account, and he worked 
It out in such a way as, ])rior to the introduction and forma- 
tion of a purer taste, would best gratify those for whose 
amusement it was intended. 

The oldest known edition of " Titus Andronicus" bears 
date in 1600 : two copies of it are extant, the one in the collec- 
tion of Lord Francis Egerton, now before us, and the other 
in the Signet Library at Edinburgh. This second copy was 
not discovered until very recently, and we feel convinced that 
a more ancient impression will some time or other again be 
brought to light. That it once existed, we have the testimony 
of Langbaine, in his " Account of English Dramatic Poets," 
8 vo. 1691, wiiere he tells us that the play was " first printed 
4to. Loud. 1594." Consistently with this assertion we find the 
following entry in the Eegisters of the Stationers' Company : — 

" 6 Feb. 1593 
John Daiiter] A booke entitled a noble Roman HisLorye of 
Tytus Andronicus." 

The Stationers' books contain several subsequent memo- 
randa respecting " Titus Andronicus," bearing date 19tli 
April, 1602, 14th Dee. 1624, and 8th Nov. 1680; but none 
wliicli seems to have relation to the editions of 1600 and 
1611. No quarto impressions of a subsequent date are known, 
and the tragedy next appeared in the folio of 1623. The folio 
was printed from the quarto of 1611, but witli the addition 
of a short scene in the third Act, which otherwise, according 
to the divisions there adopted, would have consisted of only 
one scene. 

The wording of the title-page of the edition of 1600 is re- 
markable, although it lias hitherto been passed over without 
due notice : it jirofesscs that the drama had been played not 
only by " the Lord Chamberlain's servants," of whom Shake- 
speare was one, but liy the theatrical servants of the Earl of 
Pembroke, the Earl of Derby, and the Earl of Sussex. The 
performance of Shakespeare's plays seems almost miiformly 
to have been confined to the company to which he belonged ; 
but we know frotn Ilenslowe's Diary that between 3rd June, 
1594, and 15th Nov. 15S6, the Lord Chamberlain's servants 
were acting in apparent conjunction with those of the Lord 
Admiral' : one of the plays, enumerated by Hensloweas hav- 
ing been acted in this inter\'al, is "Titus Andronicus," which 
circumstance he records under date of 12th June, 1594. This 
may have been the very play Shakespeare had written, and 
which having been thus represented by several companies, 
although the Earl of Nottingham's servants was not one of 
them, the fact was stated on the title-page of the earliest ex- 
tant impression. It is to be observed, however, that Ilenslowe 
has an entry of the performance of " Titus Andronicus" on 
the 23rd Jan. 1593-4, when it appears to have been a new 
play. The "Titus Andronicus," therefore, acted on 12th June, 
1594, may have been a repetition of a drama, which possibly 
had been got up for Ilenslowe, in consequence of the success 
of a tragedy upon the same story, the property of a rival 
company. There can be little doubt that Shakespeare's " Ti- 
tus Andronicus" was written several years earlier. 

It is very possible that Shakespeare's " Titus Andronicus" 
was founded upon some anterior dramatic performance, but 
on this point we have no evidence beyond what may be col- 

1 "We consider Ravenscroft's testimony, in his alteration of " Titus speare only gave " some master-touches to one or two of the principal 
Andronicus," (acted about 167S, and printed nine years afterwards) 1 characters." 

of very little value : in his suppressed Prolonne he asserted it to be the ^ gee "The Memoirs of Edward AUeyn," published by the Shake- 
unquestionable work of Shakespeare, while in his preface to the speare Society, p. 22. The theatre the Lord Chamberlain's and the 
printed copy in 1687, he mentions it as a stage- tradition, that Shake- ' Lord Admiral's players jointly occupied, was that at Newington Butts. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 

The most lamentable Eomaine Tragedie of Titus Andronicus. 
As it hath sundry times beene playde by the Eight Honour- 
able the Earle of Pembrooke, the Earle of Darbie, the Earle 
of Sussex, and the Lorde Chamherlaine theyr Seruants. At 
London, Printed by I. E. for Edward White, and are to bee 
solde at his shoppe, at the little North doore of Paules, at 
the signe of the Gun. 1600. 4to. 40 leaves. 
The most lamentable Tragedie of Titus Andronicus. As it 
hath sundry tiuies beene plaide by the Kings Maiesties 
Seruants. London, Printed for Eedward White, and are to 
be solde at his shoppe, nere the little North dore of Pauls, 
iit the signe of the Gun. 1611. 4to. 40 leaves. 
In the folio of 1623, " The Lamentable Tragedy of Titus An- 
dronicus" occupies twenty-two pages, in the division of 
" Tragedies," viz. from p. 31 to p. 52 inclusive. The three 
later folios, of course, insert it in the same part of the volume. 
We feel no hesitation in assigning " Titus Andronicus" to 
Shakespeare. Whether he may lay claim to it as the author 
of the entire tragedy, or only in a qualified sense, as having 
made additions to, and improvements in it, is a different and 
a more difficult question. 

We find it given to iiim by his contemporary, Francis Meres, 
in his Palladia Tamia, 1598, where he mentions " Titus An- 
dronicus" in immoiliitte connection with " Eichard II.," 
" Richard III.," "Henry IV.," "King John," and " Eomeo 
and Juliet." It was also inserted in the folio of 1623 by 
Shakespeare's fellow-actors, Ilemiiige and Coudell, and they 
plaee_ it between "Coriolanus" and "Romeo and Juliet." 
Had it not been by our great dramatist. Meres, who was well 
acquainted with the literature of his time, would not have 
attributed it to him ; and the player-editors, who had been 
Shakespeare's " fellows and friends," and were men of cliar- 
acter an<l expeVience, would not have included it in their vol- 
ume. These two facts are, in our view, suflScient^ 

It was, undoubtedly, one of his earliest, if not his very 
earliest dramatic production. We are not to suppose that at 
the time he first joined a theatrical company in London, when 
he might not be more than twenty- two or twenty-three years 
old, his style was as formed and as matured as it afterwards 
became : all are aware that there is a most marked distinction 
between his mode of composition early and late in life ; as ex- 
hibited, for instance, in " Love's Labour's Lost," and in " The 
Winter's Tale ;" and we apprehend that " Titus Andronicus" 
belongs to a period even anterior to the former. Supposing 
" Titus Androiiieus" to have been written about 1588, weave 



INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. 



xcvn 



lected from the piece itself, in certain real or supposed dissimi- 
larities of composition. 

When Daiiter entered the " noble Roman History of Titus 
Androniens" in 1593, he coupled with it " the ballad thereof," 
which probably is the same printed in Percy's " Reliques," 
vol. i. p. 241, edit. 1812. A play called " Androniens" is men- 
tioned by Ben Jonson in the Induction to his " Bartholomew 
Fair," (pla> ed first in 1614,) as a piece of twenty-live or thirty 
years standing. This may have been Sliakespeare's tragedy, 
that acted by Henslowe's company, or a drama which liad 
served as a foundation of both. The oldest notice of " Titus 
Andronieus" (excepting that bv Meres) is contained in a tract 
called " Father Hubbard's Tales, or The Ant and the Night- 
ingale," 4to. 1604, imputed to Thomas Middleton, where (Sign. 
E. 3) the author speaks of the " lamentable action of one arm, 
like old Titus Androniens." The loss of his hand by the 
hero would no doubt form an incident in every drama written 
upon the suljjcct. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 

An excellent conceited Tragedie of Romeo and luliet. As it 
hath been often (with great ap|ilause) plaid publiquely, by 
the rio'ht Ilonom'able the L. of Hiuisdon his Seruants. Lou- 
don, Printed by John Danter. 1597. 4to. 39 leaves. 
The most excellent and lamentable Tragedie, of Romeo and 
luliet. Newly corrected, augmented, and amended : As it 
hath bene sundry times publiquely acted, by the right Hon- 
ourable the Lord Chamberlaine his Seruants. London 
Printed by Thomas Creede, for Cuthbert Burby, and are to 
be sold at his shop neare the Exchange. 1599. 4to. 46 leaves. 
The most excellent and Lamentable Trageclie, of Romeo and 
Juliet. As it hath beene snndrie times publiquely Acted, 
by the Kings Maiesties Seruants at the Globe. Newly cor- 
rected, augmented and amended : London Printed for lohn 
Smethwiek, and are to be sold at his Shop in Saint Dnn- 
stanes Church-yard, in Fleetestreete vnder the Dyall. 1609. 
4to. 46 leaves. 
In the folio of 1623 "The Tragedie of Romeo and luliet" 
occupies twenty-live pages, viz. from p. 53 to p. 79, inclu- 
sive, in the division of " Tragedies." It fills the same space 
in the folios of 1682, 1664, and 1685. 

It is certain that there was an English ]ilay upon the story 
of Romeo and .Juliet before the year 1562 ; and the fact estab- 
lishes that, even at that early date, our dramatists resorted to 
Italian novels, or translations of them, for the subjects of their 
productions. It is the most ancient piece of evidence of the 
kind yet discovered, and it is given by Arthur Brooke, who 
in that year published a narrative poem, called " The Tragicall 
Historyc of Romeus and Juliet." At the close of his address 
" to the Reader" he observes : — "Though I saw the same argu- 
ment lately set forth onstage with more commendation than I 
can look for (being there much better set forth, than I have, or 
can do), yet the same matter, penned as it is, may serve the 
like good eft'ect." (Hist, of English Dranuitic Poetry and the 
Stage, vol. ii. p. 416.] Thus we see also, that the play had 
been received " with commendation," and that BrooKe him- 
self, unquestionably a competent judge, admits its excellence. 
We Can scarcely suppose that no other drama would be 
founded upon the same interesting incidents between 1562 
and the date when Shakespeare wrote his tragedy, a period 
of, probably, more than thirty years ; but no hint of the kind 
is given in any record, and certainly no such work, either man- 
uscript or printed, has come down to us. Of the extreme pop- 
ularity of the story we have abundant proof, and of a remote 
date. It was included by William Payntcr in the "second 
tome" of his "Palace of Pleasure," the dedication of which 
he dates 4th Nov. 1567 ; and in old writers we find frequent 
mention of the hero and heroine. Thomas Dalapeend gives 
the followincr brief " artrmneut" in his "Pleasant Fidile of 
Hermaphroditus and Salmaeis," 1565: — " A noble mayden of 
the cytye of Verona, in Italye, whyche loveel Romeus, eldest 
Sonne of the Lorde Montcsclic, and beinge pryvelye maryed 
togyther, he at last poysoned hym selt'e for love of her: she, 
for sorowe of his deathe. slevve her selfe in the same tombe 
with hys dagger." B. Rich, in his "Dialog\ie betwene Mer- 
cury and a Soiddier," 1574, says that " the pittifull history of I 
Romeus and Julietta," was so well known as to be represented 
on tai)estry. It is again alluded to in " The Gorgeous Gal- 
lery of Gallant Inventions," 1578 ; and in " A Poore Knight 
liis Palace of Private Pleasure," 1579. Austin Saker's " Nar- 
bonus," 1580, contains the subsequent passage : — "Had Ro- 
meus bewrayed his marianre at the first, and manifested the 
intent of his meaninsr, he had done very wisely, and gotten 
license for the lives of two faithful friends." After tliis date 
the mention of the story becomes even more frequent, and 



sometimes more particular; and our inference is, that it owed 
part of its popularity, not merely to printed narratives in 
prose or verse, nor to the play spoken of by Brooke in 1562, 
but to subsequent dramatic representations, perhaps, more or 
less founded upon that early drama. 

How far Shakespeare might be indebted to tiny such pro- 
duction we have no means of deciding ; but Malone, Steevens, 
and others have gone upon the supposition, that Shakespeare 
was only under obligations either to Brooke's pricm, or to 
Paynter's novel ; and least of all do they seem to have con- 
templated the possibility, that he might have obtained assist- 
ance from some foreign source. 

Arthur Brooke avowed that he derived his materials from 
Bandello (Part ii. Nov. 9), La sforhinaUi morte di due iiifeli- 
cisshni Amanti, &c. ; and Paynter very literally translated 
Boisteau's Uistoire de deux Amuns, d:c., in the collection of 
Jfisloires 7ragiques, published by Belle-forest. Both Brooke's 
poem and Paynter's prose version have recently been reprint- 
ed in a work called " Shakespeare's Library," where the an- 
tiquity of the story is considered. Steevens was disposed to 
think that our great dramatist had obtained more from Payn- 
ter than from Brooke, while Malone supported, and we think, 
established, a contrary opinion. He examined a number of 
minute points of resemblance ; but, surely, no doubt can be 
entertained by those who only compare the f lUowiug short 
passage from a speech of Friar Laurence with three lines from 
Brooke's " Romeus and Juliet." 

" Art thou a man ? Thy form cries out thou art ; 
Thy tears are womanish ; thy wild acts denote 
The unreasonable fury of a beast." — (Act iii. so. .3.) 

This, as will be seen from what is subjoined, is almost ver- 
bally from Brooke's poem : — 

" Art thou," quoth he, " a man ? thy shape saith so thou art ; 
Thy crying and thy weSping eyes denote a woman's heart * * 
If thou a man or woman wert, or els a brutish beast." 

(Sakesp. Lib. part vii. p. 43.) 

Shakespeare's " Romeo and Juliet" originally came out, but 
in an imperfect manner, in 1597, quarto. This edition is in 
two different types, and was probably executed in haste by 
two dift'erent printers. It lias generally been treated as an 
authorized impression from an authentic manuscript. Such, 
after the most careful examination, is not our opinion. We 
think that the manuscript used by the printer or printers (no 
bookseller's or stationer's name is placed at the bottom of the 
title-page) was made up, partly from portions of the play as 
it was acted, but unduly obtained, and partly from notes taken 
at the theatre during representation. Our principal ground 
for this notion is, that there is such great inequality in diflFer- 
ent scenes and speeches, and in some places precisely that 
degree and kind of imperfectness, which would belong to 
manuscript prepared from defective short-hand notes. As 
Steevens printed the first and the third edition of " Romeo 
and Juliet" in his "Twenty Quartos," a comparison, to test 
the truth of our remark, may be readily made. We do not 
of course go the length of contending that Shakespeare did 
not alter and improve the play, subsequent to its earliest pro- 
duction on the stage, but merely that the quarto, 1597, does 
not contain the tragedy as it was originally represented. The 
second edition was printed in 1599, and it professes to have 
been " newly corrected, augmented, and amended :" the third 
dated edition apjieared in 1609 ; but some copies without a 
date are known, which most likely were posterior to 1609, but 
antci'ior to the appearance of the folio in 1623. The quarto, 
1637, is of no authority. 

The quarto, 1609, was printed from the edition which came 
out ten years earlier ; and the repetition, in the folio of 1623, 
of some decided errors of the press, shows that it was a re- 
print of the quarto, 1609. It is remarkable, that although 
every early quarto impression contains a Prologue, it was not 
transferred to the folio. The quarto, 1597, has lines not in 
the quartos, 1599, 1609, nor in the folio : and the folio, reprint- 
ing the quarto, 1609, besides ordinary errors, makes several 
important omissions. Our te.xt is that of the quarto, 1599, 
compared, of course, with the quarto, 1609, and with the folio 
of 1623, and in some places importantly assisted by the quarto 
of 1597. Of the value of this assistance, as regards particu- 
lar words, we will only give a single instance, out of many, 
from Act iii. so. 1, where Benvolio, in reference to the conflict 
between Mercutio and Tybalt, says of Romeo, 

" His agile arm beats down their fatal points." 
The quartos, 1599 and 1609, and the folio of 1623, absurdly 
read " aijed arm :" and the editor of the folio of 1632 substi- 
tuted ^^a/de arm:" the true word, for which no substitute 
equally good could be found, is only in the quarto, 1597. 

It will bo observed that on the title-page of the quarto, 
1597, it is stated that "Romeo and Juliet" was acted by the 



XCVlll 



mTRODUCTIO^ TO THE PLAYS. 



players of Lord Iliinsclon ; and lience !Mnlone arofued that it 
must liave been first pei't'ormed und piinted between July, 
1596, and April, 1597. The company to which Shakespeare 
was attaclied called themselves "the servants of the Lord 
Chamberlain." Henry Lord Ilunsdon died Lord Chamber- 
lain on 22nd July, 1596, and his son Georye succeeded to the 
title, Ijut not to 'the office, which, in Antrust, was conferred 
upon Lord Cobham. Lord Cobham filled it until his death 
in March subsequent to his appointment, very soon after 
■which event George Lord Ilunsdon was made Lord Cham- 
berlain. It seems'that the theatrical servants of Henry Lord 
Hunsdon, Lord Chamberlain, did not. on his decease, trans- 
fer their services to his successor in office, Lord Cobham, but 
to his successor in title, Geortre Lord Hnnsilon,_aiid called 
themselves the servants of that nobleman in the interval be- 
tween the death of his father on 22nd July, 1596, and 17th 
April, 1597, when he himself became Lord Chamberlain. 
Malone concludes that in this interval, wiiile tliose players 
who had been the servants of the Lord Chamberlain called 
themselves the servants of Lord Hunsdon, "Romeo and 
Juliet" was first performed and printed ; and that, in conse- 
quence, the title-page of the first edition states, that it had 
been played by " tlie ]j. of Hunsdon his servants." 

The answer that may be made to this ariiument is, that 
though the tragedy was printed in 1597, as it had been acted 
by Lortl Hunsdon's servants, it does not follow that it might 
not have been played some years before by the same actors, 
when calling themselves the Lord Chamberlain's servants. 
This is true^ and it is not to be disputed that there is an allu- 
sion in one of the speeches of the Nurse (Act i. sc. 8) to an 
earthquake which, she states, liad occurred eleven years 
before : — 



"But as I said, 



On Laimnas eve at night shall .she be fourteen ; 
That shall .she, marry ; I remember it ■well. 
'T is since the earthquake now eleven years ; 
And she was wean'd." 

It has been supposed tliat this passage refers to the earth- 
quake of 1530, and, consequently, that the play was written 
in 1591. However, those who read the whole speech of the 
Knrse cannot fail to remark such discrepancies in it as to 
render it impossible to arrive at any definite conclusion, even 
if we suppose that Shakespeare intended a reference to a pai'- 
ticular earthquake in Enijland. First, the Nurse tells us, that 
Juliet was in a course of being weaned ; then, that she could 
stand alone ; and, thirdly, that she could run alone. It would 
have been rather extraordinary if she conld not, for even 
according to the Nurse's own calculation the child was very 
nearly three years old. No tair inference can, therefore, be 
drawn from the expression, " 'T is since the earthquake now 
eleven years," and we coincide with Malone that the tragedy 
was probably written towards the close of 1596'. 

Another trifling circumstance may lead to the belief that 
" Eomeo and Juliet " was not written, at all events, until after 
1594. In Act ii. (not Act iii., as Malone states) there is an 
allusion, in tlie words of Mercutio — " a gentleman of the very 
first ho\ise — of the first and second ccmse," — to a work on 
duelling, called " Vincentio Saviolo his Practise." That book 
was first jirinted in 1594, and again in 1595, and tlie issue of 
the second impression might call Shakespeare's attention to 
it just before he began "Romeo and Juliet." We have 
already seen " Vincentio Saviolo his Practise " more particu- 
larly referi'od to in " As You Like It." We place little 
reliance upon the allusion in "Eomeo and Juliet," because 
" the firstand second cause" are also mentioned in " Love's 
Labour's Lost," though the passage may, liUe some others, 
have been an insertion just prior to Christmas, 1598. 

I\lalone hastily concluded from a reference in Marston's 
Satires, that Shakespeare's " Romeo and Juliet " ■was acted at 
the Curtain Theatre, in Shorediteh ; but we can be by no 
means sure that Marston, by tlie terms " Curtain plaudities," 
did not mean applauses at any theatre, for all had " curtains," 
and we liave no trace that any other of our great dramatist's 
plays was acted at the Curtain. Tlie subject must have been 
a favourite with the public, and it is more than probable that 
rival companies had contemporaneous plays ujion the same 
story. (Sec the Memoirs of Edward Alleyn, p. 19.) To some 
piece formed upon the same incidents, and represented at the 
Curtain Theatre, Alarston may have referred. 

1 The Registers of the Stationers' Company throw little light upon 
the question when "Romeo and Juliet" was first written. On 5 
Aug. l-'iOi), Kdward White entered " A newe ballad of Romeo and 
Juliett."' which may possibly have been the tragedy, printed (without 
a boolcseller's name) in 1.597, though called only a Ijnnnd. On "J-J Jan. 
1006-7, " Romeo and Juliet " (together with " Love"s Labour "s Lost " 



It is remarkable that in no edition of " Romeo and Jtiliet," 
printed aiitei'ior to the j'ublication of the folio of 1623, do we 
find Shakespeare's name upon the title-page. Yet Meres, in 
his Palladis Tamia, had distinctly assigned it to him in 1598; 
and althou>,'h the name of the author might be purposely left 
out in the imperfect copy of 1597, there would seem to be no 
reason, especially after the announcement by Meres, for not 
inserting it in the " corrected, augmented, and amended" 
edition of 1599. But it is wanting even in tiie impression of 
16U9, although Shakespeare's popularity must then have ln>en 
at its lieiLrht. "King Lear," in 1608, had been somewhat 
ostentatiously called " 1\I. William Shake-spcare, liis, &c. Lite 
and Death of King Lear;" and his Sonnets, in 1609, were 
recommended to purchasers, as " Shake-speare's Sonnets," 
in unusually large clun'acters on the title-page. 



TIMOA^ OF ATHENS. 

" The Life of Tymon of Athens " first appeared in tlie folio 
of 1623, where it occu]>ies, in the division of " Tragedies," 
twenty-one pages, numbered from p. 80 to p. 98 inclusive ; 
but pp. 81 and 82, by an error, are repeated. Page 98 is 
followed by a leaf, headed, "The Actors' Names," and the 
list of characters fills the whole page : the back of it is left 
blank. Tlie drama bear.s the same title in the later folios. 
SiiAKEsrEARE js supposcd not to have written " Timon of 
Athens " until late in his theatrical career, and Malone has 
fl.\ed upon 1610 as tlie j-n-obable date wlien it came from his 
pen. We know of no extrinsic evidence to confirm or contra- 
dict this opinion. The tragedy ■n'as printed in 1628, in the 
folio edited by Ileminge and Condell ; and having been 
inserted in the Registers of the Stationers' Company as a play 
" not formerly entered to other men," we may infer that it 
had not previously come from the press. The versification is 
remarkably loose and irregular, but it is made to appear more 
so by the manner in which it was originally printed. The 
object, especially near the close, seems to have been to make 
the drama occupy as much space as could be conveniently 
filled : consequently, many of the lines are arbitrarily divided 
into two : the drama extends to p. 98 in the folio, in the divi- 
sion of " Tragedies ;" what would have been p. 99, if it had 
been figured, contains a list of the characters, and what would 
have been p. 100 is entirely blank: the next leaf, being tlie 
first page of " Julius Ct-esar," is numbered 109. It is possible 
that another printer began with "Julius Csesar," arid that a 
miscalculation was made as to the space which would be occu- 
pied by " Coriolanus," "Titus Andronicus," "Eomeo and 
Juliet," and " Timon of Athens." The interval between 
what would have been p. 100 of the folio of 1623, and p. 109, 
which inunediately follows it, may at all events be in this way 
exv^lained. 

There is an apparent want of finish about some portions of 
"Timon of Athens," while others are elaborately wrought. 
In his Lectures in 1815, Coleridge dwelt upon this discordance 
of style at considerable length, but we find no trace of it in 
the published fragments of liis Lectures in 1818. Coleridge 
said, in 1815, that he saw the same vigorous hand at work 
throughout, and gave no countenance to the notion, that any 
parts of a previously existing play had been i-etained in 
" Timon of Athens," as it had come down to us. It was 
Shakespeare's throughout ; and, as originally written, he 
apprehended that it was one of the author's most complete 
performances : the players, however, he felt convinced, had 
done the poet much injustice ; and he especially instanced (as 
indeed Le did in 1818) the clumsy,- " clap-trap " blow at the 
Puritans in Act iii. sc. 3, as an interpolation by the actor of 
the part of Timon's servant. Coleridge accounted for the 
ruggedness and inequality of the versification upon the same 
principle, and he was persuaded that only a corrupt and im- 
perfect copy had come to the hands of the player- editors of 
the folio of i623. Why the manuscript of" Timo'n of Atliens " 
should have been more mutilated, than that from which other 
dramas were printed for the first time in the same volume, 
was a question into which he did not enter. His admiration 
of some parts of the tragedy was unbounded ; but he main- 
tained that it was, on the whole, a painful and disagreeable 
production, because it gave only a disadvantageous picture of 
human nature, very inconsistent with what, lie firmly be- 
lieved, was our great poet's real view of the cliaracters of his 

and "The Taming of a Shrew") was entered to "Mr. Linge," with 
consent of "Mr. Burby." On 19 Nov. 1607. John Smythick entered 
"Hamlet," "The Taming of a Shrew," "Romeo and Juliet," and 
" Love's Labour 's Lost," as having derived his property in them from 
Linge. 



INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. 



XCIX 



ftllow creatures. lie said that the whole piece was a bitter 
dramatic satire, — a species of writing in wliich Sliakcspeare 
had shown, as in all other kinds, that lie could reach the very 
liigliest point of excellence. Coleridge could not liclp sus- 
pecting that the subject miiiht have been takmi up under some 
temporary fi'cling of vexation and disappointment. 

How far this notion is well founded can of course bo matter 
of mere speculation ; but a whole ]jliiy could liardly be com- 
posed under a transient tit of irritation, and to lis it seems 
more likely, that in this instance, as in others, Shakespeare 
adopted the story because he tliought he could make it 
acceptable as a dramatic representation. We agree with 
Farmer in thinking that there probably existed some earlier 
popular play of which Timon was the hero. The novels in 
I'aynter's " Palace of Pleasure " were the common property 
of the poets of the day ; and " the strange and beastly nature 
of Timon of Athens" is inserted in the first volume of tliat 
collection, which came out before 1567. Paynter professes to 
liave dei'ived his brief materials from the life of Marc Antony, 
in Plutarch ; but Sir Thomas North's translation having made 
its appearance in 1579, all the circumstances may have been 
familiar to most readers. True it is, that Shakespeare does 
not appear to have followed these authorities at all closely, 
and there may have been some version of Lueian then current 
with wliich we are now unacquainted. To these sources 
dramatists preceding Shakespeare may have resorted ; and 
we find Timon so often mentioned by writers of the period, 
tliat his habits and disposition, perhaps, had also been made 
known tlirougli the medium of the stage. Shakespeare him- 
self introduces Timon into "Love's iTabour's Lost," which, 
in its original shape, must certainly liave been one of 
our great dramatist's early plays. In Edward Guilpin's 
collection of Epiirrams and Satires, published, under the title 
of " Skialetheia," in 1598, we meet with the following line, 
(Epigr. 52,) which seems to refer to some scene in wliich 
Timon had been represented : — 

'• Like hate-man Timon in his cell he sits :" 
And in the anonymous playof" Jack Drum's Entertainment," 
printed in 1601, oiieof the characters uses these expressions : — 

"But if all the brewers' jades in the town can drag me from the 
love of myself, they shall do mure than e'er the seven wise men of 
Greece could. Come, come ; now I'll be as sociable as Timon of 
Athens." 

We know also that there existed about that date a play 
upon the subject of Timon of Athens. The original manu- 
script of it is in the library of the Eev. Alexander Dyce, who 
has recently superintended an impression of it for the Sliakc- 
speare Society. He gives it as his opinion, that it was 
" intendeii for the amusement of an academic audience," and 
althongli the epilogue may be considered rather of a contrary 
complexion, the learned editor is probably right: it is, how- 
ever, nearly certain that it was acted ; and although it will not 
bear a moment's comparison with Shakespeare's "Timon of 
Athens," similar incidents and persons are contained in both. 
Thus, Timon is in the comnieiiccnient rich, bountiful, and 
devoured by flatterers : he becomes poor, and is at once 
deserted by all but his faithful steward ; — but before he aban- 
dons Athens in disgust, he invites his parasites to a last 
banquet, where he gives them stones painted to resemble 
artichokes, which he flings at them as he dri\es them out of 
Ills hall. Shakespeare represents Timon as regaling his guests 
with warm water ; but it is very remarkable, that at the end 
of his moek-banquet scene, after the hero has quitted the 
stage, leaving certain lords behind him, upon whom he had 
thrown the w arm water, the following dialogue occurs :— 

'■ 1 'Lord. Let's make no stay. 

2 Lord . Lord Timon's mad. 

3 'Lord. I feel 't upon my bones. 

4 Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones.''^ 

Shakespeare's Timon had cast no " stones " at his guests, and 
the above extract reads exactly as if it had formed part of 
some play in which stones (as in the " Timon " e^lited by the 
Kev. A. Dyce) had been employed instead of warm water. 
Unless stones had been thrown, there could, as Sleevens 
observes, be no propriety in the mention of them by the fourth 
Lonl ; and thouofh Shakespeare may not have seen the aca- 
demic play to which we have alluded, a fragment may by 
accident have found its way into his "Timon of Athens," 
which lielono'cd to some other drama, where the banquet- 
scene was differently conducted. It is just possible that our 
great dramatist, at some subsequent date, altereil his original 
draught, and by oversiirht left in the rhyming coujilet willi 
which the third Act coneludes. We need not advert to other 
resemblances between the academic play and " Timon of 
Athens,'" because, by the liberality of the possessor of the man- 
uscript, it may he now said to ha\c become ptdjlic pruperty. 



JULIUS C^SAE. 

["The Tragedie of Julius Ca?sar" was tirst printed in the 
folio of 1628, where it occupies twenty-two pages ; viz. from 
p. 109 to p. 130 inclusive, in the division of "Tragedies." 
The Acts, but not the Scenes, are distinguished ; and it 
appeared in the same manner in the three later folios.] 

No early quarto edition of " Julius Casar " is known, and 
there is reason to believe that it never appeared in that form. 
The manuscript originally used for the folio of 1623 must 
have been extremely perfect, and free from corruptions, for 
there is, perhaps, no drama in the volume more accurately 
printed. 

Malone and others have arrived at the conclusion that 
"Julius Caesar " could not have' been written before 1607. 
We think there is good ground for believing that it was acted 
before 1603. 

We found this ojiinion upon some circumstances connected 
with the publication of Drayton's " Barons' Wars," and the 
resemblance between a stanza there found, and a passage in 
" Julius Caesar," both of which it will be necessary to quote. 
In Act V. sc. 5, Antony gives, the following character of 
Brutus : — 

" His life was gentle ; and the elements 
So inix'd in him, that Na'ure might stand up 
And say to all the world, This was a man." 

In Drayton's " Barons' Wars," book iii. edit. 8vo., 1603, we 
meet with the subsequent stanza. The author is speaking of 
Mortimer : — • 

" Such one he was, of him we boldly say. 
In whose rich soul all sovereign powers did suit. 
In whom in peace (/;' elrmenls all lay 
So w;/.r'(/, as none could sovereignty impute ; 
As all did govern, yet all did obey : 
His lively temper was so absolute. 

That 't seem'd, when heaven his model first began, 

In him. it shew'd perfection in a man.'''' 

Italic type is hardly necessary to establish that one poet 
must have availed himself, not only of the thought, but of the 
very words of the other. The question is, was Shakespeare 
indebted to Drayton, or Drayton to Shakespeare ? We shall 
not enter into general probabilities, founded upon tlie original 
and exhaustless stores of the mind of our great dramatist, but 
advert to a few dates, which, we think, warrant the conclu- 
sion that Drayton, having heard "Julius Cajsar " at the 
theatre, or seen it in manuscript before 1603, applied to his 
own purpose, perhaps unconsciously, what, in fact, belonged 
to another poet. 

Drayton's " Barons' Wars " first appeared in 1596, quarto, 
under the title of " Mortimeriados." Malone had a copy 
without date, and he and Steevens imagined that the ]ioein 
had originally been printed in 1598. In the quarto of 1596, 
and in the undated edition, it is not divided into books, anci 
is in seven-line stanzas : and what is there said of Mortimer 
bears no likeness whatever to Shakespeare's expressions in 
" Julius Caesar." Drayton afterwards chanired the title from 
"Mortimeriados" to "The Barons' Wars," and re-modelled 
the whole historical poem, altering tlie stanza from the 
English ballad form to the Italian ottava, 7'una. This course 
he took before 1603, when it came out in octavo, with the 
stanza first quoted, which contains so marked a similarity to 
the lines from " Julius (Caesar." We apprc-hend that he did 
so because he had heard or seen Shakespeare's tragedy before 
1603; and we think that strong presuin))tive proof that he 
was tlie borrower, and not Shakespeare, is derived from the 
fact, that in the subsequent impressions of "The Barons' 
Wars," in 1605, 160S, 1610, and 1618, the stanza remained 
precisely as in the edition of 1603; but that in 1619, after 
Shakespeare's death and before "Julius Caisar" ivas printed, 
Drayton made even a nearer approach to the words of hia 
original, thus : — • 

'■ He was a man, then boldly dare to Fay, 

In whose rich soul the virtues well did suit; 

In whom so mix'd the elements did lay. 

That none to one could sovereignty impute ; 

As all did govern, so did all obey : 
He of a temper was so absolute, 

As thnt it seem'd, when Nature him began. 

She meant to show all that might be in »«a»." 

We have been thus particular, because the point is obvi- 
ously of importance, .as regards the date when " Julius Caesar" 
was'brought u]ion the stage. Malone seems to have thought 
that " Tlie Barons' Wars " continued umh'r its original name 
and in its first shape until the edition of 1608, and concluded 
that the resemblance to Shakespeare was first to be traced in 



INTRODUCTIO'N' TO THE PLAYS. 



that impression. IIo had not consulted the copies of 1603, or 
ir.05 (which were not in his possession), for if lie hud looked 
at thein he must have seen that Drayton had cojiied " Julius 
Caesar "as early as 1603, and, cons'equently, unless Shake- 
speare imitated Drayton, that that trajjedyinust then liavo 
been in existence. Tliat Drayton liad not remodelled his 
" Mortimeriados " as late as 1602, we gather from the circum- 
stance, that ho ro[U-inted his poems in that year without " The 
Barons' Wars" in any form or under !iny title. 

Anotiier slight circumstance initrht he adduced to show that 
"Julius Cicsar" was even an older tra^redy than " Hamlet." 
In the hitter (Act iii. sc. 2) it is said thatJulius Caesar was 
" killed in the C'apitol :" in Shakespeare's drama such is the 
representation, although contrary to the truth of history. 
Tills seems to have been the popular notion, and we find it 
confirmed in Sir Edward Dyer's " I'rayse of Nothing," 1585, 
quarto, a tract unknown to every bihiiogra])her, where these 
words occur: " Thy stately C'a'pitol (proud Kume) had not 
beheld the bloody fall of pacified Cicsar, if nothing had accom- 
panied him." Kobert (irecnc, afrraduatc of both Universities, 
makes the same statement, and Sliakesfiearc nuiy have fol- 
lowed some older play, vi'hero the assassination scene was laid 
in the Capitol : Chaucer had so spoken of it in his " Monk's 
Tale." it is not, however, likely that Dr. Pledes, who wrote 
a Latin academical )il;iy on the story, acted at 0.\ford in 1582, 
should have counnilted the error. 

Shakespeare appears to have derived nearly all his materials 
from riutarch, as translated by Sir Thomas North, and first 
published in 1579'. At the same time, it is not unlikely that 
thcrewas apreceding play, and our reason for thiiddiig so 
is assigned in a note in Act iii. sc i. It is a new fact, ascer- 
tained from an entry in llenslowe's Diarv dated 22iid May, 
1602, that ,'\nthony Monday, Michael Drayton, Jolm Webster, 
Thomas Middlcton, and otlier jioets, were engaged upon a 
tragedy entitled " Ciesar's Fall." The probability is, that 
these dramatists united their exertions, in order without 
delay to bring out a tragedy on the same subject as that of 
Shakes)xuu-o, which, jierhaps, was then performing at the 
Globe Theatre with success. Malone states, that there is no 
proof that any contemporary writer " had })resumed to Tiew- 
model a story that had already employed the pen of Shake- 
speare." lie forgot that Ben' Jonson was engaged upon a 
_" Kichard Crookback" in 1602 ; and he omitted, when exam- 
ining llenslowe's Diary, to observe, that in the same year 
four distinguished dramatists, and "other poets," were 
employed u))on " C;\;sar's Fall." 

From Vertuo's manuscripts wc learn that a play, called 
" Cicsar's Tracredy," was acted at Court in 1613, which might 
be the ]n-oduetion of l^ord Stirling, Shalcespeare's drama, that 
written by Mhnday, Drayton, Webster, Middleton, and others, 
or a play printed in lGo7, under the title of " The Tragedy of 
Ctesar and Pompey, or Ciesar's Revenge." Mr. Peter Cun- 
ningham, in his "Kevels' Accounts," (I ntrod. p. xxv.) has 
shown that a dramatic piece, with the title of " Tlie Tragedy 
of Cajsar," was exhibited at Court on Jan. 31, 1636-7. 



MACBETH. 

[" The Tragedie of Macbeth " was first printed in the folio of 
1623, wliere it occupies twenty-one pages ; viz. from p. 131 
to p. 151 inclusive, in the division of " Tragedies." The 
Acts and Scenes are regularly marked there, as well as in 
the later folios.] 

Tnn only ascertained fact respecting the performance of 
" Macbeth," in the lifetime of its author, is that it was rc^pre- 
pcnted at the Globe Theatre on the 20th of April, 1610. 
Whether it was then a new J)lay, it is impossible to decide; 
but we arc inclined to think that it was not, and that Malone 
was right in his conjecture, tluit it was first acted about the 
year 1606. The subsequent account of the filot is derived 
from Dr. Simon Forman's manuscript Diary, preserved in tlie 
Ashmolcan Museum, from wliich it appears, that he saw 
" Macbeth" played at the Globe on the day we have stated : — 

"In Macbeth, at the Globe, KitO, the 2()th of April, Saturday, there 
•was to be observed, first, how Macbeth and I5anquo, two noblemen of 
Scotland, riding through a wood, tiiere Rtood before them three women 
Fairies, or Nymphs, and saluted Macbeth, sayinjr tliree times nnto 
him. Kail. Macbeth, King of Codor. for thou shall be a King, but 
shalt beget no Kings, &c. Then, said Banquo, What I all to Machieth, 
and nothing to me? Yes, said the Nymphs, Hail to Ihee, Banquo : 
tliou shall beget Kings, yet be no King. An<l so they departed, and 
came to the Court of Scotland, to Duncan, King of .'•'cots, and it was 

1 Lord Stirling published a tragedy under the title of "Julius 
Cnesar." in 1G04 : the resemblances are by no means numerous or 
obvious, and probably not more than may be accounted for by the 
fact, that two wtiters were treatinfj the same subject. The popularity 



in the days of Edward the Confessor. And T)uncan tiid them both 
kindly welcome, and made Macbetli forthwith Prince of Northumber- 
land ; and sent him home to his own Castle, and appointed Macbeth 
to provide for him, for he would sup with him the next day at night, 
and did so. 

"And Macbeth contrived to kill Duncan, and through the persua- 
sion of his wife did that night murder the king in his own Ci^stle. 
being his guest. And there were many prodigies seen that night and 
the day before. And when Macbeth had murdered the King, the 
blood on liis hands could not be washed off by any means, nor from 
his wife's hands, which handled the bloody daggers in hiding' them, 
by which means they became both much amazed and atlronted. 

'' Tlie murder being known. Duncan's two sons (led, the one to 
England, the [other to] Wales, to save themselves : they, being fled, 
were supposed guilty of the murder of their father, which was 
nothing so. 

'•Then was Macbeth crowned King, and then he for fear of Banquo, 
his old companion, that he should beget kings but be no king himself, 
he contrived the death of Banquo, and caused him to be murdered on 
the way that he rode. The night, being at supper with his noble- 
men, whom he had bid to a feast, (to the which also Banquo should 
have come.) he began to speak of noble Banquo, and to -wish that he 
were there. And as he thus did, st.anding up to drink a carouse to 
him, the ghost of Banquo came, and sat down in his chair behind 
him. And he, turning about to sit down again, saw the ghost ot 
Banquo, which fronted him, so that he fell in a great passion of fear 
and fury, uttering many words about his murder, by which, when 
they heard that Banquo was nun-dered, they suspected Macbeth. 

'■ 'J'hen Macduff fled to England to the King's son, and so #hey 
raised an army and oarne to Scotland, and at I'unston Anyse over- 
threw Macbeth. In the mean lime, while Macduff was in I'^ngland, 
Macbeth slew Macduff's wife and children, and after, in tlie battle, 
Macduff slew Macbetli. 

" Observe, also, how Macbeth's Queen did rise in the night in her 
sleep, and walk, and talked and confessed all, and the Doctor noted 
her words." 

Our principal reason for thinking that "Macbeth" had 
been originally represented at least four years before 1610, is 
the striking allusion, in Act iv. sc. 1, to the union of the three 
kingdoms of P^ngland, Scotland, and Irel.'md, in the hands of 
James I. That monarch ascended the throne in March, 
1602-3, and the word.'*, 

" Some I see, 
That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry," 

would have had little point, if we suppose them to have been 
delivered after the king who bore the balls and sceptres had 
been more than seven years on the throno. James w^as pro- 
claimed kintr of (Jrcat Britain iuid Belaud on the 24th of 
October, 1604, and we may perhaps conclude that Shakespeare 
wrote " Macbeth " in the year 1605, and that it was first acted 
at the (ilobc, when it was opened for the summer season, ia 
the spring of 1606. 

Malone elaborately supports his opinion, that "Macbeth" 
was produced in 1606, liy two allusions in the speech of the 
Porter, Act ii. sc. 8, to the cheayitiess of corn, and to the doc- 
trine of eipiivocation, which had been su]iported by Kobert 
Garnet, who was executed on the 3d of May, 1606. We are 
generally disposed to place little confidence in such passages, 
not only" because they arc frequently obscure in their applica- 
tion, but because tiiey may htive been introduced ;it any 
subsequent period, either by the author or actor, with the 
purpose of exciting the apjilause of the .■mdience, by reference 
to some circumstance then attracting public attention. Wo 
know that dramatists were in the constant habit of making 
additions and alterations, and that comic performers liad the 
vice of delivering " more than was set down for them." The 
speech of the I'orter, in which the two sujiposed temporary 
tillusions are contained, is exactly of the kind which the per- 
former of the part might be inclined to enlarge, and so 
strongly was Coleridge convinced that it was an intei'iiolation 
by the jilayer, that he boldly " pledged himself to demonstrate 
it." (Lit." Rem. vol. ii. p. 235.) Tl'.is notion was not new to 
him in 1818 ; for three years earlier he had publicly declared 
it in a lecture devoted to " Macbeth," although he admitted 
that there was something of Shakespeare in "the prinn-ose 
way to the everlasting bonfire." It may be doubted whether 
he would have made this concession, if lie had not recollected 
"the primrose ptith of dalli.uice " in "Hamlet." 

Shakespeare, doubtless, derived all the materials he required 
from Ilolinshed, without resorting to Boethius, or to any other 
authority. Steevens contiiuied to maintain, tiiat Shakespeare 
was indebted, in some degree, to Middlctou's " Witch" lor 
the preternatural ])ortion of" Macbeth ;" but Mtilone, who at 
first entertained the same view of the sulnect, ultimately 
abandoned it, and became convinced that " Tlie Witch " was 
a play written subsequently to the production of " Macbeth." 

of Shakespeare's tragedy about 1G03 may have led to the printing of 
that by Lord Sterling in 1604, and on this account the date is of con- 
sequence. I\1alone appears to have known of no edition of Lord 
Stirling's "Julius CiL'sar" until 1G07. 



Thosij wlio read the two will, perhaps, TConder how a donht 
could liave been entertained. " Tiie Wnch," in all proba- 
bility, was not written until about 1613;' and what must 
surprise every body is, that a poet of Middlcton's rank could 
so degrade the awi'ul beings of Shakespeare's invention ; for 
although, as Latnb observes, " the power of Middleton's 
witches is in some measure over the mind," (Si)ecimens of 
Engl. Dram. Poets, p. 174,) they are of a degenerate race, as 
if, Shakespeare having created them, no other mind was 
Buflieientiy gifted even to continue their existence. 

Whether Shakespeare obtained his knowledge regarding 
tliese ngenta, and of the locality he supposes tliem to have 
frequented, from actual observation, is a point we have con- 
fiidtired in the Biographj' of the poet. The existing evidence 
on the question is there collected, and we have sliovvn, that 
ten years before the date hitherto assigned to that cireum- 
Htance, a comi>any called "the Queen's 'I'layers " had visited 
Edinlnii'gh. This fact is q\iite now in the history of the 
introduction of English theatrical performances into Scotland. 
That the (.Jueen'ij comedians were north of the Tweed in 1599, 
on the invitation of James VI., we have distinct evidence : 
we know also that they were in Aberdeen in IGOl, when the 
freedom of the city was presented to Laurence Fletcher (the 
first name in the patent of 1603) ; but to establish that they 
were in p]dinburgh in 1589 gives much more latitude for 
speculation on the question, whether Shakespeare, in the 
interval of about fourteen years before James I. ascended the 
throne of England, had at any time accompaniod his fellow- 
actors to Scotland. 

At wiiatevor date we suppose Shakespeare to have written 
" Macbeth," we may perliaps infer, from a passage in Kemp's 
"Nine Days' Wonder," 1600, that there existed a ballad upon 
the story, which nuiy have been older than the tragedy : such 
is the opinion of the Rev. Mr. Dyce, in his notes to the reprint 
of this tract by the Camden Society, p. 34. The point, how- 
ever, is doubtful, and it is obvious that Kemp did not mean 
to bo very intelligible : his other allusions to ballad-makers of 
his time are jnirposely obscure. 

' '' Macbeth " was inserted by the player-editors in tlie folio 
of 16'23 ; and, as in other similar eases, we may presume that 
it had not come from the press at an earlier date, because in 
the books of the Stationers' Company it is registered by 
Blount and Jaggard, on the 8th of November, 1623, as one of 
the plays " not formerly entered to other men." It has been 
liandetl down in an unusually complete state, for not only are 
the divisions of the acts pointed out, but the subdivisions of 
the scenes carefully and accurately noted. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 

[The Tragicall Ilistorie of Hamlet Prince of Denmarke By 

William Shake-speare. As it hath becno diuerse times 
acted by his Highnesse seruants in the Cittie of London : 
as also in the two Vniuersities of Cambridire and Oxford, 
and else-whero. At London printed for N. L. and lohn 
Trundell. 1603. 4to. 83 leaves. 

The Tragicall Ilistorie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmarke. By 
William Shakespeare. Newly imprinted and enlarged to 
almost as much againo as it was, according to the true and 
perfect Coppie. At London, Printetl by I. K. for N. L. and 
are to be sold at his shoppe vnder Saint Dunstons Church 
in Fleetstrect. 1604. 4to. 51 leaves. 

The title-page of the edition of 1605 does not differ in tliemost 
minute particular from that of 1604. 

The Tragedy of liamlet Prince of Denmarke. By "William 
Shakespeare. Newly imprinted and enlarged to almost as 
much againo as it was, according to the true and perfect 
Coppy. At London, Printed for lohn Smethwicke and are 
to ije sold at his shoppe in Saint Dunstons Church ycard in 
Flectstreet. Vnder tho Diall. 1611. 4to. 51 leaves. 

The Tragedy of Hamlet Prince of Denmarke. Newly Im- 
printed and inlargcd, according to tho true and perfect 
C'opy lastly Printetl. By William Shakespeare. London, 
Prn^ed by W. S. for lohn Smethwicke, and are to bo sold 
at his Shoji in Saint Dunstans Church-yard in Flectstreet : 
Vnder the Diall. 4to. 51 leaves. 

1 Dr. Farmer had an imperfect copy of it, but it is preserved entire 
among Capell's books in the library of Trinity College, Cambridge, 
and was printed in KiUS, by Richard Bradocke, for Thomas I'avier. 
'■ There can be little doubt that it had originally come from the press 
considerably before the commencement of the seventeenth century, 
although the multiplicity of readers of productions'of the kind, and 
the carelessness with wliich such books were regarded after ]ien\sal, 
has led to the destruction, as far as can now be ascertained, of every 
earlier copy." — Introduction to I'art IV. of " Shakespeare's Library.' 



This undated edition was probably printed in 1607, as it was 
entered .at Stationers' Hall on Nov. 19, in that year. An 
impression, by K. Young, in 4to, 1637, has also John Smeth- 
wicke at the bottom of the title-page. 

In the folio of 1628, " The Traged'ie of Hamlet, Prince of 
Denmarke," occupies thirty-one pages, in the division of 
"Tragedies;" viz. from p. 152 to p. 280, inclusive, there 
being a mistake of 100 pages between p. 156 and what 
ought to have been p. 157.] 

The story upon which, there is reason to believe, Shakespeare 
founded nis tragedy of " Hamlet," has recently been reprinted, 
from the only known perfect copy', as part of a worn called 
"Shakespeare's Library;" and there is, perhaps, nothing 
more remarkal)le than the manner in which our great drama- 
tist wrought these barbarous, uncouth, and scanty materials 
into the magnificent structure he left behind him. A com- 
parison of" Tho Ilistorie of Hamblet," as it was translated at 
an early date from the French of Belleforest=, with " Tho 
Tragedy of Hamlet," is calculated to give us the most exalted 
notion of, and profound reverence for, the genius of Shake- 
speare : his vast superiority to Green and Lodge was ol)vious 
in "Tho Winter's Tale," and "As You Like It;" but tho 
novels of "Pandosto" and "Eosalynde," as narratives, were 
perhaps as far above "The Ilistorie of Hamblet," as "The 
Winter's Tale " and "As You Like It " were above the origi- 
nals from which their main incidents were derived. Nothing, 
in point of fact, can be much more worthless, in story and 
style, than the production to which it is supposed Shakespeare 
was indebted for tho foundation of his " Hamlet." 

There is, however, some ground for thinkinj?, that a lost 
play upon similar incidents preceded tlio work of Shake- 
speare : how fiir that lost play might bo an improvement upon 
the old translated " Historic^' we have no means of deciding, 
nor to what extent Shakespeare availed liimself of such itu- 
provement. A drama, of which Hamlet was the hero, was 
certainly in being prior to tlie year 1587, (in all probability 
too early a date for Shakespeare to have been tho writer of it) 
for we find it thus alluded to by Thomas Nash, in liis pre- 
liminary epistle to the "Menaphon" of Kobert Greene, 
published in that year^ : — " Yet English Seneca, road by 
caiulle-light, yoelds many good sentences, as blood is a btggur, 
and so forth ; and if you entreat him fiiir in a frosty morning, 
he will atford you whole Hamlets, I should say handfuls, of 
tragical speeches." Tho writer is refeiring to play-pocts and 
their protluctions at that period, and ho seems to" have gone 
out of his way, in order to introduce tho very name of tho 
performance against which he was directing ridicule. Another 
piece of evidence, to the same effect, but of a more question- 
able kind, is to be found in Henslowe's Diary, under tho date 
of June 9th, 1594, when a " Hamlet " was represented at the 
theatre at Newington Butts : that it was then an old play is 
ascertained from tho absence of tho mark, wdiich tho old 
manager usually prefixed to first performances, and from tho 
fact that his share of the receipts was only nine shillings. At 
that date, however, the company to which Shakespeare be- 
longed was in joint occupation df the same theatre, and it is 
certainly possible, though improbable, that tho drama repre- 
sented on June 9th, 1594, was Shakespeare's " Hamlet." 

We feel confident, however, that the " Hamlet " which has 
come down to us in at least six quarto impressions, in the 
folio of 1623, and in the later impressions in tliat form, was 
not written until the winter of 1601, or the spring of 1602. 

Maloue, Steevens, and tho other commentators, were ac- 
quainted with no edition of t!ic tragedy anterior to the onnrto 
of 1604, which professes to be " enlarged to almost as much 
again as it was :" they, therefore, reasonably susj>ected that 
it had been printed before ; and within the last twenty years 
a, single co]\y of an edition in 1603 has been discovered. This, 
in fact, seems to have been the abbreviated and imperfect 
edition, consisting of only about half as much as the impres- 
sion of 1604. It belongs to tho Duke of Devonshire, and, by 
the favour of his Grace, is now before us. From whose press 
it camo wo have no inlbrmntion, but it professed to be 
" printed for N. L. and loliii Trundell." The edition of tho 
followiiii^ year was printed by I. K. for N. L. only ; and why 
Trundell ceased to have any interest in the publication wo 
know not. N. L. was Nicholas Ling ; and I. E., ihc printer 

2 Belleforest derived his kno-wledge of the incidents from the History 
of Denmark, by Saxo Grammaticus. first printed in 1.514. 

3 We give the date of 1.5"i7 on the excellent authority of the Rev. 
A. Dyce, (Greene's Works, vol. i. pp. xxxvii. and ciii.) We have 
never been able to meet with any impression earlier than that of 
1.5rt9. Sir I'lgerton Brydges reprinted the tract from the edition of 
IfiKi, (when its name had been changed to "Green's Arcadia") in 
" Archaica," vol. i. 



Cll 



mTRODUCTIO"N^ TO THE PLAYS. 



of the edition of 1604, was, no doubt, James Eoborts, who, 
two years before, Iiad made the following entry in the 
Eegisters oftlie St.-itioners' Compariy : — 
"26 July 1602. 
James Roberts] A booke, The Revenge of Ilamlett prince 
of Donmarke, as yt was latelie acted by ihe Lord 
Cluunberlayn his servantes." 

" The words, " as it wa« lately acted," are important upon 
the question of date, and the entry farther proves, that the 
tragedy had been perfnnned by the conijiany to which Shake- 
speare' belonged. In the spriiiir of 1603 " the Lord Chamber- 
lain's servants" became the King's plaj'ors; and on the 
title-page of the quarto of 1603 it is asserted that it had been 
acted " by his Highness' servants." On the title-page of the 
quarto of 1604 we are not informed tliat the tragedy had been 
acted by any company. 

Thus we see, thatin July, 1602, there was an intention to 
print and publisli a play called "The Revenge of Hamlet, 
Prince of Denmark ;" and this intention, we may fairly con- 
clude, arose out of the popularity of the piece, as it was then 
acted by " the Lord Cliambcrlain's servants," who, in May 
following, obtained the title of " the King's players." The 
object of Roberts in making the entry already quoted, was 
to secure it to I'imself, being, no doubt, aware that other 
pi-inters and booksellers would endeavor to anticipate liim. 
it seems probable, that be was unable to obtain such a copy 
of" Hamlet" as he would put his name to ; but some inferior 
and nameless printer, who was not so scrupulous, having 
surrerilitiously secured a mnnnso-ipt of the play, however 
imperfect, which would answer the purpose, and gratify public 
curiosiry, the edition bearing date in 1('03 was publislied. 
Such, we have little doubt, was the origin of the impression 
of which only a single copy has reached our day, and of which, 
probably, but a few were sold, as its worthlessness was soon 
discovered, and it was quickly entirely superseded by the 
enlarged impression of 1604. 

As an accurate reprint was made in 1825 of " The Tracricall 
Historic of Hamlet Prince of Denmarke," 1603, it will be 
uiuiccpssary to go in detail into proofs to establish, as we 
coulil do without much difficulty, the following points: — 
1. That great part of the play, as it there stands, was taken 
down in short-h.and. 2. That where mechanical skill failed 
the short-hand writer, he either filled up the blanks from 
memory, or employed an inferior writer to assist him. 8. That 
although some of the scenes were carelessly transposed, and 
others entirely omitted, in the edition of 1603, the drama, as 
it was acted while the short-hand writer was employed in 
taking it down, was, in all its main features, the same as the 
more perfect copy of the tragedy })rlnted with the date of 
1604. It is true, that in the edition of 1603, Polonius is called 
Coranibis, and his servant, Montano, and we may not be able 
to determine wliy these changes were made in the immedi- 
ately subsequent impression ; but we iriay perhaps conjecture 
tliat they were names in the older play on the same story, 
or names whicli Shakespeare at first introduced, and subse- 
quently thought fit to reject. We know that Ben Jonson 
chantred the whole dramatis personm of his " Every Man in 
las Humour." 

But altboueh we entirely reject the quarto of 1603, as an 
antlientic " Hamlet," it is of higli value in enaiiling us to 
settle the text of various important jjassages. It proves, 
besides, that certain portions of tlie play, as it appears in the 
folio of 1623, which do not form part of the quarto of 1604, 
were originally acted, and were not, as has been liitherto 
imagined, subsequent; introductions. We have pointed out 
tiiese and other peculiarities so fully in our notes, that we 
need not dwell ujioii them here; but we may mention, that 
in Act iii. sc. 4, the quarto of 1603 explains a curious point 
of stage-business, which puzzled all the commentators. Just 
as the Ghost is departing from the Queen's closet, Hamlet 
exclaims, 

'■ Look, how it steals away .' 
My father, in his habit as he lived !" 

Malone, Steevens, and Monek Mason argue the question 
whether in this scene, the Ghost, as in former scenes, ought 
to wear armour, or to be dressed in " his own familiar habit ;" 
and they conclude, either tliat Shakespeare had "forgotten 
himself," or had meant " to vary tlie dress of the Ghost at 
this Ills last ap])earanee." The quarto of 1603, shows exactly 
how the poet's intention was carried into effect, for there we 
meet with the stage-direction, " Enter the Ghost in his nio-ht- 
gown ;" and such was unquestionably the appearance of the 
performer of the part when the short-hand writer saw tlie 
tragedy, with a view to the speedy pubUcation of a fraudulent 
impression. "My father, in ihe h&hit as he lived," are the 
words he recorded from the mouth of the actor of Hamlet. 



The impression of; 1604 being intended to supersede lliat 
of 1603, v/hich gave/a most mangled and imperfect notion cf 
the drama in its tvvjk state, we may perhaps ])rcsume that tlio 
quarto of 1604 was, at least, aa authentic a copy of " Hamlet '' 
as the editions of any of Shakespeare's plays that came from 
the press diiring his lifetime. It contains various passages, 
some of them of great importance to the conduct and character 
of the hero, )iot to be found in tlie folio of 1623; M;hile the 
folio includes other passages which are left out in the quarto 
of 1604 ; aitlioufrh, <\s before remarked, we have the evidence 
of the quarto of 1603, that they were originally actci. The 
different quarto impressions were printed from each other; 
and even that of 1637, though it makes some verbal changes, 
contains no distinct indication that the printer had resorted 
to the folios. 

The tliree later folios, in this instance as in others, wore 
printed from the immediately preceding edition in tlie same 
form ; but we are inclined to think, tliat if " Hamlet," in the 
folio of 1623, were not composed from some now nrd-;iiown 
quarto, it was derived from a manuscript obtained by Hem- 
inge and Condell from the theatre. The Acts and iScencs 
are, liowever, marked only in the first and second Acts, after 
which no divisions of the kind are noticed ; and where Act iii. 
comtnenccs is merely matter of modern conjecture. Some 
largo portions of the play appear to have been omitted fi>r 
the sake of shortenins the performance ; and any editor who 
should content himself with rejirinting the folio, without lar^re 
additions from the quartos, would present but an imperfect 
notion of the drama as it came from the liand of the poet. 
The text of "Hamlet" is, in fact, only to be obtained from 
a comparison of the editions in quarto and folio, but the mis- 
prints in the latter arc quite as numerous and erlaring as in 
the former. In various instances we have been able to correct 
the one by the other, and it is in tliis respect chiefly that the 
quarto of 1603 is of intrinsic value. 

Coleridge, after vindicatini; liimself from tlie accusation 
tliat he had derived his ideas of Hamlet from Sclilcgel, (and 
we heard him broach them some years before the Lectures, 
Zfeher Dramntisclie Kuiid tind LiiUratur, were fiublished.) 
thus, in a few sentences, sums up the character of Hamlet:— » 
" In Hamlet, Shakespeare seems toliave wished to exemplify 
the moral necessity of a due balance between our attention 
to the oljjects of our senses, and our meditation on the work- 
ings of our mind, — an cgnUihrhtm between the real and 
the imaffinary worlds. \\\ Hamlot this balance is disturbed ; 
his thoughts and the images of his fancy are far more vivid 
than his actual perceptions; and his very perceptions, in- 
stantly passing through the medium of his contemijlalions, 
acquire, as they pass, a form and a color not naturally their 
own. Hence wo see a great, an almost enormous, intellectual 
activity, and a pro]iortionate aversion to real action ccjnse- 
quentupon it, with all its symptoms and accompanying 
qualities. This character Sliakespeare places in circumstances 
under which it is obliged to act on the spur of the moment. 
Hamlet is brave, and careless of death; but he vacillates 
from sensibility, and procrastinates from thought, and loses 
the power of action in the energy of resolve." (Lit. Kern, 
vol. ii. p. 205.) 

It has generally been supposed that Joseph Taylor was 
the original actor "of Hamlet — and Wright, in his " Historia 
Ilistrionica," 1699, certainly speaks of him as having per- 
formed the part. This, however, must have been afier the 
death of Richard Burbage, which happened precisely eighty 
years before Wrisht jiulilished his tract. We know, fVom 
"the manuscript Elegy upon Burbage, sold among Ileber's 
books, that he was the earliest representative of Hamlet ; 
and there the circumstance of his being "fat and scant of 
breath," in the fencing scene, is noticed in the very words 
of Shakespeare. Taylor did not belong to the company for 
which Shakspcare wrote at the date when "Hamlet" was 
produced. 



KING LEAR. 

M. William Shak-speare : His True Chronicle Historic of the 
life and death of King Lear and his three Daughters. With 
the vnfortunate life of Edgar, sonne and heire to the Earle 
of Gloster, and his sullen and assumed humour of Tom of 
Bedlam. As it was pilayed before the Kings Maiestie at 
Whitehall vpon S. Stephans night in Christmas Hollidayes. 
By his Maicsties seruants playing vsually at the Gloabe on 
the Bancke-side. London, Printed for Nathaniel Butter, 
and are to be sold at his shop in Paul's Church-yard, at the 
signe of the Pide Bull neere St. Austin's Gate. "1608. 4to. 
41 leaves. 



INTRODUCTIOIT TO THE PLAYS. 



cm 



M. William Shakc-speare, His True Chronicle History of the 
life and death of Kincr Lear, and liis three Daughters. 
With the vnfortunatc life of Kclsjar, sonne and licire to tlie 
Earlc of Glocester, and hia sullen and assumed humour of 
Tom of Bedlam. As it was plaid before the Kintrs Maiesty 
at AVlute-lIall, vppon S. Stephens night, in Christmas IIol- 
lidaios. By Iiis Maicsties Scruants, playing vsually at the 
Globe on the Banck-sidc. Printed fur Kathaniel Batter. 
1608. 4to. 44 leaves. 
The title-page of a third impression in IGOS corresponds with 

that hist above given. 
In the folio of 1623, " The Tragedie of King Lear" occupies 
twenty seven pages, in the division of " Tragedies ;" viz. 
from p. 283 to p. 309, inclusive. The last page Init one, by 
an error, is numbered 38, instead of SOS. In tlie first, as 
well as in the folios of 1632, 1064, and 1685, the Acts and 
Scenes are regularly marked.] 
TnE most remarkable circumstance connected with the early 
publication of " King Lear " is, that the siune stationer pub- 
lished tliree quarto impressions of it in 1608, that stationer 
being a person who had not put fortli any of the authentic 
(as far as they can deserve to be so considered') editions of 
Shakespeare's plays. After it had been thus thrice printed 
(for they were not merely re-issues with fVesh title-pages) in 
the same year, the tragedy was not again printed until it 
appeared in the folio of 1623. Why it was never republished 
in quarto, in the interval, must be matter of speculation, but 
sucli was not an unusual occurrence with the works of our 
great dramatist : Ins " Midsummer Night's Dream," "Mer- 
chant of Venice," and " Troilus and Crcssida" were each 
twice printed, the two first in 1600, and the last in 1609, and 
they were not again seen in type until they were inserted in 
tlie folio of 1623 : there was also no second qiiarto edition of 
'• Much ado about Nothing," nor of " Love's Labour 's Lost." 
The extreme popularity ot^ " King Lear " seems proved by 
the mere fact that the public demand for it, in the first year 
of its publication, could not be satisfied without three distinct 
impressions. 

It will be seen by the exact copies of the title-pages whicli 
■we liavc inserted on the opposite le:if, that although Nathaniel 
Butter was the publisher of the t!n-ee quarto editions, he only 
put his address on the title-page of one of them. It is per- 
haps impossible now to ascei-tain on what account tlie differ- 
ence was made ; but it is to be observed tliat " Printed by J. 
Roberts," without any address, is found at the bottom of the 
title-pages of some of tlie copies of " The Merchant of 
Venice" and "Midsummer Night's Dream" in 1600. A 
more remarkable circumstance, in relation to the title-pages 
of " King Lear," is, that the name of William Shakespeare is 
made so obvious at the top of them, the type being larger 
than that used for any other part of the work : moreover, we 
have it again at the head of the leaf on which the traL'edy 
commences, " M. William Shake-spcare, his History of King 
Lear." This peculiarity has never attracted sufficient atten- 
tion, and it belongs not only to no other of Shakespeare's 
plays, but to no otlier production of any kind of that period 
which we recollect. It was clearly intended to enable pur- 
chasers to make sure that they were buying tlie drama which 
" M. William Shakespeare " had written upon the story of 
King Lear. 

Tlie cause of it is, perhaps, to be found in tlie fact, that 
there was another contemporary drama upon the same sub- 
ject, and with very nearly the same names to the principal 
characters, which was not by Shakespeare, but wliich the 
publisher probably had endeavored to pass off as liis work. 
An edition of this play was printed in 1605, under the follow- 
ing title : — " The True Chronicle History of King Leir and liis 
three Damrhters, Conorill, Pagan, and Cordc'la. As it hath 
bene divers and sundry times lately acted." It was printed, 
by Simon Stafford, for John Wright; and we agree with 
Malone in thinking that this impression was put forth in 
consequence of the popularity of Shakespeare's " King Lear," 
■which was then in a course of successful performance at the 
Globe theatre. That this edition of "The True Chronicle 
History of King Leir" was a re-impression we liavo little 
doubt, because it was entered at Stationers' Hall for publica- 
tion as eaily as 14th May, 1594: it was entered agrain on 8th 
May, 1605, anterior to the appearance of the impression with 
that date, the title-page of which we have above quoted. 

We may presume that in 1605 no bookseller was able to 
obtain from the King's Players a copy of Shakespeare's " King 
Lear ;" for there is perhaps no point in our early stage-history 
more clear, than that the different companies took every pre- 
caution in order to prevent the publication of plays belonging 
to them. However, in the aututnn of 1607, Nathaniel Butter 
had iu some way possessed him of a manuscript of " King 



Lear," and on the 26th November he procured tlie following 
unusually minute memorandum to be made iu the Stationers' 
Eegisters : — 

"26 Nov. 1007. 
Na. Butter and Jo. Busby] Entered for their Copie 
under t' hands of Sir Geo. Bucke, Kt. and the War- 
dens, a booke called Mr. Willm Shakespeare, his 
Historye of Kingc Lear, as yt was ])layed before the 
King's Majestic at Whitehall, upon St. Stephen's 
night at Christmas last, by his Majesties Servants 
playing usually at the Globe on the Bank-side." 
This entry establishes that Siiakespeare's " King Lear" had 
been played at Court on the 26tli December, 1606, and not 
on the 26th December, 1607, as we might iiil'cr from the title- 
pages of the three editions of 1608. 

*riie memorandum we have just inserted would lead us to 
believe that John Busby was the printer of "King Lear," 
although his name does not otherwise at all appear in connec- 
tion with it. The dillerences between the quartos are seldom 
more than verbal, but they are sometimes important : after a 
very patient comparison, we may state, that the quartos with- 
out the publisher's address are more accurate than that with 
his address ; and we firesume that the latter was first issued. 
It would seem that the folio of 1623 ■svas composed from a 
manuscript, which had been much, and not very judiciously, 
abriilged lor the purposes of the theatre ; and although it 
contains some additions, not in any of the quartos, there are, 
perhaps, few quartos of any of Shakespeare's plays more 
valuable for tlie quantity of matter they contain, of which 
there is no trace in the folio. 

We have said that we agree with Malone in opinion, that 
"King Lear" was brought out at the Globe Theatre in the 
sjiring of 1605, according to our present mode of computing 
tlie year. We may decide with certainty that it was not 
written until after the appearance of Ilarsnet's "Discovery 
of Popish Impostors" in 1603, because from it, as Steevens 
established, are taken tlie names of various fiends mentioned 
by Edgar in the course of his scenes of pretended madness. 

As we find a " King Leir " entered on the Stationers' books 
in 1594, we can have no hesitation in arriving at the conclu- 
sion that the old Jilay, printed by Simon Stafford for John 
Wright, in 1605, when Shakespeare's "King Lear" was (as 
we liave supposed) experiencing a run of popularity at the 
Globe, was considerably anterior in point of date. There is 
little doubt that Shakespeare ■was acquainted with it, and 
probably adopted from it at least that part of the coiiduct of 
his story ivhieh relates to the faithful Kent. There are other 
general, but few particular resemblances; fM- both the chief 
materials were evidently derived from Ilolinshcd, but Shake- 
speare varied from all authorities in his catastroplie : he 
seems to have thought, that to abandon the course of the 
ordinary and popular narrative, would heighten and improve 
the efl'ect of Ins drama, and give a novelty to its termination. 
The story of Lear and his daughters is briefly told by Spen- 
ser in B. ii. c. 10, of his " Fairie Quecne," and thence it has 
been thought that Shakespeare obtained the name of Cor- 
delia, till then usually called Cordelia. That portion of the 
plot which relates to the Earl of Gloster, he may have pro- 
cured from Sir Philip Sidney's "Arcadia," first printed in 
1590, 4to. B. ii. c. 10, of that romance is thus lieaded : — 
"Thcpitifull state and storie of the Paphalgonian unkindo 
King, and his kind son." An early ballad on King Lear was 
also published (see Percy's Keliqucs, vol. ii. p. 249 ; edit. 
1812), but no copy with a date has come down to us : although 
it employs the older names of some of the characters, it adopts 
that of Cordelia; and there are several circumstances, besides 
a more modern style of composition, which lead us to the 
belief that it was written posterior to the production of Shake- 
speare's Tragedy. 



OTHELLO. 

[" The Tragoedy of Othello, The Moore of Venice. As it linth 
becne diuerso times acted at tlie Globe, and at the Black- 
Friers, by his J.Iaiesties Seruants, Written by William 
Shakespeare. London, Printed by N. O. for Tliomas 
WalUley, and are to be sold at his shop, at the Eagle and 
Child, in Brittans Bursse. 1622." 4to. 48 leaves, irr.cgu- 
larly paged. 

" The Tragedie of Othello, the Moore of Venice," occupies 
thirty pages in tlie folio of 1623 ; viz. from p. 810 to p. 339 
inclusive, in the division of" Tragedies :" it is tliere, as in 
the three later folios, divided into Acts and Scenes, and on 
the last page is a list of the characters, headed, " The Names 
of the Actors." 



CIV 



mTRODUCTIO"N" TO THE PLAYS. 



Br the subsequent extract from " Tlio Egerton Papers," 
printed by the Camden Society, (p. 343) it appears that 
" Othello " was acted for tlie entertainment of Queen Eliza- 
beth, at tlie residence of Lord Ellesmere (then Sir Thomas 
P^srerton, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal) at Harefield, in the 
beginning of August, 1602 : — 

" 6 August 1602. Eewards to the Vaulters, players, and 
datmcers. Of tliis x" to Burbidge's players for Othello, 
Ixiiii'' xviili' x""." 

The part of the memorandum which relates to " Othello " 
is interlined, as if added afterwards ; but thus we find de- 
cisively, that this tragedy was in being in the summer of 
1602 ; and the probability is, that it was selected for perform- 
ance because it was a new play, having been brought out at 
the Globe theatre in the spring of that year.i 

The incidents, with some variation, are to be found in 
Cinthio's IFecatommitM, where the novel is the seventh of the 
third Dflcad, and it bears the following explanatory title in the 
Monte Kegalc edition of 1565 : — " Un CapJtano Moro piglia 
per mogliera una cittadina Vcnetiana : un suo Altieri I'aecusa 
di adulterio n\ marito ; cerca che I'Alfieri uccida colui ch'cgli 
credea I'adultero: il Capitano uccide la moglie, e accusato 
dallo Alfieri, non confessa il Moro, ma essendovi chiari inditii 
e bandito ; et lo scelerato Altieri, credendo nuocere ad altri, 
procaccia h se la morte miseramente." This novel was early 
translated into French, and in all probability into English, 
but no such version has descended to us. Our great drama- 
tist may indeed have read the story in the original language ; 
and it is highly probable that he was sufficiently acquainted 
with Italian for the purpose. Hence he took only the name 
of Dcsdemona. 

We have seen, by the quotation from "The Egerton 
Papers," that the company by which " Othello " was per- 
formed at Harefield was called "Burbidge's players;" and 
there can be no doubt that lie was the leading actor of the 
company, and thereby in the account gave his name to the 
association, though properly denominated the Lord Chamber- 
lain's Servants. Eichard Burbage was the original actor of 
the part of Othello, as we learn from an elegy upon his death, 
among the late Mr. Heber's manuscripts. To the same fact 
we may quote the concluding stanza of a ballad, on the inci- 
dents of " Othello," written after the death of Burbage, which 
has also come down to us in manuscript : — 

" Dick Burbage, that most famous man, 

That actor without peer, 
With this same part his course began. 

And kept it many a year. 
Shakespeare was fortunate, I trow. 

That such an actor had : 
If we had but his equal now. 

For one I sliould be glad." 

The writer spoke at random, when he asserted that Burbage 
began his career with Othello, for we have evidence to show 
that he was an actor of high celebrity, many years before 
Shakespeare's " Othello " was written, "and we have no proof 
that there was any older play ujion the same subject. 

There are two quarto editions of " Othello," one bearing 
date in 1622, the year before the first folio of " Mr. William 
Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies " appeared, 
and the other printed in 16S0. An exact copy of the title-paffc 
of the quarto of 1622, will be found in the' usual place, and 
that published in 1630 differs only in the imprint, which is 
" by A. M. for Kichard Hawkins,'" &c. Wo have had fre- 
quent occasion in our notes to refer to this impression, which 
has, indeed, been mentioned by the commentators, but nothing 
like suttieienl attention lias been paid to it. Malone summa- 
rily dismissed it as "an edition of no authority," but it is 
very clear that he had never sufficiently examined it. It was 
unquestionably printed from a manuscript different from that 
used for the quarto of 1622, or for the folio of 1623 ; and it 
presents a number of various readings, some of which sino^u- 
larly illustrate the original text of " Othello." Of this foci it 
may be fit here to supply some proof. 

In Act iii. sc. 3, a passage occurs in the folio of 1628, which 
is not contained in the quarto of 1622, and which runs thus 
imperfectly in the folio : — 



" Like to the Pontick sea. 

Whose icy current and compulsive course 
Ne'er keeps retiring ebb. but keeps due on 
To the Propontick and the Hellespont," &c. 

It will not be disputed that " Ne'er Iceeps retiring ebb " 

1 It appears from Mr. P. Cunningham's "Extracts from the 
Accounts of the Revels at Court," (printed for the Shakespeare Society) 
p. 203, that a play, called " The Moor of Venis," no doubt. " Othello," 
was acted at Whitehall on Nov. 1, 1004. The tragedy seems to have 



must be wrong, the compositor of the folio having caught 
" keeps " from the later portion of the same line. In Pope's 
edition, " feels " was substituted for Ireps^ and the word has 
since usually continued in the text, with Malone's note, "the 
correction was made by Mr. Pope." The truth is, that Pope 
was right in his conjecture as to the misprinted word, for in 
the quarto of 1630, which Malone could not have consulted, 
but which he nevertheless pronounced " of no authority," the 
passage stands thus : — 



• " Like to the Pontick sea. 



Whose icy current, and compulsive course 
Ne'er/ee/s retiring ebb," &e. 

If Malone had looked at the quarto of 1630, he would have 
seen that Pope liad been anticipated in his proposed emen- 
dation about a hundred years ; and that in the manuscript 
from which the quarto of 1630 was printed, the true word 
was " feels," and not l-eejis, as it was misprinted in the folio 
of 1623. We will take an instance, only six lines earlier in 
the same scene, to show the value of the quarto of 1630, in 
supporting tlie quarto of 1622, and in correcting the folio of 
1623. Othello exclaims, as we find the words in the folio, 

" Arise, black vengeance, from the hollow hell" 

a line which has been generally thus printed, adopting the 
text of the quarto of 1622 : — 

"Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ;" 

and these are exactly the words in the quarto of 1630, although 
it can he established that it was printed, not from the quarto 
of 1622, nor from the folio of 1623, but from a manuscript 
which in many places ditfered materially from both, and lu 
some few supplied a text inferior to both. It is not necessary 
to pursue this point farther, especially as our brief notes 
abundantly establish that the quarto of 1630, instead of being 
" of no authority," is of great value, with reference to the 
true reading of some important passages. 

Walkley, the publisher of the quarto of 1622, thus entered 
that edition.on the Stationers' Kegistcrs, shortly previous to 
its appearance : — 

"6 Oct. 1621. 

Tho. Walkley] Entered for his, to wit, under the 
handes of Sir George Buck and of the Wardens: 
The Tragedie of Othello, the Moore of Venice." 
It is perhaps not too much to presume, that this impression, 
though dated 1622, had come out at the close of 1621; and 
that it preceded the folio of 1623 is very obvious, from the 
fact, that "Othello" was not included in their list by Blunt 
and Jaggard, tho publishers of the folio of 1623, because they 
were aware that it had already been printed, and that it liad 
been entered as the pro])crty of another bookseller. The 
quarto of 1622 was preceded by the following address : — 

"The Stationer to the Eeader. 
"To set forth a book without an epistle were like to the 
old Eufrlish proverb, 'A blue coat without a badge;' and 
the author being dead, I thought good to take that piece of 
work upon me. To commend it I will not — for that which 
is good, I hope every man will commend without entreaty ; 
and I am the bolder, because the author's name is sufficient 
to veat his work. Thus leaving every one to the liberty of 
judgment, I have ventured to print this play, and leave it 
to tlie general censure. Yours, Thomas Walkley." 

* The publishers of the folio of 1623, perhaps purchased 
Walkley's ii:tcrost in "Othello." 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 

[" The Tragedie of Anthonie and Cleopatra " occupies twenty- 
nine pages in the folio of 1623 ; viz. from p. 340 to p. 3(58 
inclusive, in the division of "Tragedies." AUhougli at 
the beginning it has Actus Prinnts. Sccena Prima, it is 
not divided into acts and scenes, nor is the defect cured 
in any of the subsequent folio impressions of 1632, 1664, 
and 1685. They arc all without any list of characters.] 
We are without any record that "Antony and Cleopatra" 
was ever performed, ; and when in Act v. sc. 2, the heroine 
anticipates that " some squeaking Cleopatra" will " boy her 
greatness " on the stage, Shakespeare seems to hint that no 
young male performer would be able to sustain the part 
without exciting ridicule. However, the same remark will, 

been always so popular as to remain what is tewned " a stock piece ;" 
and it was performed again before King Charles and his Queen at 
Hampton Court on Dec. 8, 1036. Ibid. Introd. p. xxv. 



mTRODUCTIO"N^ TO THE PLAYS. 



cv 



more or less, apply to many of liis other female characters ; 
and the wonder, of course, is, how so much delicacy, tender- 
ness, and beauty could be infused into parts whieh the poet 
knew must be represented by beardless and crack-voiced 
bovs. 

The period of the year at which " Antony and Cleopatra " 
was entered on the Stationers' Registers might lead to the 
inference, that, having been written late in 1607, it was 
brought out at the Globe in tlie spring of 1608, and that Ed- 
ward Blunt (one of the publishers of the folio of 1623) thus 
put in his claim to the publication of the tragedy, if he could 
procure a manuscript of it. The memorandum bears date 
on the 20th May, 160S, and the piece is stated to be " a book" 
called " Anthony and Cleopatra." Perhaps Blunt was un- 
able to obtain a copy of it, and, as far as we now know, it 
was printed for the tirat time in the folio of 1628. 

It does not appear that there was any preceding drama on 
the story, with the exception of the "Cleopatra" of Samuel 
Daniel, originally publisjied in 1594, to which Shakespeare 
was clearly under no obligation. Any slight resemblance 
between the two is to be accounted for by the fact, that both 
poets resorted to the same authority for their materials — Plu- 
tarch — whose " Lives" had been translated by Sir T. North 
in 1579. The minuteness with which Shakespeare adhered 
to history is more remarkable in this drama than in any other; 
and sometimes the most trifling circumstances are artfully, 
but still most naturall}', interwoven. Shakespeare's use of 
history in " Antony and Cleopatra" may bo contrasted with 
Ben Jonson's subjection to it in " Sejanus." 

" Of all Shakespeare's historical plays (says Coleridge) 
* Antony and Cleopatra ' is by far the most wonderful. There 
is not one in which he has followed history so minutely, and 
yet there are few in which he impresses the notion of angelic 
strength so much — perhaps none in which he impresses it 
more strongly. This is greatly owing to the manner in which 
the fiery force is sustained throughout, and to the numerous 
momentary flashes of nature, counteracting the historic ab- 
straction." (Lit. Kern, vol, ii. p. 148.) 



CYMBELINE. 

["The Tragedie of Cymbeline" was first printed in the folio 
of 1623, where it stands last in the division of "Trage- 
dies," and occupies thirty-one pages; viz. from p. 369 to 
p. 399, misprinted p. 993. There is another error in the 
pagination, as p. 3/9 is numbered p. 889. These errors 
are corrected in the three later folios.] 

The materials in Holinshed for the historical portion of " Cym- 
beline" are so imperfect and scanty, that a belief maj' be 
entertained tliat Snakespeare resorted to some other more 
fertile source, which the most diligent inquiries have yet 
faileil to discover. Tlie names of Cymbeline and of his sons, 
Guidcrius and Arviragus, occur in the old Chronicle, and 
there we hear of the tribute demanded by the Koman em- 
peror, but nothing is said of the stealing of the two young 
princes, nor of their residence with Bellarius among the 
mountains, and final restoration to their father. 

All that relates to Posthumus, Imogen, and lachimo is 
merely fabulous, and some of the chief incidents of this part 
of the plot are to be found in French, Italian, and English. 
We will speak of them separately. 

They liad been employed for a dramatic purpose in France 
Rt an CRrly date, in a Miracle-plny, printed m 1830 by Messrs. 
Moinnerquc and M.ichol, in their 2'Usut,-e iVancuis au Moyen- 
age, from a manuscript in the Bibliotheque du Eoi. In that 
piece, mixed up with many romantic cireumstanoes, we find 
the wager on the chastity of the heroine, her flight in the 
disguise of a page, the proof of her innocence, and liw final 
restoration to her husband. There also we meet with two 
circumstances, introduced into Shakespeare's " Cymbeline," 
b.it not contained in any other version of the story with 
which we are acquainted : vvc allude to the boast of Bcren- 
gier (the lachimo of the French Drama), that if he were allow- 
ed the opportunity of speaking to the heroine but twice, he 
should be able to accomplish his design: lachimo (.\et i. 
Fc. 5) makes the same declaration. Again, in the French 
Miracle-play, Berengier takes exactly Shakespeare's mode 
of assailing the virtue of Imogen, by exciting her anger and 
jealousy by pretending that her husband, in Home, had set 
her the example of infidelity. Incidents somewhat similar 
are narrated in the French romances of La VinlHf-e, and Flore 
ft Jthanne : in the latter, the villain, being secretly admitted 
by an old wonuui into the bed-room of the heroine, has the 
means of ascertaining a particular mark upon her person 
Avhile she is bathing. 



The novel by Boccaccio has many corresponding features : 
it is the ninth of G-lornata II., and bears the following title : 
"Bernabo da Geneva, da Ambrogiuolo ingannato, perde il 
suo, e comanda che la moglie innocente sia uccisa. Ella 
scampa, et in habito di huomo serve il Soldano ; ritrova I'in- 
gannatore, e Bernabo conduce in Alessandria, dove I'ingan- 
natore punito, riprcso habito feminile col marito ricclii si 
tornano a Genova." This tale includes one circumstance 
only found there and in Shakespeare's play: we allude to 
the mole which lachimo saw on the breast of Imogen. The 
parties are all merchants in Boccaccio, excepting towards the 
dose of his novel, where tlie Soklan is introduced : the vil- 
lain, instead of being forgiven, is punished by being anointed 
with honey, and exposed in the sun to flies, wasps, and mos- 
quitoes, which eat the flesh from his bones. 

A modification of this production seems to have found its 
way into our language at the commencement of the seven- 
teenth century. Steevens states that it was printed in 1603, 
and again in 1620, in a tract called " Westward for Smelts." 
If there be no error as to the date, the edition of 1603 has 
been lost, for no copy of that year now seems to exist in any 
public or private collection. Mr. Halliwell, in his reprint of 
The First Sketch of " The Merry Wives of Windsor," (for 
the Shakespeare Society) p. 135, lias expressed his opinion 
that Steevens must liave been mistaken, and that " West- 
ward for Smelts" was not published until 1620: only one 
copy even of this impression is knowni ; and if, in fact, it 
were not, as Steevens tsupposes, a reprint, of course Shake- 
speare could not have re-Sorted to it: however, he might, 
without much difficulty, have gone to the original; or some 
version may then have been in existence, of which he availed 
himself, but which has not come down to our day. The inci- 
dents in "Westward for Smelts" are completely anglicised, 
and the scene is laid in this country in the reigns "of Henry VI. 
and Edward IV. In the French and Italian versions, lachimo 
(or the person answering to him) is conveyed to Imogen's 
chamber in a chest, but an "Westward for Smelts," w'here 
the tale is in other respects vulgarised, he conceals himself 
under her bed. 

Some German critics, whose opinions are often entitled to 
the most respectful consideration, have supposed that "Cym- 
beline " was written in 1614 or 1615, not adverting to the 
circumstance that Shakespeare had then relinquished all con- 
nection with the stage, and had retired from the metropolis. 
Malone thought that 1609 was the year which could be most 
probably fixe'd upon ; and although we do not adopt his rea- 
soning upon the point, we are strongly inclined to believe 
that this drama was not, at all events, written at an earlier 
period. Forman, the astrologer, was present when " Cymbe- 
line " was acted — most likely, in 1610 or 1611 — but he does 
not in his Diary insert the date when, nor the theatre where, 
he saw it. Ilis brief account of the plot, in his "Booke of 
Plaies and Notes thereof" (MS. Ashmol. No. 208), is in the 
following terms: — 

"Remember, also." the story of Cymbeline, kins' of England in 
Lucius' time : how Lucius came from Octavius Caesar for tribute, 
and beinjr denied, after sent Lucius with a great army of soldiers, 
who landed at Milford Haven, and after were vanquished by Cymbe- 
line, and Lucius taken prisoner; and all by means of three' outlaws, 
of the which two of them were the sons of Cymbeline, stolen from 
him when they were but two years old, by an old man whom Cym- 
beline banished ; and he kept them as his own sons twenty years 
with him in a cave. And how one of them slew Cloten, that was 
the queen's son, going to Milford flaven to seek the love of Imogen, 
the king's daughter, whom he had banished also for loving his 
datiffbter. 

'• And how the Italian that came from her love conveyed himself 
into a chest, and said it was a chest of plate, sent from her love and 
others to be presented to the king. And in the deepest of the night, 
she being asleep, he opened the chest and came forth of it, and view- 
ed her in her bed, and the marks of her body, and took away her 
bracelet, and after accused her of adultery to her love. he. And in 
the end, how he came with the Romans into England, and was 
taken prisoner, and after revealed to Imogen, ivhohad turned herself 
into man's apparel, and fled to meet lier love at Milford Haven ; and 
chanced to fall on the cave in the woods where her two brotliers 
were: and how by eating a sleeping dram they thought she had 
been dead, and laid her in the woods, and the body of Cloten by her, 
in her love's apparel that he left behind him, and how she was found 
by Lucius," &c. 

Wc have certainly no right to conclude that " Cymbeline " 
was a new piece when Forman witnessed the performance of 
it ; but various critics have concurred in the opinion (which 
we ourselves entertain) tli:it in style and versification it re- 
sembles " The Winter's Tale," and that the two dramas 
belong to about. the same period of the poet's life. Forman 

1 Among CapelTs boo'ss, which he gave to Trinity College, Cam- 
bridge, and whieh are there preserved with care proportionate to their 
value. 



cvi 



mTRODUCTION TO THE PLATS. 



saw " The Winter's Tale " on 17lh May, 1611, and, perhaps, 
he saw " Cymbeline " at the Globe in the spring of the pre- 
ceding year. However, upon this point, we nave no evidence 
to guide us, beyond the jnere mention of the play and its 
incidents in Forman's Diary. That it was acted at court at 
an early date is more than probable, but we are ivithout any 
record of such an event until 1st January, 1633 (Vide Hist, 
of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. ii. p. 57) ; under 
which date Sir Henry Herbert, the Master of the Bevels, 
registers that it was performed by the King's Players, and 
that it was " well liked by the King." The particular allusion 
in Act ii. se. 4, to " proiid Cleopatra" on the Cydnus, which 
"swell'd above his banks," might lead us to think that 
" Antony and Cleopatra" had preceded " Cymbeline." 

It is the last of tlie " Tragedies " in the folio of 1628, and 
we have reason to suppose that it had not been printed at any 
earlier date. The divisions of acts and scenes are throughout 
regularly marked. 



PEEICLES, PKmCE OF TYEE. 

[" The late, And much admired Play, called Pericles, Prince 
of Tyre. With the true Eelation of the whole Historie, 
adueiitures, and fortunes of the said Prince : As also, The 
no lesse strange, and worthy accidents, in the Birth and 
Life, of his Daughter Mariana. As it hath been diuers and 
sundry times acted by his Maiestics Seruants, at the Globe 
on the Banck-side. By William Shakespeare. Imprinted 
at London for Henry Gosson, and are to be sold at the signe 
of the Sunne iu Pater-noster row, &c. 1609." 4to. 35 
leaves. 

" The late, And much admired Play, called Pericles, Prince 
of Tyre. With the true Relation of the whole History, 
aduentures, and fortunes of the saide Prince. Written by 
W.Shakespeare. Printed for T. P. 1619." 4to. 34 leaves. 

" The late, And much admired Play, called Pericles, Prince 
of Tyre. With the true Eelation of the whole History, 
aduentures, and fortunes of the sayd Prince : Written by 
Will. Shakespeare : London, Printed by I. N. for E. B. and 
are to be sould at his shop in Cheapside, at the signe of the 
Bible. 1630." 4to. 34 leaves. 

In the folio of 1664, the following is the heading of the page 
on which the play begins : " The much admireil Play, 
called, Pericles, Prince of Tyre. With the true Eelation 
of the whole History, Adventures, and Fortunes of the said 
Prince. Written by W. Shakespeare, and published in his 
life time." It occupies twenty-pages ; viz. from p. 1 to p. 
20, inclusive, a new pagination of the volume commencing 
with " Pericles." It is there divided into Acts, but irregu- 
larly, and the Scenes are not marked.] 

The first question to be settled in relation to " Pericles," is 
its title to a place among the collected works of Shakespeare. 

Tiiere is so marked a character about every thing that pro- 
ceeded from the pen of our great dramatist, — his mode of 
thought, and his style of expression, are so unlike those of 
any of his contemporaries, that they can never be mistaken. 
They are dearly visible in all the later portion of the play ; 
and so indisputable does this fact appear to us, that, we con- 
fidently assert, however strong may be the external evidence 
to the same point, the internal evidence is infinitely stronger: 
to those who have studied his works it will seem incontro- 
vertible. As we do not rely merely upon particular expres- 
sions, nor upon separate passages, but upon the general 
complexion of whole scenes and acts, it is obvious, that we 
cannot here enter into proofs, which would require the re- 
impression of many of the succeeding pages. 

An opinion has long prevailed, and we have no doubt it is 
well founded, that two hands are to be traced in the composi- 
tion of " Pericles." The larger part of the first three Acts 
were in all probability the work of an inferior dramatist: to 
these Shakespeare added comparatively little ; but he found 
it necessary, as the story advanced and as the interest in- 
creased, to insert more of his own composition. His hand 
begins to be distinctly seen in the thiri^ Act, and afterwards 

1 By a list of theatrical apparel, formerly belonging: to Alleyn, and 
preserved at Dulwich Collepo, it appears that he had probably acted 
in a play called ''Pericles." See "Memoirs of Edward Alleyn," 
printed for the Shakespeare Society, p. 21. This might be the play 
which Shakespeare altered and improved. 

2 It seems that '• Pericles" was reprinted under the same circum- 
stances in 1611. I have never been able to meet with a copy of this 
edition, and doubted its existence, until Mr. Halliwell pointed it out 
to me, in a sale catalogue in ls04 : it purported to have been " printed 
for S. S." This fact would show, that Shakespeare did not then con- 
tradict the reiterated assertion, that he was the author of the play. 



we feel persuaded that we could extract nearly every line that 
was not dictated by his great intellect. We apprehend that 
Shakespeare found a drama on the story in the possession of 
one of the companies performing in London, and that, in 
accordance with the ordinary practice of the time, he made 
additions to and improvements in it, and procured it to be 
represented at the Globe theatre^ Who might be the author 
of the original piece, it would bo in vain to conjecture. 
Although we have no decisive proof that Shakespeare ever 
worked in immediate concert with any of his contemporaries, 
it was the custom with nearly all the dramatists of his day, 
and it is not impossible that such was the case with " Pericles.'' 

The circumstance that it was a joint production, may partly 
account for the non-appearance of "Pericles" in the folio of 
1623. Ben Jonson, when printing the volume of his Works, 
in 1616, excluded for this reason '' The Case is Altered," and 
"Eastward Ho!" in the composition of which he had been 
engaged with others; and when the player-editors of the folio 
of 1623 were collecting their materials, they perhaps omitted 
" Pericles " because some living author might have an interest 
in it. Of course we only advance this point as a mere specu- 
lation ; and the fact that the publishers of the folio of 1623 
could not purchase the right of the bookseller, who had then 
the property in " Pericles," may have been the real cause of 
its non-insertion. 

The Registers of the Stationers' Company show that on the 
20th May, 1608, Edward Blount (one of the proprietors of the 
folio of 1623) entered " The booke of Pericles, Prynce of 
Tyre," with one of the undoubted works of Shakespeare, 
" Antony and Cleopatra." Nevertheless, " Pericles " was not 
published by Blount, but by Gosson in the following year ; 
and we may infer, either that Blount sold his interest to 
Gosson, or that Gosson anticipated Blount in procuring a 
manuscript of the play. Gosson may have subsequently 
parted with " Pericles " to Thomas Pavier, and hence the 
re-impression by the latter in 1619. 

Having thus spoken of the internal evidence of authorship, 
and of the possible reason why " Pericles " was not included 
in the folio of 1623, we will now advert briefly to the external 
evidence, that it was the work of our great dramatist. In 
the first place it was printed in 1609, with his name at full 
length^, and rendered unusually obvious, on the title-page. 
The answer, of course, may be that this was a fraud, anci that 
it had been previously committed in the cases of the first part 
of "Sir John Oldcastle," 1600, and of "The Yorkshire 
Tragedy," 1608. It is nndotibtedly true, that Shakespeare's 
name is upon those title-pages ; but we know, with regard to 
"Sir John Oldcastle," that the original title-page, stating it 
to have been "Written by William Shakespeare" was can- 
celled, no doubt at the instance of the author to whom it was 
folsely imputed ; and as to " The Yorkshire Tragedy," many 
persons have entertained the belief, in which we join, that 
Shakespeare had a share in its composition. We are not to 
forget that, in the year preceding, Nathaniel Butter had made 
very prominent use of Shakespeare's name, for the sale of 
three impressions of " King Lear ;" and that in the very year 
when " Pericles" came out, Thorpe had printed a collection 
of scattered poems, recommending them to notice in very 
large ca;:>itsils, by stating emphatically that they were " Shake- 
speare's Sonnets." 

Confirmatory of what precedes, it may be mentioned, that 
previously to the insertion of "Pericles" in the folio of 1664, 
it had been imputed to Shakespeare by S. Shepherd, in his 
" Times displayed in Six Sestiads," 1646 ; and in lines by J. 
Tatham, prefixed to E. Brome's "Jovial Crew," 1652. 
Dryden gave it to Shakespeare in 1675, in the Prologue to C. 
Davenant's " Circe." Thus, as far as stage tradition is of 
value, it is uniformly in favour of our position; and it is 
moreover to be observed, that until comparatively modern 
times it has never been contradicted. 

The incidents of " Pericles " are found in Lawrence Twine's 
translation from the Gesta Romanormn^ first published iu 
1576, under the title of " The Patterne of Painfull Adven- 
tures," in which the three chief characters are not named as 
in Sliakcspeare, but are called ApoUonius, Luciua, and 
Tharsia'. This novel was several times reprinted, and an 

3 The novel is contained in a work called " Shakespeare's Library." 
as well as Gower's poetical version of the same incidents, extracted 
from his Confessio Amnntis Hence the propriety of making Gower 
the speaker of the various interlocutions in "Pericles." The origin 
of the story, as we find it in the Gesta Bomanorvm, is a matter of 
dispute : Belleforest asserts that the version in his Hisioires Tra- 
gicjiie^ was from a manuscript thi du Grec. Not long since, Mr. 
Thorpe printed an Anglo Saxon narrative of the same incidents ; and 
it is stated to exist in Latin manuscripts of as early a date as the tenth 
century. — ••'Shakespeare's Library," part v. p. ii. 



INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. 



evil 



edition of it came out in 1607, which perhaps was the year 
in whicli " Pericles " was first represented " at the Globe on 
the Bank-side," as is stated on the title-page of the earliest 
edition in 1609. The drama seems to have been extremely 
popular, but the usual difficulty being experienced by book- 
sellers in obtaining a copy of it, Nathaniel Batter probably 
employed some person to attend the performance at the 
theatre, and with the aid of notes there taken, and of Twine's 
version of the story, (which, as we remarked, had just before 
been reprinted) to compose a novel out of the incidents of the 
play under the following title : " The Painfull Adventures of 
Pericles Prince of Tyre. Being the true History of the Play 
of Pericles, as it was lately presented by the worthy and 
ancient Poet lohn Gower. At London. Printed by T. P. for 
Nat. Butter. 1608." It lias also a wood-cut of Gower, no 
doubt, in the costume he wore at the Globe. 

This publication is valuable, not merely because it is the 
only known specimen of the kind of that date in our language, 
but because though in prose, (with the exception of a song) 
it gives some of the speeches more at length, than in the play 
as it has come down to us, and explains several obscure and 
disputed passages. For this latter purpose it will be seen 
that we have availed ourselves of it in our notes ; but it will 
not be out of place here to sneak of the strong presumptive 
evidence it affords, that the drama has not reached us by any 
means in the shape in which it was originally represented. 
The subsequent is given, in the novel of 1608, as the speech 
of Marina, when she is visited in the brothel by Lysimachus, 
the governor of Mitylene, whom, by her virtue, beauty, and 
eloquence, she diverts from the purpose for which he came. 

•' If as you say, my lord, yon are the governor, let not your authority, 
■which should teach you to rule others, be the means to make you 
miisgovern yourself. If the eminence of your place came unto you by 
descent, and the royalty of your blood, let not your life prove your 
birth bastard : if it were thrown upon you by opinion, make good 
that opinion -was the cause to make you great. What reason is there 
in your justice, who hath power over all, to undo any? If you take 
from me mine honour, you are like him that makes a gap into for- 
bidden ground, after whom many enter, and you are guilty of all 
their evils. My life is yet unspotted, my chastity unstained in 
thought : then, if your violence deface this bviilding, the workman- 
ship of heaven, made up for good, and not to be the exercise of sin's 
intemperance, you do kill your own honour, abuse your own justice, 
and impoverish me." 

Of this speech in the printed play we only meet with the 
following emphatic germ : — 

" If you were born to honour, show it now : 
If put upon you, make the judgment good, 
That thought you worthy of it." — (A. iv. so. 6.) 

It will hardly be required of us to argue, that the powerful 
address, copied from the novel founded upon "Pericles," 
could not be the mere enlargement of a short-hand writer, 
who had taken notes at the theatre, who from the very difh- 
culty of the operation, and from the haste with which he 
must afterwards have compounded the history, would be 
much more likely to abridge than to expand. In some parts 
of the novel it is evident that the prose, there used, was made 
■up from the blank-verse composition of the drama, as acted 
at the Globe. In the latter we meet with no passage similar 
to what succeeds, but still the ease with which it may be 
re-converted into blank-verse renders it almost certain that 



it was so originally. Pericles tells Simonides, in the novel, 
that 

" His blood was yet untainted, but with the heat got by the wrong 
the king had offered him, and that he boldly durst and did defy him- 
self, his subjects, and the proudest danger that either tyranny or 
treason could inflict upon him." 

To leave out only two or three expletives renders the sen- 
tence perfect dramatic blank-verse ; — 

" His blood was yet untainted, but with heat 
Got by the wrong the king had ofter'd him ; 
And that he boldly durst and did defy him. 
His subjects, and the proudest danger that 
Or tyranny or treason could inflict."' 

Many other passages to the same end might be produced 
from the novel of which there is no trace in the play. We 
shall not, however, dwell farther upon the point, than to men- 
tion a peculiarly Shakespearean expression, which occurs in 
the novel, and is omitted in the drama. Lyehorida brings 
the new-born infant to Pericles, who in the printed play 
(Act iii. sc. 1) says to it, 

" thou'rt the rudeliest welcome to this ■world 

That e'er was prince's child. Happy what follows ! 

Thou hast as chiding a nativity. 

As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make." 

In the novel founded upon the play, the speech is thiis 
given, and we have printed the expression, which, we think, 
must liave come from the pen of Shakespeare, in italic type : 

" Poor inch of nature! (quoth he) thou art as rudely welcome to 
the world, as ever princess' babe was, and hast as chiding a nativity 
as fire, air, earth and water can aiford thee." 

The existence of such a singular production was not known 
to any of the commentators ; but several copies of it have 
been preserved, and one of them was sold in the library of 
the late Mr. Ileber. 

It will have been remarked, that the novel printed in 1 608 
states that "Pericles" had been " Za^eZ_y presented," and on 
the title-page of the edition of the play in 1609 it is termed 
"the late and much-admired Play called Pericles:" it is, 
besides, spoken of as "a new play," in a poetical tract called 
" Pimlieo or Kun Ked-cap," prnited in 1609. Another piece, 
called "Shore," is mentioned in "Pimlieo," under exactly 
similar circumstanees: there was an older drama upon the 
story of Jane Shore, and this, like " Pericles," had, in all 
probability, about the same date been revived at one of the 
theatres, with additions. 

"Pericles" was five times printed before it was inserted 
in the folio of 1064, viz. in 1609, 1611, 1619, 1630, and 1635. 
The folio seems to have been copied from the last of these, 
with a nmltiplication of errors, but with some corrections. 
The first edition of 1009 was obviously brought out in haste, 
and there are many corruptions in it ; but more pains were 
taken with it than Malone, Steevens, and others iniagined : 
they never compared different copies of the same edition, or 
they would have seen that the impressions vary importantly, 
and that several mistakes, discovered as the play went through 
the press, were carefully setriglit : these will be found point- 
ed out in our notes. The connnentators dwelt upon tlie 
blunders of the old copies, in order to warrant their own 
extraordinary innovations ; but wherever we enuld do so, 
with due regard to the sense of the author, we have restored 
the text to that of the earliest impression. 



.,^^ w^f --^. , ••ir-rrr.t^^'^-^-,-. 



J 



THE TEMPEST. 



DEAMATIS PEESON^. 



Alonso, King of Naples. 

Sebastian, his Brother. 

Prospero, the right Duke of Milan. 

Antonio, his Brother, the usurping Duke of 

Milan. 
Ferdinand, Son to the King of Naples. 
GoNZALO, an honest old Counsellor. 

^"^^^^' ] Lords. 

PRANCISCO, j 

Caliban, a savage and deformed Slave. 



Trinculo, a Jester. 



Stephano, a drunken Butler. 

Master of a Ship, Boatswain, Mariners. 

Miranda, Daughter to Prospero. 

Ariel, an airy Spirit. 

Iris, 

Ceres, 



Juno, 

Nymphs, 

Reapers, 



Spirits. 



Other Spirits attending on Prospero. 
SCENE, a Ship at Sea;^ afterwards an uninhabited Island. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— On a Ship at Sea. . 

A tempestuous noise of Thunder and Lightning heard.* 

Eriter a Ship-master and a Boatswain, as on ship-board, 
shaking off wet. ^ 

Master. Boatswain ! 

Boats. Here, master : what cheer ? 

Mast. Good. Speak to the mariners: fall to'tyarely,* 
or we run ourselves aground : bestir, bestir. [Exit^ 
Enter Mariners. 

Boats. Heigh, my hearts ! cheerly, cheerly, my 
hearts ! yare, yare. Take in the topsail • tend to the 
master's whistle. — Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if 
room enough ! 

Enter Alonzo, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gon- 
ZALO, and Others, from the Cabin. ^ 

Alon. Good boatswain, have a^ care. Where's the 
master ? Play the men. 

Boats. I pray now, keep below. 

Ant. Where is the master, boatswain? 

Boats. Do you not hear him ? You mar our labour. 
Keep your cabins : you do assist the stoiTn. 

Gon. Nay, good, be patient. 

Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! What care these 
roarers for the name of king ? To cabin : silence ! 
trotxble us not. 

Gon. Good; yet remember whom thou hast aboard. 

Boats. None that I more love than myself. You 
are a counsellor : if you can command these elements 
to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will 
not iiand a rope more; use your authority: if you 
cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make 
yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the 
hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts ! — Out of our 
way, I say. [Exit. 

Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow : me- 
thinks, he hath no.drowning mark upon him ; his com- 
plexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good fate, to 



his hanging : make the rope of his destiny our cable, 

for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born 

to be hanged, our case is miserable. [Exeunt. 

Re-enter Boatswain. 

Boats. Down with the top-mast : yare ; lower, lower. 
Bring her to try with main-com-se. [A cry within.] 
A plague upon this howling ! they are louder than the 
weather, or our office. — 

Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo. 
Yet again ! what do you here ? Shall we give o'er, and 
drown ? Have you a mind to sink ? 

Seb. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, 
incharitable dog ! ^ 

Boats. Work you, then. * 

Ant. Hang, cur, hang ! you whoreson, insolent noise- 
maker, we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. 

Gon. I'll warrant him for drowning; though the 
ship were no stronger than a nutshell, and as leaky as 
an unstanched wench. 

Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold. Set her two courses : 
off to sea again ; lay her off. 

Enter Mariners, wet. 

Mar. Air lost ! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost ! [Ex. 

Boats. What ! must our mouths be cold ? [them. 

Go7i. The king and prince at prayers ! let us assist 
For our case is as theirs. 

Scb. I am out of patience. 

Ant. We are merely' cheated of our lives by di-unk- 
ards. 
This wide-chapp'd rascal, — would, thou might'st lie 

drowning, 
The washing of ten tides ! 

Gon. He'll be hanged yet, 

Though every drop of water swear again.st it, 
And gape at wid'st to glut him. [A confused noise 

within.] Mercy on us ! — 
We split, we split — Farewell, my wife and children ! — 
Farewell, brother ! — We split, we split, we split ! — 



1 Former editions : the soa with a ship. 
in f. e. << a, : not in f. o. ' Absolutely. 



> heard : not in f. e. ^ as on 6hip-board, etc. : not in f. e. * Nimbly. * from the cabin : no^ 



2 



THE TEMPEST. 



ACT I. 



Ant. Let's all sink with the king. [Exit. 

Seb. Let's take leave of him. [Exit. 

Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea 
for an acre of barren ground; long heath, brown furze, 
any thing. The wills above be done ! but I would 
fain die a dry death. [Exit. 

SCENE IL— The Island: before the cell of Prospero. 
Enter Prospero and Miranda. 

Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have 
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. 
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch. 
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's heat/ 
Dashes the fire out. O ! I have suffer'd 
With those that I saw suffer : a brave vessel, 
Who had no doubt some noble creatures' in her, 
Dash'd all to pieces. O ! the cry did knock 
Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd. 
Had I been any god of power, I would 
Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er 
It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and 
The fraughtiiig souls within her. 

Pro. Be collected : 

No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart, 
There's no harm done. 

Mira. 0, woe the day ! 

Pro. No harm. 

I have done nothing but in care of thee, 
(Of thee, my dear one ! thee, my daughter !) who 
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing 
Of ■whence I am ; nor that I am more better 
Than Prospero. master of a full poor cell, 
And thy no greater father. 

Mira. More to know 

Did never meddle with my thoughts. 

Pro. 'Tis time 

I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, 
And pluck my magic garment from mo. — So : 

[Lay.s down his robe.^ 
Lie there my art. — Wipe thou thine eyes ; have comfort. 
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd 
The very virtue of compassion in thee, 
I have with such prevision* in mine art 
So safely order'd, that there is no soul — 
No, not so much pei-dition as an hair. 
Betid to any creature in the vessel 
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit 

down ; 
For thou must now know farther. 

Mira. You have often 

Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd, 
And left me to a bootless inquisition, 
Concluding, " Stay, not yet." 

Pro. 

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear ; 
Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember 
A time before we came unto this cell ? [Sits down.^ 
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not 
Out three years old. 

Mira. Certainly, sir, I can. 

Pro. By what ? by any other house, or person ? 
Of any thing the image tell me, that 
Hath kept with thy remembrance. 

Mira. 'Tis far off; 

And rather like a dream, than an assurance 
That my remembrance warrants. Had I not 
Four or five women once, that tended me ? 

Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it, 



The hour's now come, 



That this lives in thy mind ? What seest thou else 
In the dark backward and abysm of time ? 
If thou remembcr"st aught, ere thou cam'st here, 
How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. 

Mira. But that I do not. 

Pro. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, 
Thy father was the duke of Milan, and 
A prince of power. 

Mira. Sir, are not you my father ? 

Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
She said — thovi wast my daughter ; and thy father 
Was duke of Milan^ thou'* his only heir 
And princess, no worse issued. 

Mira. 0, the heavens ! 

What foul play had we, that we came from thence ? 
Or blessed was't. we did ? 

Pro. Both, both, my girl : 

By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence; 
But blessedly holp hither. 

Mira. ! my heart bleeds 

To think o' the teen' that I have turn'd you to. 
Which is from my remembrance. Please you, farther. 

Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio, — 
I pray thee, mark me, — that a brother should 
Be so perfidious ! — he whom, next thyself. 
Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put 
The manage of my state ; as, at that time. 
Through all the signiories it was the first, 
(And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed 
In dignity) and, for the liberal arts, 
Withouta parallel : those being all my study, 
The government I cast upon my brother, 
And to my state grew stranger, being transported 
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle — 
Dost thou attend me ? 

Mira. Sir, most heedfully. 

Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits. 
How to deny them, whom t'advance, and whom 
•To trash** for over-topping, new created 
The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd them, 
Or else new form'd them ; having both the key 
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state 
To what tunc plcas'd his ear ; that now he was 
The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, 
And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not. 

Mira. good sir ! I do. 

Pro. I pray thee, mark me. 

I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated 
To closeness, and the bettering of my mind 
With that, which but by being so retired 
O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother 
Awak'd an evil nature : and my trust, 
Like a good parent, did beget of him 
A falsehood, in its contrary as great 
As my trust was ; which had. indeed, no limit, 
A confidence sans bovmd. He being thus loaded,' 
Not only with what my revenue yielded. 
But what my power might else exact, — like one, 
Who having to untruth.'" by telling of it, 
Made such a sinner of his memory. 
To credit liis own lie, — he did believe 
He was indeed the duke ; out o' the substitution, 
And executing th' outward face of royalty, 
With all prerogative : — hence his ambition 
Growing — Dost thou hear ? 



Mira. 



Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 



Pro. To have no screen between this part he play'd, 
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 



1 cheek : in f. e. 2 creature : in f. e. 3 mantle : in f. e. * provision : in f. e. s Not in f. e. « and : in f. e. '' Trouble, ^ A hunt- 
ing term, signifjnng to beat back. See Othello, II., 1. 9 lorded : in f. e. i" unto truth : in f. e. 



SCENE n. 



THE TEMPEST. 



Absolute Milan. Me, poor man ! — my library- 
Was dukedom large enough : of temporal royalties 
He thinks me now incapable ; confederates 
(So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, 
To give him annual tribute, do him homage, 
Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend 
The dukedom, yet unbow'd, (alas, poor Milan !) 
To most ignoble stooping. 

Mira. O the heavens ! 

Pro. Mark his condition, and th' event; then tell me. 
If this might be a brother. 

Mira. I should ^in 

To think but nobly of my grandmother : 
Good wombs have borne bad sons. 

Pro. Now the condition. 

This king of Naples, being an enemy 
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit ; 
Which was, that he in lieu o' the premises, — 
Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, — 
Should presently extirpate me and mine 
Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan, 
With all the honours, on my brother : whereon, 
A treacherous army levied, one midnight. 
Fated to the practise,^ did Antonio open 
The gates of Milan ; and, i' the dead of darkness, 
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
Me, and thy crying self. 

Mira. . Alack, for pity ! 

I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, 
Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint, 
That wrings mine eyes to 't. 

Pro. Hear a little farther, 

And then I'll bring thee to the present business 
Which now 's upon 's ; without the which this story 
Were most impertinent. 

Mira. Wherefore did they not 

That hour destroy us ? 

Pro. Well demanded, wench : 

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, 
So dear the love my people bore me, nor set 
A mark so bloody on the business ; but 
With colours fairer painted their foul ends. 
Iji few, they hurried us aboard a bark, 
Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepar'd 
A rotten carcass of a boat,^ not rigg'd, 



Would I might 



I prize above my dukedom. 

Mira. 
But ever see that man ! 

Pro. Now I arise : — [Puts on his robe again.^ 

Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 
Here in this island we arriv'd ; and here 
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit 
Than other princes^ can, that have more time 
For vainer hours, and tutors not so carefvxi. 



And now, I 



pray 



Mira. Heavens thanlc you for 't ! 
you, sir, 

For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason 
For raising this sea-storm? 

Pro. Know thus far forth. — 

By accident most strange, bountiful fortune, 
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
Brought to this shore ; and by my prescience 
I find my zenith doth depend upon 
A most auspicious star, whose influence 
If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes 
Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions. 
Thou art inclined to sleep ; 'tis a good dulness, 
And give it way : — I know thou canst not choose. — 

[Miranda sleeps. 
Come away, servant, come ! I am ready now. 
Approach, my Ariel : come " 



Ari. All hail. 



Enter Ariel. 
great master 



grave sir, hail. 



I come 



Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats 
Instinctively had^ quit it : there they hoist us, 
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us ; to sigh 
To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again, 
Did us but loving wrong. 

3Iira. Alack ! what trouble 

Was I then to you ! 

Pro. O ! a cherubim 

Thou wast, that did preserve me. Thou didst smile, 
Infused with a fortitude from heaven. 
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt. 
Under my burden groan'd ; which rais'd in me 
An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
Against what should ensue. 

Mira. How came we ashore? 

Pro. By Providence divine. 
Some food we had, and some fresh water, that 
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
Out of his charity, (who being then appointed 
Master of this design) did give us ; with 
Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries. 
Which since have steaded much : so, of his gentleness, 
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me, 
From my own library, with volumes that 

I purpose : in f. e. " butt : in f. e. ^ have : in f. e. ♦ This direction is not in f. e. 



To answer thy best pleasure ; be 't to fly. 
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
On the curl'd clouds : to thy strong bidding task 
Ariel, and all his quality. 

Pro. Hast thou, spirit, 

Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee ? 

Ari. To every article. 
I boarded the king's ship ; now on the beak, 
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
I flam'd amazement : sometimes, I 'd divide, 
And burn in many places ; on the topmast, 
The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly. 
Then meet, and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors 
0' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
And sight-outrunning were not : the fire, and cracks 
Of stilphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune 
Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, 



Yea, his dread trident shake. 

Pro. My brave spirit ! 

Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 
Would not infect his reason ? 

Ari. Not a soul 

But felt a fever of tlie mad, and play'd 
Some tricks of desperation. All, but mariners, 
Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, 
Then all a-fire with me : the king's son, Ferdinand, 
With hair up-staring (then like reeds, not hair) 
Was the first man that leap'd ; cried, " Hell is empty, 
And all the devils are here." 

Pro. Why, that's my spirit ! 

But was not this nigh shore ? 

Ari. Close by, my master. 

Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe ? 

Ari. Not a hair perish'd ; 

On their sustaining garments not a blemish, 



But fresher than before : and, as thou bad'st me, 
In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle. 
The king's son have I landed by himself, 
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs 
In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, 
His arms in this sad knot. 

6 princess : in f. e. 



THE TEMPEST. 



ACT I. 



Pro. Of the king's ship 

The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd. 
And all the rest o' the fleet ? 

Ari. Safely in harbour 

Is the king's ship : in the deep nook, where once 
Tliou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
From the still-vex'd Bcrmoothes, there she's hid : 
The mariners all under hatches stow'd ; 
Whom, with a charm joined to their suffer'd labour, 
I have left asleep : aiid for the rest o' the fleet 
Which I dispers'd, they all have met again, 
And all' upon the Mediterranean float,^ 
Bound sadly home for Naples, 
Supposing that they saw the king's ship wxeck'd, 
And his great person perish. 

Pro. Ariel, thy charge 

Exactly is perform'd ; but there's more work. 
What is the time o' the day ? 

Ari. Past the mid season. 

Pro. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now 
Must by ITS both be spent most preciously. 

Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, 
Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, 
Which is not yet perform'd me. 

Pro. How now ! moody? 

What is 't thou canst demand ? 

Ari. My liberty. 

Pro. Before the time be out? no more. 

Ari. I prithee 

Remember, I have done thee worthy sei-vdce ; 
Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv'd 
Without or grudge, or grumblings. Thou didst promise 
To bate me a full year. 

Pro. Dost thou forget 

From what a torment I did free thee ? 

Ari. No. 

Pro. Thou dost ; and think'st it much, to tread the ooze 
Of the salt deep, 

To run upon the sharp wind of the north. 
To do me business in the veins o' th' earth, 
When it is bak'd with frost. 

Ari. I do not, sir. 

Pro. Thou liest, malignant tiling ! Hast thou forgot 
The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy. 
Was grown into a hoop ? hast thou forgot her ? 



Ari. No, sir. 



Where was she born? 



Pro. Thou hast, 

speak ; tell me. 

Ari. Sir, in Argier. 

Pro. ! was she so ? I must. 
Once in a month, recount wliat thou hast been, 
Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, 
For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible 
To enter human hearing, from Argier. 
Thou know'st, was banish'd : for one thing she did. 
They would not take her life. Is not this true ? 

Ari. Ay, sir. 

Pro. This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with 
child, 
And here was left by the sailors : thou, my slave 
As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant : 
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate 
To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands. 
Refusing her grand hosts, she did confine thee, 
By help of her more potent ministers. 
And in her most unmitigable rage. 
Into a cloven pine ; ■within which rift 
Imprison'd, thou didst painfully remain 
A dozen years ; within which space she died. 



And left thee there, where thou didst vent tliy groans 

As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island 

(Save for a^ son that she did litter here. 

A freckled whelp, hag-born) not honour'd with 

A human shape. 

Ari. Yes; Caliban, her son. 

Pro. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban, 
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st 
What torment I did find thee in : thy groans 
Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 
Of ever-angry bears. It was a torment 
To lay upon the damn'd, whicli Sycorax 
Coiild not again undo : It was mine art. 
When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape 
The pine, and let thee out. 

Ari. I thank thee, master. 

Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, 
And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till 
Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 



Ari. 



Pardon, master : 



'Tis a villain, sir, 



But, as 'tis, 



I will be correspondent to command. 
And do my spriting gently. 

Pro. Do so, and after two days 

I "will discharge thee. 

Ari. That's my noble master ! 

What shall I do? say what? what shall I do ? 

Pro. Go, make thyself a like nymph* o' the sea : be 
subject 
To no sight but thine and mine ; invisible 
To every eyeball, else. Go, take this shape. 
And hither come in't; go; hence, with diligence. 

[Exit Ariel. 
AAvake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well ; 
Awake ! 

3Iira. The strangeness of your story put [Waking.^ 
Heaviness in me. 

Pro. Shake it off". Come on : 

We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never 
Yields us kind answer. 

3Iira. 
I do not love to look on. 

Pro. 
We cannot miss him : he does make our fire, 
Fetch in our wood, and ser\"es in offices 
That profit us. — What ho! slave! Caliban! 
Thou earth, thou ! speak. 

Cal. [ Within] There's wood enough within. 

Pro. Come forth, I say ; there's other business for thee. 
Come, thoii tortoise ! when ? 

Re-enter Ariel, like a water-nymph. 
Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, 
Hark in thine ear. 

Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit. 

Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself 
Upon thy wicked dam, come forth ! 
Enter Caliban. 

Cal. As wicked dew, as e'er my mother brusli'd 
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen. 
Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye, 
And blister you all o'er ! 

Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalthave cramps. 
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins 
Shall, for that vast of night that they may work. 
All exercise on thee : thou shalt be pinch'd 
As thick as honey-combs,^ each pinch more stinging 
Than bees that made 'em. 

Cal. I must eat my diimer. 

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, 
Which thou tak'st from me. When thou cam'st here first, 



1 are : in f. e. 2 flote : in f. e. » the : in f. e. * like a : in f. e. * Not in f. e. « honey-oomb : in f. e. 



SCENE n. 



THE TEMPEST. 



Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me ; would'st 

give me 
Water with berries in 't ; and teach me how 
To name the bigger light, and how the less, 
That burn by day and night : and then I lov'd thee, 
And show'd thee all the qualities o' th' isle, 
The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fertile. 
Cursed be I that did so ! — All the charms 
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you ; 
For I am all the subjects that you have, 
Which first was mine own king : and here you sty me, 
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 
The rest o' th' island. 

Pro. Thou most lying slave, 

Whom stripes may inove, not kindness, I have us'd thee. 
Filth as thou art, with human care ; and lodg'd thee 
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate 
The honour of my child. 

Cal. O ho ! ho ! — would it had been done ! 
Thou didst prevent me ; I had peopled else 
This isle with Calibans. 

Pro. Abhorred slave, 

Which any print of goodness will not take. 
Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee. 
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour 
One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage, 
Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like 
A thing most brutish, I endow' d thy purposes 
With words that made them, known : but thy vile race, 
Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures 
Could not abide to be with : therefore wast thou 
Deservedly confin'd into this rock, 
Who hadst deseiw'd more than a prison. 

Cal. You taught me language ; and my profit on't 
Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you, 
For learning me your language ! 



Pro. 



Hag-seed, hence ! 



Shrug' st thou, malice ? 



Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou'rt best. 

To answer other business. 

If thou neglect' st, or dost unwillingly 

What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps ; 

Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar, 

That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 

Cal. No, pray thee ! — 

I must obey ; his art is of such power, [Aside. 

It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
And make a vassal of him. 

Pro. So, slave ; hence ! [Exit Caliban. 

Re-enter Ahlel, invisible^ playing and sijiging ; Ferdi- 
nand following.^ 
Ariel's Song. 
Come unto these yellotc sands^ 

And then take liands : 
Courfsied when you fuive, and kissed 

The wild waves whist ^ 
Foot it feathj here ami there ;* 
And^ sweet sprites^ the burden bear. 



Hark J hark ! 



[Dispersedly. 



Burden. Bow, wow. 

Tlie watch dogs bark : 
Burden. Bow. wow. 

Hark^ hark ! I hear 
The strain of strutting chanticlere 
Cry, cock-a-doodle-doo. [earth? — 

Fer. Where should this music be ? i' th' air, or th' 
It sounds no more: — and sure, it waits ujion 
Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank 



-) 



Weeping again the king my father's wreck, 
This music crept by me upon the waters, 
Allaying both their fury, and my passion. 
With its sweet air : thence I have follow'd it, 
Or it hath drawn me rather : — but 'tis gone. — 
No, it begins again. 

Ariel sings. 
Full fathom Jive thy father lies; 
Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls that were his eyes : 

Nothing of him that doth fade^ 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and .strange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 

[Burden : ding-dong. 
Hark ! now I hear them., — ding-dong^ bell. 

Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. — 
This is no mortal business, nor no sound 
That the earth owes^ — I hear it now above me. 

[Music above.* 

Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance 
And say, what thou seest yond'. 

Mira. What is 't ? a spirit ? 

Lord, how it looks about ! Believe me, sir. 
It carries a brave form : — ^but 'tis a spirit. 

Pro. No, wench : it eats, and sleeps, and hath such 
senses 
As we have ; such. This gallant, which thou seest. 
Was in the WTcck ; and but he's something stain"d 
With grief, that's beauty's canlicr, thou might'st call hiin 
A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows. 
And strays about to find 'em. 

Mira. I might call him 

A thing divine, for nothing natural 
I ever saw so noble. 

Pro. It goes on, I see, [Aside. 

As my soul prompts it: — Spirit, fine spirit ! I'll free thee 
Within two days for this. 

Fer. Most sure, the goddess [Seeing her.^ 

On whom these airs attend ! — Vouchsafe, my prayer 
May know if you remain upon this island, [Kneels.^ 
And that you will some good instruction give, 
How I may bear me here : my prime request, 
Which I do last pronounce, is, you wonder ! 
If you be maid, or no ? 

Mira. No wonder, sir ; 

But, certainly a maid. 

Fer. My language ! heavens ! — Rises.'' 

I am the best of them that speak this speecli, 
Were I but where 'tis spoken. 

Pro. How! the best? 

What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee ? 

Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me. 
And that he does I weep ; myself am Naples ; 
Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld 
The king, my father, wreck'd. 

Mira. Alack, for mercy ! 

Fer. Yes. faith, and all his lords; the duke of Milan, 
And his brave son, being twain. 

P>o. The duke of Milan, 

And his more braver daughter, could control thee, 
If now 'twere fit to do 't. — [Aside.] At the first sight 
They have chang'd eyes : — delicate Ariel, 
I'll set thee free for this ! — [To him.] A word, good sir; 
I fear, you have done yourself some ^^Tong : a word. 

31ira. Why speaks my father so ungently? This 



I f. e. have "him." 2 Tho old copies read : " Foot it featly here and there, and sweet sprites bear the burden.'''' The TtlS. annotator 
of the fiilio of lii-l-J, anticipated later critics in altering the passage as it stands in the text. 3 Owns. *Not in f e 5 Not in f e 
« Not in r. e. ■> Not in f. e. 



THE TEMPEST. 



ACT n. 



Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first 
That e'er I sigh'd for. Pity move my father 
To be inclin'd my "way ! 

Fer. ! if a virgin, 

And your affection not gone forth. I'll make you 
The queen of Naples. 

Pro. Soft, sir: one word more. — 

[^5Z(fe.] They are both in cither's powers : but this 

swift business 
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning 
Make the prize light. — \To hhn.\ One word more: I 

charge thee, 
That thou attend me. Thou dost here usurp 
The name thou ow'st not ; and hast put thyself 
Upon this island as a spy, to win it 
From me, the lord on 't 

Fer. 

Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple 
If the ill spirit have so fair a house, 
Good things will strive to dwell with 't. 

Pro. Follow me. — [To Ferd 

Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. — Come. 
I'll manacle thy neck and feet together; 
Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be 
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks 
Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. 



No, as I am a man. 



Pro. 



No; 



I will resist such entertainment, till 
Mine enemy has more power. 

[He draws J and is charmed from, moving. 

Mira. 0, dear father ! 

Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
He's gentle, and not fearful. 

Pro. What ! I say : 

My foot my tutor ? — Put thy sword up, traitor ; 
Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy conscience 
Is so possess'd with guilt : Come from thy ward, 
For I can here disarm thee with this stick, 
And make thy weapon drop. 



Mira. Beseech you, father ! 

Pro. Hence ! hang not on my garments. 

Mira. Sir, have pity : 

I'll be his surety. 

Pro. Silence ! one word more 

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What ! 
An advocate for an impostor? hush ! 
Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as he. 
Having seen but him and Caliban : foolish wench ! 
To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
And they to him are angels. 

Mira. My affections 

Are then most humble ; I have no ambition 
To see a goodlier man. 

Pro. Come on ; obey : [To Ferd. 

Thy nerves are in their infancy again, 
And liave no vigour in them. 

Fer. So they are : 

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, 
The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats, 
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, 
Might I but through my prison once a day 
Behold this maid : all corners else o' th' earth 
Let liberty make use of; space enough 
Have I in such a prison. 

Pro. It works. — Come on. — 

Thou hast done well, fine Ariel ! — Follow me. — 

[To Ferd. and Mir. 
Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [To Ariel. 

Mira. Be of comfort. 

My father's of a better nature, sir, 
Than he appears by speech : this is unwonted. 
Which now came from him. 

Pro. Thou shalt be as free 

As mountain winds : but then, exactly do 
All points of my command. 

Ari. To the syllable. 

Pro. Come, follow. — Speak not for him. [Exeimt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— Another part of the Island. 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 

Adrian, Francisco and Others. 

Gon. Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have cause 
(So have we all) of joy, for our escape 
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of -woe 
Is common; every day, some sailor's wife. 
The master^ of some merchant, and the merchant, 
Have just our theme of woe ; but for the miracle, 
I mean our preservation, few in millions 
Can speak like us : then, wisely, good sir, weigh 
Our sorrow with our comfort. 

-^^07?. Pr'ythee, peace 

Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. 

Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. 

Seb. Look ; he's winding up the watch of his wit ; 
by and by it will strike. 

Gon. Sir, — 

Seb. One;— tell. 

Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's ofFer'd, 
Comes to the entertainer — 

Seb. A dollar. 

Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed : you have spoken 
truer than you purposed. 



Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you 
should. 

Gon. Therefore, my lord. 

Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue ! 

Alo7i. I pr'ythee, spare. 

Gon. Well, I have done. But yet — 

Seb. He will be talking. 

A7it. Which, or^ he or Adrian, for a good wager, 
first begins to crow? 

Sch. The old cock. 

Aiit. The cockrel. 

Seb. Done. The wager? 

Ant. A laughter. 

Seb. A match. 

Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, — 

Seb. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Ant. So, you're paid. 

Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible. — 

Seb. Yet— 

Adr. Yet— 

Ant. He could not miss it. 

Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate 
temperance. 

Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. 



I masters : in f. e. 2 of them : in f. e. Knight's edition reads, " of them." 



SCENE I. 



THE TEMPEST. 



Seb. Ay, and a subtle, as he most learnedly delivered. 

Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. 

Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. 

Ant. Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen. 

Goa. Here is every thing advantageous to life. 

Ant. True; save means to live. 

Sfb. Of that there's none, or little. 

Gon. How lush' and lusty the grass looks ! how green ! 

Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny. 

Seb. With an eye^ of green in 't. 

Ant. He misses not much. 

Seb. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. 

Gon. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost 
beyond credit — 

Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. 

Gon. That ovir garments, being, as they were, 
drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their fresh- 
ness, and glosses ; being rather new dyed, than stain'd 
with salt water. 

Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it 
not say, he lies ? 

Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. 

Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as 
when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of 
the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis. 

Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well 
in our return. 

Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a 
paragon to their queen. 

Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. 

Ant. Widow? a pox o' that ! How came that widow 
in? Widow Dido ! 

Seb. What if he had said, widower ^neas too? good 
lord, how you take it ! 

Adr. Widow Dido, said you ! you make me study of 
that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. 

Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 

Adr. Carthage? 

Gon. I assure you, Carthage. 

Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. 

Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. 

Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next ? 

Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his 
pocket, and give it his son for an apple. 

Ant. And sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring 
forth more islands. 

Gon. Ay? 

Ant. Why, in good time. 

Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem 
now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at the mar- 
riage of your daughter, who is now queen. 

Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. 

Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. 

Ant. ! -widow Dido ; ay, widow Dido. 

Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day 
I wore it ? I mean, in a sort. 

Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. 

Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage? 

Alon. You cram these words into mine cars, against 
The stomach of my sense. Would I had never 
Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence, 
My son is lost ; and, in my rate, she too. 
Who is so far from Italy remov'd, 
I ne'er again shall see her. O thou, mine heir 
Of Naples and of Milan ! what strange fish 
Hath made his meal on thee? 



Fran. Sir, he may live. 

I saw him beat the surges under him, 
And ride upon their backs : he trod the water. 
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 
The surge most swoln that met him : his bold head 
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd 
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke 
To the shore, that o'er his wave- worn basis bow'd, 
As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt, 
He came alive to land. 

Alon. No, no ; he's gone. 

Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss 
Tliat would not bless our Europe with your daughter, 
But rather lose her to an African ; 
Where slie, at least, is banish'd from your eye, 
Who hath cause to wet the grief on 't. 

Alon. Pr'^ihee, peace. 

Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise 
By all of us ; and the fair soul herself 
Wcigh'd between lothness and obedience, as^ 
Which end o' the beam should* bow. We have lost 

your son, 
I fear, for ever : Milan and Naples have 
More widows in them, of this business' making, 
Than we bring men to comfort them : the fault 's 
Your o^^^l. 

Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. 

Gon. My lord Sebastian, 

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness. 
And time to speak it in : you rub the sore, 
When you should bring the plaster. 

Seb. Very well. 

Ant. And most chirurgeonly. 

Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, 
When you are cloudy. 

Seb. Foul weather? 

Ant. Very foul. 

Go7i. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord, — 

Ant. He'd sow 't with neddle-seed. 

Seb. Or docks, or mallows. 

Gon. And were the king on't, what would I do ? 

Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine. 

Go7i. V the commonwealth I would by contraries 
Execute all things, for no kind of traffic 
Would I admit ;^ no name of magistrate ; 
Letters should not be known ; riches, poverty, 
And use of service, none ; contract, succession, 
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; 
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil : 
No occupation, all men idle, all ; 
And women, too, but innocent and pure. 
No sovereignty : — 

Seb. Yet he would be king on't. 

Ant. The latter end of this commonwealth forgets 
the beginning. 

Gon. All things in common nature should produce, 
Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony, 
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine. 
Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, 
Of its own kind, all foisson.^ all abundance. 
To feed my innocent people. 

Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects ? 

Ant. None, man ; all idle : whores, and knaves. 

Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir. 
To excel the golden age. 

Seb. 'Save his majesty ! 



1 Jidei/. 5 Sli!;kt shade of color. 3 at : in f e. * Slic'd : in f. e. s n is a nation, would I answer Plato, that hath no kimle of traffikc, 
no knowledge of l,pttors. no inlollifrpnce of niiiiiliors, no name of niasistrato, nor of politike suporioritie ; no usp of service, of richos. 
or of povcrtie ; no contractK, no Kuccession.s. no dividencos, no occupation but idle ; no respect of kinred, but common, no apparel but 
naturall, no manuring of lands, no use of wine, come, or mettle. The very Ihat import hint;, falshood, treason, dissimulations, covet- 
ousncs, envie, detraction, and pardon, were never heard of amonp;st them. — Montaigne, Florio's translation, 1603. ^ Plenty. 



8 



THE TEMPEST. 



ACT n. 



Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! 

Gon. And, do you mark me, sir ? — 

Alon. Pr'ythee, no more : thou dost talk nothing to 
me. 

Gon. I do well helieve your highness ; and did it to 
minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such 
sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to 
laugh at nothing. 

Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. 

Gon. Who, in tliis kind of merry fooling, am nothing 
to you : so you may continue, and laugh at nothing 
still. 

Ant. What a blow was there given ! 

Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. 

Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle : you would 
lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue 
in it five weeks without changing. 

Enter Ariel above,^ invisible^ playing solemn music. 

Seb. We would so, and then go a bat- fowling. 

Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. 

Gon. No, I warrant you ; I will not adventure my 
discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for 
I am very heavy ? 

Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. 

[All sleep but Alon. Seb. and Ant. 

Alon. What ! all so soon asleep ? I wish mine eyes 
Would, with themselves, shut vip my thoughts : I fmd, 
They are inclined to do so. 

Seb. Please you, sir, 

Do not omit the heavy offer of it : 
It seldom visits sorrow ; when it doth. 
It is a comforter. 

Ant. We two, my lord. 

Will guard yoiir person while you take your rest, 
And watch your safety. 

Alon. Thank you. Wondrous heavy. — [ AhO'S . sleeps .- 

Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them ! 

Ant. It is the quality of the climate. 

Seb. Why 

Doth, it not, then, our eye-lids sink ? I find not 
Myself disposed to sleep. 

Ant. Nor I : my spirits are nimble. 

They fell together all, as by consent ; 
They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might. 
Worthy Sebastian ? — ! what might ? — No more : — 
And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face. 
What thou should'st be. Th' occasion speaks thee, and 
My strong imagination sees a crown 
Dropping upon thy head. 

Seb. What! art thou waking ? 

Ant. Do you not hear me speak ? 

Seb. I do; and, surely. 

It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st 
Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say? 
This is a strange repose, to be asleep 
With eyes wide open ; standing, speaking, moving, 
And yet so fast asleep. 

Ant. Noble Sebastian, 

Thou let'st thy fortune sleep — die rather ; wink'st 
Whiles thou art waking. 

Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly: 

Thei'c's meaning in thy snores. 

Ant. I am more serious than my custom : you 
Must be so too, if heed me ; which to do, 
Trebles thee o'er. 

Seb. Well ; I am standing water. 

Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. 
Seb. Do so : to ebb 

Hereditary sloth instructs me. 



Ant. ! 

If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish, 
Whiles thus you mock it ! how, in stripping it, 
You more invest it ! Ebbing men, indeed, 
Most often do so near the bottom run 
By their own fear, or sloth. 

Seb. Pr'ythee, say on. 

The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim 
A matter from thee ; and a birth, indeed, 
Wliich throes thee much to yield. 

Ant. Thus, sir. 

Although this lord of weak remembrance, this 
(Who shall be of as little memory. 
When he is earth'd) hath here almost persuaded 
(For he's a spirit of persuasion, only 
Professes to persuade) the king, his son 's alive, 
'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd, 
As he that sleeps here, swims. 

Seb. I have no hope 
That he 's undrown'd. 

A7it. O ! out of that no hope. 

What great hope have you ! no hope, that way. is 
Another way so high a hope, that even 
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, 
But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with me, 
That Ferdinand is drown'd ? 

Seb. He's gone. 

Ant. Then, tell me, 

Who's the next heir of Naples ? 

Seb. Claribel. 

Ant. She that is queen of Tunis ; she that dwells 
Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples 
Can have no note, iinless the sun were post, 
(The man i' tlie moon 's too slow) till new-born chins 
Be rough and razorable ; she, for^ whom 
We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again; 
And by that destiny to perform an act 
Whereof what's past is prologue, what's* to come. 
In yours and my discharge. 

Seb. What stuff" is this ! — How say you? 

'Tis true, my brother's daughter 's queen of Tunis; 
So is she heir of Naples ; 'twixt which regions 
There is some space. 

Ant. A space whose every cubit 

Seems to cry oiit, " How shall that Claribel 
Measure us back to Naples?" — Keep in Tunis, 
And let Sebastian wake ! — Say, this were death 
That now hath seized them ; why, they were no worse 
Than now they are. There be, that can rule Naples 
As well as he that sleeps ; lords that can prate 
As amply, and unnecessarily, 
As this Gonzalo ; I myself could make 
A chough of as deep chat. 0, that you bore 
The mind that I do ! what a sleep were this 
For your advancement ! Do you understand me ? 

Seb. Methinks, I do. 
Ant. And how does your content 

Tender your own good fortune? 

Seb. I remember, 

You did supplant your brother Prospero. 

Ant. True : 

And look how well my garments sit upon me ; 
INIuch feater than before. My brother's servants 
Were then my fellows, now they are my men. 

Seb. But, for your conscience — 

Ant. Ay, sir ; where lies that ? if it were a kybe, 
'T would put me to my slipper; but I feel not 
This deity in my bosom : twenty consciences, 
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they, 



1 Not in f. e. 2 E.tit Ariel : in f. e. 3 from : in f. e. * what : in f. e. 



SCENE n. 



THE TEMPEST. 



9 



And melt, ere they molest ! Here lies yoiir bi'other, 
No better than the earth he lies upon, 
If he were that which now he's like, that's dead, 
Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it, 
Can lay to bed for ever ; whiles you, doing thus, 
To the perpetual wink for aye might put 
This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who 
Should not upbraid our course : for all tlie rest, 
They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk ; 
They'll tell the clock to any business that 
We say befits the hour. 

Scb. Thy case, dear friend, 

Shall be my precedent : as thou got'st Milan, 
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword : one stroke 
Sliall tree thee from the tribute which thou pay'st. 
And I, the king, shall love thee. 

Ant. Draw together ; 

And when I rear my hand, do you the like, 
To fall it on Gonzalo. 

Scb. ! but one word. [They converse apart. 

Music. Ariel descends invisible.^ 

Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger 
That you, his friend, are in ; and sends me forth 
(For else his project dies) to keep them living. 

[Sings in Gonzalo's ear. 
While you here do snoring lie. 
Open-eyed conspiracy 

His time doth take. 
If of life you keep a care. 
Shake off slumber^ and beware : 
Awake ! Awake ! 

Ant. Then, let us both be sudden. 

Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king ! 

[They wake. 

Alon. Why, how now, ho ! awake ! Why are you 
drawn ? 
Wherefore thus- ghastly looking ? 

Gon. What's the matter ? 

Scb. Whiles we stood here securing jour repose, 
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing. 
Like bulls, or rather lions : did it not wake you? 
It struck mine ear most terribly. 

Alon. I heard nothing. 

Ant. ! 'twas a din to fright a monster's car, 
To make an earthquake : sui'e, it was the roar 
Of a whole herd of lions. 

Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo? 

Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming, 
And that a strange one too, which did awake me. 
I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd : as mine eyes open'd, 
I saw their weapons drawn. — There was a noise. 
That's verity :^ 'tis best we stand upon our guard. 
Or that we quit this place. Let's draw our weapons. 

Alon. Lead off this ground, and let's make farther 
search 
For my poor son. 

Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts. 
For he is, sure, i' the island. 

Alon. Lead away. [Exeunt. 

Ari. Prospero, my lord, shall know what I have done : 
So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exit. 

SCENE II.— Another part of the Island. 

Enter Caliban, viih a burden oftvood. 
A noise of thunder heard. 

Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up 
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him 
By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me, 



And yet I needs must curse; bvxt they'll not* pinch. 
Fright me with urchin shows, pitclx me i' the mire. 
Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark 
Out of my way, unless he bid 'em ; but 
For every trifle arc they set upon me : 
Sometime like apes, that moe and chatter at me, 
And after, bite me ; then like hedge-hogs, which 
Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount 
Their pricks at my foot-fall : sometime am I 
AH wound with adders, who with cloven tongues 
Do hiss me into madness. — Lo, now ! lo ! 

Enter Trinculo. 
Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me 
For bringing wood in slowly: I'll fall flat; 
Perchance, he will not mind me. 

Tri7i. Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off any 
weather at all, and another storm brewing ; I hear it 
sing i' the wind : yond' same black cloud, yond' huge 
one, looks like a foul bombard^ that would shed his 
liquor. If it should thunder, as it did before, I know 
not where to hide my head : yond' same cloud cannot 
choose but fall by pailfuls. — What have we here? 
[Seeing Ccdiban.^] a man or a fish? Dead or alive? 
A fish : he smells like a fish ; a very ancient and fish- 
like smell ; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor-John. 
A strange fish ! Were I in England now, (as once I 
was) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday 
fool there but would give a piece of silver : there 
would this monster make a man : any strange beast 
there makes a man. When they will not give a doit 
to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see 
a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man ! and his fins like 
arms ! Warm, o' my troth ! I do now let loose my 
opinion, hold it no longer; this is no fish, but an 
islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunder-bolt. 
[Thunder.] Alas! the storm is come again: my best 
way is to creep under his gaberdine ; there is no other 
shelter hereabout : misery acquaints a man with strange 
bedfellows. I will here shroud, till the drench' of the 
storm be past. 



Enter Stepiiano, 



a bottle in his hand. 



Ste. I shall no more to sca^ to sea. 

Here shall I die a-shore. — 
Tliis is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral. 
Well, here's my comfort. [Drinks. 

The master, the swabber, the boatsivain, and I, 

The gunner, and his mate, 
Lov^d Mall, Meg, ami Marian, and Margery^ 
But none of us car'' d for Kate ; 
For she had a tongue with a tang, 
Would cry to a sailor, Go, hang : 
She lov'd not the savour of tar, nor of pitchy 
Yet a tailor might scratch her where-ehr she did itch ; 
Then, to sea, boys, and let her go hang. 
This is a scur^'y tune too ; but here's my comfort. [Drinks. 
Cal. Do not torment me : ! 

Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here? 
Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men of 
Inde? Ha ! I have not 'scap'd drowning, to be afeard 
now of your four legs; for it hath been said, as proper 
a man as ever went on four legs camiot make him give 
ground, and it shall be said so again, while Stephano 
breathes at no.strils. 

Cal. The spirit torments me : ! 
Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four legs. 

Where the devil 
I will give him some 
relief, if it be but for that : if I can recover him, and keep 



who hath got, as I take it, an ague, 
should he learn our language? 



1 Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible : in f. e. = this : in f. e. ' Cullier's ed., 1814, reads, " verily '"—most of the other editions, "verity," 
as in the text. *nor : in 1'. e. s xhe name of a large vessel to contain drink, as well as of a piece of artillery. sNotinf. e. 'dregs : in f e. 



10 



THE TEMPEST. 



ACT m. 



him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a present 
for any emperor that ever trod on neat's-loatlier. 

Cal Do not torment me, pr'ythce: I'll bring my 
wood home faster. 

Ste. He's in his fit now, and does not talk after the 
wisest. He shall taste of my hottle : if he have never 
drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. If 
I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take 
too much for him : he shall pay for him that hath him, 
and that soundly. 

Cal. Thou dost me yet bvat little hurt; thou wilt 
anon, I know it by thy trembling : now Prosper works 
upon thee. 

Ste. Come on your ways : open your mouth ; here is 
that which will give language to you, cat. Open your 
mouth : this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, 
and that soundly: you cannot tell who 's your friend; 
open your chaps again. [Caliban drinks.^ 

Trin. I should know that voice. It should be — but 
he is drowned, and these are devils. O, defend me ! — 

Ste. Four legs, and two voices ! a most delicate 
monster. His forward voice, now, is to speak well of 
his friend ; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches, 
and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will re- 
cover him, I will help his ague. Come, — Amen ! I 
will pour some in thy other mouth. 

Trin. Stephano ! 

Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me ? Mercy ! 
inercy ! This is a devil, and no monster : I will leave 
him ; I have no long spoon. 

Trm. Stephano ! — if thou beest Stephano, touch me, 
and speak to me, for I am Trinculo : — be not afeard, — 
thy good friend Trinculo. 

Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth. I'll pull 
thee by the lesser legs : if any be Trinculo's legs, these 
are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed! How 
cam'st thou to be the siege^ of this moon-calf ? Can he 
vent Trinculos? 

Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. 
— But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope now. 
thou art not drowned. Is the storm overblown? I 
hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear 
of the storm. And art thou living 
Stephano ! two Neapolitans 'scaped? 

Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about 
not constant. 

Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. 
That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor : 
I will kneel to him. 

Ste. How didst thou 'scape? How cam'st thou 
hither ? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. 
I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved 

of the bark 
I was cast 



Stephano ? O 
my stomach is 



over-board, by this bottle ! which I made 
of a tree, with mine own hands, since 
a-shore. 
Cal. I'll 



swear. 



that bottle, to be 



., upon ...^„ „v^„>,.v., 
subject, for the liquor is not earthly. 



thy true 
[Kneels.^ 
Ste. Here : swear, then, how thou escap'dst. 
Triti. Swam a-shore, man, like a duck. I can swim 
like a duck, I'll be sworn. 



Ste. Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim 
like a duck, thou art made like a goose. 
Trin. Stephano ! hast any more of this ? 

Ste. The whole butt, man : my cellar is in a rock by 
the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, moon- 
calf ! how does thine ague ? 

Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven ? 

Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee : I was the 
man in the moon, when time was. 

Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee : my 
mistress showed me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush. 

Ste. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : I will fur- 
nish it anon with new contents. Swear. 

Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow mon- 
ster : — I afeard of him ? — a very weak monster. — The 
man i' the moon ! — a most poor credulous monster. — 
Well drawn, monster, in good sooth. 

Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' the island ; 
and I will kiss thy foot. I pr'ythee, be my god. 

Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken 
monster : when his god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle. 

Cal. I'll kiss thy foot : I'll swear myself thy subject. 

Ste. Come on, then ; down and swear. 

[Caliban lie.'? down.* 

Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy- 
headed monster. A most scurvy monster : I could find 
in my heart to beat him, — 

Ste. Come, kiss. 

Trin. — But that the poor monster's in drink. An 
abominable monster ! 

Cal. I'll show thee the best springs ; I'll pluck thee 
berries : 
I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. 
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve ! 
I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, 
Thou wondrous man. 

Trin. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder 
of a poor drunkard ! 

Cal. I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow; 
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; 
Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how 
To snare the nimble marmozet : I'll bring thee 
To clustering filbcrds, and sometimes I'll get thee 
Young seamels from the rock : Wilt thou go with me ? 

Ste. I pr'ythee now, lead the way, without any more 
talking. — Trinculo, the king and all our company else 
being drowned, we will inherit here. — Here : bear my 
bottle. — Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by and by again. 

Cal. Farewell, master; farewell, farewell. 

[Sings drunkenly. 

Trin. A howling monster ; a drunken monster. 

Cal. No more dams I'll make for Jish ; 
Nor fetch in firing 
At requiring, 
Nor scrape trencher,^ nor wash dish; 
'Ban Uian, Ca — Caliban, 
Has a neiv master — Get a new man. 
Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom ! freedom ! hey- 
day, freedom ! 

Ste. O brave monster ! lead the way. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE' I.— Before Prospero's Cell. 

Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log. 
Fer. There be some sports are painful, and 
labour 



their 



Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness 
Are nobly undergone ; and most poor matters 
Point to rich ends. This my mean task 



Would be as heavy to me, as odious ; but 
1 Not in f. e. 2 seof. 3 Not in f. e * Not in f. e. * trenchering : in f. e. 



SCENE n. 



THE TEMPEST. 



11 



The mistress which I serve quickens what 's dead, 

And makes my labours pleasures : ! she is 

Ten times more gentle than licr I'atlicr 's crabbed ; 

And he 's composed of harshness. I must remove 

Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up. 

Upon a sore injunction : my sweet mistress 

Weeps when she sees me work ; and says, such baseness 

Had never like executor. I forget : 

But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours ; 

Most busy, blest' when I do it. 

Enter Miranda ; and Prospero behind.' 

Mira. Alas! noM', pray you, 

Work not so hard : I would, the lightning had 
Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile. 
Pray, set it down, and rest you : when this burns, 
'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father 
Is hard at study ; pray now rest yourself : 
He 's safe for these three hours. 

Fer. 0, most dear mistress ! 

The sun will set, before I shall discharge 
Wliat I must strive to do. 

Mira. If you'll sit down, 

I'll bear your logs the while. Pray, give me that : 
I'll carry it to the pile. 

For. No, precious creature : 

I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, 
Than you should such dishonour vindergo, 
While I sit lazy by. 

Mira. It would become me 

As well as it does you ; and I should do it 
With much more ease, for my good will is to it, 
And yours it is against. 

Pro. Poor worm ! thou art infected ; 

This visitation shows it. [Aside.^ 

Mira. You look wearily. 

Fer. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me, 
When you are by at night. I do beseech you, 
Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers, 
What is your name ? 

Mira. Miranda. — my father ! 

I have broke your hest to say so. [To hcr.<^clf.* 

Fer. Admir'd Miranda ! 

Indeed, the top of admiration ; worth 
What 's dearest to tlie world ! Full many a lady 
I have ey'd with best regard ; and many a time 
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues 
Have I lik'd several women ; never any 
With so full soul, but some defect in her 
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd, 
And put it to the foil : but you, you ! 
So perfect, and so peerless, are created 
Of every creature's best. 

Mira. I do not know 

One of my sex ; no woman's face remember, 
Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen 
More that I may call men, than you, good friend. 
And my dear father. How features are abroad, 
I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty, 
(The jewel in my dower) I would not wish 
Any companion in the world but you ; 
Nor can imagination form a shape, 
Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle 
Something too wildly, and my father's precepts 
I therein do forget. 

Fer. I am, in my condition, 

A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king ; 
(I would, not .'SO !) and would no more endure 
This wooden slavery, than to suffer 

» least : in f. e. '^ at a distance : in f. e. ' Not in f. c. * Not 



The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak : 

The very instant that I saw you, did 

My heart fly to your service ; there resides, 

To make me slave to it ; and for your sake, 

Am I this patient log-man. 

Mira. Do you love me ? 

Fer. heaven ! earth ! bear witness to this sound, 
And crown what I prol'css with kind event, 
If I speak true ; if hollowly, invert 
What best is boded me to mischief ! I, 
Beyond all limit of aught" else i' the world, 
Do love, prize, honour yovi. 

Mira. I am a fool, 

To weep at what I am glad of. 

Pro. Fair encounter 

Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace 
On that which breeds between them ! [A.fide.* 

Fer. Wherefore wee J) you? 

Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer 
What I desire to give ; and much less take, 
What I shall die to Avant. But this is trifling; 
And all the more it seeks to hide itself. 
The bigger bixlk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning, 
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! 
I am your wife, if you will marry me ; 
If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow 
You may deny me ; but PU be your servant, 
Whether you will or no. 

Fer. My mistress, dearest. 

And I thus humble ever. {Kneels.'' 

Mira. My husband then ? 

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing [/?/.?«.* 

As bondage e'er of freedom : here 's my hand. 

Mira. And mine, with my heart in 't : and now 
farewell, 
Till half an hour hence. 

Fer. A thousand thousand ! [Exeunt Fer. and Mir. 

Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, 
Who arc surpris'd with all : but my rejoicing 
At nothing can be more. I'll to my book ; 
For yet, ere supper time, must I perform 
Much business appertaining. \Exit. 

SCENE II.— Another part of the Island. 

Enter Stephano and Tkinculo ; Caliban following 

with a bottle. 

Sfe. Tell not me : — when the butt is out, we will 
drink water; not a drop before : therefore bear vip, and 
board 'em. Servant-monster, drink to me. 

Trin. Servant-monster? the folly of this island ! 
They say, there 's but five upon this isle : we are three 
of them ; if the other two be brained like us, the state 
totters. 

Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee : thy 
eyes are almost set in thy head. 

Trin. Where should they be set else ? he were a 
brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. 

Ste. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue in 
sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me : I swam, 
ere I could recover the shore, fivc-and-thirty leagues, 
off and on, by this light. Thou shalt be my lieutenant, 
monster, or my standard. 

Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he 's no standard. 

Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster. 

Trin. Nor go neither ; but you'll lie, like dogs, and 
yet say nothing neither. 

Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest 
a good moon-calf. 

Cal. How does thy honour ? Let me lick thy shoe. 

in f. e. » what else : in f. e. « ' 8 Not in f. e. 



12 



THE TEMPEST. 



ACT in. 



I'll not serve him, he is not valiant. 

Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster : I am in 
case to justle a constable. Why, thou debauched fish 
thou, was there ever man a coward, that hath drunk 
so much sack as I to-day ? Wilt thou tell «, monstrous 
lie, being but half a fish, and half a monster ? 

Cal. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him, my 
lord? 

Trin. Lord, quoth he ! — that a monster should be 
such a natural ! 

Cal. Lo, lo, again ! bite him to death, I pr'ythee. 

Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head : if 
you prove a mutineer, the next tree — The poor mon- 
ster 's my subject, and he shall not suffer indignity. 

Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd 
to hearken once again to the suit I made to thee ? 

Ste. Marry will I : kneel and repeat it : I will stand, 
and so shall Trinculo. [Caliban kneels.^ 

Enter Arikl, invuible. 

Cal. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant ; 
a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the 
island. 

Ari. Thou liest. 

Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou : 

I would, my valiant master would destroy thee : 
I do not lie. 

Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in his 
tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth. 

Trin. Why, I said nothing. [ceed. 

Ste. Mum then, and no more. — [Tb Caliban.] Pro- 

Cal. I say by sorcery he got tliis isle ; 
From me he got it : if thy greatness will. 
Revenge it on him — for, I know, thou dar'st ; 
But this thing dare not. 

Ste. That 's most certain. 

Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. 

Ste. How, now, shall this be compassed ? Canst 
thou bring me to the party ? 

Cal. Yea, yea, my lord : I'll yield him thee asleep, 
Where thou may'st knock a nail into his head. 

Ari. Thou liest; thou canst not. 

Cal. What a pied" ninny 's this ! Thou scurvy patch ! 
I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows. 
And take his bottle from him : when that 's gone. 
He shall drink nought but brine • for I'll not show him 
Where the quick freshes are. 

Ste. Trinculo, run into no farther danger : interrupt 
the monster one word farther, and, by this hand, I'll 
turn my mercy out of doors, and make a stock-fish of 
thee. 

Trin. Why, what did I ? I did nothing. I'll go 
farther off. 

Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied ? 

Ari. Thou liest. 

Ste. Do I so ? take thou that. [Strikes him^ As 
you like this, give me the lie another time. 

Trin. I did not give the lie. Out o' yoiir wits, and 
hearing too ? A pox o' your bottle ! this can sack, and 
drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and the 
devil take your fingers ! 

Cal. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee stand 
farther off. 

Cal. Beat him enough : after a little time, 
I'll beat him too. 

Ste. Stand farther. Come, proceed. 

Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him 
I' the afternoon to sleep : then thou may'st brain him. 



Having first seiz'd his books ; or with a log 

Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake. 

Or cut liis wezand with thy knife. Remember, 

First to possess his books ; for without them 

He 's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not 

One spirit to command : they all do hate him, 

As rootedly as I. Burn but his books ; 

He has brave utensils, (for so he calls them) 

Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal : 

And that most deeply to consider is 

The beauty of his daughter ; he himself 

Calls her a nonpareil : I never saw a woman. 

But only Sycorax my dam, and she; 

But she as far surpasseth Sycorax, 

As great'st does least. 

Ste. Is it so brave a lass ? 

Cal. Ay, lord ; she will become thy bed, I warrant. 
And bring thee forth brave brood. 

Ste. Monster, I \n\\ kill this man : his daughter and 
I will be king and queen ; (save our graces !) and 
Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou 
like the plot, Trinculo ? 

Trin. Excellent. 

Ste. Give me thy hand : I am sorry I beat thee ; but, 
while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. 

Cal. Witliin this half hour will he be asleep ; 
Wilt thou destroy him then ? 

Ste. Ay, on mine honour. 

Ari. This will I tell my master. 

Cal. Thou mak'st me merry : I am full of pleasure. 
Let us be jocund : will you troll the catch 
You taught me but while-ere ? 

Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any 

reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings. 

Flout 'em, and scout hm; and scout 'em, and 

flout 'em / 
Thought is free. 

Cal. That 's not the tune. 

[Ariel plays a tune on a Tabor and Pipe. 

Ste. What is this same ? 

Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by the 
pictiu'e of No-body. 

Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy like- 
ness : if thou beest a devil, take 't as thou list. 

Trin. 0, forgive me my sins ! 

Ste. He that dies, pays all debts : I defy thee. — 
Mercy upon us ! 

Cal. Art thou afeard ? 

Ste. No, monster, not I. 

Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises. 
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt 

not. 
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments 
Will hum about mine ears ; and sometimes^ voices, 
That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep. 
Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming. 
The clouds, methought, would open, and show riches 
Ready to drop upon me, that when I wak'd 
I cry'd to dream again. 

Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where 
I shall have my music for nothing. 

Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. 

iS^e. That shall be by and by : I remember the story. 

Trin. The sound is going away : let's follow it, and 
after do our work. 

Ste. Lead, monster ; we'll follow. — I would, I could 
see this taborer : he lays it on. 

Trin. Wilt come ? I'll follow, Stephano. [Exeunt. 



1 Not in f. e. 
be thus attired. 



2 Dressed in inotley^ — this expression and " patch" were epithets often applied to fools. 

3 sometime : in f. e. 



Trinculo, as " a jester," would 



SCENT, ni. 



THE TEMPEST. 



13 



SCENE III.— Another part of the Island. 

Enter Alonso. Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
Adrian, Francisco, ami Others. 

Gon. By'r la' kin.' I can go no farther, sir ; 
My old bones ake : liere's a maze trod, indeed, 
Througli forth-rights, and meanders! by your patience, 
I needs must rest me. 

Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, 

Wlio am myself attaeh'd with weariness, 
To the dulling of my spirits : sit down, and rest. 
Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it 
No longer for my flatterer : he is drown'd, 
Wliora thus we stray to find ; and the sea mocks 
Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go. 

Ant. I am right glad that he 's so out of hope. 

[Aside to Sebastian. 
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
That you resolv'd to eileet. 

Scb. The next advantage 

Will we take thoroughly. 

Aiit. Let it be to-night ; 

For. now they are oppress'd with travel, they 
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance, 
As when they are fresh. 

Seb. I say, to-night : no more. 

[Solemn and strange music ; and Prospero abovc^ invis- 
ible. Enter several stranf^e Shapes^ bringing in a 

banquet : they dance about it ivith gentle actions of 

salutations ; and, inviting the King, Sfc. to eat, they 

depart.] 

Alon. What harmony is tliis ? my good friends, hark ! 

Gon. Marvellous sweet mvisic ! 

Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens ! What were 
these ? 

Seb. A living drollery. Now I will believe 
That there are unicorns ; that in Arabia 
Tliere is one tree, the phoenix' throne ; one phoenix 
At this hour reigning there. 

Ant. I'll believe both ; 

And what does else want credit, come to mc 
And I'll be sworn 'tis true : travellers ne'er did lie. 
Though fools at home condemn them. 

Gon. If in Naples 

I should report this now, would they believe me ? 
If I should say, I saw such islanders, 
(For. certes, these are people of the island) 
Wlio. though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, 
Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of 
Our human generation you shall find 
Many, nay, almost any. 

Pro. [Aside.] Honest lord, 

Thou hast said well : for some of you there present. 
Are worse than devils. . 

Alon. I cannot too much muse, fing 

Such shapes, such gestures," and such sounds,' express- 
(Although they want the use of tongue) a kind 
Of excellent dumb discourse. 

Pro. [Aside.] Praise in departing. 

Fran. They vanish'd strangely. 

Scb. No matter, since 

They have left their •s'iands behind, for we have sto- 
machs. — 
Will "t please you taste of what is here ? 

Alon. Not I. 

Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were 
boys, 



Who would believe that there were mountaineers 
Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 

tliem 
Wallets of flesh ? or that there were such men. 
Whose heads stood in their breasts ? which now, we find, 
Each putter-out of five for one* will bring us 
Good warrant of. 

Alon. I ■wall stand to, and feed, 

Although my last : no matter, since I feel 
Tlie best is past. — Brother, my lord the duke, 
Sta,nd to, and do as we. 
Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel, lilce a harpy, 

claps his icings upon the table, and, with a quaint 

device, the banquet vanishes. 

Ari. You are three men of sin, whom destiny 
(That hath to instrument this lower world, 
And what is in't) the never-surfeited sea 
Hath caused to belch iip, and on this island 
Where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst men 
Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad :^ 
And even with such like valour men hang and drown 
Their proper selves. You fools ! I and my fellows 
Are ministers of fate : the elements, 

[Alon., Seb., ^'c, draw their Swords.' 
Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well 
Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs 
Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish 
One dowle ' that's in my plume : my fellow-ministers 
Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt, 
Your swords are now too massy for your strengths, 
And will not be iiplifted. But, remember, 
(For flint's my business to you) that you three 
From Milan did supplant good Prospero; 
Expos'd unto the sea (which hath requit it) 
Him, and his innocent child : for which foul deed 
The powers, delaying not forgetting, have 
Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, 
Against your peace. Thee, of thy son, Alonso, 
They have bereft ; and do pronounce by me. 
Lingering perdition (worse than any death 
Can be at once) shall step by step attend 
You, and your ways • whose ■WTaths to guard you from 
(Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls 
Upon your heads) is nothing, but heart's sorrow, 
And a clear life ensuing. 
He vanishes in thunder : then, to soft nru.'iic, enter the 

Shapes again, and dance with mocks and moives, and 

carry out the table. 

Pro. [Above.^] Bravely the figure of this harpy hast 
thou 
Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring. 
Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated. 
In what thou hadst to say : so, with good life 
And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
Their several kinds have done. INIy high charms work, 
And these, mine enemies, are all knit up 
In their distractions : they now are in my power ] 
And in these fits I leave them, while I visit 
Young Ferdinand, (whom they suppose is droAAni'd) 
And his and my lov'd darling. [Exit Prospero. 

Gon. V the name of something holy, sir, why stand you 
In this strange stare ? 

Alon. 0, it is monstrous ! monstrous ! 

Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it ; 
The winds did sing it to mc ; and the thunder. 
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd 
The name of Prosper : it did base my trespass. 



1 By our lady-kin. 2 gesture : in f. e. ' sound : in f. c. * A custonn of old travellers to put out a snm of money at interest, at the 
outset of a journey, for which fhey received nt the rate of five to one, if tliey returned. ' f. e. insert hero this direction : Seeing 
Axon., Seb.. S^c.,draw their Swords. 6 Omitted iu f. c. '' A feather or particle of down. ^ Aside : in t. e. 



14 



THE TEMPEST. 



ACT rv. 



Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded ; and 
I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, 
And with him there lie mudded. [Exit. 

Seb. But one fiend at a time, 

I'll fight their legions o'er. 

Ant. I'll be thy second. [Exeunt Seb. and Ant. 

Gon. All tliree of them are desperate : their great guilt, 



Like poison given to work a great time after. 
Now 'gins to bite the spirits. — I do beseech you, 
That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, 
And hinder them from what this ecstasy 
May now provoke them to. 

Adr. Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt, 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— Before Prospero's Cell. 

Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. 

Pro. If I have too austerely punish'd you, 
Your compensation makes amends ; for I 
Have given you here a thread^ of mine own life, 
Or that for which I live : whom once again 
I tender to thy hand. All thy vexations 
Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 
Hast strangely stood the test : here, afore Heaven, 
I ratify this my rich gift ! Ferdinand ! 
Do not smile at me that I boast her off, 
For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, 
And make it halt behind her. 

Fcr. I do believe it, 

Against an oracle. 

Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition 
Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter : but 
If thou dost break her virgin knot before 
All sanctimonious ceremonies may, 
With full and holy rite, be minister'd. 
No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall 
To make this contract grow ; but barren hate. 
Sour-eyed disdain, and discord, shall bestrew 
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly. 
That you shall hate it both : therefore, take heed, 
As Hymen's lamps shall light you. 

Fer. As I hope 

For quiet days, fa'ir issue, and long life, 
With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den. 
The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion 
Our worser genius can. shall never melt 
Mine honour into lust, to take away 
The edge of that day's celebration, 
When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd. 
Or night kept chain'd below. 

Pro. Fairly spoke. 

Sit then and talk with her; she is thine own. — 
What, Ariel! my industrious servant Ariel! 
Enter Ariel. 

Ari. What would my potent master ? here I am. 

Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service 
Did worthily perform, and I must use you 
In such another trick. Go, bring the rabble. 
O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place: 
Incite them to quick motion ; for I must 
Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 
Some vanity of mine art : it is my promise, 
And they expect it from me. 

Ari. Presently? 

Pro. Ay, with a twink. 

Ari. Before you can say. " Come," and " go," 
And breathe twice; and cry, "so so;' 
Each one, tripping on his toe, 
Will be here with mop and mow. 
Do you love me, master ? no ? 



Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach. 
Till thou dost hear me call. 

Ari. Well I conceive. [Exit. 

Pro. Look, thou be true. Do not give dalliance 
Too much the rein : the strongest oaths are straw 
To the fire i' the blood. Be more abstemious, 
Or else, good night, your vow. 

Fer. I warrant you, sir ; 

The white-cold virgin snow upon my heart 
Abates the ardour of my liver. 

Pro. Well.— 

Now come, my Ariel ! bring a corollary,^ 
Rather than want a spirit : appear, and pertly.' — 
No tongue ail eyes : be silent. [Soft music. 

A Masque. Enter Iris. 

Iris. Ceres, most bovuiteous lady, thy rich leas 
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas; 
Thy tvtrfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep. 
And flat meads thatcli'd with stover,* them to keep; 
Thy banks with pioned' and tilled^ brims. 
Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, 
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy brown' 

groves. 
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, 
Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ; 
And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard. 
Where thou thyself dost air ; the queen o' the sky. 
Whose watery arch and messenger am I, 
Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace. 
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, 

[Juno descends slowly.^ 
To come and sport. Her peacocks fly amain: 
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 
Enter Ceres. 

Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er 
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter ; 
Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers 
DifFusest honey-drops, refreshing showers ; 
And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown 
I\Iy bosky acres, and my unshrubb'd down. 
Rich scarf to my proud earth ; why hath thy queen 
Summon'd me hither, to this short-graz'd green ? 

Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate, 
And some donation freely to estate 
On the bless'd lovers. 

Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, 

If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know. 
Do now attend the queen ? since they did plot 
The means that dusky Dis my daughter got, 
Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company 
I have forsworn. 

Iris. Of her society 

Be not afraid : I met her deity 
Cutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son 
Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done 
Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, 



1 third : in f. e. 
to dig. 6 twilled 



2 Surplusage. 3 pertly — quickly, shilftdly. * Coarse grass, used sometimes for covering farm-buildings. 5 pion-— 
in f e. ' broom : in f. e. ^ xhis direction is omitted in most modern editions ; "slowly" is added in the MS., 1632. 



SCENE I. 



THE TEMPEST. 



15 



Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid 

Till Hymen's torch be lighted ; but in vain : 

Mars' hot minion is return'd again ; 

Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, 

Swears he w"ill shoot no more, but play with sparrows, 

And be a boy right out. 

Cer. Highest queen of state, 

Great Juno comes : I know her by her gait. 
Enter Juno. 
Jim. How does my bounteous sister? Go with me, 
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, 
And honour'd in their issue. 

Song. 
Juno. Honour., riches, marriage, blessing, 
Long continuance, and increasing, 
Hourly joys be still upon you ! 
Juno sings her blessings on you} 
Earth's increase, foison plenty, 
Barns, and garners never empty / 
Vines, with clusfring bunches growing ; 
Plants, with goodly burden bowing ; 
Rain^ come to you, at the farthest, 
In the very end of harvest ! 
Scarcity and want shall shun you / 
Ceres^ blessing so is on you. 
For. This is a most majestic vision, and 
Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold 
To think these spirits ? 

Pro. Spirits, which by mine art 

I have from their confines call'd to enact 
My present fancies. 

Fcr. Let me live here ever : 

So rare a wonder'd father, and a wife,^ 
Makes this place Paradise. 
[Juno and Ceres ichispcr, and send Iris on employment. 
Pro. Sweet now, silence ! 
Juno and Ceres whisper seriously ; 
There's something else to do. Hush, and be mvite, 
Or else our spell is marrd. 

Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the winding 
brooks. 
With your sedge* crowns, and ever harmless looks. 
Leave your crisp channels, and on this green laud 
Answer your summons : Juno does command. 
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
A contract of true love : be not too late. 

Enter certain Nymphs. 
You sun-burn'd sicklemcn, of August weary, 
Come hither from the furrow, and be merry. 
Make holy-day : your rye-straw hats put on, 
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one 
In country footing. 

Enter certain Reapers, properly habited : they join ivith 
the Nymphs in a graceful dance ; towards the end u'here- 
of Pros, starts suddenly, and speaks ; after ivhich, to a 
strange^ hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish. 
Pro. [Aside.] I had forgot that foul conspiracy 
Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates, 
Against my life ; the minvite of their plot 
Is almost come. — [7b the Spirits.] Well done. — 
Avoid ; — no more. 
Fer. This is strange : your father's in some passion 
That works him strongly. 

Mira. Never till this day, 

Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 
Pro. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, 
As if you were dismay'd : be cheerful, sir. 
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, 



As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 

Are melted into air, into thin air: 

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision. 

The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 

The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve. 

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded. 

Leave not a rack* behind. We are such stuff 

As dreams are made on, and our little life 

Is rounded with a sleep. — Sir, I am vex'd : 

Bear with my weakness ; my old brain is troubled : 

Be not disturb'd with my infirmity. 

If you be pleas'd retire into my cell. 

And there repose : a tiu-n or two I'll walk, 

To still my beating mind. 

Fer. Mira. We wish your peace. [Exexint. 

Pro. Come with a thought ! — I thank thee. — Ariel, 
come ! 

Enter Ariel. 

Ari. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What 's thy pleasure ? 

Pro. Spirit, 

We must prepare to meet with Caliban. 

Ari. Ay, my commander : when I presented Ceres, 
I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear'd 
Lest I might anger thee. 

Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets ? 

Ari. I told you. sir, they were red-hot with drinliing: 
So full of valour, that they smote the air 
For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground 
For kissing of their feet, yet always bending 
Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor. 
At wliich, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, 
Advanc'd their eye-lids, lifted up their noses. 
As they smelt music : so I charm'd their ears. 
That, calf-like, they my lowing foUow'd, through 
Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking gorse, and thorns, 
Which enter'd their frail skins :' at last I left them 
I' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell. 
There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake 
O'erstunk their feet. 

Pro. This was well done, my bird. 

Thy shape invisible retain thou still : 
The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither, 
For stale' to catch these thieves. 

Ari. I go, I go. [Exit. 

Pro. A devil, a born de^dl, on whose nature 
Nurture never can stick ; on whom my pains, 
Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lostj 
And as with age his body uglier grows. 
So his mind cankers. I will plague them all. 

Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, fyc. 
Even to roaring. — Come, hang them on this, line. 

Ariel hangs them on the line, and with Prospero 
remains unseen.^ 

Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all icet. 

Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may 
not 
Hear a foot fall : we now are near his cell. 

Stc. Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is a harm- 
less fairy, has done little better than played the Jack' 
with us. 

Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss, at which 
my nose is in great indignation. 

Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster ? If I should 
take a displeasure against you ; look you, — 

Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster. 

Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still. 
Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to 



1 In f. o. the remainder of the song is given to Ceres. ~ Spring : in f. e. 3 wise : in f. e. * sedg'd : in £. e. ^ A vayor, from reek. 
^ shins : in f. e. '^ A decoy. 8 f. e. have only the direction, Prospero and Ariel remain unseen. ' Jack o' lantern. 



16 



THE TEMPEST. 



ACT V. 



Shall hood- wink this mischance 

All 's hush'd as midnight yet. 

Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool, — 
Ste. There is not only disgrace and dishonoiu* 

that, monster, but an infinite loss. 



Trin. That 's more to me than my wetting : yet this 
is your harmless fairy, monster. 

Stc. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er ears 
for my labour. 

Cal. Pr'ythee, my king, be quiet. Seest thou here ? 
This is the mouth o' the cell : no noise, and enter : 
Do that good mischief, which may make this island 
Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, 
For aye thy foot-licker. 

Ste. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody 
thoughts. 

Trin. king Stephano ! 
phano 



therefore, speak softly; 1 Trin. Do, do : we steal by line and level, and 't like 

yoiar grace. 

Ste. I thank thee for that jest : here's a garment 
for 't : wit shall not go unrewarded, while I am king of 
this country. " Steal by line and level," is an excel- 
lent pass of pate ; there 's another garment for 't. 



m 



O peer ! O worthy Ste- 



look, what a wardrobe here is for thee ! 



Cal. Let it alone, thou fool 



[Seeing the apparel.^ 
it is but trash. 



Trin. O, ho, monster ! we know what belongs to a 
frippery.- — O king Stephano ! 

Ste. Put off that gowTi, Trinculo : by this hand, I '11 
have that gown. 

Trin. Thy grace shall have it. 

Cal. The dropsy drown this fool ! what do you mean, 
To doat thus on such luggage? Left alone. 
And do tlie murder first : if he awalce. 
From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches ; 
Make us strange stuff. 

Stc. Be you quiet, monster. — Mistress line, is not 
this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under the line: 
now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove 
a bald jerkin. 



Trill. Monster, come ; put some lime upon your 
fingers, and away with the rest. 

Cal. I Avill have none on 't : we shall lose our time, 
And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes 
With foreheads villainous low. 

Ste. Monster, lay to your fingers : help to bear this 
away where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll turn you 
out of my kingdom. Go to ; carry this. 

Trin. And this. 

Ste. Ay, and this. 
[A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in 

shape of hounds, and hunt them about; Prospero 

and Ariel setting them on.] 

Pro. Hey, Mountain, hey ! 

Ari. Silver ! there it goes. Silver ! 

Pro. Fury, Fury ! there, Tyrant, there ! hark, hark ! 
[Cal., Ste., and Trin. are driven out. 
Go, charge my goblins that they gi-ind their joints 
With dry convulsions ; shorten up their sinews 
With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them. 
Than pard, or cat o' mountain. [Cries and roaring.^ 

Ari. Hark ! they roar. 

Pro. Let them be hunted soundl3^ At this hour 
Lie at my mercy all mine enemies : 
Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou 
Shalt have the air at freedom: for a little. 
Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt 



ACT V. 



SCENE L— Before the Cell of Prospero. 

Enter Prospero in his magic robes ; and Ariel. 

Pro. Now does my project gather to a head : 
My cliarms crack not, my spirits obey, and time 
Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day? 

Ari. On the sixth hour ; at which time, my lord. 
You said our work should, cease. 

Pro. I did say so. 

When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, 
How fares the king and 's followers ? 

Ari. Confin'd together 

In tlie same fashion as you gave in charge ; 
Just as you left them : all prisoners, sir. 
In the line*-grove which weather-lends yovir cell; 
They cannot budge till your release. The king. 
His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, 
And the remainder mourning over them. 
Brim-full of sorrow, and dismay ; but chiefly 
Him that you term'd, sir, the good old lord, Gonzalo: 
His tears run do\\ai his beard, like winter's drops 
From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 

them. 
That if you now beheld them, your affections 
Would become tender. 

Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit ? 

Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. 

Pro. And mine shall. 

Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, 



One of their kind, that relish all as sharply. 

Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art? 

Tho' with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, 

Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury 

Do I take part. The rarer action is 

In virtue, than in vengeance : they being penitent, 

The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 

Not a frown farther. Go ; release them, Ariel. 

My charms I '11 break, their senses I '11 restore, 

And they shall be themselves. 

Ari. I '11 fetch them. sir. [Exit. 

Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and 
groves ; 
And ye. that on the sands with printless foot 
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him. 
When he comes back ; you demy-puppets, that 
By moonshine do tho green-sward* ringlets make. 
Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you, whose pastime 
Is to make midnight mushrooms ; that rejoice 
To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid 
(Weak masters though ye be) I have be-dimm'd 
The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinoxis winds, 
And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault 
Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder 
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 
With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory 
Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck' d up 
The pine and cedar : graves, at my command, 
Have waked their sleepers ; oped, and let them forth 
By my so potent art. 



But this rough magic 



I Not in f. e. ^ ^^ old do'' shop. 3 Not in f. e. * The old ■word for lime. * green-sour : in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



THE TEMPEST. 



17 



I here abjure; and, when I have requir'd 
Some heavenly music, (which even now I do) 
To work mine end upon their senses, that 
This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, 
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth. 
And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, 
I '11 drown my book. [Solemn music. 

Re-enter Ariel : after him Alonso, with a frantic 
gesture, attended by Gonzalo ; Sebastian and An- 
tonio in like manner, attended by Adrian and 
FRANCisto : they all enter the circle which Prospero 
Imd made, and there stand charmed ; which Prospero 
observing, speaks. 
A solemn air, and the best comforter 
To an unsettled fancy, cure tliy brains, 
Now useless, boil'd within thy skull ! There stand. 
For you are spell-stopp'd. — 
Noble^ Gonzalo. honourable man. 
Mine eyes, even sociable to the flow° of thine. 
Fall feliowly drops. — The charm dissolves apace j 
And as the morning steals upon the night. 
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
Their clearer reason. — good Gonzalo ! 
My true preserver, and a loyal servant^ 
To him thou foUow'st, I will pay thy graces 
Home, both in word and deed. — Most cruelly 
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter : 
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act ; — 
Thou 'rt pinch'd for 't now, Sebastian. — Flesh and blood, 
You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, 
Expell'd remorse and nature ; who, with Sebastian, 
(Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong) 
Would here have kill'd your king ; I do forgive thee, 
Unnatural though thou art. — Their understanding 
Begins to swell, and the approaching tide 
Will shortly fill the reasonable shores. 
That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them. 
That yet looks on me, e'ei'* would know me. — Ariel, 
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell ; [Exit Ariel. 
I will dis-case me, and myself present. 
As I was sometime Milan. — Quickly, spirit; 
Thou shalt ere long be free. 

Ariel re-enters singing, and helps to attire Prospero. 
Ari. Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; 
In a cow!<lip''s bell I lie : 
There I couch. When owls do cry^ 
On the bafs back I do fly, 
After summer, merrily: 
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 
Under the blossom that hangs on the hough. 
Pro. Why, that 's my dainty Ariel ! I shall miss thee ; 
But yet thou shalt have freedom : — so, so, so. — 
To the king's ship, invisible as thou art : 
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep 
Under the hatches ; the master, and the boatswain, 
Being awake, enforce them to this place, 
And presently, I pr'ythce. 

Ari. I drink the air before me, and return 
Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit Ariel. 

Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement 
Inhabit here : some heavenly power guide us 
Out of this fearful country ! 

Pro. [Attired as Duke.^] Behold, sir king, 
The wronged duke of Milan, Prospero. 
For more assurance that a living prince 
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; 
And to thee, and thy company, I bid 
A hearty welcome. 

' Holy : in f. e. = show : in f. e. * sir : in f. e. * or : in f. e. 



Whe'r thou beest he, or no, 



Alon. 
Or some enchanted deviP to abuse me. 
As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse 
Beats as of flesh and blood ; and, since I saw thee, 
Th' affliction of my mind amends, with which, 
I fear, a madness held me. This must crave 
(An if this be at all) a most strange story. 
Thy dukedom I resign ; and do entreat 
Thou pardon me tliy wrongs. — But how should Prospero 



First, noble friend 



Be living, and be here ? 

Pro. 

Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot 
Be measur'd, or confin'd. 



Gon. 



Whether this be 



Or be not, I '11 not swear. 

Pro. You do yet taste 

Some subtleties o' the isle, that will not let you 
Believe things certain. — Welcome, my friends all. — 
But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, 

[Aside to See. and Ant. 
I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you, 
And justify you traitors : at this time 
I will tell no tales. 

Sob. [Aside.] The devil speaks in him. 

Pro. No.— 

For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother 
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive 
Thy rankest faults' ; all of them ; and require 
My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know 
Thou must restore. 

Alon. If thou beest Prospero, 

Give us particulars of thy preservation : 
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since 
Were wrcck'd upon this shore ; where I have lost, 
(How sharp the point of this remembrance is !) 
Aly dear son Ferdinand. 

Pro. I am woe for 't, sir. 

Alon. Irreparable is the loss, and patience 
Says it is past her cure. 

Pro. I rather think. 

You have not sought her help ; of whose soft grace, 
For the like loss I have her sovereign aid, 
And rest myself content. 

Alon. You the like loss ? 

Pro. As great to me, as late; and, supportable 
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker 
Than you may call to comfort you, for I 
Have lost my daughter. 

Alon. A daughter ? 

heavens ! that they were living both in Naples, 
The king and queen there ! that they were, I wish' 
Myself were mudded in that oozy bed 
Where my son lies. AVhen did you lose your daughter ? 

Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords 
At this encounter do so much admire. 
That they devour their reason, and scarce think 
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
Are natural breath; but, howsoe'er you have 
Been justlcd from your senses, know for certain. 
That I am Prospero, and that very duke 
Which was thrust forth of Milan ; who most strangely 
Upon this shore, where you were -s^Tcck'd, was landed. 
To be the lord on 't. No more yet of this ; 
For 'tis a chronicle of day by day. 
Not a relation for a breakfast, nor 
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir ; 
This cell 's my court : here have I few attendants, 
And subjects none abroad : pray you, look in. 
My dukedom since you have given me again, 



* Not in f. e. 

2 



« trifle : in f. e. ' fault : in f. e. 



18 



THE TEMPEST. 



ACT V. 



I will requite you with as good a thing ; 
At least, bring forth a wonder, to content ye 
As much as me my dukedom. 

Prospero draws a curtain,^ and discovers Ferdinand 
and Miranda j^laying at chess. 

Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false. 

Fer. No, my deareet love, 

I would not for the world. 

Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should 
wrangle, 
And I M'ould call it fair play. 

AJon. If this prove 

A vi.^ion of the island, one dear son 
Shall I twice lose. 

Seh. A most high miracle ! 

Fer. Though the seas threaten they are merciful : 
I have cursd them without cause. [Kneels to Alon. 

Alan. Now, all the blessings 

Of a glad father compass thee about ! 
Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. 



Mira. 



0, wonder ! 



0, brave new world, 



How many goodly creatures are there here ! 
How beauteous mankind is ! 
That has such people in't ! 

Pro. 'T is new to thee. 

Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast at 
play? 
Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours : 
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us. 
And brought us thus together ? 



Fer. 



Sir, she is mortal; 



But, by immortal providence, she 's mine : 
I chose her, when I could not ask my father 
For his advice, nor thought I had one. She 
Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan, 
Of whom so often I have heard renown, 
But never saw before ; of whom I have 
Received a second life, and second father 
This lady makes him to me. 

Alon. I am hers. 

But ! how oddly will it, sound, that I 
Must ask my child forgiveness. 

Pro. There, sir, stop : 

Let us not burden our remembrances 
With a heaviness that's gone. 

Gon. I have inly wept. 

Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods, 
And on this couple drop a blessed crown, 
For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way, 
Which brought us hither ! 

Alon. I say, Amen, Gonzalo. 

Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue 
Should become kings of Naples ? O ! rejoice 
Beyond a common joy. and set it down 
With gold on lasting pillars. In one voyage 
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis; 
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife. 
Where he himself was lost ; Prospero his dukedom, 
In a poor isle ; and all of us, ourselves, 
When no man was his own. 

Alon. Give me your hands : [To Fer. and Mir. 
Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart. 
That doth not wish you joy ! 

Gon. Be it so : Amen. 

Re-enter Ariel, with the Master and Boatswain 
amazedly following. 

look, sir ! look, sir ! here are more of us, 

1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land, 

This fellow could not drown. — Now, blasphemy, 

1 The entrance of the cell opens, and : in f. e. ' -H-ithout : in f. e, 



That swear' st grace o'erbcard. not an oath on shore? 
Hast thou no mouth by land ? What is the news? 

Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found 
Our king, and company : the next, our ship, 
Which but three glasses since we gave out split, 
Is tight, and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when 
We first put out to sea. 

Ari. Sir, all this service [Aside. 

Have I done since I went. 

Pro. My tricksy spirit ! [Aside. 

Alon. These are not natural events ; they strengthen 
From strange to stranger. — Say, how came you hither? 

Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, 
I 'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, 
And (how we know not) all clapp'd tinder hatches. 
Where, but even noM', witli strange and several noises 
Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, 
And more diversity of sounds, all horrible, 
We were awak'd ; straightway, at liberty : 
Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld 
Our royal, good, and gallant ship ; our master 
Capering to eye her : on a trice, so please you, 
Even in a dream, were we divided from them. 
And were brought moping hither. 

Ari. Was 't well done ? ) 

Pro. Bravely, my diligence ! Thou shalt > Aside. 
be free. ) 

Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod; 
And there is in this business more than nature 
Was ever conduct of : some oracle 
Must rectify our knowledge. 

Pro. Sir, my liege, 

Do not infest your mind with beating on 
The strangeness of this business : at pick'd leisure, 
Which shall be shortly, single I '11 resolve you 
(Which to you shall seem probable) of every 
These happen'd accidents ; till when, be cheerful. 
And think of each thing well. — Come hither, spirit : 

[Aside. 
Set Caliban and his companions free; 
Untie the spell. [Ex. Ariel.] How fares my gracious sir? 
There are yet missing of your company 
Some few odd lads, that you remember not. 
Re-enter Ariel, driving in Caliban. Stephano, and 
Trinculo, in their stolen apparel. 

Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man 
take care for himself, for all is but fortune. — Coragio ! 
bully-monster, coragio ! 

Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my 
head, here 's a goodly sight. 

Cal. Setebos ! these be brave spirits, indeed. 
How fine my master is ! I am afraid 
He will chastise me. 

Seb. Ha, ha ! 

What things are these, my lord Antonio ? 
Will money buy them ? 

Ant. Very like : one of them 

Is a plain fish, and. no doubt, marketable. 

Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords. 
Then say, if they be true. — This mis-shapen knave, 
His mother was a witch ; and one so strong 
That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs. 
And deal in her command with alP her power. 
These three have robb'd me ; and this demi-devil 
(For he 's a bastard one) had plotted with them 
To take my life : two of these fellows you 
Must know, and own ; 
Acknowledge mine. 

Cat. 



this thing of darkness I 



I shall be pinch'd to death. 



SCENE I. 



THE TEMPEST. 



19 



Alon. Is not tliis Stephano, my drunken butler ? 

Seb. He is drunk now : where had he wine ? 

Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe : where should they 
Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em ? — 
How cam'st thou in this pickle ? 

Trill. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw you 
last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones : I shall 
not fear fly-blowing. 

Seh. Why, how now, Stephano ! 

! tovich me not : I am not Stephano, but a 
cramp. 

You 'd be king of the isle, sirrah ? 

1 should have been a sore one then. 
>n. This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd on. 

[Pointing to Caliban. 

Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners, 
As in his shape. — Go, sirrah, to my cell; 
Take with you your companions : as you look 
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. 

Cal. Ay, that 1 will. ; and I "11 be wise hereafter, 
And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass 
Was I. to take this drunkard for a god. 
And worship this dull fool ? 

Pro. Go to ; away ! 



Ste. 

Pro. 

Ste. 

Alon 



Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you 
found it. 

Seb. Or stole it, rather. [Ex. Cal., Ste., andTnis. 

Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train, 
To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest 
For this one night ; which, part of it, I '11 waste 
With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it 
Go quick away ; the story of my life, 
And the particular accidents gone by, 
Since I came to this isle : and in the mom, 
I '11 bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, 
Where I have hope to see the nuptial 
Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd ; 
And thence retire me to my Milan, where 
Every third thought shall be my grave. 

Alon. I long 

To hear the story of your life, which must 
Take the ear strangely. 

Pro. I '11 deliver all ; 

And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales. 
And sail, so expeditious, that shall catch 
Your royal fleet far off. — My Ariel ; — chick, — 
That is thy charge : then, to the elements ; 
Be free, and fare thou well ! — Please you draw near.' 



EPILOGUE. 
Spoken by Prospero. 



Now my charms are all o'erthroMTi, 
And what strength I have 's mine owti ; 
Which is most faint : now, 't is true, 
I must be here confin'd by you. 
Or sent to Naples. Let rnc not. 
Since I have my dukedom got. 
And pardond the deceiver, dwell 
In this bare island, by your spell ; 
But release me from my bands. 
With the help of your good hands. 



1 f. e. Exeunt. 



Gentle breath of yours my sails 
Must fill, or else my project fails. 
Which was to please. Now I want 
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant ; 
And my ending is despair, 
Unless I be reliev'd by prayer ; 
Which pierces so, that it assaults 
Mercy itself, and frees all faults. 

As you from crimes would pardon'd be, 

Let your indulgence set me free. 

[Exeunt Omnes, 



THE 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



DKAMATIS PERSOK^. 



Duke of Milan, Father to Silvia. 
T) ' [ The two Gentlemen. 

rROTEUS, ) 

Antonio, Father to Proteus. 
Thurio, a foolish rival to Valentine. 
Eglamour, agent of ' Silvia in her escape. 
Speed, a clownish Servant to Valentine. 
Launce, the like to Proteus. 



Panthino, Servant to Antonio. 
Host, where Julia lodges. 
Outlaws with Valentine. 

Julia, beloved of Proteus. 
Silvia, beloved of Valentine. 
Lucetta, Waiting-woman to Julia. 

Servants, Musicians. 



SCENE : sometimes in Verona; sometimes in Milan, and on the frontiers of Mantua. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — An open place in Verona. 
Enter Valentine and Proteus. 

Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus : 
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. 
Wer 't not, affection chains thy tender days 
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, 
I rather would entreat thy company 
To see the wonders of the world abroad, 
Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home, 
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. 
But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein. 
Even as I would, when I to love begin. 

Pro. Wilt thou begone? Sweet Valentine, adieu. 
Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest 
Some rare note- worthy object in thy travel : 
Wish me partaker in thy happiness, 
When thou dost meet good hap ; and in thy danger, 
If ever danger do environ thee, 
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, 
For I will be thy bead's-man,^ Valentine. 

Val. And on a love-book pray for my success. 

Pro. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee. 

Val. That 's on some shallow story of deep love, 
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. 

Pro. That 's a deep story of a deeper love, 
For he was more than over slioes in love. 

Val. 'T is true ; but^ you are over boots in love, 
And yet you never swam the Hellespont. 

Pro. Over the boots ? nay, give me not the boots.* ■ 

Val. No, I will not, for it boots thee not. 

Pro. What? 

Val. To be in love where scorn is bought with groans ; 
Coy looks, with heart-sore sighs ; one fading moment's 

mirth, 
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights : 
If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain; 
If lost, why then a grievous labour won : 



However, but a folly bought with wit. 
Or else a wit by folly vanquished. 

Pro. So, by your circumstance you call me fool. 

Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove. 

Pro. 'T is love you cavil at : I am not love. 

Val. Love is your master, for he masters youj 
And he that is so yoked by a fool, 
Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. 

Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud 
The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
Inhabits in the finest wits of all. 

Val. And writers say, as the most forward bud 
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, 
Even so by love the young and tender wit 
Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud, 
Losing his verdure even in the prime, 
And all the fair effects of future hopes. 
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee, 
That art a votary to fond desire? 
Once more adieu. My father at the road 
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. 

Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. 

Val. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leave. 
To Milan let me hear from thee by letters. 
Of thy success in love, and what news else 
Betideth here in absence of thy friend. 
And I likewise will visit thee "with mine. 

Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan. 

Val. As much to you at home ; and so, farewell. [Exit. 

Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love : 
He leaves his friends to dignify them more ; 
I leave myself, my friends, find all for love. 
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me; 
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time. 
War with good counsel, set the world at nought, 
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. 
Enter Speed. 

Speed. Sir Proteus, save you. Saw you my master ? 



, - ^"'l ■ J," ^- ®- J 0«« W'^" prays for another: the word is derived from the dropping of a bead in a rosary, at each prayer recited. 
» lor : in t. e. * Supposed by Knight to refer to the instrument of torture, the boot, by which the sufferer's leg was crushed by wedges 
driven between it and the boot in which it was placed. Collier says it ia a proverbial expression, signifying " don't make a laughing. 



SCEXE n. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF YERONA. 



21 



Pro. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan. 

Speed. Twenty to one. then, he is shipp'd already. 
And I have playd the sheep in losing him. 

Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, 
An if the shepherd be awhile away. 

Speed. You conclude, that my master is a shepherd, 
then, and I a sheep ? 

Pro. I do. 

Speed. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether 
I wake or sleep. 

Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. 

Speed. This proves me still a sheep. 

Pro. True, and thy master a shepherd. 

Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. 

Pro. It shall go hard, but I '11 prove it by another. 

Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the 
sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my master, and my 
master seeks not me: therefore, I am no sheep. 

Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, the 
shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou for 
wages foUowest thy master, thy master for wages 
follows not thee : therefore, thou art a sheep. 

Speed. Such another proof will make me cry " baa." 

Pro. But, dost thou hear ? gav'st thou my letter to 
Julia? 

Speed. Ay, sir : I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to 
her, a laced mutton^ ; and she, a laced mutton, gave 
me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour. 

Pro. Here 's too small a pasture for such store of 
muttons. 

Speed. If the ground be overcharg'd, you were best 
stick her. 

Pro. Nay, in that you are a stray, 't were best pound 
you. 

Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me 
for carrying your letter. 

Pro. You mistake : I mean the pound, the pinfold. 

Speed. From a pound to a pin ? fold it over and over, 
'T is threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. 

Pro. But what said she? did she nod? 

Speed. I. [Speed nods. 

Pro. Nod, I ? why that 's noddy.'' 

Speed. You mistook, sir : I say she did nod, and you 
ask me, if she did nod ? and I say I. 



Give her no token but stones, for she 's as hard as steel.' 
Pro. What ! said she nothing ? 
Speed. No, not so much as — " Take this for thy 
pains." To testify your bounty, I thank 3'ou, you 
have testern'd^ me; in requital whereof, henceforth 
carry your letters yourself. And so, sir, I '11 commend 
you to my master. [Exit.^ 

Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, 
Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, 
Being destin'd to a drier death on shore. — 
I must go send some better messenger : 
I fear my Julia would not deign my lines. 
Receiving them from such a worthless post. [Exit.^" 

SCENE II.— The Same. Julia's Garden. 
Enter Julia and Lucetta. 

Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, 
Wouldst thou, then, counsel me to fall in love ? 

Luc. Ay, madam ; so you stumble not unheedfully. 

Jid. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, 
That every day with parle encounter me, 
In thy opinion which is worthiest love ? 

Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I '11 show my 
mind. 
According to my shallow simple skill. 

M. What think' st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? 

Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine; 
But. w^ere I you, he never shovild be mine. 

Jul. What think' st thou of the rich Mercutio ?" 

Luc. Well, of his wealth; but of himself, so, so. 

Jid. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus ? 

Luc. Lord, lord ! to see what folly reigns in us ! 

Jul. How now ? what means this passion at his name ? 

Luc. Pardon, dear madam : 't is a passing shame, 
That I, imworthy body as I am. 
Should censure thus a loving^ ^ gentleman. 

Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? 

Luc. Then thus, — of many good I think him best. 

Jul. Your reason ? 

Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason: 
I think him so, because I think him so. 

Jul. And woiildst tliou have me cast my loA-e on him ? 

Luc. Ay. if you thought your love not cast away. 

Jul. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov"d me. 

Luc. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. 

Jid. His little speaking shows his love but small. 

Luc. Fire that 's closest kept burns most of all. 

Jid. They do not love, that do not show their love. 

Luc. O ! they love least, that let men know their love. 

Jid. I would I knew his mind. 

Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. 

Jul. "To Julia." Say, from whom. [Gives a letter.^' 

Luc. That the contents will show. 

Jul. Say, say, who gave it thee ? 

Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and sent. I think, from 
Proteus. 
He would have given it you. but I, being in the vray, 
Did in your name receive it : pardon the fault, I pray. 

Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker ! 
Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines ? 
To whisper and conspire against my youth ? 
Now, trust me, 't is an office of great worth, 
And you an oflicer fit for the place. 
There, take the paper : see it be returnd, [Gives it back}* 
Or else return no more into my sight. 

Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. 

Jid. Will you be gone ? 

■ Most commentators mnke this mean, a dre.'merl-up cmirtesnn. Knisht snfrg:osts that, (lace bcinjr used in its primitive meanine; of any 
thinR tliat catclios or secures) it means cnuglit xlmp. 2 '{"dp old name fur llie kiinve or fool of a pack of cards. ^ + Not in f. c. ' lo her : 
not in f. e. 6 telling your mind: in f. e. ''This speech is printed as prose in f. e. 8A testern is a sixpence. 'Not in f. e. 
"• Exeunt : in f. e. >' Mercatio : in f. e. 12 on lovely : in f. e. i^ 1* Not in f. e. 



Pro. 



And that set together, is noddy. 



Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it 
togi-ther, take it for your pains. 

Pro. No, no ; you shall have it for bearing the letter. 

Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you. 

Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me? 

Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly; having 
nothing but the word noddy for my pains. 

Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 

Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. 

Pro. Come, come; open the matter in brief: what 
said she? 

Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the 
matter, may be both at once deliver'd. 

Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains." What said 
she? [Giving him money. ^ 

Speed. Truly, sir, I think you '11 hardly win her. 

Pro. Why ? Couldst thou perceive so much from her? 

Speed. Sir, I covild perceive notliing at all from her 

better* ; 

No, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter ; 

And being so hard to me that brought to her* your mind, 

I fear she '11 prove as hard to you in telling you her^ mind. 



22 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF YEEONA. 



AOT I. 



Lite. That you may ntminate. [Exit. 

Jul. And yet, I would I had o"erlook"d the letter. 
It were a shame to call her back again, 
And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. 
What fool is she, that knows I am a maid, 
And would not force the letter to my view, 
Since maids, in modesty, say " No," to that 
Which they would have the profferer construe, " Ay." 
Fie, fie ! how wayward is this foolish love. 
That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse, 
And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod. 
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence. 
When willingly I M^ould have had her here : 
How angerly I taught my brow to frown. 
When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile. 
My penance is to call Lucetta back. 
And ask remission for my folly past. — 
What ho ! Lucetta ! 

Re-enter Lucetta. 

Luc. What would your ladyship ? 

Jul. Is it near dinner-time ? 



Luc. 



I would, it were : 



That you might kill your stomach on your meat, 
And not upon your maid. 

[Drops the letter.^ and takes it up again.^ 

Jul. What is 't that you took up so gingerly ? 

Luc. Nothing. 

/('/. Why didst thou stoop, then ? 

Luc. To take a paper up 

That I let fall. 

Jul. And is that paper nothing ? 

Luc. Nothing concerning me. 

Jill. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. 

Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, 
Unless it have a false interpreter. 

/;//. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. 

Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune, 
Give me a note : your ladyship can set. 

Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible. 
Best sing it to the tune of •• Light o' love." 

Luc. It is too lieavy for so light a tune. 

Jul. Heavy ? belike, it hath some burden then. 

Luc. Ay ; and melodious were it, would you sing it. 

Jul. And Avhy not you ? 

Luc. I cannot reach so high. 

Jul. Let 's see your song. — [Snatching the letter.^] 
How now, minion ! 

Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out : 
And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune. 



And kill the bees that yield it with your stings ! 

I '11 kiss each several paper for amends. 

Look, here is writ — " kind Julia ;" — unkind Julia ! 

As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 

I throw thy name against the bruising stones, 

Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. 

And here is writ — " love- wounded Proteus." — 

Poor wounded name ! my bosom, as a bed. 

Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be throughly heal'd ; 

And thus I search" it with a sovereign kiss. 

was Proteus written down : 



But twice, or thrice. 
Be calm, good wind 



blow not a word 



, ^ai/., i.vy^ o, .,<^i^i away. 
Till I have found each letter in the letter, 
Except mine own name ; that some whirlwind bear 
Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, 
And throw it thence into the raging sea. 
Lo ! here in one line is his name twice WTit, — 
" Poor forlorn Proteus ; passionate Proteus 
To the sweet Julia :" — that I '11 tear away; 
And yet I will not, sith so prettily 
He couples it to his complaining name.' 
Thus will I fold them one upon another : 
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. 



Luc. Madam, 



Re-enter Lucetta. 



Dinner is ready, and your father stays. 

Jul. Well, let us go. 

Luc. What ! shall these papers lie like tell-tales here ? 

Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. 

Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down ; 
Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold. 

Jid. I see, you have a month's mind'" unto" them. 

Luc. Ay, madam, you may see what sights you 



think ;i= 
I see things too. 



although you judge I wink. 



Jul. Come, come; will 't please you go? 



Jul. You do not ? 
Luc. 



No, madam 



Jul. You, minion, 



. , it is too sharp, 
are too saucy. 
Luc. Nay, now you are too flat. 

And mar the concord with too harsh a descant :^ 
There wanteth but a mean* to fill your song. 

/(//. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base. 
Luc. Indeed I bid the base^ for Proteus. 
Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. 
Here is a coil with protestation ! — 

[Tears the letter.,^ and throws it down. 
Go ; get you gone, and let the papers lie : 
You would be fingering them to anger me. [better^ 



[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — The same. A Room in Antonio's 

House. 

Enter Antonio and Panthino. 

Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad'' talk was that, 
Wherewitli my brother held you in the cloister? 

Pant. 'T was of his nephew Proteus, your son. 

Ant. Why, what of him ? 

Pant. He wonder'd. that your lordship 

Would suffer him to spend his youth at home, 
While other men. of slender reputation. 
Put forth their sons to seek preferment out : 
Some to the wars, to try their fortune there ; 
Some, to discover islands far away ; 
Some, to the studious universities. 
For any, or for all these exercises. 
He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet, 
And did request me to importune you 
To let him spend his time no more at home, 
Which would be great impeachment to his age, 
In having known no travel in his youth. 

Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that 
Whereon this month I have been hammering. 
I have consider!! well his loss of time, 
And how he cannot be a perfect man, 
Not being tried and tutor'd in the world : 



Luc. She makes it strange, but she would be pleas'd Experience is by industry achiev'd 



To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit. 

Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same ! 
O hateful hands ! to tear such loving words : 
Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey. 



And perfected by the swift course of time. 
Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him ? 

Pant. I think, your lordship is not ignorant 
How his companion, youthful Valentine, 



1 This direction IS not in f. e. 2 Not in f. e. 3 What we now call in music, a variation. * A tenor, s An allusion to the game of base, or 
prison base, m which one runs ami challenKCs his opponent to pursue. 6 The rest of this direction is not in f. e. i best pleased : in I e. 
eZ.,it'.^ 1 ""'P^'* '■ '" '■ ®- '° i'lis proverbial expression is derived from the remembrance or commemoration of the dea.l bv masses, 
lor a stated period,— they were hence called month's memories. u to : in f. e. 12 may say what siglits you see : in f. e. 1= grave : in f. e 



SCENE I. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



23 



Attends the emperor in his royal court. 

Ant. I know it well. 

Pant. 'T were good, I think, your lordship sent him 
thither. 
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments. 
Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, 
And be in eye of every exercise, 
Worthy his youth, and nobleness of birth. 

Ant. I like thy counsel : well hast thou advis'd • 
And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it, 
The execution of it shall make known. 
Even with the speediest expedition 
I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. 

Pant. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso, 
With other gentlemen of good esteem. 
Are journeying to salute the emperor. 
And to commend their service to his will. 

Ant. Good company ; with them shall Proteus go : 
And, in good time, — now will we break with him. 
Enter Proteus,' not seeing his Father. 

Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life ! 
Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ; 

[Kissing a letter. 
Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. 
! that our fathers would applaud our loves, 
And seal our happiness with their consents ! 
heavenly Julia ! 

Ant. How now ! w"hat letter are you reading there ? 

Pro. May 't please your lordship, 't is a word or two 
Of commendations sent from Valentine, [Putting it up.^ 
Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. 

A7it. Lend me the letter : let me see what news. 

Pro. There is no news, my lord, but that he writes 
How happily he lives, how well belov'd, 
And daily graced by the emperor j 



Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. 

Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish? 

Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will. 
And not depending on liis friendly wish. 

Ant. My will is sometliing sorted with his wish. 
Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed, 
For what I will, I will, and there an end. 
I am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time 
'With Valentino' in the emperor's court : 
What maintenance he from his friends receives, 
Like exhibition* thou shalt have from me. 
To-morrow be in readiness to go : 
Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. 

Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided: 
Please you, deliberate a day or two. 

Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after thee : 
No more of stay ; to-morrow thou must go. — 
Come on, Panthino : you shall be employed 
To hasten on his expedition. 

[Exeunt Antonio and Panthino. 

Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning, 
And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd. 
I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter. 
Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; 
And, with the vantage of mine own excuse, 
Hath lie excepted most against my love. 
! how this spring of love resembleth 

The uncertain glory of an April day. 
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, 

And by and by a cloud takes all away. 
Re-enter Panthino. 

Ant. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you : 
He is in haste ; therefore, I pray you, go. 

Pro. Wliy, this it is : my heart accords thereto, 
And yet a thousand times it answers no. [Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE L— Milan. A Room in the Duke's Palace. 

Enter Valentine and Speed. 

Speed. Sir, your glove. 

Val. Not mine ; my gloves are on. 

Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is but 
one. 

Val. Ha ! let me see : ay, give it me, it 's mine. — 
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine ! 
Ah Silvia ! Silvia ! 

Speed. Madam Silvia ! madam Silvia ! 

Val. How now, sirrah ? 

Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. 

Val. Why. sir, who bade you call her? 

Speed. Yovir woiship. sir; or else I mistook. 

Val. Well, you '11 still be too forw^ard. 

Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. 

Val. Go to. sir. Tel] me, do you know madam Silvia ? 

Speed. Slic that your worship loves? 

Val. Why, how know you that I am in love? 

Speed. Miirry, by these special marks. First, you 
have learn'd, like sir Piotcus. to wreath your arms, like 
a mal-contcnt : to relish a love song, like a lobin-red- 
breast ; to walk alone, like one that hath' the pestilence; 
to sigh, like a schoolboy that hath lost his ABC: to 
weep, like a youns weiicli t liat hath buried her grandam ; 
to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one 



that fears robbing ; to speak puling, like a beggar at 
Hallowmas. You were wont, wlien you laugh'd, to 
crow like a cock ; when you walk'd, to walk like one 
of the lions ; when you fasted, it was presently after 
dinner; when you look'd sadly, it was for want of 
money; and now you are so* metamorphosed witli a 
mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think 
you my master. 

Val. Are all these things perceived in me ? 

Speed. They are all perceived without ye. 

Val. Without me ? they cannot. 

Speed. Without you? nay, that 's certain; for, with- 
out you were so simple, none else would be' : but you 
are so without these follies, that these follies are \\'ithin 
you, and shine through you like the water in an urinal, 
that not an eye that sees you, but is a physician to 
comment on your malady. 

Val. But tell mo, dost thou know my lady Silvia? 

Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper ? 

Val. Hast thou observed that ? even she I mean. 

Speed. Why, sir, I know lier not. 

Val. Dost thou know lier by ray gazing on her, and 
yet know'st her not? 

Speed. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir? 

Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favour'd. 

Speed. Sir. I know tliat well enough. 

Val. What dost thou laiow ? 



' Thn rest of this direction is not in f. e. 2 j\rot in f. e. 
Universities. * had : in f. e. ^ 7 j\{ot in f. e. 



3 Valentinus ; in f. e. * maintenance, still in use in this sense in English 



24 



THE TWO GEIS^TLEMEN OF YEEONA. 



ACT n. 



Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of yon) well- 
favour" d. 

Vol. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her 
favour infinite. 

Speed. That 's because the one is painted, and the 
otlier out of all count. 

Val. How painted? and how out of count ? 

Speed. ]\larry, sir, so painted to make her fair, that 
no man 'counts of her beauty. 

Val. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her 
beauty. 

Speed. You never saw her since she was deform'd. 

Val. How long hath she been deform'd ? 

Speed. Ever since you loved her. 

Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her. and still 
I see her beautiful. 

Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. 

Val. Why? 

Speed. Because love is blind. O ! that you had 
mine eyes ; or your own eyes had the lights they were 
wont to have, when you chid at sir Proteus for going 
ungartered ! 

Val. What should I see then ? 

Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing de- 
formity ; for he, being in love, could not see to garter 
his hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on 
your hose. 

Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love ; for last 
morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. 

Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I 
thank you. you swinged me for my love, which makes 
mc the bolder to chide you for yours. 

Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. 

Speed. I would you were set, so your affection would 
cease. 

Val. Last night she enjoin'd me to write some lines 
to one she loves. 

Speed. And have you ? 

Val. I have. 

Speed. Are they not lamely writ ? 

Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them. — 
Peace ! here she comes. 

Enter Silvia. 

Speed. excellent motion !' exceeding puppet ! 
Now will he interpret to her. 

Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows. 

Speed. ! 'give ye good even : here 's a million of 
manners. [ Aside. ^ 

S/l. Sir Valentine and servant.' to yon two thousand. 

Speed. He should give her interest, and she gives it 
him. 

Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have -writ your letter 
Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; 
Which I was much un^-illing to proceed in. 
But for my duty to your ladyship. [Giving a paper.* 

Sil. I thank you, gentle servant. 'T is very clerkly 
done. 

Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; 
For. being ignorant to whom it goes, 
I writ at random, very dovibtfully. 

Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains ? 

Val. No, madam : so it stead you. I will write, 
Please you command, a thousand times as much. 
And yet — 

Sil. A pretty period. Well. I guess the sequel : 
And yet I will not name it : — and yet I care not : — 
And yet take this again ; — and yet I thank you. 
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 

Speed. And yet you will; and yet, another yet. [Aside.^ 

1 A puppet show, a Not in f. e. 3 An old term for lover. * s 6 



Val. What means your ladyship? do you not like it? 

Sil. Yes, yes : the lines are very qiiaintly writ. 
But since unwillingly, take them again. 
Nay, take them. [Giving it back.* 

Val. Madam, they are for you. 

Sil. Ay, ay ; you writ them, sir, at my request, 
But I will none of them : they arc for you. 
I would have had them writ more movingly. 

Val. Please you. I '11 write your ladyship another. 

Sil. And. when it 's writ, for my sake read it over 
And if it please you, so ; if not, why. so. 

Val. If it please me, madam ; what then? 

Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour ; 
And so good-morrow, servant. [Exit. 

Speed. jest ! unseen, inscrutable, imasible. 
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a 

steeple. 
My master sues to her, and she hath taught her suitor, 
He being her pupil, to become her tutor. 
excellent device ! was there ever heard a better, 
That my master, being scribe, to himself should vrrite 
the letter ? 

Val. How now. sir ! what, are you reasoning with 
yourself ? 

Speed. Nay, I was rhyming : 't is you that have the 
reason. 

Val. To do what ? 

Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. 

Val. To whom ? 

Speed. To vourself. Whv, she woos a'ou bv a figure. 

Val. What" figure? 

Speed. By a letter, I should say. 

Val. Why, she hath not writ to me ? 

Speed. What need she, when she hath made you 
WTite to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest ? 

Val. No, believe me. 

Speed. No belie-ving you, indeed, sir : but did you 
perceive her earnest ? 

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. 

Speed. Why, .she hath given you a letter. 

Val. That 's the letter I "WTit to her friend. 

Speed. And that letter hath she deliver"d, and there 
an end. 

Val. I would it were no worse ! 

Speed. I '11 warrant you, 't is as well : 

For often have you WTit to her, and she. in modesty. 
Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply ; 
Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind 

discover. 
Her self hath taught her love himself to write unto her 

lover. — 
All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. — 
^Yliy muse you. sir ? 't is dinner time. 

Val. I have dined. 

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir : though the cameleon 
love can feed on the air. I am one that am nourish'd 
by my A'ictuals, and would fain have meat. ! be not 
like your mistress : be moved, be moved. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Verona. A Room in Julia's House. 
Enter Proteus and Julia. 

Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. 

Jtd. I must, where is no remedy. 

Pro. When possibly I can. I -wnll return. 

Jul. If you turn )iot, you -will return the sooner. 
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.' 

Pro. Why then, we '11 make exchange : here, take 
you this. [Exchange rings.^ 

Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 

Not in f. e. ' giving a ring is added in f. e. 8 Not in f. e. 



SCENE IT. 



THE TWO GENTLEME^N^ OF YERONA. 



25 



Pn. Here is my hand for my true constancy; 
And T\^lien that hour oer-slips me in the day, 
Wherein 1 sigh not, Julia, for thy sake. 
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance 
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness. 
Rly father stays my coming ; answer not. 
Tlie tide is now : nay, not thy tide of tears ; 
That tide will stay me longer than I should. [Exit Julia. 
Julia, farewell. — What ! gone without a word? 
Ay, so true love should do : it cannot speak ; 
For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it. 
Enter Panthino. 

Pant. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. 

Pro. Go ; I come, I come. — 

Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dvimb.^ [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. A Street. 

Enter Launce, leading his^ Dog. 

Lniince. Nay, 't will be this hour ere 1 have done 
weeping : all the kind of the Launces have this very 
fault. I have received my proportion, like the prodi- 
gious son, and am going with sir Proteus to the impe- 
rial's court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest- 
natured dog that lives : my mother weeping, my father 
wailing, my si.ster crying, our maid howling, our cat 
wringing her hands, and all our house in a great per- 
plexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one 
tear. He is a stone, a very pebble-stone, and has no 
more pity in him than a dog ; a Jew would have wept 
to have seen our parting : why, my grandam having no 
eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, 
I '11 show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father ; 
— no. this left shoe is my father ; — no, no, this left shoe 
is my mother ; — nay. that cannot be so. neither : — yes, 
it is so, it is so ; it hath the worser sole. This shoe, 
with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father. 
A vengeance on 't ! there 't is : now, sir, this statf is my 
sister ; for, look }"ou, she is as white as a lily, and as 
small as a wand : this hat is Nan, our maid : I am the 
dog ; — no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog, — ! 
the dog is me, and I am myself: ay, so, so. Now come 
1 to my father ; '' Father, your blessing :" now should 
not the shoe speak a word for weeping : now should I 
kiss my father: well, he weeps on. Now come I to 
my mother, (0, that she could speak now !) like a wild* 
woman : — well, I kiss her ; why there 't is ; here 's my 
mother's breath, up and dowTi. Now come I to my 
sister ; mark the moan she makes : now, the dog all 
this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word, but see 
how I lay the dust with my tears. 
Enter Panthino. 

Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard : thy master is 
shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What 's 
the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass ; 
you '11 lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. 

Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it 
is the imkindest tied that ever any man tied. 

Pant. What 's tlie unkindest tide? 

Launce. AVhy, he that "s tied here : Crab, my dog. 

Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou 'It lose the flood ; and, 
in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and. in losing thy 
voyage, lose thy master : and, in losing tliy master, lose 
tliy sei-vice ; and, in losing thy service, — Why dost thou 
stop my mouth ? 

Launce. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. 

Vant. Where should I lose my tongue? 

Laimce. In thv tale. 

Pant. In thy tail ? 

Launce. Lose the tied, and the voyage, and the 



master, and the sen'ice. and the tide. Why, man, if 
the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears ; 
if the wind were dowii, I could drive the boat with my 
sighs. 

Pant. Come; come, away, man: I was sent to call 
thee. 

Launce. Sir, call me what thou dar'st. 

Pant. Wilt thou go ? 

Launce. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Milan. A Room in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. 

Sil. Servant. — 

Val. Mistress. 

Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you, 

Val. Ay, boy. it 's for love. 

Speed. Not of you. 

Val. Of my mistress, then. 

Speed. 'T were good you knock'd him. 

Sil. Servant, you are sad. 

Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. 

Tim. Seem vou that you are not? 

Val. Haply, 'l do. 

TIiu. So do counterfeits. 

Val. So do you. 

Thu. WhaX seem I that I am not ? 

Val. Wise. 

Thu. What instance of the contrary ? 

Val. Your folly. 

Thti. And how quote' you my folly ? 

Val. I quote it in your jerkin. 

Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. 

Val. Well, then, 't will* double your folly. 

Thu. How? 

Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio ? do you change colour? 

Val. Give him leave, madam : he is a Idnd of came- 
leon. 

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, 
than live in your air. 

Val. You have said, sir. 

Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 

Val. I know it well, sir : you always end ere you 
begin. 

Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly 
shot off. 

Val. 'T is indeed, madam : we thank the giver. 

Sil. Who is that, sers^ant ? 

Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave the fire. 
Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, 
and spends what he borrows kindly in your company. 

Thu. Sir, if you spend word for w^ord with me, I 
shall make your wit bankrupt. 

Val. I know it well, sir : you have an exchequer of 
words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your fol- 
lowers ; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they 
live by your bare words. 

Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my 
father. 

Enter the Duke. 

Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. 
Sir Valentine, your father 's in good health : 
What say you to a letter from your friends 
Of much good news ? 

Val. My lord. I will be thanlcful 

To any happy messenger from thence. 

Duice. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman? 

Val. Ay, my good lord : I know the gentleman 
To be of wealth^ and worthy estimation, 
And not without desert so well reputed. 



I a Dog : in f. e. = in f. e : wood (i. e. mad). 3 Note or observe. * I '11 : in f. e. » worth : in f. e. 



26 



THE TWO GENTLEMEIS^ OF YERONA. 



ACT n. 



Duke. Hath he not a son ? 

Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son, that well deserves 
Tlie honour and regard of svich a father. 

Duke. You know him well ? 

Val. I knew him, as myself- for from our infancy 
We have convers'd, and spent our hours together : 
And though myself have been an idle truant, 
Omitting the sweet benefit of time 
To clotlie mine age with angel-like perfection, 
Yet hath sir Proteus, for that 's his name. 
Made use and fair advantage of his days : 
His years but young, but his experience old ; 
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe ; 
And in a word, (for far behind his worth 
Come all the praises that I now bestow) 
He is complete in feature, and in mind, 
With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 

Duke. Beshrew me. sir, but. if he make this good, 
He is as worthy for an empress' love. 
As meet to be an emperor" s counsellor. 
Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me 
With commendation from great potentates •, 
And here he means to spend his time a-while. 
I think, 't is no unwelcome news to you. 

Val. Should I liaA'e wish'd a thing, it had been he. 

Duke. Welcome him, then, according to his worth. 
Silvia, I speak to you ; and you, sir Thurio : — 
For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it. 
I '11 send him hither to you presently. [Exit Duke. 

Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, 
Had come along with me, but that his mistress 
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 

Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them. 
Upon some other pawn for fealty. 

Val. Nay, sm-e, I think, she holds them prisoners still. 

Sil. Nay, then he should be blind ; and. being blind, 
How could he see his way to seek you out ? 

Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. 

Thu. They say. that love hath not an eye at all. 

Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself: 
Upon a homely object love can wink. 
Enter Proteus. 

Sil. Have done, have done. Here comes the gen- 
tleman. [Exit Thurio. 

Val. Welcome, dear Proteus ! — MistressJ I beseech 
you. 
Confirm his welcome with some special favour. 

Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, 
If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. 

Val. Mistress, it is. Sweet lady, entertain him 
To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. 

Sil. Too low a mistx'ess for so high a servant. 

Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant 
To have a look of such a worthy mistress. 

Val. Leave off discourse of disability. — 
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. 

Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. 

Sil. And duty yet did never want his meed. 
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. 

Pro. I '11 die on him that says so, but yourself. 

Sil. That you are welcome ? 

Pro. That you are worthless. 

^Re-enter Thurio. 

TJiu. Madam, my lord, your fatlier, would speak 
with you. 

Sil. I wait upon his pleasure: come, sir Thurio, 
Go with me. — Once more, new servant, welcome : 
I '11 leave you to confer of home-affaii's ; 
When you have done, we look to hear from you. 

1 Enter : in f. e. 2 swelling : in f. e. 



Pro. We '11 both attend upon your ladyship. 

[Exeunt Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. 

Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came ? 

Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much 

commended. 
Val. And how do yours? 

Pro. I left them all in health. 

Val. How does your lady, and how thrives your love ? 

Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you: 
I know, you joy not in a love-discourse. 

Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now: 
I have done penance for contemning loA'e ; 
Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me 
With bitter fasts, and penitential groans, 
With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; 
For, in revenge of my contempt of love. 
Love hath chas"d sleep from my enthralled eyes, 
And. made them watchers of mine own hearts sorrow. 
O, gentle Proteus ! love 's a mighty lord, 
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess, 
There is no woe to his correction, 
Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth ! 
Now, no discourse, except it be of love ; 
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, 
Upon the very naked name of love. 

Pro. Enough ; I read your fortune in your eye. 
Was this the idol that you worship so ? 

Val. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint? 

Pro. No, but she is an earthly paragon. 

Val. Call her divine. 

Pro. I will not flatter her. 

Val. ! flatter me, for love delights in praises. 

Pro. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills. 
And I must minister the like to you. 

Val. Then speak the truth by her : if not divine, 
Yet let her be a principality, 
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 

Pro. Except my mistress. 

Val. Sweet, except not any. 
Except thou wilt except against my love. 

Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own ? 

Val. And 1 will help thee to prefer her, too : 
She slmll be dignified with this high honour, — 
To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth 
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss, 
And, of so great a favour growing proud. 
Disdain to root the sunnner-smelling^ flower. 
And make rough winter everlastingly. 

Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this ? 

Val. Pardon me, Proteus : all I can, is nothing 
To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing. 
She is alone. 

Pro. Then, let her alone. 

Val. Not for the world. Why, man, she is mine own; 
And I as rich in having such a jewel. 
As twenty seas, if all their sand Avere pearl, 
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold 
Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee, 
Because thou seest me dote upon my love. 
]\Iy foolish rival, that her father likes 
Only for his possessions are so huge. 
Is gone with her along, and I miist after. 
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. 

Pro. But she loves you ? 

Val. Ay, and we are betroth' d; nay, more, o\ir 
marriage hour. 
With all the cuiming manner of our flight 
Determin'd of : how I must climb her window, 
The ladder made of cords, and all the means 



SCENE VI. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEI^ OF YEKONA. 



27 



Plotted, and 'greed on for my happiness. 
Good Proteus, go witli ine to ni)" chamber, 
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. 

Pro. Go on before ; I shall enquire you forth. 
I must unto the road, to disembark 
Some necessaries that I needs must use, 
And then I '11 presently attend on' you. 

Val. Will you make haste ? 

Pro. I will. — [Exit Valentine. 

Even as one heat another heat expels, 
Or as one nail by strength drives out another. 
So the remembrance of my former love 
Is by a newer object quite forgotten. 
Is it mine own,^ or Valentino's^ praise. 
Her true perfection, or my false transgression, 
That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus ? 
She 's fair, and so is Julia that I love ; — 
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd, 
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, 
Bears no impression of the thing it was. 
Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold, 
And that I love him not, as I was wont : 
! but I love his lady too too much ; 
And that "s the reason I love him so little. 
How shall I dote on her with more advice. 
That tiius without advice begin to love her? 
'T is but her picture I have yet beheld. 
And that hath dazzled so* my reasons light j 
But when I look on her perfections, 
There is no reason but I shall be blind. 
If I can check my erring love, I will ; 
If not, to compass her I "11 use my skill. YExit. 

SCENE v.— The Same. A Street. 
Enter Speed and Launce. 

Speed. Launce ! by mine honesty, welcome to INIilan. 

Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am 
not welcome. I reckon this always — that a man is 
never undone, till he be hang'd : nor never welcome to 
a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess 
say, welcome. 

Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I "11 to the alehouse 
with you presently ; where for one shot of five pence 
thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, 
how did tliy master part with madam Julia? 

Launce. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they 
parted very fairly in jest. 

Speed. But shall she marry him ? 

Launce. No. 

Speed. How then ? Shall he marry her ? 

Launce. No, neither. 

Speed. What, are they broken ? 

Launce. No, they are both as whole as a fish. 

Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with them ? 

Lanace. jNIarry, thus : when it stands well with him 
it stands well with her. 

Speed. What an ass art thou? I understand thee not. 

Launce. What a block art thou, that thou canst not. 
My staff" undei-stands me. 

Speed. What thou say'st ? 

Launce. Ay. and what I do too : look thee : I '11 but 
lean, and my staff" understands me. 

Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 

Launce. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one. 

Speed. But tell me true, will "t be a match ? 

Launce. Ask my dog : if he say, ay, it will ; if he 
say, no, it wdll j if he shake his tail, and say nothing, 
it will. 



Speed. The conclusion is, then, that it will. 

Launce. Thou shalt never get such a secret from 
me, but by a parable. 

Speed. 'T is well that I get it so. But, Launce, how 
say'st thou, that my master is become a notable lover? 

Launce. I never knew him otherwise. 

Speed. Than how? 

Launce. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him 
to be. 

Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st me. 

Launce. Why, fool, I meant not thee ; I meant thy 
master. 

Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. 

Launce. AVhy, I tell thee, I care not though he burn 
himself in love, if thou wilt go with me to the ale- 
house : if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not 
worth the name of a Christian. 

Speed. Why? 

Launce. Because thou hast not so much charity in 
thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go ? 

Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— The Same. An Apartment in the 
Palace. 
Enter Proteus. 
Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn j 
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ; 
To wrong mv friend. I shall be much forsworn ; 
And even that power, which gave me first my oath, 
Provokes me to this threefold perjury : 
Love bad me swear, and love bids me forswear. 

sweet-suggesting love ! if I have^ sinn'd. 
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. 
At first I did adore a twinkling star, 

But now I worship a celestial sun. 
LTnheedful vom's may heedfully be broken ; 
And he wants wit, that wants resolved will 
To learn his wit t' exchange the bad for better. 
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad. 
Whose sovereignty so oft thou has preferr'd 
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. 

1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; 

But there I leave to love, where I should love. 

Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose : 

If I keep them, I needs mvist lose myself- 

If I lose them, thus find I, by their loss, 

For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia. 

I to myself am dearer than a friend, 

For love is still most precious to* itself ; 

And Silvia, (witness heaven that made her fair !) 

Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. 

I will forget that Julia is alive. 

Remembering that my love to her is dead j 

And Valentine I '11 hold an enemy. 

Aiming at Silvia, as a sweeter friend. 

I cannot now prove constant to myself 

Without some treachery used to Valentine. 

This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder 

To climb celestial Silvia"s chamber window; 

]\Iyself in counsel, his competitor. 

Now, presently I '11 give her father notice 

Of their disguising, and pretended' flight ; 

Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine, 

For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter : 

But, Valentine bcinij gone, I "11 quickly cross 

By .some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull pioceeding. 

Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, 

As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! [Exit. 



1 Not in f. e. 
' Inttnded. 



2 eye : in f. e. Knight reads, "her mien." ^ Valentinus' : in f. e. * Not in f. e. ' thou hast : in f. e. 



in f. e. 



28 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



ACT in. 



SCENE VII. — Verona. A Room in Julia's House. 
Enter Julia and Lucetta. 

Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me: 
And, e'en in Jtind love, I do conjure thee, 
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts 
Are visibly character'd and engrav'd. 
To lesson me ; and tell me some good mean, 
How, with my honour, I may undertake 
A journey to my loving Proteus. 

Luc. Alas ! the way is wearisome and long. 

Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary 
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps. 
Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly; 
And when the flight is made to one so dear, 
Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus. 

Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. 

Jul. ! know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's 
food? 
Pity the dearth that I have pined in, 
By longing for that food so long a time. 
Didst thou but know the inly touch of loA^e, 
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow. 
As seek to quench the fire of love with words. 

Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire, 
But qualify the fire's extreme rage. 
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 

Jul. The move thou damm'st it up, the more it burns. 
The current, that with gentle murmur glides. 
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; 
But, when his fair course is not hindered, 
He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, 
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; 
And so by many winding nooks he strays 
With willing sport to the wide' ocean. 
Then, let me go, and hinder not my course. 
I '11 be as patient as a gentle stream. 
And make a pastime of each weary step, 
Till the last step have brought me to my love; 
And there I '11 rest, as, after much turmoil, 
A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 

Luc. But in what habit will you go along? 

Jul. Not like a woman, for I would prevent 
The loose encounters of lascivious men. 
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
As may beseem some well-reputed page. 

Luc. Why, then your ladyship must cut your hair. 

Jul. No, girl ; I '11 knit it up in silken sti'ings, 



With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots : 
To be fantastic, may become a youth 
Of greater time than I shall show to be. 

Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your 
breeches ? 

Jul. That fits as well, as — " tell me, good my lord, 
What compass will you wear your farthingale ?" 
Why, even what fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. 

Luc. You must needs have them w"ith a codpiece, 
madam. 

Jul. Out. out, Lucetta ! that will be ill-favour'd. 

Luc. A round hose, madam, now 's not worth a pin, 
Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. 

Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have 
What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly. 
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me 
For undertaking so unstaid a journey? 
I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd. 

Luc. If you think so. then stay at home, and go not. 

Jul. Nay, that I will not. 

Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. 
If Proteus like your journey, when you come. 
No matter who 's displeas'd, when you are gone. 
I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal. 

Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear. 
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, 
And instances as infinite of love, 
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. 

Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. 

Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect ; 
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth : 
His words arc bonds, his oaths are oracles ; 
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; 
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart ; 
His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth. 

Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come to 
him ! 

Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong, 
To bear a hard opinion of his truth : 
Only deserve my love by loving him, 
And presently go -w-ith me to my chamber, 
To take a note of what I stand in need of, 
To furnish me upon my loving^ journey. 
All that is mine I leave at thy dispose. 
My goods, my lands, my reputation ; 
Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. 
Come ; answer not. but to it presently : 
I am impatient of my tarriance. [Exeunt. 



ACT III 



SCENE I. — Milan. An Ante-chamber in the Duke's 

Palace. 

Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus. 

Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile : 
We have some secrets to confer about. — Exit Thurio. 
Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? 

Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would discover, 
The law of friendship bids me to conceal ; 
But, when I call to mind your gracious favours 
Done to me, undeserving as I am, 
My dvity pricks me on to utter that, 
Which else no worldly good should draw from me. 
Know, worthy Prince, sir Valentine, my friend, 
This night intends to steal away your daughter : 

1 wild : in f. e. = longing : in f. e. 



Myself am one made pri"\'7 to the plot. 

I know you have determin'd to bestow her 

On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates ; 

And should she thus be stoln away from you. 

It would be much vexation to your age. 

Thus, for my duty's sake. I rather chose 

To cross my friend in his intended drift. 

Than, by concealing it, heap on your head 

A pack of sorrows, which would press you down. 

Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. 

Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care. 
Which to requite, command me while I live. 
This love of theirs myself have often seen. 
Haply, when tliey have judged me fast asleep. 
And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid 



SCENE I. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN" OF YEKONA. 



29 



Sir -Valentine her company, and my court; 
But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err, 
And so unworthily disgrace the man, 
(A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd) 
I gave him gentle looks ; thereby to find 
That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. 
And. that thou may'st perceive my fear of this, 
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, 
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, 
The key whereof myself have ever kept ; 
And thence she cannot be convey'd away. 

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean 
How he her chamber- window will ascend. 
And with a corded ladder fetch her down 
For which the youthful lover iiow is gone, 
And this way comes he with it presently, 
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. 
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly. 
That my discovery be not aimed at ; 
For love of you, not hate unto my friend, 
Hath made me publisher of this pretence. 

Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know 
That I had any light from thee of this. 

Pro. Adieu, my lord: sir Valentine is eoming.[Exit. 
Enter Valentine.' in hi.'; clonk. 

Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? 

Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 
That stays to bear my letters to my friends. 
And I am going to deliver them. 

Duke. Be they of liiuch import? 

Val. The tenor of them doth but signify 
My health, and happy being at your court. 

Duke. Nay, then no matter : stay with me awhile. 
I am to break with thee of some affairs 
That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 
'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought 
To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter. 

Val. I know it well, my lord ; and, sui-e, the match 
Were rich and honourable : besides, the gentleman 
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities 
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. 
Cannot your grace win her fancy to him ? 

Duke. No, trust me : she is peevish, sullen, froward, 
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; 
Neither regarding that she is my child. 
Nor fearing me as if I were her father : 
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers 
Upon advice hath draA^^^ my love from her ; 
And, where I thought the remnant of mine age 
Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty, 
I now am full resolv'd to take a wife, 
And turn her out to who will take her in : 
Then, let her beauty be her wedding-dower; 
For me and my possessions she esteems not. 

Val. What would your grace have me to do in this ? 

Duke. There is a lady in Milano^ here. 
Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy, 
And nought esteems my aged- eloquence : 
Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor, 
(For long agone I have forgot to court ; 
Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd) 
How. and which way, I may bestow myself, 
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. 

Val. W^in her with gifts, if she respect not words. 
Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, 
JMore than quick words do move a woman's mind. 

Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. 

Val. A woman sometime scorns -^iiat best contents 
her. 



Send her another; never give her o'er, 
For scorn at first makes after-love the more. 
If she do frown, 't is not in hate of you, 
But rather to beget more love in you : 
If she do chide, 't is not to have you gone, 
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; 
For •' get you gone," 
Flatter, and 



she doth not mean 
commend 



, away; 
extol their graces : 



praise. 

Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces. 
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man. 
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 

Duke. But she I mean is promised by her friends 
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth, 
And kept severely from resort of men, 
That no man hath access by day to her. 

Val. Why, then I would resort to her by night. 

Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept safe, 
That no man hath recourse to her by night. 

Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window ? 

Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, 
And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it 
Without apparent hazard of his life. 

Val. Why then, a ladder quaintly made of cords, 
To cast vip, w'ith a pair of anchoring hooks, 
Would serve to scale another Hero's tower. 
So bold Leander would adventure it. 

Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, 
Advise me where I may have such a ladder. 

Val. When would you use it ? pray, sir, tell me that. 

D^(ke. This very night ; for love is like a child. 
That longs for every thing that he can come by. 

Val. By seven o'clock I '11 get you such a ladder. 

Duke. But hark thee ; I will go to her alone. 
How shall I best convey the ladder thither ? 

Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it 
Under a cloak that is of any length. 

Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn? 

Val. Ay, my good lord. 



Duke. 



Then, let me see thy cloak ; 



I '11 get me one of such another length. 

Val. Why any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. 

Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak ? — 
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. — 
What letter is this same ? What 's here ? — •' To Silvia." 
And here an engine fit for my proceeding ! 

[Ladder and letter fall out.^ 
I '11 be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads. 

" My thought.'! do harbour ivith my Silvia nightly ; 

And slaves they are to me. that send them flying: 

! could, their master come and go as lightly ^ 
Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying. 

My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them; 

While I. their king^ that thither them importune. 
Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless' d them^ 

Because my. self do want my servanfs fortune. 

1 cu.r.'se my.self for they are sent by ine, 

That they should harbour ivhere their lord should heP 

What 's here ? 

" Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee :" 

'T is so : and here's the ladder for the purpose. — 

Why, Phaeton, (for thou art ISIerops' son) 

Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car. 

And vsith thy daring folly burn the world ? 

Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee? 

Go, base intruder ; over- weening slave : 

Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates, 

And tliiiik my patience, more than thy desert 

Is privilege for thy departure hence. 



1 in his cloak : not in f. e. ^ & lady, sir, in Milan here : in f. e. ' This direction is not in f. e. 



30 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF YERONA. 



ACT in. 



Thank me for this, more than for all tlie farours 

Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee : 

But if thou linger in my territories 

Longer than swiftest expedition 

Will give thee time to leave our royal court, 

By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love 

I ever bore my datighter, or thyself. 

Begone : I will not hear thy vain excuse ; 

But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. 

[Exit Duke. 

Val. And why not death, rather than living torment ? 
To die is to be banish'd from myself, 
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her, 
Is self Irom self; a deadly banishment. 
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? 
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ? 
Unless it be, to think that she is by. 
And feed upon the shadow of perfection. 
Except I be by Silvia in the night. 
There is no music in the nightingale ; 
Unless I look on Silvia in the day. 
There is no day for me to look vxpon. 
Slie is my essence ; and I leave, to be. 
If I be not by her fair influence 
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. 
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom : 
Tarry I here, I but attend on death ; 
But fly I hence, I fly away from life. 

Filter Proteus and Launce. 

Pro. Run, boy ; run, run, and seek him out. 

Lnunce. So-ho ! so-ho ! 

Pro. What seest thou ? 

Launce. Him we go to find : there 's not a hair on 's 
head, but 't is a Valentine. 

Pro. Valentine ? 

Val. No. 

Pro. Who then? his spirit? 

Val. Neither. 

Pro. Wliat then? 

Val. Nothing. 

Launce. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike? 

Pro. Whom wouldst thou strike ? 

Launce. Nothing. 

Pro. Villain, forbear. 

Launce. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing : I pray you, — 

Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear. — Friend Valentine, a 
word. 

Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good news. 
So much of bad already hath possessed them. 

Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, 
For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. 

Val. Is Silvia dead ? 

Pro. No, Valentine. 

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia ! — 
Hath she forsworn me? 

Pro. No. Valentine. 

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me ! — 
What is your news ? 

Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are 
vanish'd. 

Pro. That thou art banish'd : O ! that is the news, 
From hence, from Silvia, and from me, thy friend. 

Val. ! I have fed upon this woe already. 
And now excess of it will make me surfeit. 
Doth Silvia know that I am banished ? 

Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath offer'd to the doom, 
(Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force) 
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : 
Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd, 
With them, upon her knees, her humble s=elf ; 



Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became themj 

As if but now they waxed pale for woe ; 

But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, 

Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears. 

Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire, 

But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. 

Besides, her intercession char d him so, 

When she for thy repeal was suppliant. 

That to close prison he commanded her, 

With many bitter threats of 'biding there. 

Val. No more ; unless the next word that thou 
speak'st 
Have some malignant power upon my life : 
If so, I pray thee, breathe it in my ear. 
As ending anthem of my endless dolour. 

Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, 
And study help for that which thou lamentest. 
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. 
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love ; 
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. 
Hope is a lover's staff"; walk hence with that. 
And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence- 
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
Even in tlie milk-white bosom of thy love. 
The time now serves not to expostulate : 
Come, I '11 convey thee through the city-gate, 
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large 
Of all that may concern thy love affairs. 
As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, 
Regard thy danger, and along with me. 

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, 
Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north-gate. 

Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. 

Val. my dear Silvia ! hapless Valentine ! 

[Exeunt Valentine and Proteus. 

Launce. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have 
the wit to think, my master is a kind of a knave; but 
that 's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not 
now, that knows me to be in love : yet I am in love ; 
but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me, nor 
who 't is I love ; and yet 't is a woman : but what 
wo;nan, I will not tell myself ; and yet 't is a milk- 
maid ; yet 't is not a maid, for she hath had gossips : 
yet 't is a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves 
for wages. She hatli more qualities than a water- 
spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian. Here is 
the cat-log [pulling out a paper] of her conditions. 
Imprimis, " She can fetch and carry." Why, a horse 
can do no more : nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only 
carry; therefore, is she better than a jade. Item, 
" She can milk ;" look you, a sweet virtue in a maid 
with clean hands. 

Enter Speed. 

Speed. How now, signior Launce? what news with 
your mastership ? 

Launce. With my master's ship? why, it is at sea. 

Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake the word. 
What news, then, in your paper ? 

Launce. The blackest news tliat ever thou heard'st. 

Speed. Why, man, bow black ? 

Launce. Why, as black as ink. 

Speed. Let me read them. 

Launce. Fie on thee, jolt-head ! thou canst not read. 

Speed. Thou liest, I can. 

Launce. I will trv thee. Tell me this : who begot 
thee ? 

Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. 

Launce. 0, illiterate loiterer ! it was the son of thy 
grandmother. This proves that thou canst not read. 



SCENE n. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



31 



Speed. Come, fool, come : try me in thy paper. 

Laiince. There, and saint Nicholas be thy speed ! 

Speed. Imprimis, " She can milk." 

Launce. Ay. that she can. 

Speed. Item, '• She brews good ale." 

Launce. And thereof comes the proverb, — Blessing 
of your heart, you brew good ale. 

Speed. Item, " She can scav." 

Launce. That 's as much as to say, Can she so ? 

Speed. Item, " She can knit." 

Launce. What need a man care for a stock with a 
wench, when she can knit him a stock ? 

Speed. Item, " She can wash and scour." 

Launce. A special virtue ; for then she need not be 
wash'd and scour'd. 

Speed. Item, " She can spin." 

Launce. Then may I set the world on wheels, when 
she can spin for her living. 

Speed. Item, " She hath many nameless virtues." 

Launce. That 's as much as to sa3^ bastard virtues; 
that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore 
have no names. 

Speed. Here follow her vices. 

Launce. Close at the heels of her virtues. 

Speed. Item, " She is not to be kissed fasting, in 
respect of her breath." 

Launce. Well, that fault may be mended vsath a 
breakfast. Read on. 

Speed. Item, " She hath a sweet mouth.'" 

Launce. That makes amends for her sour breath. 

Speed. Item, " She doth talk in her sleep.'- 

Launce. It 's no matter for that, so she slip not in 
her talk. 

Speed. Item, " She is slow in words." 

Launce. villain ! that set this down among her 
vices ? To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue : 
I pray thee, out with 't, and place it for her chief virtue. 

Speed. Item. " She is proud." 

Launce. Out with that too : it was Eve's legacy, 
and cannot be ta'en from her. 

Speed. Item, " She hath no teeth." 

Launce. I care not for that neither, because I love 
crusts. 

Speed. Item, " She is curst." 

Launce. Well ; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. 

Speed. Item, " She will often praise her liquor." 

Launce. If her liquor be good, she shall : if she will 
not. I will ; for good things should be praised. 

Speed. Item, " She is too liberal." 

Launce. Of her tongue she cannot, for that 's WTit 
down she is slow of: of her purse she shall not, for 
that I '11 keep shut : now, of another thing she may. and 
that cannot I help. Well, proceed. 

Speed. Item, " She hath more hair than wit, and 
more faults than hairs, and more wealth than 
faults." 

Launce. Stop there ; I '11 have her : she was mine, 
and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article. 
Rehearse that once more. 

Speed. Item, " She hath more hair than wit," — 

Launce. More liair than wit, — it may be ; I '11 prove 
it : the cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore 
it is more than the salt : the hair, that covers the wit, 
is more than the wit, for the greater hides the less. 
Whnt "s next? 

Speed. — " And more faults than hairs," — 

Launce. That 's monstrous : O, that that were out ! 

Speed. — " And more wealth than faults." 

Launce. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. 

1 running : not in f. e. ^ some : in f. e. 



Well, I '11 have her; and if it be a match, 



-that thy master 



into secrets. — I '11 
rection. 



as nothing 
is impossible, — 

Speed. What then ? 

Launce. Why, then will I tell thee,' 
stays for thee at the north-gate. 

Speed. For me ? 

Launce. For thee? ay; who art thou? he hath 
stay'd for a better man tlian thee. 

Speed. And must I go to him ? 

Launce. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay'd 
so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. 

Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner ? pox of your 
love-letters ! [Exit, running. 

Launce. Now will he be swing'd for reading my 
letter. An unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself 
after, to rejoice in the boy's cor- 

[Exit. 

SCENE II. — The Same. An Apartment in the 

Duke's Palace. 

Enter Duke and Thurio. 

Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you, 
Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. 

Thu. Since his exile she hath dcspis'd me most; 
Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me, 
That I am desperate of obtaining her. 

Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure 
Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat 
Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. 
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, 
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. — 

Enter Proteus. 
How now, sir Proteus ! Is your countryman, 
According to our proclamation, gone ? 

Pro. Gone, my good lord. 

Duke. My daugliter takes his going grievously. 

Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. 

Duke. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not so. 
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee, 
(For thou hast shown sure" sign of good desert) 
Makes me the better to confer witli thee. 

Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace, 
Let me not live to look upon your grace. 

Duke. Thou knoAv'st how willingly I would effect 
The match between sir Thurio and my daughter. 

Pro. I do. my lord. 

Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant 
How she opposes her against my will. 

Pro. She did, my lord, wlien Valentine was here. 

Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. 
What might we do to make the girl forget 
The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio ? 

Pro. The best way is, to slander Valentine 
With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent ; 
Three things that women highly hold in hate. 

Duke. Ay, but she '11 think that it is spoke in hate. 

Prjo. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : 
Therefore, it must, with circumstance, be spoken 
By one whom she csteemeth as his friend. 

Duke. Then, you must undertake to slander liim. 

Pro. And tliat, my lord, I shall be loth to do : 
'T is an ill office for a gentleman, 
Especially, against his very friend. 

Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage him, 
Your slander never can endamage him : 
Therefore, the office is indifferent, 
Being entreated to it by your friend. 

Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord. If I can do it, 
By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, 



32 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF YERONA. 



ACT IV. 



She shall not long continue love to him. 
But say, tliis wean' her love from Valentine, 
It follows not that she will love sir Thurio. 

Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, 
Lest it should ravel and be good to none, 
You must provide to bottom it on me ; 
Which must be done, by jiraising me as much 
As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine. 

Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind. 
Because we know, on Valentine's report. 
You are already love's firm votary. 
And camiot soon revolt, and change your mind. 
Upon this warrant shall you have access 
Where you with Silvia may confer at large j 
For she is lumpish, hea'vy, melancholy, 
And for your friend's sake will be glad of you. 
When you may temper her, by your persuasion, 
To hate young Valentine, and love my friend. 

Pro. As much as I can do I will effect. 
But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ; 
You must lay lime to tangle her desires 
By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. 

Duke. Ay, much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. 

Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty 



You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart. 

Write, till your ink be dry, and with your tears 

Moist it again ; and frame some feeling line. 

That may discover strict integrity : 

For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews. 

Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, 

Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans 

Forsake imsounded deeps to dance on sands. 

After your dire-lamenting elegies. 

Visit by night yovu- lady"s chamber window 

With some sweet consort : to their instruments 

Tunc a deploring dump ; the night's dead silence 

Will well become such sweet complaining grievance. 

This, or else nothing. Mill inherit her. 

Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. 

Thu. And thy advice this night I '11 put in practice. 
Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, 
Let us into the city presently. 
To sort some gentlemen well-skill'd in music. 
I have a sonnet that will serve the turn 
To give the onset to thy good advice. 

Duke. About it, gentlemen. 

Pro. We '11 wait upon your grace till after supper. 
And afterward determine our proceedings. 

Duke. Even now about it : I will pardon you. \Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE L — A Forest, between Milan and Verona. 
Enter certain Outlaws. 

1 Old. Fellows, stand fast : I see a passenger. 

2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. 

Enter Valentine and Speed. 

3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about 

you ; 
If not, we '11 make you sit, and rifle you. 

Speed. Sir, we are undone. These are the villains 
That all the travellers do fear so much. 

Val. My friends,— 

1 Out. That 's not so, sir : we are your enemies. 

2 Out. Peace! we'll hear him. 

3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we ; for he is a proper 

man. 
Val. Then know, that I have little wealth to lose. 
A man I am cross'd with adversity : 
My riches are these poor habiliments. 
Of which if you should here disfurnish me. 
You take the sum and substance that I have. 

2 Out. Whither travel you? 
Val. To Verona. 

1 Out. AVhence came you ? 
Val. From jMilan. 

3 Out. Have you long sojourn'd there ? 

Val. Some sixteen months ; and longer might have 
stay'd, 
If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 

2 Out. What! were you banish'd thence ? 
Val. I was. 

2 Out. For what offence ? 

Val. For that which now torments me to rehearse. 
I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent; 
But yet I slew him manfvxlly, in fight, 
Without false vantage, or base treachery. 

1 Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. 
But were you banish'd for so small a fault ? 

Val. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. 

1 weed : in f. e. = Not in f. e. 



' 1 Out. Have you the tongues ? 

Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy, 
Or else I had been often miserable. 

3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, 
This feljow were a king for our wild faction. 

1 Out. We '11 have him. Sirs, a word. 

\Tliey talk apart." 
Speed. Master, be one of them : 
It is an honourable kind of thievery. 
Val. Peace, villain ! 

2 Out. Tell us this : have you any thing to take to? 
Val. Nothing, but my fortune. 

3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen, 
Such as tlie fury of ungovern'd youth 

Thrust from the company of awful men : 
Myself was from Verona banished. 
For practising to steal away a lady, 
An heir, and near allied ixnto the duke. 

2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman, 
Who, in my mood, I stabb'd luito the heart. 

1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. 
But to the purpose ; for we cite our faults. 
That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives : 
And, partly, seeing you are beautify'd 
With goodly shape ; and by your own report 
A linguist, and a man of such perfection. 
As we do in our quality much want — 

3 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man, 
Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you. 

Are you content to be our general ? 
To make a virtue of necessity. 

And live, as we do, in this wilderness ? [consort ? 

3 Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our 
Say, ay, and be the captain of us all. 
We '11 do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, 
Love thee as our commander, and our king. 

1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. 

2 Out. Thou slialt not live to brag what we have 

offer'd. 



SCENE 11. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF YERONA. 



33 



VaJ. I take your offer, and will live with you; 
Provided that yoii do no outrages 
On silly women, or poor passengers. 

3 Oat. No : we detest such vile, base practices. 
Come, go with us : we '11 bring thee to our cave,' 
And show thee all the treasure we have got. 
Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Milan. The Court of the Palace. 
Enter Proteus. 

Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, 
And now I must be as unjiist to Thurio. 
Under the colour of commending him, 
I have access my own love to prefer ; 
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, 
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. 
When I protest true loyalty to her, 
Sl)c twits me with my falsehood to my friend; 
When to her beauty I commend my vows, 
She bids me think how I have been forsworn. 
In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd : 
And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips, 
The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, 
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love. 
The more it grows, and fawneth on her still. 
But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her 

window, 
And give some evening music to her ear. 
Enter Thurio, and Musicians. 

Thu. How now, sir Proteus ! are you crept before us ? 

Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio ; for, you know, that love 
Will creep in service where it cannot go. 

Thu. Ay; but I hope, sir, that you love not here. 

Pro. Sir. but I do; or else I w^ould be hence. 

Thu. Wiiom? Silvia? 

Pro. Ay, Silvia, — for j^our sake. 

Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, 
Let 's tune, and to it lustily awhile. 

Enter Host and Julia [in boy's clothes) .^ behind. 

Host. Now, my young guest ; methinlvs you 're ally- 
cholly: I pray you, why is it? 

Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. 

Host. Come, we '11 have you merry. I '11 bring you 
where you shall hear music, and see the gentlemen 
that you ask'd for. 

/(//. But shall I hear him speak ? 

Host. Ay, that you shall. 

Jul. That will be music. [3Iusic plays. 

Host. Hark! Hark! 

Jul. Is he among these ? 

Host. Ay ; but peace ! let 's hear 'em. 

SONG. 

Who is Silvia ? what is .">Ae, 

That all our simins commend her ? 

Hoh)., fair., and ivise as free ;^ 

The heaven such grace did lend her.. 

That she might admired be. 

Is she kind, as .she is fair., 

For beauty lives with kindness ? 

Love doth to her eyes repair, 
To help him of his blin/lness ; 

Andj being help'd, inhabits there. 

Tlien to Silvia let us sing, 

That Silvia is excelling ; 
She excels each mortal thing, 

Upon the dull earth dwelling: 
To her let us garlands bring. 

1 crews : in f. e. " is she : in f. e. ^ This direction is not in f. e. 



Ho.st. How now ! are you sadder than you were 
before? How do you, man? the music likes you not. 

/;//. You mistake : the musician likes me not. 

Host. Why, my pretty youth ? 

Jul. He plays false, father. 

Host. How ? out of tune on the strings ? 

Jul. Not so ; but yet so false, that he grieves my 
very heart-strings. 

Host. You have a quick ear. 

Jul. Ay ; I would I were deaf ! it makes me have a 
slow heart. 

Ho.st. I perceive, you delight not in music. 

Jid. Not a whit, when it jars so. [Music plays again.^ 

Host. Hark ! what fine change is in the music. 

Jul. Ay, that change is the spite. 

Host. You would not have them always play but 
one thing? 

Jid. I would always have one play but one thing. 
But, Host, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on. 
Often resort unto this gentlewoman ? 

Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me, he 
lov'd her ovit of all nick. 

Jul Where is Launce ? 

Host. Gone to seek his dog; which, to-morrow, by 
his master's command, he must carry for a present to 
his lady. 

Jul. Peace ! stand aside : the company parts. 

Pro. Sir Thurio, fear you not : I will so plead, 
That you shall say my cumiing drift excels. 

Thu. Where meet we? 

Pro. At St. Gregory's well. 

Thu. Farewell. [Exeunt Thurio and Musicians. 

Enter Silvia above, at her ivindovj. 

Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. 

Sil. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. 
Who is that, that spake? 

Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, 
You would quickly learn to know him by his voice. 

Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. 

Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. 

Sil. What is your will ? 

Pro. That I may compass yours. 

Sil. You have your wish : my will is even this. 
That presently you hie you home to bed. 
Thou subtle, perjur'd. false, disloyal man ! 
Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless, 
To be seduced by thy flattery. 
That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows ? 
Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, 
I am so far from granting thy request. 
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit. 
And by and by intend to chide myself. 
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. 

Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady; 
But she is dead. 

Jul. [Aside.] 'T were false, if I should speak it; 
For, I am sure, she is not buried. 

Sil. Say, that she be ; yet Valentine, thy friend, 
Survives, to whom thyself art witiiess 
I am betroth'd ; and ai't thou not asham'd 
To \ATong liim with thy importunacy? 

Pro. I likewise hear, that Valentine is dead. 

Sil. And so, suppose, am I ; for in his grave, 
Assure thyself, my love is biu'ied. 

Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. 

Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her"s thence; 
Or, at the least, in her's sepulchre thine. 

Jul. [Aside.\ He heard not tliat. 



34 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN^ OF VERONA. 



ACT IV. 



Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, 
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, 
The picture that is hanging in your chamber : 
To that I '11 speak, to that I '11 sigh and weep ; 
For, since the substance of your perfect self 
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow, 
And to your shadow will I make true love. 

Jul. [Aside.] If 't were a substance, you would, sure, 
deceive it. 
And make it but a shadow, as I am. 

Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir; 
But, since your falsehood, 't shall become you well 
To worship shadows, and adore false shapes. 
Send to me in the morning, and I '11 send it. 
And so, good rest. 



Pro. 



As wretches have o'er night. 



That wait for execution in the morn. 

[Exeunt Proteus and Silvia. 

/?</. Host, will you go ? 

Ho.'it. By my halidom,' I was fast asleep. 

Jul. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus ? 

Host. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think, 't is 
almost day. 

Jul. Not so ; but it hath been the longest night 
That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. 
Enter Eglamour. 

Egl. This is the hour that madam Silvia 
Entreated me to call, and know her mind. 
There 's some great matter she 'd employ me in. — 
Madam, madam ! 

Enter Silvia above, at her window. 

Sil. Who calls ? 

Egl. Your servant, and your friend ; 

One that attends your ladyship's command. 

Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good moiTow. 

Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself. 
According to your ladyship's impose,^ 
I am thus early come, to know what service 
It is your pleasure to command me in. 

Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, 
Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not. 
Valiant, wise, remorseful,^ well accomplish'd. 
Thou art not ignorant what dear good will 
I bear unto the banish'd Valentine; 
Nor how my father would enforce me marry 
Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors. 
Thyself hast lov'd; and I have heard tliee say, 
No grief did ever come so near thy heart, 
As when thy lady and thy true love died. 
Upon wliose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. 
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 
To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes abode ; 
And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, 
I do desire thy worthy company, 
Upon whose faith and honour I repose. 
Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, 
But think upon my grief, a lady"s grief; 
And on the justice of my flying hence, 
To keep me from a most unholy match. 
Which heaven and fortune still reward with plagues. 
I do desire thee, even from a heart 
As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, 
To bear me company, and go with me : 
If not, to hide what I have said to thee. 
That I may venture to depart alone. 

Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances, 
And the most true affections that you bear ;* 

1 From the Saxon haligdome, holy place or kingdom. 



Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd, 
I give consent to go along with you ; 
Recking as little what betideth me, 
As much I wish all good befortune you. 
When will you go ? 

Sil. This evening coming. 

Egl. Where shall I meet you ? 

Sil. At friar Patrick's cell, 

Where I intend holy confession. 

Egl. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, 
Gentle lady. 

Sil. Good morrow, kind sir Eglamour. [Exeunt 

SCENE IV.— The Same. 
Enter Launce with his dog. 

Launce. When a mans servant shall play the cur 
with him, look you, it goes hard : one that I brought 
up of a puppy ; one that I saved from drowning, when 
three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to 
it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely, 
thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to deliver him 
as a present to mistress Silvia from my master, and I 
came no sooner into the dining-chamber, but he steps 
me to her trencher, and steals her capon's leg. ! 'tis 
a foul thing, when a cur cannot keep himself in all 
companies. I would have, as one should say, one that 
takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a 
dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, 
to take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily, he 
had been hang'd for 't : sure as I live, he had suiler'd 
for 't. You shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the 
company of three or four gentlemen-like dogs under 
the duke's table : he had not been there (bless the 
mark) a pissing while, but all the chamber smelt him. 
"Out with the dog !" says one; "what cur is that?" 
says another; "whip him out," says the third; "hang 
him up," says the duke. I, having been acquainted 
with the smell before, knew it was Crab, and goes me 
to the I'ellow that whips the dogs : " Friend," quoth I ; 
" do you mean to whip the dog?" " Ay, marry, do I," 
quoth he. "You do him the more wTong." quoth I; 
" 't was I did the thing you wot of." He makes me no 
more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How 
many masters would do this for his servant ? Nay, I '11 
be sworn I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath 
stolen, otherwise he had been executed : I have stood 
on the pillory for geese he hath kill'd, otherwise he had 
suffer'd for 't : thou think'st not of this now. — Nay, I 
remember the trick you served me, when I took my 
leave of madam Silvia. Did not I bid thee still mark 
me, and do as 1 do ? When didst thou see me heave 
up my leg, and make water against a gentlewoman's 
farthingale ? Didst thou ever see me do such a trick ? 
Enter Proteus and Julia. 

Pro. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well, 
And will employ thee in some service presently. 

Jul. In Avhatyou please: I will do what I can. 

Pro. I ho))e thou wilt. — How, now, you whoreson 
peasant ! 
Where have you been these two days loitering : 

Launce. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia the dog 
you bade me. 

Pro. And what says she to my little jewel ? 

Launce. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur ; and 
tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a 
present. 

Pro. But she receiv'd my dog ? 

Launce. No, indeed, did she not. Here have I 



brought him back again. 
2 Injunction. ^ Compassionate. * This line is not in f. e. 



SCENE rv. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



35 



Pro. What ! didst thou offer her this cur^ from me ? 

Launce. Ay, sir : the other squirrel was stolen from 
me by a hangman boy" in the market-plaee ; and then 
I ofier'd her my own, who is a dog as big as ten of 
yours, and therefore the gift the greater. 

Pro. Go ; get thee hence, and find my dog again, 
Or ne'er return again into my sight. 
Away, I say ! Stayest thou to vex me here ? 
A slave that still an end^ turns me to shame. 

[Exit Launce. 
Sebastian, I have entertained thee, 
Partly, that I have need of such a youth, 
That can with sonio discretion do my business, 
For 't is no trusting to yond foolish lowt ; 
But, chiefly, for thy face, and thy behaviour. 
Which (if my augury deceive me not) 
Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth : 
Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee. 
Go presently, and take this ring with thee : 
Deliver it to madam Silvia. 
She lovd me well deliver' d it to me. 

Jul. It seems, you lov'd not her, to leave her token. 
She s dead, belike? 

Pro. Not so : I think, she lives. 

Jul. Alas ! 

Pro. Why dost thou cry alas ? 

Jul. I cannot choose but pity her. 

Pro. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her ? 

Jul. Because, methinks, that she lov'd you as well 
As you do love your lady Silvia. 
She dreams on him, that has forgot her love ; 
You dote on her, that cares not for your love. 
'Tis pity, love should be so contrary. 
And thinking on it makes me cry alas ! 

Pro. Well, give to her that ring ; and therewithal 
This letter : — that 's her chamber. — Tell my lady 
I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. 
Your message done, hie home unto my chamber. 
Where thou slialt find me sad and solitary. [Exit. 

Jul. How many women would do such a message ? 
Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast cntertain'd 
A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. 
Alas, poor fool ! why do I pity him. 
That with his very heart despiseth me ? 
Because he loves her, he despiseth me ; 
Because I love him, I must pity him. 
This ring I gave him wlten he parted from me, 
To bind him to remember my good will, 
And now am I (unhappy messenger !) 
To plead for that which I would not obtain; 
To carry that which I would have refus"d ; 
To praise his faith which I would have disprais'd. 
I am my master's true confirmed love. 
But cannot be true servant to my master, 
Unless I prove false traitor to myself. 
Yet will I woo for liimj but yet so coldly. 
As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. 

Enter Silvia, attended. 
Gentlewoman, good day. I pray you. be my mean 
To bring me where to speak with madam Silvia. 

Sil. What would you with her, if that I be she? 

Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience 
To hear me speak the message I am sent on. 

Sil. From whom? 

Jul. From my master, sir Proteus, madam. 

Sil. ! he sends you for a picture. 

Jul. Ay, )nadam. 

Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. [.4 Pidxire brought. 
Go, give your master this : tell him from me, 



One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, 
Would better fit his chamber, than this shadow. 

Jul. Madam, so* please you to^ peruse this letter. — 
Pardon me, madam, I have unadvis"d [Givi?ig a letter. 
Dcliver'd you a paper that I should not : 
This is the letter to your ladyship. [ Giving another letter. 

Sil. I pray thee, let me look on that again. 

Jul. It may not be : good madam, pardon me. 

Sil. There, hold. [Giving it back. 

I will not look upon your master's lines : 
I know, they are stufT'd with protestations. 
And full of new-found oaths, which he will break, 
As easily as I do tear his paper. 

Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. 

Sil. The more shame for him that he sends it me; 
For, I have heard him say, a thousand times, 
His Julia gave it him at his departure. 
Though his false finger have profan'd the ring, 
Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. 

Jul. She thanks you. 

Sil. What say'st thou ? 

Jul. I thank you, madam, that you tender her. 
Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her much. 

Sil. Dost tliou know her ? 

Jid. Almost as well as I do know myself: 
To think upon her woes, I do protest. 
That I have wept a hvindred several times. 

Sil. Belike, she thinks, that Proteus hath forsook her. 

/((/. I think she doth, and that 's her cause of sorrow. 

Sil. Is she not passing fair ? 

Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is. 
When she did think my master lov'd her well, 
She, in my judgment, was as fair as you ; 
But since she did neglect her looking-glass, 
And threw her sun-expelling mask away. 
The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks, 
And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, 
That now she is become as black as I. 

Sil. How tall was she ? 

Jul. About ray stature ; for, at pentecost, 
When all our pageants of delight were play'd, 
Our youth got me to play the woman's part. 
And I was trimm"d in madam Julia's gown. 
Which served me as fit. by all men's judgments, 
As if the garment had been made for me : 
Therefore, I know she is about my height. 
And at that time I made her weep a-good,* 
For I did play a lamentable part. 
Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning 
For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight ; 
Which I so lively acted with my tears, 
That my poor mistress, moved therewithal. 
Wept bitterly ; and, would I might be dead, 
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow. 

Sil. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth. — 
Alas, poor lady ! desolate and left ! — 
I weep myself, to think upon thy words. 
Here, youth ; there is my purse : I give thee this 
For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her. 
Farewell. ' [Exit Silvia. 

/;//. And she shall thank you for 't, if e'er you know 
her. — 
A virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful ! 
I hope my master's suit will be but cold, 
Since she respects my mistress' love so much. 
Alas, how love can trifle with itself ! 
Here is her picture. Let me see : I think, 
If I had such a tire, this face of mine 
Were full as lovely as is this of hers ; 



1 Not in f. e. = the hangman's boys : in f. e. 3 Continually. * ' Not in f. e. « In good earnest. 



36 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF YEEONA. 



AOT V. 



And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, 

Unless I flatter with myself too much. 

Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow : 

If that be all the difference in his love, 

I '11 get me such a colour'd peri\\rig. 

Her eyes are green as grass,' and so are mine : 

Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine 's as high. 

What should it be, that he respects in her, 

But I can make respective in myself. 

If this fond love were not a blinded god ? 



Come, shadow come, and take this shadow up, 

For 't is thy rival. O thou senseless form ! 

Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd ; 

And. were there sense in liis idolatry. 

My substance should be statue in thy stead. 

I '11 use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, 

That us'd me so ; or else, by Jove I vow, 

I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes. 

To make my master out of love with thee. [Exit. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— The Same. An Abbey. 
Erjtcr Eglamour. 

Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky. 
And now it is about the very hour. 
That Silvia at friar Patrick's cell should meet me. 
She will not fail ; for lovers break not hours, 
Unless it be to come before their time. 
So much they spur their expedition. 

Enter Silvia. 
See, where she comes. — Lady, a happy evening. 

Sil. Amen, amen. Go on, good Eglamour, 
Out at the postern by the abbey- wall. 
I fear, I am attended by some spies. 

Egl. Fear not : the forest is not three leagues off; 
If we recover that, we are sure enough. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Room in the Duke's 

Palace. 

E7iter Thurio, Proteus, and Julia. 

Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit ? 

Pro. O, sir ! I find her milder than she was ; 
And yet she takes exceptions at your person. 

Thu. What ! that my leg is too long ? 

Pro. No, that it is too little. 

Thu. I '11 wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder. 

Jul. But love will not be spurr'd to what it loaths. 

[Aside. 

Thu. What says she to my face? 

Pro. She says it is a fair one. 

Thu. Nay, then the wanton lies : my face is black. 

Pro. But pearls are fair, and the old saying is. 
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. 

Jul. 'T is true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes ; 
For I had rather wink than look on them. [Aside. 

Tliu. How likes she my discourse ? 

Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. 

Thu. But well, when I discourse of love and 
peace ? 

Jul. But better, indeed, when you hold your peace. 

[Aside. 

Thu. What says she to my valour? 

Pro. 0, sir ! she makes no doubt of that. 

Jul. She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. 

[Aside. 

Thu. What says she to my birth ? 

Pro. That you are Avell deriv'd. 

Jul. True : from a gentleman to a fool. [Aside. 

Thu. Considers she my largo possessions ? 

Pro. O ! ay, and pities them. 

Thu. Wherefore ? 

Jul. That such an ass should owe them. [Aside. 

Pro. That they are out by lease 

Jul. Here comes the duke. 



Enter Duke, angrily.^ 

Duke. How now, sir Proteus ! how now, Thurio ! 
Which of you saw sir^ Eglamour of late ? 

Thu. Not I. 

Pro. Nor I. 

Duke. Saw you my daughter ? 

Pro. Neither. 

Duke. Why, then 
She 's fled unto that peasant Valentine, 
And Eglamour is in her company. 
'T is true ; for friar Lawrence met them both, 
As he in penance wander'd through the forest : 
Him he knew well ; and guess'd that it was she, 
But, being mask'd, he was not sure of her : 
Besides, she did intend confession 
At Patrick's cell this even, and there she was not. 
These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence : 
Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, 
But mount you presently ; and meet with me 
Upon the rising of the mountain-foot. 
That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled. 
Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. 

[Exit in haste.* 

Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, 
That flics her fortune when it folloAvs her. 
I '11 after, more to be reveng'd on Eglamour, 
Than for the love of reckless Silvia. [Exit. 

Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love. 
Than hate of Eglamour tliat goes with her. [Exit. 

Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love. 
Than hate for Silvia that is gone for love. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— The Forest. 
Enter Silvia, and Outlaws. 

1 Out. Come, come; be patient, we must bring you 
to our captain. [Drainiig her in. 

Sil. A thousand more mischances than this one 
Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. 

2 Out. Come, bring her away. 

1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with her ? 

3 Otit. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us • 
But Moyses, and Valerius, follow him. 

Go thou with her to the west end of the wood ; 
There is our captain. We '11 follow him that 's fled : 
The thicket is beset ; he cannot 'scape. 

1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave. 
Fear not ; he bears an honourable mind. 
And will not use a woman lawlessly. 

Sil. Valentine ! this I endure for thee. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Forest. 
Enter Valentine. 
Vol. How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
These shadowy, desert,* unfrequented woods, 



1 grey as glass : in f. e. 2 3 Not in f. e. * in haste : not in f. e. * This shadowy, desert : in f. e. 



SCEISTE IV. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



87 



Withdraw thee, Valentine 



' better brook than flourishing peopled towns. 
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, 
And to the nightingale's complaining notes 
Tune my distresses, and record' my woes. 

! thou that dost inhabit in my breast. 
Leave not the mansion too long tenantless, 
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall, 
And leave no memory of what it was ! 
Repair me with tliy presence, Silvia ! 

Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain ! — 
What halloing, and what stir, is this to-day ? [Shouts.^ 
These my rude inates.' that make their wills their law, 
Have some unhappy passenger in chase. 
They love me well ; yet I have much to do, 
To keep them from uncivil outrages. 

who 's this comes here ? 
[ Withdraws.* 
Enter Proteus. Silvia, and Julia. 

Pro. Madam, this service having^ done for you, 
(Though you respect not aught your servant doth) 
To hazard life, and rescue you from him, 
That would have forc'd your honour and your love,* 
Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look.' 
A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, 
And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. 

Val. How like a dream is this, I see and hear ! 
Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. [Aside. 

Sil. O, miserable ! unhappy that I am ! 

Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came ; 
But by my coming I have made you happy. 

Sil. By thy approach thou mak'st me most unhappy. 

Jul. And me, when he approacheth to your presence. 

[Aside. 

Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, 

1 would have been a breakfast to the beast. 
Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
0, heaven ! be judge, how I love Valentine, 
Whose life 's as tender to me as my soul ; 
And full as much (for more there cannot be) 
I do detest false, perjur'd Proteus : 
Therefore be gone : solicit me no more. 

Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to death, 
Would I not undergo for one calm look. 

! 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd,* 
When women cannot love where they 're belov'd. 

Sil. When Proteus cannot love where he 's belov'd. 
Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, 
For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith 
Into a thousand oaths ; and all those oaths 
Descended into perjury to love me. 
Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou 'dst two, 
And that 's far worse than none : better have none 
Than plural faith, which is too much by one. 
Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! 

Pro. In love 

Who respects friend? 

Sil. All men but Proteus. 

Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
Can no way change you to a milder form, 

1 '11 woo you like a soldier, at arm's end, 

And love you 'gainst the nature of love : force you. 

Sil. heaven ! 

Pro. I '11 force thee yield to my desire. 

Val. [Coming forward.] Ruflian, let go that rude 
uncivil touch ; 
Thou friend of an ill fashion ! 

Pro. Valentine ! [love ; 

Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith or 



(For such is a friend now) treacherous man ! 
Thou hast beguil'd my hopes : nought but mine eye 
Could have persuaded me. Now dared I to say, 
I have one friend alive, thou would'st disprove me. 
Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand 
Is perjur'd to the bosom ? Protevis, 
I am sorry I must never trust tliee more, 
But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 
The private wound is deep'st. time accurst ! 
Mongst all my' foes'" a friend should be the worst! 

Pro. My shame and desperate guilt at once" con- 
found mo. — 
Forgive me, Valentine. If hearty sorrow 
Be a sufficient ransom for oflence, 
I tender 't here : I do as truly suffer, 
As e'er I did commit. 

Val. Then, I am paid ; 

And once again I do receive thee honest. 
Who by repentance is not satisfied. 
Is nor of heaven, nor earth ; for these are pleas'd : 
By penitence th' Eternal's wrath 's appeas'd. 
And, that my love may appear plain and free, 
All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. 

M. me unhappy ! 

Pro. Look to the boy. 

Val. Why, boy ! why, wag ! how now ! what 's the 
matter ! look up ; speak. 

Jul. good sir ! my master charg'd me to deliver a 
ring to madam Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was 
never done. 

Pro. Where is that ring, boy ? 

Jul. Here 'tis: this is it. [Gives a ring. 

Pro. How ! let me see. 
This is the ring I gave to Julia. 

Jul. ! cry you mercy, sir ; I have mistook : 
This is the ring you sent to Silvia. [Shows another ring. 

Pro. But, how cam'st thou by this ring? 
At my depart I gave this unto Julia. 

Jul. And Julia herself did give it me; 
And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 

Pro. How? Julia! [Discovering herself . 

Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, 
And entertain'd them deeply in her heart : 
How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root ! 
Proteus ! let this habit make thee blush : 
Be thou asham'd, that I have took upon me 
Such an immodest raiment ; if shame live 
In a disguise of love. 
It is the lesser blot, modesty finds. 
Women to change their shapes, than men their minds. 

Pro. Than men their minds : 't is true. heaven ! 
were man 
But constant, he were perfect : that one error [sins : 
Fills him with faults ; makes him run through all the 
Inconstancy^ falls off, ere it begins. 
What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy 
More fresh in Julia's, with a constant eye? 

Val. Come, come, a hand from either. 
Let me be blest to make this happy close : 
'T were pity two such friends should be long foes. 

Pro. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever. 

Jul. And I mine. 

Enter Outlawsj with Duke and Thurio. 

Out. A prize ! a prize ! a prize ! 

Val. Forbear : forbear, I say : it is my lord the 
duke. — 
Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, 
Banished Valentine. 



1 sing". 2 Not in f. e. ' arn my mates : in f. e. 
colon. 8 proved. ^ Not in f. e. '<• tliat : in f. e. 



* Steps axide : in f. o. 'I have ; in f. e. 
I' My shame and guilt confound : in f. e. 



6 f. e. have a period. ' f. e. have a eemi- 



38 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF YERONA. 



ACT V. 



Diike. Sir Valentine ! 

Tim. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine. 

Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death. 
Come not within the measure of my wrath : 
Do not name Silvia thine; if once again, 
Milano' shall not hold thee. Here she stands : 
Take but possession of her with a touch. 
I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. 

Thic. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I. 
I hold him but a fool, that will endanger 
His body for a girl that loves him not : 
I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 

Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou, 
To make such means for her as thou hast done, 
And leave her on such slight conditions. 
Now, by the honour of my ancestry, 
I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, 
And think thee worthy of an empress' love. 
Know then, I here forget all former griefs, 
Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again, 
Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit. 
To which I thus subscribe. — Sir Valentine, 
Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd : 
Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. 

Val. I thanlc your grace; the gift hath made me 
happy. 



I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, 
To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. 

Duke. I grant it for thine own, whate'er it be. 

Val. These banish'd men, thai, I have kept withal, 
Are men endued with worthy qualities : 
Forgive them what they liave committed here, 
And let them be recall'd from their exile. * 

They are reformed, civil, full of good. 
And fit for great employment, worthy lord. 

Duke. Thou hast, prevail'd ; I pardon them, and thee 
Dispose of them, as thou know'st their deserts. 
Come; let us go: we will conclude^ all jars 
With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. 

Val. And as we walk along, I dare be bold 
With our discourse to make your grace to smile. 
What think you of this stripling^ page, my lord ? 

Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him : he blushes. 

Val. I warrant you, my lord, more grace than boy. 

Dvke. What mean you by that saying. Valentine?* 

Val. Please you, I '11 tell you as we pass along, 
That you will wonder what hath fortuned. — 
Come, Proteus; 't is your penance, but to hear 
The story of your love's discoverer : 
Our day of marriage shall be yours no less f 
One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. 

[Exeunt. 



I Verona : in f. e. 2 include : in f. e. ^ * Not in f. e. s That done, our day of marriage shall be yours : in f. e. 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



DEAMATIS PEESON^. 



Sir John Falstaff. 

Fenton. 

Shallow, a Country Justice. 

Slender, Cousin to Shallow. 

Ford, 

Page, 






Two Gentlemen dwelling at Windsor. 



William Page, a Boy, Son to Mr. Page. 
Sir Hugh Evans, a Welsh Parson. 



Dr. Caius, a French Physician. 
Host of the Garter Inn. 



Bardolph. 
Pistol, 

Nym, 






Followers of Falstaff. 



Servants to Page, Ford, &c. 



Robin, Page to Falstaff. 

Simple, Servant to Slender. 

John Rugby. Sei-vant to Dr. Caius. 

Mrs. Ford. 

Mrs. Page. 

Anne Page, her Daughter, in love with Fenton. 

Mrs. Quickly, Servant to Dr. Caius. 



SCENE, Windsor 5 and the Parts adjacent. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— Windsor. Before Page's House. 

Enter Justice Shallow, Slender, and Sir Hugh 
Evans. 

Shal. Sir' Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a 
Star-chamber matter of it : if he were twenty sir John 
Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire. 

Slen. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace, and 
coram. 

Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and cust-alorum. 

Slen. Ay, and ratolorum too ; and a gentleman born, 
master parson ; who writes himself a /-Hijo-cro ," in any 
bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armigero. 

Shal. Ay, that I do; and have done any time these 
three hundred years. 

Slen. All his successors, gone before him, have done 't; 
and all his ancestors, that come after him. may : they 
may give the dozen white luccs^ in their coat. 

Shal. It is an old coat. 

Era. The dozen white louses do become an old coat 
well; it agrees well, passant: it is a familiar beast to 
man, and signifies love. 

Shal. The luce is the fresh fish : the salt fish is an 
old coat. 

Slen. I may qviarter, coz? 

Shal. You may, by marrying. 

Eva. It is marring, indeed, if he quarter it. 

Shal. Not a whit. 

Eva. Yes, per-lady : if he has a quarter of your coat, 
there is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple con- 
jectures. But that is all one : if sir John Falstaff have 
committed disparagements unto you. I am of the church, 
and will be glad to do my benevolence, to make atone- 
ments and compromises between you. 

Shal. The council shall hear it : it is a riot. 

Eva. It is not meet the council hear a riot ; there is 
no fear of Got in a riot. The council, look you, shall 
desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot : 
take your vizaments in that. 



Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again the 
sword should end it. 

Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, and end 
it : and there is also another device in my prain, which, 
peradventvire, prings goot discretions with it. There 
is Anne Page, which is daughter to master George Page, 
which is pretty virginity. 

Slen. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and 
speaks small, like a woman. 

Eva. It is that fery person for all the orld ; as just as 
you will desire, and seven hundred pounds of monies, 
and sold, and silver, is her grandsire, upon his death's- 
bed (Got deliver to a joyful resurrections !) give, when 
she is able to overtake seventeen years old. It were a 
goot motion, if we leave our pribbles and prabblcs, and 
desire a marriage between master Abraham, and mis- 
tress Anne Page. 

Slen. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred 
pound ? 

Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter 
penny. 

Slen. I know the young gentlewoman ; she has good 
gifts. 

Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is 
good gifts. 

Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page. Is Fal- 
staff there ? 

Eva. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar, as 
I do despise one that is false ; or, as I despise one that 
is not true. The knight, sir John, is there; and, I 
beseech you, be ruled by your well-willers. I will 
peat the door for master Page. [Knocks.] What, hoa ! 
I Got pless your house here ! 

Page. Who 's there ? [Above, at the ivindoiv.^ 

j Eva. Here is Got's plcssing, and your friend, and 
' justice Shallow : and here young master Slender, that, 
j poradvcntures. shall tell you another tale, if matters 
I grow to your likings. 



1 A title by whicli tho clergy were ordinarily addressed, 
three luces. 3 Enter Page : in f. e. 



2 The old name for a pike— an allusion to the coat of arms of the Lucys' 



40 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



ACT I. 



Enter Page.^ 

Page. I am glad to see your worships well. I thank 
you for my veui.-on, master Shallow. 

Shnl. Master Page. I am glad to see you : much 
good do it your good heart. I wished your venison 
hatter; it was ill kill'd. — How doth good mistress 
Page ? — and I thank you always with my heart, la ; 
with my heart. 

Page. Sir, I thank you. 

Shal. Sir. I thank you; by yea and no, I do. 

Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slender. 

SIcn. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I 
heard say, he was outrun on Cotsold.* 

Page. It could not be judg'd, sir. 

Slen. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. 

Shal. That he will not ; — "t is your fault, 't is your 
fault 



-'T is a good dog. 
Page. A cur, sir. 
Shal. Sir. he's a good 



dog, 



and a fair 
and fair. Is 



dog; 
sir 



can 
John 



there be more said ? he is good, 
FalstafF here ? 

Page. Sir, he is within ; and I would I could do a 
good office between you. 

Eca. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak. 

Shal. He hath wTong'd me, master Page. 
Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. 
If it be confess'd, it is not rcdrcss'd : is not 
that so, master Page? He hath wrong'd me; indeed, 
he hath; — at a word, he hath: — believe me: — Robert 
Shallow, esquire, saith he is wrong'd. 



Page. 
Shal. 



Page. Here cmies sir John. 
Enter Sir John Falstaff, Bardolph, 



Nym, and 



Pistol. 

Fal. Now, master Shallow; you'll complain of me 
to the king? 

Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my 
deer, and broke open my lodge. 

Fal. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter. 

Shal. Tut, a pin ! this sliall be answered. 

Fal. I will answer it straight : — I have done all 
this. — That is now answered. 

Shal. The council shall know this. 

Fal. 'T were better for you, if it were known in 
counsel : you '11 be laughed at. 

Era. Pauca verba, sir John ; good worts. 

Fal. Good worts ?^ good cabbage. — Slender, I broke 
your head : what matter have you against mc? 

Slen. JNIarry, sir, I have matter in my head against 
you : and against your coney-catching rascals, Bar- 
dolph, Nym, and Pistol. Tliey carried me to the 
tavern, and made me drunk, and afterwards picked 
my i)oeket. 

Bard. You Banbury cheese.* 

Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 

Pi.'^t. How now, Mephostophilus ? 

Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 

Nij7n. Slice, I say! pauca, pauca ; slice! that's my 
humour. 

Slen. Where's Simple, my man? — can you tell, 
cousin ? 

Eva. Peace ! I pray you. Now let us understand : 
there is three umpires in this matter, as I understand ; 
that is — master Tage, Jidelicd., master Page; and there 
is myself, Jidelicct, myself; and the three party is, 
lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter. 



Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between 
them. 

Eva. Fery goot : I will make a prief of it in my 
note-book ; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the 
cause, with as great discreetly as we can. 

Fal. Pistol! 

Pist. He hears with ears. 

Eva. The tevil and his tarn ! what phrase is this ? 
" He hears with ear?" Why, it is afTectations. 

Fal. Pistol, did you pick master Slendcr's purse ? 

Sle7i. Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or I would I 
might never come in mine own great chamber again 
else) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward 
shovel-boards,* that cost me two shilling and two pence 
a-piece of Yed Miller, by these gloves. 

Fal. Is this true. Pistol ? 

Eva. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. 

Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner ! — Sir John and 
master mine, 
I combat challenge of this latten bilbo :^ 
Word of denial in thy labras^ here ; 
Word of denial ; froth and scum, thou liest. 

Slen. By these gloves, then 't was he. 

Nym. Be advised, sir, and pass good humours. I will 
say, " marry trap," with you, if you run the nuthook's* 
humour on me : that is the very note of it. 

Slen. By this hat, then he in the red face had it; for 
though I cannot remember what I did when you made 
me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. 

Fal. What say you. Scarlet and John ?' 

Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say, the gentleman 
had drunk himself out of his five sentences. 

Eva. It is his five senses : fie, what the ignorance is ! 

Bard. And being fap,'° sir, was, as they say, cashier'd ; 
and so conclusions poss'd the carieres.^' 

Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too ; but 't is no 

matter. I '11 ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but 

in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick : if I be 

I drunk, I '11 be drunk with those that have the fear of 

God, and not with drunken knaves. 

Eva. So Got 'udge me, that is a virtuous mind. 

Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentlemen ; 
you hear it. 

Enter Anne Page with wine ; and Mistress Ford and 
Mi.^tress Page. 

Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in ; we '11 drink 
within. [Exit Anne Page. 

Slen. Oh lieaA'en ! this is mistress Anne Page. 

[Following and looking after her.^* 

Page. How now, mistress Ford ! 

Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well 
met : by your leave, good mistress. [Kissing her. 

Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. — Come, 
we have a hot venison pasty to dinner : come, gentle- 
men, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness. 

[Exeunt all hut Shallow, Slender, and Evans. 

Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had my 
book of songs and sonnets here. — 
Enter Simple. 
How now, Simple ! Where have you been ? I must 
wait on myself, must I ? You have not the book of 
riddles about you. have you? 

Sim. Book of riddles ! why, did you not lend it to 
Alice Shortcake upon AUhallowmas last, a fortnight 
afore Michaelmas? 



' Not in f. e. 2 Cotsall : in f. o. CotswoW-downs, in Gloucestershire, a famous place for rural sports. 3 The oW name for cablia^e. 
* This cheese -was extremely^ thin. ^ gi,j]iinnr pipcos. used in playing shuffle-board, and probably better fitted for the panie by being 
heavier than the common coin, and so comniandins; a premium. ^ latten, a composition of copper and calamine, made into thin plates ; 
bilho. is a Bilboa blade or sword. "^ lips. 8 Instrument used by a thief to hook things from a window : he means, '■ if you sny I 'm a 
thief." 9 Two of Robin Hood's merry men. i" Fuddled, n A term in horsemanship, for galloping a horse backwards and forwards 
12 This direction is not in f. e. 



SCENE in. 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



41 



Shal. Come, coz ; come, coz ; we stay for you. A 
word with you, coz ; marry, this, coz : there is. as 
't were, a tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by sir 
Hugh here ; do you understand me ? 

Slcn. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable: if it be 
so, I shall do that that is reason. 

Shal. Nay, but understand me. 

Slen. So I do, sir. 

Eva. Give ear to his motions, master Slender. I will 
description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it. 

Slcn. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says. I 
P"ay you, pardon me ; he 's a justice of peace iu his 
country, simple though I stand here. 

Em. But that is not the question : the question is 
concerning your marriage. 

Shal. Ay, there 's the point, sir. 

Eva. Marry, is it, the very point of it; to mistress 
Anne Page. 

Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any 
reasonable demands. 

Eva. But can you affection the 'oman? Let us de- 
mand' to know that of your mouth, or of your lips ; for 
divers philosophers hold, that the lips is parcel of the 
mouth : therefore, precisely, can you carry your good 
will to the maid ? 

Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love 
her ? 

Slen. I hope, sir, I will do, as it shall become one 
that would do rea.son. 

Eva. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies, you must 
speak possitable, if you can carry her your desires 
towards her. 

Shal. That you must. Will you, upon good dowry, 
marry her ? 

Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon your 
request, cousin, in any reason. 

Shal. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz : 
what I do, is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love the 
maid ? 

Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request ; but if 
there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven 
may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are 
married, and have more occasion to know one another. 
I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt : 
but if you say, "marry her," I will marry her; that 
I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely. 

Eva. It is a fery discretion answer ; save, the fault 
is in the 'ort dissolutely : the 'ort is, according to our 
meaning, resolutely. — His meaning is good. 

Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. 

Slen. Ay. or else I would I might be hanged, la. 
Re-enter Anne Page. 

SJial. Here comes fair mistress Anne. — Would I 
were young, for your sake, mistress Anne ! 

Anne. Tiie dinner is on the table ; my father desires 
your worship's company. 

Shal. I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne. 

Eva. Od"s plcssed will ! I will not be absence at the 
grace. [Exeunt Shallow and Evans. 

Anne. Will H please your worship to come in, sir? 

Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily ; I am very 
well. 

Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. 

Slen. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth. — Go, 
sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon my cousin 
Shallow. [Exi7 Simple.] A justice of peace sometime 
may be beholding to his friend for a man. — I keep but 
three men and a boy yet, till my mother be dead ; but 
what though ? yet 1 live like a poor gentleman born. 



Anne. I may not go in without your worship : they 
will not sit, till you come. 

Slen. V faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as much 
as though I did. 

Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. 

Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you. I bruised 
my shin the other day with playing at sword and dagger 
with a master of fence, (three veneys for a dish of 
stewed prunes) and, by my troth, I cannot abide the 
smell of hot meat since. Why do your dogs bark so? 
be there bears i' the town ? [Dog.^ bark.^ 

Anne. I think, there are, sir ; I heard them talked of. 

Slen. I love the sport well ; but I shall as soon 
quarrel at it as any man in England. You are afraid, 
if you sec the bear loose, are you not ? 

Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. 

Sle)i. That 's meat and drink to me, now : I have seen 
Sackcrson^ loose, twenty times, and have taken him 
by the chain ; but, I warrant you, the women have so 
cried and shriek'd at it, that it pass'd* : bvit women, 
indeed, cannot abide 'em; they are very ill-favoured 
rough things. 

Re-enter Page. 

Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come ; we stay 
for you. 

Slen. I '11 eat nothing, I thank you, sir. 

Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, sir. 
Come, come. 

Slc7i. Nay ; pray you, lead the way. 

Page. Come on, sir. 

Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. 

Anne. Not I, sir ; pray you, keep on. 

Slen. Truly, I will not go first : truly, la, I will not 
do you that WTong. 

Anne. I pray you, sir. 

Slen. I '11 rather be unmannerly, than troublesome. 
You do yourself wrong, indeed, la. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. 
Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 

Eva. Go your ways, and ask of doctor Caius' house, 
which is the way; and there dwells one mistress 
Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse, or his 
dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer, and 
his ^vringer. 

Sim. Well, sir. 

Eva. Nay, it is petter yet. — Give her this letter ; for 
it is a 'oman that altogether 's acquaintance with mis- 
tress Anne Page : and the letter is. to desire and require 
her to solicit your master's desires to mistress Anne 
Page : I pray you, be gone. I will make an end of my 
dinner : there 's pippins and cheese to come. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— A Room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, Nym, Pistol, and 

Robin. 

Fal. Mine host of the Garter ! 

Host. Wliat says my bully-rook^ ? Speak scholarly, 
and wisely. 

Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my 
followers. 

Host. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier: let them 
wag ; trot, trot. 

Fal. I sit at ten pounds a- week. 

Host. Thou 'rt an emperor, Caesar, Kcisar, and 
Pheazar. I will entertain Bardolph : he shall draw, 
he shall tap : said I well, bully Hector ? 

Fal. Do so, good mine host. 



> command : in f. e. 2 Not in f. o. * A famous boar, often baited at Paris Garden. * expression. * A sharper. 



42 



THE MEEEY WIYES OF WINDSOE. 



ACT I. 



Host. I have spoke ; let him follow. — Let me see thee 
froth, and lime' : I am at a word : follow. [Exit Host. 

Fill. Bardolph. follow him. A lapster is a good 
trade : an old cloak makes a new jerkin ; a withered 
servingman. a fresh tapster. Go ; adieu. 

Bard. It is a life that I have desired. I will thrive. 

[Exit Bardolph. 

Fist. base Gongarian'^ wight ! wilt thou the spigot 
wield ? 

Nym. He was gotten in drink: is not the humour 
conceited ? His mind is not heroic, and there 's the 
humour of it. 

Fill. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box : 
his thefts were too open ; his filching was like an un- 
skilful singer, he kept not time. 

Nym. The good humour is to steal at a minim's^ rest. 

Pist. Convey the wise it call. Steal? foh ! a fico 
for Ihe phrase ! 

Ful. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. 

Pist. Why then, let kibes ensue. 

Fal. There is no remedy; I must coney-catch, I 
must shift. 

Pist. Young ravens must have food. 

Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town ? 

Pist. I ken the wight : he is of substance good. 

Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about. 

Pi.-it. Two yards, and more. 

Fal. No quips now. Pistol. Indeed I am in the waist 
two yards about ; but I am now about no waste : I am 
about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford"s 
wife: I spy entertainment in her: she discourses, she 
craves,* she gives the leer of invitation : I can construe 
the action of her familiar style ; and the hardest voice 
of her behaviour, to be Englished rightly, is, " I am sir 
John Falstaff's." 

Pist. He hath studied her will, and translated her 
welP; out of honesty into English. 

Nym. The anchor is deep : will that humour pass? 

Fal. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule of her 
husband's purse ; he hath a legion of angels. 

Pi.st. As many devils entertain, and " To her, boy," 
say I. 

Nym. The humour rises; it is good : humour me the 
angels.' 

Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her ; and here 
another to Page's wife, who even now gave me good 
eyes too, examin'd my parts with most judicious 
ceil) ads : sometimes the beam of her view gilded my 
foot, sometimes my portly belly. 

Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. 

Nym. I thank thee for that Immour. 

Fal. ! she did so course o'er my exteriors with such 
a greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye did 
seem to scorch me up like a burning glass. Here 's 
another letter to her : she bears the pi;rse too ; she is a 
region in Guiana, all gold and beauty.' I will be 
cheater* to tlicm both, and they shall be exchequers to 
me: they shall be my East and West Indies, and I 
will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this letter to 
mistress Page ; and thou this to mistress Ford. We 
will thrive, lads, we Avill thrive. 

Pist. Sluall I sir Pandarus of Troy become, 
And by my side wear steel ? then, Lucifer take all ! 

Nym. I will run no base humour : here, take the 
humour-letter. I will keep the 'haviour of repu- 
tation. 



Fal. Hold, sirrah, \to Robin,] bear you these letters 
tightly : 
Sail like my pinnace' to these golden shores. — 
R ogues. hence ! avarint I vanish like hailstones, go ; 
Trudge, plod away o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack! 
Falstaff will learn the humour'" of the age, 
French thrift, you rogues : myself, and skirted page. 

[Exeunt Falstaff and Robin. 
Pist. Let vultures gripe thy guts ! for gourd, and 
fullam holds. 
And high and low' ' beguile the rich and poor. 
Tester''' I '11 have in pouch, when thou shalt lack, 
Base Phrygian Turk. [venge. 

Nym. I have operations, which be humours of re- 
Pist. Wilt thou rcA^enge ? 
Nym. By welkin, and her stars.'^ 
Pist. With wit; or steel ? 
Nym. With both the humours, I : 
I will discuss the humour of this love to Page.'* 
Pist. And I to Ford'* shall eke unfold, 
How Falstaff, varlet vile. 
His dove will prove, his gold will hold, 
And his soft couch defile. 
Nyyn. My humour shall not cool : I will incense 
Page to deal with poison ; I will possess him with 
yellowness, for the revolt of mine is dangerous : that 
is my true humour. 

Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents : I second 
thee; troop on. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— A Room in Dr. Caius's House. 

Enter Mrs. Quickly, Simple, and John Rugby. 

Quick. What, John Rvigby ! — I pray thee, go to the 
casement, and see if you can see my master, master 
doctor Caius, coming: if he do, i' faith, and find any 
body in the house, here will be an old abusing of God's 
patience, and the king's English. 

Rug. I '11 go watch. [Exit Rugby. 

Qinck. Go ; and we '11 have a posset for 't soon at 
night, in faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. — An 
honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come 
in house withal ; and, I warrant you, no tell-tale, nor 
no breed-bate'^ : his worst fault is, that he is given to 
prayer; he is something peevish'^ that way, but no- 
body but has his fault ; but let that pass. Peter Sim- 
ple, you say your name is ? 

Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. 

Quick. And master Slender 's your master? 

Sim. Ay, forsooth. 

Quick. Does he not wear a great round beard, like a 
glover's paring-knife ? 

Sim. No, forsooth : he hath bvit a little wee face, 
with a little yellow beard ; a Cain-coloured beard." 

Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not ? 

Sim. Ay, forsooth ; but he is as tall'® a man of his 
hands, as any is between this and his head : he hath 
fought with a warrener. 

Qtrick. How say you ? — O ! I should remember him : 
does he not hold up his head, as it were, and strut in 
his gait? 

Sm. Yes, indeed, does he. 

Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse for- 
tune ! Tell master parson Evans, I will do what I can 
for your master : Anne is a good girl, and I wish — 
Re-enter Rugby, running. 

Rug. Out, alas ! here comes my master. 



1 Froth beer by putting in soap, adding lime to sack to make it foam. * Some read : Hungarian, i. e., Bohemian or gipsy, s min- 
ute's : in f. e. * carves : in f. e. s will : in f. e. « An old coin. ' bounty : in f. e. 8 Esrheator, an office of the Exchequer. ^ A 
small vessel ; the word is often used for a go-between. lo The folios and some of the f e : honour. n Cant terms for dice. '^ s^x- 
■penrf. " star : in f. e. i* Knight, following the folio of 1623, transposes these names. ^^ Debate. ^^ Silly. i' The quartos have 
crt/te-colored — Cain was painted in old tapestries with a yellow beard, is Fine. 



SCENE rv. 



THE MEKKY AVIVES OF WINDSOR. 



43 



Quick. We shall all be shent.' Run in here, good 
youufi man ; go into this closet. [Shuts Simple in the 
closet.] He will not stay long. — What, Jolin Rugby ! 
John, what, John, I say ! — Go, John, go inquire for my'' 
master; [Exit Rugby. ^] I doubt, he be not well, that 
he comes not home : — " and down, doAvn, adown-a," 
&c. [Sings. 

Enter Doctor Caius. 

Caius. Vat is you sing ? I do not like dese toys. 
Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet im boitier 
vcrd ; a box, a green-a box ; do intend vat I speak ? a 
green-a box. 

Quick. Ay, forsooth ; I '11 fetch it you. [^.s?'(/p.] I am 
glad he went not in himself: if he had found the young 
man, he would have been horn-mad. 

Caius. Fe, /e, /e, fe ! ma foi, il fait ford chaud. Je 
ni'en vais d ta coiiVj — la grande affaire. 

Quick. Is it this, sir? 

Caius. Qui : mette le au mon pocket ; depSche, quickly. 
— Vere is dat knave Rugby? 

Quick. What. John Rugby ! John ! 

Rug. Here, sir. [Enter Rugby.* 

Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack 
Rugby : come, take-a youx rapier, and come after my 
heel to de court. 

Rug. 'T is ready, sir, here in the porch. 

Caius. By my trot, I tarry too long. — Od's me ! 
QuMi f oidjlii ? dere is some simples in my closet, dat I 
vill not for the varld I shallleave behind. [Going to it. ^ 

Quick. [Aside.] Ah me! he'll find the young man 
there, and be mad. 

Caius. O diable^ diahle ! vat is in my closet ? — Vil- 
lainy ! larron ! [Dragging^ Simple out.] Rugby, my 
rapier ! 

Quick. Good master, be content. 

Caius. Verefore shall I be content-a? 

Quick. The young man is an honest man. 

Caius. Vat shall the honest man do in my closet? 
dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet. 

Quick. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic. Hear 
the truth of it : he came of an errand to me from parson 
Hugh. 

Caius. Veil. 

Sim. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to — 

Quick. Peace, I pray you. 

Caius. Peace-a your tongue ! — Speak-a your tale. 

Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, 
to speak a good word to mistress Anne Page for my 
master, in the way of marriage. 

Quick. This is all. indeed, la ,• but I '11 ne'er put my 
finger in the fire, and need not. 

Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you? — Rugby, baillez me 
some paper: tarry you a littel-a while. [Writes. 

Quick. I am glad he is so quiet : if he had been tho- 
roughly moved, you should have heard him so loud, and 
so melancholy. — But notwithstanding, man. I '11 do you 
your master what good I can : and the very yea and 
the no is. the French doctor, my master. — I may call 
him my master, look you, for I keep his house ; and I 
wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, 
make the beds, and do all myself. — 

Sim. 'T is a great charge, to come under one body's 
hand . 

Quick. Are you avis'd o' that? you shall find it a 



great charge : and to be up early and down late ; — ^but 
notwithstanding, to tell you in your ear, (I -v\*ould have 
no words of it) my master himself is in love with mis- 
tress Anne Page : but notwithstanding that, I know 
Anne's mind ; that 's neither here nor there. 

Caius. You jaek'nape, give-a dis letter to Sir Hugh. 
By gar, it is a shallenge : I vill cut his troat in de park ; 
and I vill teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest to meddle 
or make. — You may be gone ; it is not good you tarry 
here : — by gar, I vill cut all his two stones ; by gar, he 
shall not have a stone to trow at his dog. 

[Exit SiMPLK. 

Quick. Alas ! he speaks but for his friend. 

Caius. It is no matter-a for dat : — do not you tell-a 
me, dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? — By gar, I 
vill kill de Jack priest ; and I have appointed mine 
Host of de JarretHire to measure our weapon. — By gar, 
I vill myself have Anne Page. 

Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be 
well. We must give folks leave to prate : what, the 
good year ! 

Caius. Rugby, come to the court vit me. — By gar, if 
I have not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of 
my door. — Follow my heels. Rugby. 

[Exeunt Caius and Rugby. 

Quick. You shall have An fool's-head of your own. 
No, I know Anne's mind for that : never a woman in 
Windsor knows more of Anne's mind than I do, nor can 
do more than I do with her, I thank heaven. 

Fcnt. [Within.] Who 's within there, ho ? 

Quick. Who 's there, I trow ? Come near the house, 
I pray you. 

Enter Fenton. 

Fent. How now, good woman ! how dost thou ? 

Quick. The better, that it pleases your good worship 
to ask. 

Fent. What news ? how does pretty mistress Anne ? 

Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, 
and gentle ; and one that is your friend, I can tell you 
that by the way ; I praise heaven for it. 

Fent. Shall I do any good, think'st thou ? Shall I 
not lose my suit ? 

Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above ; but not- 
withstanding, master Fenton, I '11 be sworn on a book, 
she loves you. — Have not your worship a wart above 
your eye ? 

Fent. Yes. marry, have I ; what of that ? 

Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale. — Good faith, it 
is such another Nan ; — but, I detest, an honest maid as 
ever broke bread : — we had an hour's talk of that wart. 
— I shall never laugh but in that maid's company ; — 
but, indeed, she is given too much to allicholly and 
musing. But for you — well, go to. 

Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, there 's 
money for thee ; let me have thy voice in my behalf : 
if thou seest her before me, commend me — 

Quick. Will I ! i' faith, that P v\-ill ; and I will tell 
your worship more of the wart, the next time we have 
confidence, and of other wooers. 

Fent. Well, farewell; I am in great haste novr.[Exit. 

Quick. Farewell to your worship. — Truly, an lionest 
gentleman ; but Anne loves him not. for I know Anne's 
mind as well as another does. — Out upon 't ! what have 
I forgot ? [Exit. 



1 Scolded. 2 Knight's od. -.thy ' * ' Not in f. e. « Pulling : in f. e. i we : in f. e. 



u 



THE MEKRY WIYES OF WINDSOE. 



ACT U. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— Before Page's House. 
Enter Mistress Page, ivith a Letter. 

Mrs. Page. What ! have I 'gcaped love-letters in 
the holy-day time of my beauty, and am I now a sub- 
ject for them ? Let me see. [Reads. 

" Ask me no reason why I love you ; for though love 
use reason for his physician,- he admits him not for his 
counsellor. You are not young, no more am I : go to 
then, there 's sympathy. You are merry, so am I ; ha ! 
ha ! then, there 's more sympathy : you love sack, and 
so do I ; would you desire better sympathy ? Let it 
suffice thee, mistress Page, (at the least, if the love of 
soldier can suffice) that I love thee. I will not say, 
pity me, 't is not a soldier-like phrase ; but I say, love 
me. By me. 

Thine own true knight, 
By day or night. 
Or any kind of light, 
With all his might, 

For thee to fight. John Falstaff." 

What a Herod of Jewry is this ! — O wicked, wicked, 
world ! — one that is well nigh worn to pieces with age, 
to show himself a young gallant ! What an unweighed 
behaviour hath this Flemish drunkard picked (with the 
devil's name) out of my conversation, that he dares in 
this manner assay me ? Why, lie hath not been thrice 
in my company — What should I say to him ? — I was 
then frugal of my mirth : — heaven forgive me ! — Why, 
I '11 exhibit a bill in the parliament for the putting 
down of fat men. How shall I be revenged on him ! 
for revenged I will' be, as sure as his guts are made of 
puddings. 

Enter Mistress Ford. 

3Irs. Ford. Mistress Page ! trust me, I was going to 
your house. 

Mrs. Page. And, trust me, I was coming to you. 
You look very ill. 

Airs. Ford. Nay, I '11 ne'er believe that : I have to 
show to the contrary. 

3Irs. Page. Faith, but yo\i do, in my mind. 

Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then ; yet, I say, I could show 
you to the contrary. 0, mistress Page ! give me some 
counsel. 

Mrs. Page. What 's the matter, woman ? 

Mrs. Ford. O woman ! if it were not for one trifling 
respect, I could come to such honour. 

Mrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman ; take the honour. 
What is it ? — dispense witli trifles : — what is it ? 

3Irs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an eternal 
mo)nent or so, I could be kniglitcd. 

3Irs. Page. Wliat ?— thou licst.— Sir Alice Ford !— 
These knights will hack^ ; and so, thou shouldst not 
alter the article of thy gentry. 

Mrs. Ford. We burn- day-light : — here, read, read ; 
giving a letter] — perceive how I might be knighted. 
Mrs. Page read.s] — I shall think the worse of fat 
men, as long as I have an eye to make difference of 
men's liking : and yet he would not swear, praised 
women's modesty, and gave such orderly and well- 
behaved reproof to all uncomeline.ss. that I would 
have sworn his disposition would liave gone to the 
truth of his words ; but they do no more adhere and 
keep place together, than the hundredth psalm to the 



tune of " Green Sleeves'." What tempest, I trow, 
threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly, 
asliore at Windsor ? How shall I be revenged on him ? 
I think, the best way were to entertain him with hope, 
till the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own 
grease. — Did you ever hear the like ? 

3Irs. Page. Letter for letter, but that the name of 
Page and Ford differs ! — To thy great comfort in this 
mystery of ill opinions, here 's the twin-brother of thy 
letter: but let thine inherit first; for, I protest, mine 
never shall. I warrant, he hath a tliousand of these 
letters, wTit with blank space for different names, (sure 
more) and these are of the second edition. He will 
print them, out of doubt ; for he cares not what he jiuts 
into the press, when he would put us two : I had 
rather be a giantess, and lie under mount Pelion. 
Well, I will find you twenty lascivious turtles, ere one 
chaste man. 

3Irs. Ford. Why, this is the very same ; the very 
hand, the very words. What doth he think of us ? 

3Irs. Page. Nay, I know not : it makes me almost 
ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. I '11 entertain 
myself like one that I am not acquainted withal ; for, 
sure, unless he know some stain in me, that I know not 
myself; he would never have boarded me in this fury. 

3Irs. Ford. Boarding call you it ? I '11 be sure to 
keep him above deck. 

Mrs. Page. So will I : if he come under my hatches, 
I '11 never to sea again. Let 's be revenged on him : 
let 's appoint him a meeting : give him a show of com- 
fort in his suit, and lead him on with a fine-baited 
delay, till lie hath pawned his horses to mine Host of 
the Garter. 

3Irs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villany 
against him, that may not sully the chariness of our 
honesty. O, that my husband saw this letter ! it would 
give eternal food to his jealovxsy. 

3Irs. Page. Why, look, where he comes ; and my 
good man too ; he 's as far from jealousy, as I ana from 
giving him cause ; and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable 
distance. 

3Irs. Ford. You are the happier woman. 

3Irs. Page. Let 's consult together again.st this 
greasy knight. Come hither. [They retire. 

Enter Ford, Pistol, Page, and Nym. 

Ford. Well, I hope, it be not so. 

Pi. -it. Hope is a curtail dog in some affairs ; 
Sir John affects thy wife. 

Ford. Why. sir, my wife is not young. 

Pist. He woos both high and low, both rich and poor, 
Both young and old, one with another. Ford, 
He loves the gally-mawfry : Ford, perpend. 

Ford. Love my wife ? 

Pi.st. With liver burning hot : prevent, or go thou. 
Like sir Actseon he, with Ring-wood at thy heels. 
O ! odious is the name. 

Ford. What name, sir ? 

Pi.st. The horn, I say. Farewell : 
Take heed ; have open eye, for thieves do foot by night : 
Take heed, ere siimmer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing. — 
Away, sir corporal Nym. 

Nym. Believe it, Page ; he speaks sense.* [Exit Pist. 

Ford. I will be patient : I will find out this. 

Nym. And this is true • [to Page.] I like not the 



1 precision ; in f, e. = Become hackneyed or common — an allusion to the commonness with which James I. conferred the distinction. 
3 A very popular air to which many ballads were written. * f. e, give this speech to Pistol. 



SCENE II. 



THE MERRY WIVES OF 



WINDSOR. 



45 



humour of lying. He hath wronged me in some 
humours : I should have borne the Immourcd letter to 



her, but 



I hare a sword, and it shall bite upon my 



necessity. He loves your wife ; there 's the short and 
the long. My name is corporal Nym : I speak, and I 
avouch 't is true : — my name is Nym, and FalstafT 
loves your wife. — Adieu. I love not the humour of 
bread and cheese. Adieu. [Exit Nym. 

Page. The humour of it, quoth 'a ! here 's a fellow 
frights English out of his wits. 

Ford. I will seek out Falstaff. 

I never heard such a drawling-afFectins rogue. 



Page. 
Ford. 
Pacrc. 



D 

priest o' 
Ford. 
Page. 



If I do find it, well. 

I will not believe such a Cataian,* though the 
the town commended him for a true man. 
'T was a good sensible fellow : well. 
How now, Meg ! 
3Irs. Page. Whither go you, George ? — Hark yoiT. 
il/r.s. Ford. How now, sweet Frank ! why art thou 
melancholy? 

Ford. I melancholy ! I am not melancholy. — Get 
you home, go. 

Mrs. Ford. 'Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy 
head now. — Will you go, mistress Page ? 

3Irs. Page. Have with you. — You '11 come to dinner, 
George ? — [Aside to Mrs. Ford.] Look, who comes 
yonder : she shall be our messenger to this paltry 
knight. 

Enter Mrs. Quickly. 
Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her : she '11 fit it. 
ili;-.s-. Page. You are come to see my daiighter Anne ? 
Quick. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good 
mistress Anne ? 

Go in with us, and see : we have an 



Mrs. Page. 



hour's talk with you. 

[Exeunt Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Mrs. Quickly. 

Page. How now, master Ford ? 

Ford. You heard what this knave told me, did you 
not ? 

Page. Yes , and you heard what the other told me. 

Ford. Do you think there is truth in them ? 

Page. Hang 'em, slaves; I do not think the kniglit 
would offer it : but these that accuse him. in his intent 
towards our wives, are a yoke of his discarded men ; 
very rogues, now they be out of service. 

Ford. Were they his men ? 

Page. Marry, were they. 

Ford. I like it never the better for that. — Does he 
lie at the Garter ? 

Page. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend this 
voyage towards my wife, I would turn her loose to 
him : and what he gets more of her than sharp words, 
let it lie on my head. 

Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife, but I would be 
loath to turn them together. A man may be too con- 
fident ; I would have nothing lie on my head. I cannot 
be thus satisfied. 

Page. Look, where my ranting Host of the Garter 
comes. There is either liquor in his pate, or money 
in his purse, when he looks so merrily. — How, now. 
mine host ! 

Enter Host.'' 

Host. How now, bully-rook ! thou 'rt a gentleman. 
Cavaliero-justicc, I say. 

Enter Shallow. 

Shal. I follow, mine host, I follow. — Good even, and 
twenty, good master Page. Master Page, will you go 
with us? we have sport in hand. 



Host. Tell him, cavaliero-justice ; tell him, bully- 
rook. 

Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between sir 
Hugh, the Welsh priest, and Caius, the French doctor. 

Ford. Good mine Host o' the Garter, a word with you. 

Host. What say'st thou, my bully-rook? 

[They go aside. 

Shal. Will you [to Page] go with us to behold it? 
My merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons, 
and, I think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, 
believe me, I hear, the parson is no jester. Hark, I 
will tell you what our sport shall be. 

Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my 
guest-cavalier? 

Ford. None, I protest : bvit I '11 give you a pottle of 
burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him, 
my name is Brook; only for a jest. 

Host. My hand, bully : thou shalt have egress and 
regress ; said I well ? and thy name shall be Brook. 
It is a merry knight. — Will you go on here ?^ 

Shal. Have with you, mine host. 

Page. I have heard, the Frenchman hath good skill 
in his rapier. 

Shal. Tut, sir ! I could have told- you more : in these 
times you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, 
and I know not what : 't is the heart, master Page : 
't is here, 't is here. I have seen the time, with my 
long sword, I would have made you four tall fellows 
skip like rats. 

Ho.st. Here, boys, here, here ! shall we wag? 

Page. Have with you. — I had rather hear them 
scold than see them fight. 

[Exe^mt Host, Shallow, and Page. 

Ford. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so 
firmly on his wife's fidelity, yet I cannot put off my 
opinion so easily : she was in his company at Page's 
house, and what they made there, I know not. Well, 
I will look farther into 't ; and I have a disguise to 
sound Falstaff. If I find her honest, I lose not my 
labour ; if she be otherwise, 't is labour well bestowed. 

[Exit. 

SCENE II.— A Room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Falstaff ami Pistol. 

Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. 

Pist. Why, then the world 's mine oyster, 
Which I with sword will open. — 

Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you 
should lay my countenance to pawn: I have grated 
upon my good friends for three reprieves for you and 
your couch*- fellow, Nym ; or else you had looked 
through the grate, like a gemini of baboons. I am 
damned in hell for swearing to gentlemen, my friends, 
you were good soldiers, and tall fellows : and when 
mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took 't 
vipon mine honour thou hadst it not. 

Pist. Didst thou not share ? hadst thou not fifteen 
pence ? 

Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason : thinlc'st thou, I '11 
endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more 
about me, I am no gibbet for you : — go. — A short knife 
and a throng: — to your manor of Pickt-hatch,^ go. — 
You '11 not bear a leltf^r for me, you rogue ! — you stand 
upon your honour! — Why, thouunconfinablc baseness, 
it is as much as I can do, to keep the terms of my 
honour precise. I, I, I myself sometimes, leaving the 
fear of heaven on the left hand, and hiding mine honour 
in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge, and to 



1 Cataia, Cathay, or China, 
bad fame. 



2 f. c. have Enter Host and Shallow. 3 An-heires : in f. e. * c«aoh. ' A London locality of 



46 



THE MEREY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



ACT n. 



Quick. Why, you say well. But I have another 
messenger to your worship : mistress Page hath her 
hearty commendations to you too ; — and let me tell 
you in your ear, she "s as fartuous a civil modest wife, 
and one (I tell you) that will not njiss you morning nor 
evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, whoe'er be the 
other : and she bade me tell your worship, that her 
husband is seldom from home, but she hopes there 
will come a time. I never knew a woman so dote 
upon a man: surely, I think you have charms, la; yes, 
in truth. 

Fal. Not I, I asstu-e thee : setting the attraction of 
my good parts aside, I have no other charms. 

Quick. Blessing on your heart for 't ! 

Fal. But I pray thee, tell me this : has Ford's wife, 
and Page's wife, acquainted each other how they love me? 

Quick. That were a jest, indeed ! — they have not so 
little grace, I hope : — that were a trick, indeed ! But 
mistress Page would desire you to send her your little 
page, of all loves :^ her husband has a marvellous in- 
fection to the little page ; and. truly, master Page is an 
honest man. Never a wife in Windsor leads a better 
life than she does : do what she will, say what she will, 
take all, pay all, go to bed when she list, rise when 
she list, all is as she will ; and truly, she deserves it, 
for if there be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. 
You must send her your page ; no remedy. 

Fal. Why, I will. 

Quick. Nay, but do so, then : and, look you, he may 
come and go lietwcen you both ; and. in any case, have 
a nayword,' that you may know one another's mind, 
and the boy never need to understand any thing: for 
't is not good that children shovild know any wicked- 
ness ; old folks, you know, have discretion, as they say, 
and know the world. 

Fal. Fare thee well : commend me to them both. 
There 's my purse : I am yet thy debtor. — Boy, go 
along with this woman. — This news distracts me. 

{Exetmt 3Ir.^. Quickly and Robin. 

Pi.'it. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers. — 
Clap on more sails ; pvirsue, up with your fights.* 
Give fire ! She is my prize, or ocean whelm them all ! 

[Exit Pistol. 

Fal. Say'st thou so, old Jack? go thy ways; I'll 
make more of thy old body than 1 have done. Will 
they yet look after ihee? Wilt thou, after the expense 
of so much money, be now a gainer ? Good body, I 
thank thee : let tliem say, 't is grossly done ; so it be 
fairly done, no matter. 

Enter Bardolph. 

Bard. Sir John, there 's one master Brook below 
would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with 
you ; and hath sent your worship a morning's draught 
of sack.' 

Fal. Brook, is his name ? 

Bard. Ay, sir. 

Fal. Call him in; [£n'f Bardolph.] Such Brooks 
are welcome to me, that o'erflow such liquor. Ah ! 
ha ! mistress Ford and mistress Page, have I encom- 
passed you ? go to ; via ! 

Re-enter Bardolph, with Ford disguised. 

Ford. Bless you, sir. 

Fal. And you, sir : would yovi speak with me? 

Ford. I make bold, to press with so little preparation 
upon you. 

Fal. You 're welcome. What 's your will ? — Give 
us leave, drawer. [Exit Bardolph. 

I Ale-house. 2 Mr. Dyce suggests bear-baiting. 3 given me this morning : in f. e. * Elizabeth's band of pensioners wore a splen- 
did uniform, and so perhaps excited Dnine Quic-kly's admiration. Tliey were also men of fortune. ^ Vexatious. ^ By all means. 
' Watrhicord. 8 Coverts of some kind put up to protect the men in an engagement. 9 It was a common custom to bestow presents of 
wine in Shakespeare's day. 



lurch; and yet you, you rogue, will ensconce your rags, 
your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice^ phrases, 
and your bold-beating^ oatlis, under the shelter of your 
honour ! You will not do it, you ? 

Pist. I do relent : what wouldst thou more of man? 
Enter Robin. 

Rob. Sir. here 's a woman would speak with you. 

Fal. Let her approach. 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Quick. Give your worship good-morrow. 

Fal. Good-morrow, good wife. 

Quick. Not so, an 't please your worship. 

Fal. Good maid, then. 

Quick. I '11 be sworn ; as my mother was, the first 
hour I was born. 

Fal. I do believe the swearer. What with me ? 

Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two ? 

Fal. Two thousand, fair woman; and I '11 vouchsafe 
thee the hearing. 

Quick. There is one mistress Ford, sir : — I pray, 
come a little nearer this ways. — I myself dwell with 
master doctor Caius. 

Fal. Well, on : Mistress Ford, you say, — 

Quick. Your worship says very true ; — I pray your 
worship, come a little nearer this ways. 

Ful. I warrant thee, nobody hears: — mine own 
people, mine own people. 

Quick. Are they so ? Heaven bless them, and make 
them his servants ! 

Fal. Well: Mistress Ford ;—wha_t"bf her? 

Quick. Why sir, she 's a good creature. Lord, lord ! 
your worship 's a wanton : well, heaven forgive you, 
and all of us, I pray ! 

Fal. Mistress Ford ; — come, mistress Ford, — 

Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long of it. 
You have brought her into such a canaries, as 't is won- 
derful : the best courtier of them all, when the court 
lay at Windsor, could never have brought her to such 
a canary ; yet there has been knights, and lords, and 
gentlemen, with their coaches; I warrant you, coach 
after coach, letter after letter, gift after gift ; smelling 
so sweetly, all musk, and so rushling, I warrant you, 
in silk and gold; and in such alligaut terms ; and in 
such wine and sugar of the best, and the fairest, that 
would have won any woman's heart, and, I warrant you, 
they could never get an eye-wink of her — I had myself 
twenty aiigels given me of a morning^ ; but I defy all 
angels, (in any such sort, as they say.) but in the way 
of honesty : — and, I warrant you, they could never get 
her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of them 
all : and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more, 
pensioners* ; but, I warrant you, all is one with her. 

Fal. But what says she to me ? be brief, my good 
she Mercury. 

Quick. Marry, she hath received your letter, for the 
wliich slie thanks you a thousaiid times ; and she gives 
you to notify, that her husband will be absence from 
his house between ten and eleven. 

Fal. Ten and eleven? 

Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and then you may come and 
sec the picture, she says, what you wot of: master 
Ford, her husband, will be from home. Alas ! the 
sweet woman leads an ill life with him : he 's a very 
jealousy man ; she leads a very frampold^ life with 
him, good heart. 

Fal. Ten and eleven. — ^Woman, commend me to her; 
I will not fail her. 



SCENE II. 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WmDSOE. 



47 



Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent much : 
my name is Brook. 

Fal. Good master Brook, 1 desire more acquaintance 
of you. 

Ford. Good sir John, I svte for yours : not to charge 
you, for I must let you understand, I think myself in 
better plight for a lender than you are; the which 
hath something embolden'd me to this unseasoned 
intiusion, for, they say, if money go before, all ways 
do lie open. 

Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. 

Ford. Troth, and I have a bag- of money here trou- 
bles me : if you will help to bear it sir John, take 
half, or all,^ for easing me of the carriage. 

Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your 
porter. 

Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the 
hearing. 

Fal. Speak, good master Brook : I shall be glad to 
be your servant. 

Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar, — I will be brief 
with you, — and you have been a man long known to 
me, though I had never so good means, as desire, to 
make myself acquainted with you. I shall discover a 
tiling to you, wherein I must very much lay open mine 
own imperiection ; but, good su* John, as you have one 
eye upon my follies, as you hear them unfolded, turn 
another into the register of your own, that I may pass 
with a reproof the easier, sith you yourself know, how 
easy it is to be such an offender. 

Fal. Very well, sir; proceed. 

Ford. Tliere is a gentlewoman in this towTi, her 
husband's name is Ford. 

Fal. Well, sir. 

Ford. I have long loved her, and, I protest to you, 
bestowed much on her ; followed her with a doting 
observance; engrossed opportunities to meet her; fce'd 
every slight occasion, that could but niggardly give me 
sight of her : not only bought many presents to give 
her, but have given largely to many, to know what she 
would have given. Briefly, 1 have pursued lier, as 
love hath pursued me, which hath been on the wing 
of all occasions : but whatsoever I have merited, either 
in my mind, or in my means, meed, I am sure, I have 
received none, unless experience be a jewel ; that I 
have purchased at an inlinite rate, and that hath 
taught me to say this : 
Love like a shadow flie.'i, when .nikstance love pursues ; 
Ptir.siiing that that flies., andfl)/in<r ivhat pursues. 

Fal. Have you received no promise of satisfaction at 
her hands ? 

Ford. Never. 

FaJ. Have you importuned her to such a purpose ? 

Ford. Never. 

Fal. Of what quality was your love then? 

Ford. Like a fair house, built upon another man's 
ground ; so that I have lost my edifice, by mistaking 
the ]ilace where T erected it. 

Fal. To what pur]iosc liave you unfolded this to me ? 

Ford. When I have told you that, I have told you 
all. Some say, that thou<;h she appear honest to me. 
yet in other places she enlariretli licr mirth so far, that 
there is shrewd construction made of her. Now, sir 
John, here is the heart of my purpose : you are a gen- 
tleman of excellent brecdinir, admirable discourse, of 
great admittance, authentic in your place and person, 
generally allowed for your many war-like, court-like, 
and learned preparations. 

Fal. O, sir ! 



Ford. Believe it, for you know it. — There is money; 
spend it, spend it : spend more ; spend all I have, only 
give me so much of your time in exchange of it, as to 
lay an amiable siege to the honesty of this Ford's wife : 
use your art of Avooing, win her to consent to you ; if 
any man may, you may as soon as any. 

Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your 
affection, that I should win what you would enjoy ? 
Methinks, you prescribe to yourself very preposterously. 

Ford. ! understand my drift. She dwells so se- 
curely on the excellency of her honour, that the folly 
of my suit^ dares not present itself: she is too bright 
to be looked against. Now, could I come to her with 
any detection in my hand, my desires had instance and 
argument to coiumend themselves ; I could drive her, 
then, from the ward of her purity, her reputation, her 
marriage vow, and a thousand other her defences, which 
now are too too strongly embattled against me. What 
say you to 't, sir John ? 

Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your 
money ; next, give me your hand ; and last, as I am a 
gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy Ford's wife. 

Ford. good sir ! 

Fal. I say you shall. 

Ford. Want no money, sir John; you shall want 
none. 

Fal. Want no mistress Ford, master Brook: you shall 
want none. I shall be with her (I may tell you) by her 
own appointment;^ even as you came in to me, her 
assistant, or go-between, parted from me : I say, I shall 
be with her between ten and eleven ; for at that time 
the jealous rascally knave, her husband, will be forth. 
Come yovi to me at night ; you sliall know how I speed. 

Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you 
know Ford, sir ? 

Fal. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave ! I know him 
not. — Yet I wrong him to call him poor : tliey say, 
the jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money, for 
the which his wife seems to me well-favoured. I will 
use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue's coffer, and 
there 's my harvest-home. 

Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might 
avoid him, if you saw him. 

Fal. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue ! I will 
stare him out of liis wits ; I -vvill awe him with my 
cudgel : it shall hang like a meteor o"er the cuckold's 
horns : master Brook, thou shalt know I will predomi- 
nate over the peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. 
— Come to me soon at night. — Ford 's a knave, and I 
will aggravate his style; thou, master Brook, shalt know 
him for a knave and cuckold. — Come to me soon at 
night. [Exit. 

Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal is this ! — 
My heart is ready to crack with impatience. — Who 
says, this is improvident jealousy ? my wife hath sent 
to him, the hour is fixed, the match is made. Would 
any man have thought this? — See the hell of having a 
false woman ! my bed shall be abused, my coffers ran- 
sacked, my reputation gnaw^^ at ; and I shall not only" 
receive this villainous wrong, but stand under the adop- 
tion of abominable terms, and by him that does me this 
wrong. Terms ! names ! — Amaimon sounds well ; 
Lucifer, well ; Barbason, well ; yet they are devils' 
additions, the names of fiends : but cuckold ! wittol 
cuckold !^ the devil himself hath not such a name. 
Pa^c is an ass, a secure ass ; he will trust his wife, he 
will not be jealous : I will rather trust a Fleming with 
my butter, parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, 
an Irishman with my aqua vitce bottle, or a thief to walk 



1 take all, or half: in f. e. ^ soul : in f. e. ' Knowing himself one. 



48 



THE MEREY WIVES OF WINDSOK. 



ACT in. 



my ambling gelding, than my ^\dfe with henself : then 
she plots, then she ruminates, then she devises ; and 
what they think in their hearts they may effect, they 
will break their hearts but they will effect. Heaven 
be praised for my jealousy ! — Eleven o'clock the hour: 
I will prevent this, detect my wife, be revenged on 
Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I will about it : better 
three hours too soon, than a minute too late. Fie, fie, 
fie ! cuckold ! cuckold ! cuckold ! [Exit. 

SCENE III.— Windsor Park. 
Enter Caius and Rugby. 

Caivs. Jack Rugby ! 

Rug. Sir. 

Caius. Vat is de clock, Jack ? 

Rug. 'T is past the hour, sir, that sir Hugh promised 
to meet. 

Caius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no come : 
he has pray his Pible veil, dat he is no come. By gar, 
Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if he be come. 

Rug. He is wise, sir ; he knew your worship would 
kill him, if he came. 

Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vill kill 
him. Take your rapier, Jack; I vill tell you how I 
\-ill kill him. 

Rug. Alas, sir ! I cannot fence. [Runs back afraid.^ 

Caius. Villainy, take your rapier. 

Rug. Forbear ; here 's company. 

Enter Host, Shallow, Slendeh, and Page. 

Host. Bless thee, bully doctor. 

SJial. Save you, master doctor Caius. 

Page. Now, good master doctor. 

Slen. Give you good-morrow, sir. 

Caius. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for? 

Host. To see thee fight; to see thee foin, to see thee 
traverse, to see thee here, to see thee there; to see 
thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy dis- 
tance, thy montant. Is he dead, my Ethiopian? is he 
dead, my Francisco ? ha, bully ! What says my ^Escu- 
lapius ? my Galen? my heart of elder ?= ha ! is he dead, 
bvilly-stalc ? is he dead ? 

Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of the 
vorld ; he is not show his face. 

Host. Thou art a Castalian-king-Urinal :^ Hector of 
Greece, my boy. 

Caius. I pray you, bear vitness that me have stay six 
or seven, two, tree hours for him, and he is no come. 

Slial. He is the wiser man, master doctor : he is a 
curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies ; if you should 
fight, you go against the hair of your professions. Is it 
not true, master Page? 

Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a 
gi-eat fighter, though now a man of peace. 



Shal. Bodykins, master Page, though I now be old, 
and of the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger itches 
to make one. Though we are justices, and doctors, 
and churchmen, master Page, we have some salt of our 
youth in us : we are the sons of women, master Page. 

Page. 'Tis true, master Shallow. 

Shal. It will be found so, master Page. — Master 
doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am 
sworn of the peace : you have showed yourself a wise 
physician, and sir Hugh hath shown himself a wise 
and patient churcliman. You must go with me, mas- 
ter doctor. 

Host. Pardon, guest-justice. — A word, Monsieur 
Mock- water. 

Caius. Mock-vater ! vat is dat ? 

Host. Mock-water, in oiir English tongue, is valour, 
bully. 

Caiiis. By gar, then, I have as much mock-vater as 
de Englishman. — Scurvy jack-dog priest ! by gar, me 
vill cut his ears. 

Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully. 

Caius. Clapper-de-claw ! vat is dat ? 

Host. That is, he will make thee amends. 

Caius. By gar, me do look, he shall clapper-de-claw 
me ; for, by gar, me vill have it. 

Ho.st. And I will provoke him to 't, or let him wag. 

Caius. Me tank you for dat. 

Host. And moreover, bully, — But first, master guest, 
and master Page, and eke cavaliero Slender, go you 
through the town to Frogmore. [Aside to them. 

Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he ? 

Host. He is there : see Mhat humour he is in, and I 
will bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it do 
well ? 

Shal. We will do it. 

Page. Shal. and Slen. Adieu, good master doctor. 

[Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. 

Cains. By gar, me vill kill de priest, for he speak 
for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page. 

Ho.st. Let him die. Sheathe thy impatience ; throw 
cold water on thy choler. Go about the fields with me 
through Frogmore ; I will bring thee where mistress 
Anne Page is, at a farm-house a feasting, and thou 
shall woo her. Curds and cream,* said I well ? 

Caius. By gar, me tank you for dat : by gar, I love 
you ; and I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, 
de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my patients. 

Host. For the which I will be thy adversary toward 
Anne Paae : said I well ? 



Caius. By gar, 'tis good; veil said. 

Host. Let us wag then. 

Caius. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. 



[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— A Field near Frogmore. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans, ivith a book, and Simple. 

Eva. I pray you now. good master Slender's serving- 
man, and friend Simple by your name, which way have 
you looked for master Caius, that calls himself Doctor 
of Physic ? 

Sim. Marry, sir, the pit-way, the park-way,* old 
Windsor way, and every way, but the town way. 



Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will also 
look that way. 

Sim. I will, sir. [Retiring. 

Eva. Pless my soul, how full of cholers I am, and 
trempling of mind ! — I shall be glad, if he have de- 
ceived me. — How melancholies I am ! — I will knog his 
urinals about his knave's costard, when I have good 
opportimities for the 'ork : — pless my soul ! 

[Sings. 



1 This direction is not in f. e. ^ The elder has a sofl. pith. 
in great disfavour with the English when this play was written. 



3 Knight reads, Castilian, King-Urinal. The Spaniards were, of course, 
* cried game : in f. e. ' the petty-ward, the park-ward, every way : in f. e. 



SCENE n. 



THE MERRY WIYES OF WINDSOR. 



49 



[Sings.* 



To shallow rivers, to ivhose falls ,'■ 
Melodious birds sing madrigals ; 
There tvill we make otcr prds of roses, 
And a fhoiisand fragrant jmsies. 
To shallow — 
Mercy on me ! I have a great dispositions to cry. [Sings." 
Molodious birds sing madrigals j — 
When as I sat in Pahylon,^ 
And a thoitsand vagram posies. 
To shallow — 
Sim. [Coming forward.] Yonder he is coming, this 
way, sir Hugh. 

Eva. He 's welcome. 

To shallow rivers, to whose falls — 
Heaven prosper the right ! — What weapons is he ? 

Sim. No weapons, sir. There comes my master, 
master Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frog- 
more, over the stile, this way. 

Eva. Pray you, give me my gown ; or else keep it 
in your arms. 

Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
Shal. How now, master parson ! Good-morrow, good 
sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good 
student from his book, and it is wonderful. 
Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page ! 
Page. Save you, good sir Hugh. 
Eva. Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you ! 
Shal. What ! the sword and the word ? do you study 
them both, master parson ? 

Page. And yoiithful still, in your doublet and hose, 
this raw rheumatic day ? 

Eva. There is reasons and causes for it. 
Page. We arc come to you to do a good office, master 
parson. 

Eva. Fery well : what is it ? 

Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, 
belike liaving received wrong by some person, is at 
most odds with his own gravity and patience that ever 
you saw. 

Shal. I have lived fourscore years, and upward. I 
never heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, 
so wide of his own respect. 
Eva. What is he ? 

Page. I think you know him ; master doctor Caius, 
the renowned French physician. 

Eva. Got's will, and his passion of my heart ! I had 
as lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge. 
Page. Why? 

Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibbocrates and 
Galen, — and he is a knave besides ; a cowardly knave, 
as you would desires to be acquainted withal. 

Page. I warrant you, he 's the man should fight with 
him. 

Slen. 0, sweet Anne Page ! 

Shal. It appears so, by his weapons. — Keep them 
asunder : — here comes doctor Caius. 

Enter Host, Caius, and Rugby. 
Page. Nay. good master parson, keep in your weapon. 
Shal. So do you, good master doctor. 
Host. Disarm them, and let tlicm question : let them 
keep their limbs whole, and hack our English. 

Caius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word vit your 
ear: vcrefore vill you not mcet-a me? 

Eva. Pray you, use your patience : in good time. 
Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John 
ape. 

Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stogs to other 
men's humours ; I desire you in friendship, and I will 



one way or other make you amends. — I will knogyour 
urinals about your knave's cogscomb for missing your 
meetings and appointments. 

Caius. Diahle ! — Jack Ptugby, — mine Host de Jarre- 
tiere, have I not stay for him, to kill him ? have I not, 
at de place I did appoint? 

Eva. As I am a Christian soul, now, look you, this 
is tlie place appointed. I '11 be judgment by mine Host 
of the Garter. 

Host. Peace, I say ! Gallia and Guallia, French and 
Welsh ; soul-curer and body-curer. 

Caius. Ay. dat is very good : excellent. 

Host. Peace, I say ! hear mine Host of the Garter. 
Am I politic ? am I subtle ? am I a Machiavel ? Shall 
I lose my doctor ? no ; he gives me the potions, and 
the motions. Shall I lose my parson ? my priest ? my 
sir Hugh ? no ; he gives me the proverbs and the no- 
verbs. — Give me thy hands, celestial and terrestrial f 
so. — Boys of art, I have deceived you both; I have 
directed you to wrong places : your hearts are mighty, 
your skins are whole, and let burnt sack be the issue. 
— Come, lay their swords to pawn. — Follow me, lad of 
peace ; follow, follow, follow. 

Shal. Trust me, a mad host. — Follow, gentlemen, 
follow. 

Slen. O, sweet Anne Page ! 

[Exeunt Shallow, Slender, Page, and Host. 

Caius. Ha ! do I perceive dat ! have you make-a de 
sot of us ? ha, ha ! 

Eva. This is well, he has made us his vlouting-stog. 
— I desire you, that we may be friends, and let us knog 
our prains together to be revenge on this same scalP, 
scurvy, cogging companion, the Host of the Garter. 

Caius. By gar, vit all my heart. He promise to bring 
me vere is Anne Page : by gar, he deceive me too. 

Eva. Well, I will smite his noddles. — Pray you, 
follow. [Exeunt. 

SCENE H.— A Street in Windsor. 
Enter Mistress Page and Robin. 

Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant : you 
were wont to be a follower, but now you are a leader. 
Whether had you rather, lead mine eyes, or eye your 
master's heels ? 

Rob. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a 
man, tlian follow him like a dwarf. 

Mrs. Page. O ! you arc a flattering boy : now, I see, 
you '11 be a courtier. 

Enter Ford. 

Ford. Well met, mistress Page. Whither go you? 

Mrs. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife : is she at 
home ? 

Ford. Ay ; and as idle as she may hang together, 
for want of your company. I think, if your husbands 
were dead, you two would marry. 

Mrs. Page. Be sure of that, — two other husbands. 

Ford. Where had you this pretty weather-cock ? 

Mrs. Page. I cannot tell wliat the dickens his name 
is my husband had him of. — What do you call your 
knight's name, sirrah ? 

Rob. Sir John Fal staff. 

Ford. Sir .John Falstatf! 

Mrs. Page. He, he: I can never hit on 's name — 
Tlicre is such a league between my good man and him ! 
Is your wife at home indeed ? 

Ford. Indeed, she is. 

Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir : I am sick, till I see 
her. [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Robin. 



' A quotation from Marlow's " Passionate Pilgrrim." s Not in f. e. ^ A line from the old version of Ps. l-ST. ♦ Not in f. e. ' The 
folios have : hands celestial, so. Malone altered it to "Give me thy hand terrestrial, so ; give me thy hand celestial, so." 6 Scald-head. 



50 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WITnTDSOR. 



ACT in. 



Ford. Hath Page any brains ! hath he any eyes ? hath 
he any thinking ? Sure, they sleep ; he hath no use of 
them. Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty miles, 
as easy as a cannon will shoot point-blank twelve score. 
He pieces-out his wife's inclination ; he gives her folly 
motion, and advantage : and now she 's going to my 
wife, and Falstaff's boy with her. A man may hear 
this shower sing in the wind : — and Falstaff's boy with 
her ! — Good plots ! — they are laid ; and our revolted 
wives share damnation together. Well ; I will take 
him, then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of 
modesty from the so-seeming mistress Page, divulge 
Page himself for a secure and wilful Actaeon ; and to 
these violent proceedings all my neighbours shall cry 
aim^ \Chck strikes ten }\ The clock gives me my cue, 
and my assurance bids me search ; there^ I shall find 
Falstaff. I shall be rather praised for this, than 
mocked ; for it is as positive as the earth is firm, that 
Falstaff is there : I will go. 

Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Host., Sir Hugh 

Evans, Caius, and Rugby. 
Page, Shal. c^'c. Well met, master Ford. 
Ford. Trust me, a good knot. I have good cheer at 
home, and I pray you all go with me. 
Shal. I mi\st excuse myself, master Ford. 
Slen. And so must I, sir : we have appointed to dine 
with mistress Anne, and I would not break with her 
for more money than I '11 speak of. 

Shal. We have lingered about a match between 
Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we 
shall have our answer. 

Slen. I hope, I have your good will, father Page. 
Page. You have, master Slender ; I stand -wholly for 
you : — but my wife, master doctor, is for yoii altogether. 
Caius. Ay, by gar ; and de maid is love-a me : my 
nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush. 

Host. What say you to young master Fenton? he 
capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes 
verses, he speaks holyday, he smells April and May : 
he will carry 't, he will carry 't ; 't is in his buttons ; 
he will cai'ry "t. 

Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. The gen- 
tleman is of no having* : he kept company with the wild 
Prince and Poins ; he is of too high a region : he knows 
too much. No. he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes 
with the finger of my substance : if he take her, let him 
take her simply : the wealth I have waits on my con- 
sent, and my consent r^oes not that way. 

Ford. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home 
with me to dinner : besides yoiu* cheer, you shall have 
sport ; I will show you a monster. — Master doctor, you 
shall go : — so shall you, master Page ; — and you, sir 
Hugh. 

Shal. Well, 



., fare you well. — We shall have the freer 
wooing at master Page's. 

[Exeunt Shallow onrZ Slender. 
Caius. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon. 

[Exit Rugby. 

Host. Farewell, my hearts. I will to my honest 

knight Falstaff, and drink canary with him. [Exit Host. 

Ford. [A.nde.]! think, I shall drink in pipe-wine 



Quickly. 



, quickly. 
I warrant. — What 



Mrs. Page. 
Mrs. Ford. 

Enter Servants 
Mrs. Pas-c. Come 



Is the buck-basket — 
Robin, I say ! 
u'ith a large Basket. 



.g,.,. ^v/.ii^, come, come. 
Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down. 

3Irs. Page. Give your men the charge : we must be 
brief. 

Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John, and 
Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew-hou^e ; and 
when I suddenly call you, come forth, and (without any 
pause, or staggering) take this basket on your shoulders : 
that done, trudge with it in all hriste, and carry it 
among the whitsters^ in Datchct mead, and there empty 
it in the muddy ditch close by the Thames side. 
Mrs. Page. You will do it? 

Mrs. Ford. I have told them over and over ; they 
lack no direction. Be gone, and come when you are 
called. [Exeunt Servants. 

Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin. 

Enter Robin. 
3Irs. Ford. How now, my eyas-musket* ? what news 
with you? 

Rob. My master, sir John, is come in at your back- 
door, mistress Ford, and requests your company. 

3Irs. Page. You little Jack-a-lent', have you been 
true to us ? 

Rob. Ay, I '11 be sworn : my master knows not of 
your being here ; and hath threatened to put me into 
everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it, for he swears he'll 
turn me away. 

3Irs. Page. Thou 'rt a good boy ; this secrecy of 
thine shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a 
new doublet and hose. — I '11 go hide me. 

Mrs. Ford. Do so. — Go tell thy master, I am alone. 
Mistress Page, remember you your cue. [Exit Robin. 
3Irs. Page. I warrant thee : if I do not act it, hiss 
me. [Exit Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Ford. Go to, then : we '11 use this unwljolesome 
humidity, this gross watery pumpion ; — we'll teach 
him to know turtles from jays. 

Enter Falstaff. 
Fal. Have I caught thee, ray heavenly jewel ?* Why, 
now let me die, for I have lived long em ugh : this is 
the period of my ambition. this blessed hour ! 
Mrs. Ford. 0, sweet sir John ! 

Fal. Mihtress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, 
mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish : I would 
thy husband Avere dead, I '11 speak it before the best 
lord, I would make thee my lady. 

Mrs. Ford. I your lady, sir John ? alas, I should be 
a pitiful lady. 

Fal. Let the court of France show me sucli another. 
I see how thine eye would emulate the diamond : thou 
hast the right arched beauly of tlie brow, that becomes 



first ynth. 
gentles ? 

All. Have with you 



him; I'll make him dance. Will you go, 



to see this monster. [Exeunt. 



SCENE III.— A Room in Ford's House. 
Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. 



Mrs. Ford. What, John ! 



what, Robert ! 



the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian 
admittance. 

Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John : my brows 
become nothing else : nor that well neitlicr. 

Fal. By the Lord, thou art a tyrant to say so : thou 
wouldst make an absolute courtier ; and the firm fixture 
of thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait 
in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, 
if fortune thy foe were not,' nature thy friend: come, 
thou canst not hide it. 

Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there 's no such thing in me. 

Fal. What made me love thee? let that persuade 
thee, there's something extraordinary in thee. Come; 



I cannot 



' Applaud — a term in archery. 2 Not in f. e. 
musket from the Italian muschetto, a little hawk, 
and Stella. 9 Lf fortune were not thy foe. 



3 where : in f. e. * Property 



and say thou 

5 Washerwomen. 



art this and that, like 

6 An eyas,\s a young hawk, a 
■J A jack, or puppet thrown at "as a mark, in Lent. 8 a line from Sidney's Astrophel 



SCENE III. 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



51 



many of these lisping haw-thorn buds, that come like 
women in men s apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury 
in simple' -time : I cannot ; but I love thee, none but 
thee, and thou deservest it. 

Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir. I fear, you love 
mistress Page. 

Fal. Thou might'st as well say, I love to walk by 
the Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek 
of a lime-kiln. 

3Irs. Ford. Well, heaven knows how I love you ; 
and you shall one day find it. 

Fal. Keep in that mind; I "11 deserve it. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay. I must tell you, so you do, or else 
I could not be in that mind. 

Rob. [Within.] Mistress Ford ! mistress Ford ! here's 
mistress Page at the door, sweating, and blowing, and 
looking wildly, and would needs speak with you pre- 
sently. 

Fal. She shall not see me. I will ensconce me be- 
hind the arras. 

Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so : she 's a very tattling 
woman. — [Falstaff hides himself. 

Enter Mistre.';s Pagf, and Robin. 
What 's the matter ? how now ! 

Mrs. Page. O mistress Ford ! what have you done ? 
You 're shamed, you are overthrown, you 're undone 
for ever. 

Mrs. Ford. What 's the matter, good mistress 
Page? 

Mrs. Page. O wcll-a-day, mistress Ford ! having an 
honest man to your husband to give hira such cause of 
suspicion ! 

Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion ? 

3Irs. Page. What cause of suspicion? — Out upon 
you ! how am I mistook in you ! 

3[rs. Ford. Why, alas ! what's the matter? 

3Irs. Page. Your husband 's coming hither, woman, 
Avith all the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentle- 
man, that, he says, is here now in the house, by your 
consent, to take an ill advantage of his absence. You 
are undone. 

Mrs. Ford. 'T is not so, I hope. 

Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you have 
such a man here ; but 't is most certain your husband 's 
coming, with half Windsor at his heels, to search for 
such a one ; I come before to tell you. If you know 
yourself clear, why I am glad of it ; but if you have a 
friend here, convey, convey him out. Be not amazed; 
call all your senses to you : defend your reputation, or 
bid faresvell to your good life for ever. 

3Irs. Ford. What shall I do? — There is a gentle- 
man, my dear friend : and I fear not mine own shame, 
so much as his peril : I had rather than a thousand 
pound, he were out of the house. 



Page. 



Mrs. Page. For shame ! never stand " you had 
rather," and "you had rather:" your husband 's here 
at hand : bethink you of some conveyance : in the house 
you cannot hide him. — 0, how have you deceived 
me ! — Look, here is a basket : if he be of any reason- 
able stature, he may creep in here ; and thi-ow foul 
linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking : or, it 
is M'hiting-time, send him by your two men to Datchet 
mead. 

3Irs. Ford. He 's too big to go in there. What shall 
I do? 

Re-enter Falstaff. 

Fnl. Let me see 't, let me see 't ! 0, let me see 't ! 
I '11 in, I Ml in. — Follow your friend's counsel. — 
I'll in. 



Mrs 

your letters 

Fal 
here ) 



What ! sir John Falstaff? Are these 
knight? 
I love thee: help me away; let me creep in 
I '11 never — 

[He gets into the ha.tket, and falls over :^ 
they cover him ivith foul linen. 

Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy. Call 
your men, mistress Ford. — You dissembling knight ! 

Mrs. Ford. What, John ! Robert ! John ! [Exit 
Robin. Re-enter Servants.] Go, take up these clothes 
here, quickly; where 's the cowl-stafF?^ look, how you 
drumble* : carry them to the laundress in Datchet 
mead ; quickly, come. 

Enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. 

Ford. Pray you, come near : if I suspect without 
cause, why then make sport at me, then let me be your 
jest; I deserve it. — How now ! whither bear you this? 

Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. 

Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whither they 
bear it ? you were best meddle with buck-washing. 

Ford. Buck ! I would I could wash myself of the 
buck ! Buck, buck, buck ? Ay, buck ; I warrant you, 
buck, and of the season too, it shall appear. [Exettnt 
Servants ivith the ba.^ket.] Gentlemen, I have dreamed 
to-night : I '11 tell you my dream. Here, here, here be 
my keys : ascend my chambers, search, seek, find out : 
I '11 warrant, we '11 unkennel the fox. — Let me stop this 
way first : — so, now uncape. 

Page. Good master Ford, be contented : you wrong 
yourself too much. 

Ford. True, master Page. — Up, gentlemen; you 
shall see sport anon : follow me. gentlemen. [Exit. 

Eva. This is fery fantastical humours, and jealousies. 

Caius. By gar, 't is no de fashion of France : it is not 
jealous in France. 

Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen : see the issue of 
his search. [Exeunt Page, Evans, and Caius. 

Mrs. Page. Is there not a double excellency in this ? 

Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me better, that 
my husband is deceived, or sir John. 

3Irs. Page. What a taking was he in, when your 
husband asked who was in the basket ! 

Mrs. Ford. I am half afraid he will have need of 
washing ; so, throwing him into the water will do him 
a benefit. 

Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal ! I would all 
of the same strain were in the same distress. 

Mrs. Ford. I think, my husband hath some special 
suspicion of Falstafl!"'s being here, for I never saw him 
so gross in his jealousy till now. 

il/ns. Page. I will lay a plot to try that; and we will 
yet have more tricks with Falstaff: his dissolute dis- 
ease will scarce obey this metlicine. 

Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, mis- 
tress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the 
water; and give him another hope, to betray him to 
another punishment ? 

Mrs. Page. We '11 do it : let him be sent for to-mor- 
row eight o'clock, to have amends 

Re-enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. 

Ford. I cannot find him : may be, the knave bragged 
>of that he could not compass. 

3Irs. Page. Heard you that? 

Mrs. Ford. You use me well, master Ford, do you ? 

Ford. Ay, I do so. 

Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than your 
thoughts ! 

Ford. Amen. [Ford. 

Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, master 



^ Herb. =Not in f. e. ^ _a. stick for two to carry a basket with two handles by. * Drone, loiter. 



52 



THE MEKKY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



ACT ni. 



Ford. 



I must bear it. 



Ay, ay ; 

Eva. If there be any pody in the house, and in the 
chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, heaven 
forgive my sins at the day of judgment. 

Caius. By gar, nor I too : dere is no bodies. 

Page. Fie, fie, master Ford ! are you not ashamed ? 
What spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I 
would not have your distemper in this kind for the 
wealth of Windsor Castle. 

Ford. 'T is my fault, master Page : I suffer for it. 

Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience : your wife is 
as honest a 'omans as I will desires among five thou- 
sand, and five hundred too. 

Caius. By gar, I see "t is an honest woman. 

Ford. Well ; I promised you a dinner. — Come, come, 
walk in the park : I pray you, pardon me ; I will here- 
after make kno-v\ai to you, why I have done this. — 
Come, wife ; — come, mistress Page : I pray you pardon 
me; pray heartily, pardon me. 

Page. Let 's go in, gentlemen ; but trust me, we '11 
mock him. I do invite you to-morrow morning to my 
house to breakfast ; after, we '11 a birding together : I 
have a fine hawk for the bush. Shall it be so ? 

Ford. Any thing. 

Eva. If there is one, I shall make two in the company. 

Caius. If there be one or two, I shall make-a de turd. 

Ford. Pray you go, master Page. 

Eva. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on 
the lousy knave, mine Host. 

Caius. Dat is good; by gar, vit all my heart. 

Eva. A 
mockeries. 



lousy knave ! to have his gibes, and his 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— A Room in Page's House. 
Enter Fenton and Anne Page. 

Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love ; 
Therefore, no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. 

Anne. Alas! how then? 

Fent. Why, thou must be thyself. 

He doth object, I am too great of birth, 
And that my state being gall'd with my expense, 
I seek to heal it only by his wealth. 
Beside these, other bars he lays before me, — 
My riots past, my wild societies ; 
And tells me, 't is a thing impossible 
I should love thee, but as a property. 

Anne. May be, he tells you true. 

Fent. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come ! 
Albeit, I will confess, thy father's wealth 
Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne : 
Yet, wooing thee, I foimd thee of more value 
Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bagsj 
And 't is the very riches of thyself 
That now I aim at. 

Anne. Gentle master Fenton, 

Yet seek my father's love ; still seek it, sir : 
If opportunity and humblest suit 
Cannot attain it, why then, — Hark yoii hither. 

[Tliey talk apart. 
Enter Shallow, Slender, and Mrs. Quickly. 

Shal. Break their talk, mistress Quickly, my kins- 
man shall speak for himself. 

Slen. I '11 make a shaft or a bolt on 't. 'Slid, 't is 
but venturing. 

Shal. Be not dismay'd. 

Slen. No, she shall not dismay me : I care not for 
that, — but that I am afeard. 

Quick. Hark ye; master Slender would speak a word 
with you. 

1 Not in f. e. 



Anne. [ come to him. — This is my father's choice. 
O, what a world of vile ill-favour' d faults 
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year ! 

Quick. And how does good master Fenton? Pray 
you, a word with you. 

Shal. She 's coming ; to her, coz. boy ! thou hadst 
a father. 

Slen. I had a father, mistress Anne : my uncle can 
tell you good jests of him. — Pray you, uncle, tell mis- 
tress Anne the jest, how my father stole two geese out 
of a pen, good uncle. 

Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. 

Slen. Ay, that I do ; as well as I love any woman 
in Gloucestershire. 

Shal. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. 

Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, under 
the degree of a 'squire. 

Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds 
jointure. 

Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for 
himself. 

Shal. Marry, I thank you for it ; I thank you for 
that good comfort. She calls you, coz : I '11 leave you. 

[Stands back.^ 

Anne. Now, master Slender. 

Slen. Now, good mistress Anne. 

Anne. What is your will ? 

Sle7i. My will ? od's heartlings ! that 's a pretty jest, 
indeed. I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; I 
am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise. 

Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you with 
me? 

Slen. Truly, for mine owii part, I would little or 
nothing with you. Your father, and my uncle, have 
made motions : if it be my luck, so ; if not, happy 
man be his dole. They can tell you how things go, 
better than I can : you may ask your father ; here he 
comes. 

Enter Page and Mi.'itress Page. 

Page. Now, master Slender ! — Love him, daughter 
Anne. — 
Why, how now ! what does master Fenton here ? 
You -wTong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house: 
I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of. 

Fent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient. 

Mrs. Page. Good master Fenton, come not to my 
child. 

Page. She is no match for you. 

Fen. Sir, will you hear me ? 

Page. 
Come, master Shallow; — come, son Slender; in 
Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master Fenton. 

[Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. 

Quick. Speak to mistress Page. 

Fent. Good mistress Page, for that I love yotir 
daughter 
In such a righteous fashion as I do. 
Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners, 
I must advance the colours of my love, 
And not retire : let me have your good will. 

Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to yond' fool. 

Mrs. Page. I mean it not ; I seek you a better hus- 
band. 

Quick. That 's my master, master doctor. 

Anne. Alas ! I had rather be set quick i' the enrth, 
And bowl'd to death with turnips. 

Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself. Good 
master Fenton, 
I wall not be your friend, nor enemy : 



No, good master Fenton. — 



SCENE V. 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WIISTDSOR. 



53 



iNIy daughter will I question how she loves you, 

And as I find her, so am I aflected. 

'Till then, farewell, sir : she must needs go in j 

Her father will be angry. [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Anne. 

Ferit. Farewell, gentle mistress. — Farewell, Nan. 

Quick. This is my doing, now. — Nay, said I, will 
you cast away your cliild on a fool, and a physician? 
look on, master Fenton. — This is my doing. 

Pent. I thank tliee ; and I pray thee, once to-night 
Give my sweet Nan this ring. There 's for thy pains. 

[Exit. 

Quick. Now, heaven send thee good fortune ! A 
kind heart he hath : a woman would run through fire 
and water for such a kind heart. But yet I would my 
master had mistress Amie ; or I would master Slender 
had her , or, in sooth, I would master Fenton had her. 
I will do what I can for them all three, for so I have 
promised, and I '11 be as good as my word : but spe- 
ciously for master Fenton. M^'ell, I must of another 
errand to sir John FalstafF from my two mistresses : 
what a beast am I to slack it. [Exit. 

SCENE v.— A Room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Fal. Bardolph, I say ! 

Bard. Here, sir. 

Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a toast in 't. 
[Exit Bard.] Have I lived to be carried in a basket, 
like a barrow of butcher's offal, and to be thro'wn in 
the Thames ? Well, if I be served such another trick, 
I '11 have my brains ta'en out. and buttered, and give 
them to a dog for a new year's gift. The rogues 
slighted me into the river with as little remorse as 
they would have drowned a blind bitch's puppies, fif- 
teen i' the litter ; and you may know by my size, that I 
have a kind of alacrity in sinking : if the bottom were 
as deep as hell, I should down. I had been drowned, 
but that the shore was shelvy and shallow ; a death 
that I abhor, for the water swells a man, and what a 
thing should I have been, when I had been swelled ! 
I should have been a mountain of mummy. 
Re-vater Bardolph, with the icine. 

Bard. Here 's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you. 

Fal. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames 
water ; for my belly 's as cold, as if I had swallowed 
snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. Call her in. 

Bard. Come in. woman. 

Enter Mrs. Quickly. 

Quick. By your leave. — I cry 3'ou mercy : give yoiu* 
worship good-morrow. 

Fal. Take away these chalices. Go, brew me a 
pottle of sack finely. 

Bard. With eggs, sir? 

Fal. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my 
brewage. — [Exit Bardolph.] — How now? 

Quick. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from 
mistress Ford. 

Fal. Mistress Ford ! I have had ford enough : I was 
thrown into the ford : I have my belly full of ford. 

Quick. Alas the day ! good heart, that was not her 
fault: she does so take on with her men; they mistook 
their erection. 

Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's 
promise. 

Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it. that it would ' 
yearn your heart to see it. Her liusband goes this 
morning a birding : she desires you once more to come 
to her between eight and nine. I must carry her word 
quickly: she'll make you amends, I warrant you. 

Fal. Well, I will visit her : tell her so ; and bid her 



think, what a man is : let her consider his frailty, and 
then judge of my merit. 

Quick. I will tell her. 

Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou? 

Quick. Eight and nine, sir. 

Fal. Well, be gone : I will not miss her. 

Quick. Peace be with you. sir. [Exit. 

Fal. I marvel, I hear not of master Brook : he sent 
me word to stay within. I like his money well. ! 
here he comes. 

Enter Ford. 

Ford. Bless you. sir. 

Fal. Now, master Brook; you come to know what 
hath passed between me and Ford's wife ? 

Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business. 

Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you. I was at 
her house the hour she appointed me. 

Ford. And sped you. sir? 

Fal. Very ill-favouredly, master Brook. 

Ford. How so. sir? Did she change her determination? 

Fal. No, master Brook ; but the peaking cornuto her 
husband, master Brook, dwelling in a continual larum 
of jealousy, comes me in the instant of our encounter, 
after we had embraced, kissed, protested, and, as it 
were, spoke the prologue of our comedy; and at his 
heels a rabble of his companions, thither provoked and 
in.stigated by his distemper, and, forsooth, to search his 
house for his wife's love. 

Ford. What ! while you were there ? 

Fal. While I was there. 

Ford. And did he search for you, and could not find you? 

Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would have it, 
comes in one mistress Page : gives intelligence of Ford's 
approach ; and by her invention, and Ford's wife's dis- 
traction, they conveyed me into a buck-basket. 

Ford. A buck-basket ! 

Fal. By the Lord, a bvick-basket : rammed me in with 
foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, and greasy 
napkin.s : that, master Brook, there was the rankest 
compound of villainous smell, that ever offended nostril. 

Ford. And how long lay you there ? 

Fal. Nay, you shall hear, master Brook, what I have 
suffered, to bring this woman to evil for your good. 
Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple of Ford's 
knaves, his hinds, \\'ere called forth by their mistress, 
to carry me in the name of foul clothes to Datchet- 
lane : they took me on their shoulders; met the jealous 
knave, their master, in the door, who asked them once 
or twice what they had in their basket. I quaked for 
fear, lest the lunatic knave would have searched it; 
but fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, held his 
hand. Well ; on went he for a search, and away went 
I for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, master Brook: 
I suffered the pangs of three several deaths : first, an 
intolerable fright, to be detected with a jealous rotten 
bell-wether : next, to be compassed, like a good bilbo, 
in the circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to 
head : and then, to be stopped in, like a strong distil- 
lation, with stinking clothes that fretted in their own 
grease : think of that, — a man of my kidney, — think of 
that : that am as subject to heat, as butter ; a man of 
continual dissolution and thaw: it was a miracle, to 
"scape suffocation. And in the height of this bath, 
when I was more than half stewed in grease, like a 
Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cooled, 
glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse shoe ; think of 
that, — hissing hot, — think of that, master Brook. 

Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my 
sake you have suffered all this. My suit, then, is des- 
perate ; you '11 undertake her no more ? 



54: 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



ACT IV. 



Fal. Master Brook. I will be throAATi into JEtnUj as I 
have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her 
husband is this morning gone a hireling : I have re- 
ceived from her anotlier embassy of meeting; 'twixt 
eight and nine is the hour, master Brook. 

Ford. 'T is past eight already, sir. 

Fal. Is it ? I will then address me to my appoint- 
ment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, and 
you shall know how I speed, and the conclusion shall 
be crowned with your enjoying her: adieu. Yovi shall 
have her, master Brook ; master Brook, you shall 
cuckold Ford. [Exit. 

Ford. Hum: ha! is this a vision? is this a dream? 



do I sle«p ? Master Ford, awake ! awake, master 
Ford ! there 's a hole made in your best coat, master 
Ford. This 't is fo be married : this 't is to have linen, 
and buck-baskets. — Well, I will proclaim myself what 
I am : I will now take the lecher j he is at my house : 
he cannot 'scape me ; 't is impossible he should : he 
cannot creep in;o a half-penny pur.^e, nor into a pepper- 
box; but, lest the devil that guides him shovild aid 
him, I will search impossible places. Though what I 
am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not, shall 
not make me tame : if I have horns to make me mad, 
let the proverb go with me, I '11 be horu mad. 

[Exit. 



ACT IV, 



SCENE I.— The Street. 
Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Quickly, and William. 

Mrs. Page. Is he at master Ford's already, think'st 
thou ? 

Quick. Sure he is, by this, or will be presently ; but 
truly, he is very courageous mad about his throwing 
into the water. Mistress Ford desires you to come 
suddenly. 

Mrs. Page. I '11 be with her by and by : I '11 but 
bring my young man here to school. Look, where his 
master comes; 'tis a playing day, I see. 
Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 
How now, sir Hugh ! no school to-day ? 

Eva. No ; master Slender is get' the boys leave to 
play. 

Quick. Blessing of his heart ! 

Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my htisband saj^s, my son 
profits nothing in the world at his book : 1 pray you. 
ask him some questions in his accidence. 

Eva. Come liither, William : hold up your head ; 
come. 

Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah : hold up your head : 
answer your master; be not afraid. 

Eva. William, how many numbers is in nouns ? 

Will. Two. 

Quick. Truly, I thought there had been one number 
more, because they say. od 's nouns. 

Eva. Peace your tattlings ! — What is fair, William? 

Will. Pulcher. 

Quick. Pole-cats ! there are fairer things than pole- 
cats, sure. 

Eva. You are a very simplicity 'oman : I pray you, 
peace. — What is lapis, William ? 

Will. A stone. 

Eva= And what is a stone, William ? 

Will. A pebble. 

Eva. No, it is lapis : I pray you remember in your 
prain. 

Will. Lapis. 

Eva. That is good, William. What is he, William, 
that does lend articles? 

Will. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun; and be 
thus declined, Singulariter, itominativo, hie, hccc, hoc. 

Eva. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; — pray you, mark: 
genitivo, hujus. Well, what is your accusative ease ? 

Will. Accu.-iativo, hinc. 

Eva. I pray you, have your remembrance, child ; 
accusativo, hing, hang, hog. 

Quick. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant you. 



Eva. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. — What is the 
focative case, William ? 

Will. O — vocativo, O. 

Eva. Remember, William ; focative is, caret. 

Qtiick. And that 's a good root. 

Eva. 'Oman, forbear. 

Mrs. Page. Peace ! 

Eva. What is your genitive case plural, William? 

Will. Genitive case ? 

Eva. Ay. 

Will. Genitive, — horum, harum, horum. 

Quick. Vengeance of Jenny's case ! fie on her ! — 
Never name her child, if she be a whore. 

Eva. For shame, 'oman ! 

Quick. You do ill to teach the child such words. — 
He teaches him to hick and to hack, which they '11 do 
fast enough of themselves ; and to call horum, — fie 
upon you ! 

Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no under- 
standings for thy cases, and tlie numbers and the gen- 
ders? Thou art as foolish Christian creatures as I 
would desires. 

Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee hold thy peace. 

Eva. Show me now, William, some declensions of 
your pronov\ns. 

Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. 

Eva. It is qtii, qua, quod; if you forget your quis, 
your qtiws, and your quods, you must be preeches^. Go 
your ways, and play; go. 

Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar than I thought he 
was. 

Eva. He is a good sprag^ memory. Farewell, mis- 
tress Page. 

Mrs. Page. Adieu, good sir Hugh. [Exit Sir Hugh.] 



Get you home, boy. — Come, we stay too long. 



[Exeunt 



SCENE IT.— A Room in Ford's House. 
Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Ford. 
Fal. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my 
sufferance. I see, you are obsequious in your love, 
and I profess requital to a hair's breadth ; not only, 
Mrs. Ford, in the simple office of love, but in all the 
accoutrement, complement, and ceremony of it. But 
are you sure of your husband now ? 

Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, sweet sir John. 
Mrs. Page. [Within.^ What hoa ! gossip Ford ! what 
hoa ! 

Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, sir John. 

[Exit Falstaff. 



' let : in f. e. ^ Breeched, whipped. ^ Spry, quick. 



SCENE n. 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



55 



How now, sweetheart ! wlio 's at home 



here; now 



Enter Mrs. Page 

Mrs. Page 
besides yourself? 

3Irs Ford. Why, none but mine own people. 

3Irs. Page. Indeed ? 

Mrs. Ford. No, certainly. — [^5i(/e.] Speak louder. 

Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody 
here. 

Mrs. Ford. Why ? 

Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in his old 
lunes again : he so takes on yonder with my husband ; 
so rails against all married mankind; so curses all Eve's 
daughters, of what complexion soever ; and so buffets 
himself on the forehead, crying, "Peer-out, Peer-out ! " 
that any madness I ever yet beheld seemed but tame- 
ness, civility, and patience, to this distemper he is in 
now. I am glad the fat knight is not here. 

Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him ? 

Mrs. Page. Of none but him ; and swears, he was 
carried out, the last time he searched for him, in a 
basket : protests to my husband he is now here, and 
hath drawn him and the rest of their company from 
their sport, to make another experiment of his sus 
picion. But I am glad the knight is not 
he shall see his own foolery. 

3Irs. Ford. How near is he, mistress Page ? 

Mrs. Page. Hard by; at street end: he will be here 
anon. 

3Irs. Ford. I am undone ! the knight is here. 

Mrs. Page. Why, then you are utterly shamed, and 
he 's but a dead man. What a woman arc you ! — 
Away with him, away with him : better shame, than 
murder. 

Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go ? how should I 
bestow him ? Shall I put him into the basket again ? 
Re-enter Falstaff in fright.^ 

Fal. No, I'll come no more in the basket. May I 
not go out, ere he come ? 

3Irs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's brothers 
watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue out ; 
otherwise you might slip away ere he came. But what 
make you here? 

Fal. What shall I do? — I '11 creep up into the chim- 
ney. 

il/rs. Ford. There they always use to discharge their 
birding-pieces. Creep into the kiln-hole. 

Fal. Where is it ? 

Mrs. Ford. He will seek there, on my word. Neither 
press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an 
abstract for the remembrance of such places, and goes 
to them by his note ; there is no hiding you in the 
house. 

Fal. I '11 go out, then. 

Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own semblance, 
you die, sir John. Unless you go out disguised, — 

Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him ? 

3Irs. Page. Alas the day ! I know not. There is 
no woman's gown big enough for him ; otherwise, he 
might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so 
escape. 

Fal. Good hearts, devise something: any extremity, 
rather than a mischief. 

Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brent- 
ford, has a gown above. 

Mrs. Page. On my word it will serve him; .she's as 
big as he is: and there's lier thrunvd hat, and her 
muffler too. — Run up, sir John. 

3Irs. Ford. Go, go. sweet sir John: mistress Page 
and I will look some linen for vour head. 



Mrs. Page. Quick, quick : we '11 come dress you 
straight : put on tlie gown the while. [Exit Falstaff. 

3Trs. Ford. I would my husband would meet him in 
this shape : he camiot abide the old woman of B/ent- 
ford ; he swears, she 's a witch ; forbade her my house, 
and hath threatened to beat her. 

Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband's 
cudgel, and the de\'i] guide his cudgel afterwards ! 

3Irs. Ford. But is my luisband coming ? 

Mrs. Page. Ay. in good sadness, is he ; and talks of 
the basket too, howsoever he hath had intelligence. 

Mrs. Ford. We '11 try that ; for I '11 appoint my men 
to carry the basket again, to meet him at the door with 
it, as they did last time. 

3Irs. Page. Nay, but he '11 be here presently : let 's 
go dress him like the witch of Brentford. 

3Irs. Ford. I '11 first direct my men, what they shall 
do with the basket. Go up, I '11 bring linen for him 
straight. [Exit. 

Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet ! we camiot 
misuse him enough. 

We '11 leave a proof, by that which we will do, 

Wives may be merry, and yet honest too : 

We do not act, that often jest and laugh ; 

'T is old but true, " Still swine eat all the draff." 

[Exit. 
Re-enter Mrs. Ford, with two Servants. 

Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your 
shoulders : your master is hard at door ; if he bid you 
set it down, obey him. Quickly; despatch. [Exit. 

1 Serv. Come, come, take it up. 

2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of knight* again. 

1 Serv. I hope not : I had as lief bear so much lead. 
Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, and Sir Hugh 
Evans. 

Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, master Page, have 
you any way then to unfool me again? — Set down the 
basket, villains. — Somebody call my wife. — Youth in a 
basket ! — you pandcrly rascals ! there 's a knot, a 
ging^, a pack, a conspiracy against me : now shall the 
devil be shamed. — What, wife, I say? Come, come 
forth : behold what honest clothes you send forth to 
bleaching. 

Page. Wliy, this passes ! Master Ford, you are not 
to go loose any longer ; you must be pinioned. 

Eva. Why, this is lunatics : this is mad as a mad 
dog. 

Shal. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well ; indeed. 
Enter Mrs. Ford. 

Ford. So say I too, sir. — Come hither, mistress Ford ; 
mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest wife, the 
virtuous creature, that hath the jealous fool to her 
husband. — I suspect without cause, mistress, do I? 

Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you 
suspect me in any dishonesty. 

Ford. Well said, brazen-face ; hold it out. — Come 
forth, sirrah. [Pulls the Clothes out,^ and throws them 
all over the stage. 

Page. This passes ! 

Mrs. Ford. Are you not ashamed ? let the clothes 
alone. 

Ford. I shall find you anon. 

Eva. 'T is unreasonable. Will you take up your 
wife's clotlies ? Come away. 

Ford. Empty the basket, I say. 

Mrs. Ford. Why. man, wliy, — 

Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there w^as one 
conveyed out of my liouse yesterday in this basket : 
why may not he be there again ? In my house I am 



1 in fright : not in f. e. 2 Gang. ' The rest of the direction not in f. e. 



56 



THE MERRY WIYES OF WINDSOR. 



ACT rv. 



sure he is : my intelligence is true ; my jealousy is 
reasonable. — Pluck me out all the linen. 

Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die a 
flea's death. [All Clothes thrown out} 

Page. Here 's no man. 

Shul. By my fidelity, this is not well, master Ford ; 
this wrongs you. 

Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow 
the imaginations of your own heart : this is jealousies. 

Ford. Well, he 's not here I seek for. 

Page. No, nor no wliere else, but in your brain. 

Ford. Help to search my house this one time : if I 
find not wliat I seek, show no colour for my extremity, 
let me for ever be your table-sport ; let them say of 
me, " As jealous as Ford, that searched a hollow 
walnut for his wife's leman^." Satisfy me once more ; 
once more .search with me. 

3Irs. Ford. What hoa ! mistress Page ! come you, 
and the old woman, down ; my husband will come into 
the chamber. 

Ford. Old woman ! 



What old woman 's that ? 



Mr.'i. Ford. Wliy, it is my maid's aunt of Brentford. 

Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean ? 
Have I not forbid her my house ? She comes of 
errands, does she ? W"e are simple men ; we do not 
know what 's brought to pass under the profession of 
fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells, by 
the figure, and such daubery as this is ; beyond our 
element : we know nothing. — Come down, you witch, 
you hag you ; come down I say. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband. — Good gen- 
tlemen, let him not strike the old woman. 
Enter Falstaff in H'We?i's Clothes, led by Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Page. Come, mother Prat ; come, give me your 
hand. 

Ford. I '11 prat her. — Out of my door, you witch ! 
[beats him] you rag, you baggage, you polecat, you 
ronyon^ ! out ! out ! I '11 conjure you, I '11 fortune-tell 
you. [Exit Falstaff. 

3Irs. Page. Are you not ashamed ! I think, you 
have killed the poor woman. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it. — 'T is a goodly credit 
for you. 

Ford. Hang her, witch ! 

Eva. By yea and nay, I think, the 'oman is a witch 
indeed ; I like not when a 'oman has a great peard ; I 
spy a great peard under her muffler. 

Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen ? I beseech you, 
follow : see but the issue of my jealousy. If I cry out 
thus upon no trail, never trust me when I open again. 

Page. Let 's obey liis humour a little farther. Come, 
gentlemen. [Exeunt Ford, Page, Shallow, and Evans. 

Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not; he 
beat him most unpitifully, methought. 

3Irs. Page. I '11 have the cudgel hallowed, and hung 
o'er the altar; it hath done meritorious service. 



3Irs. Ford. What think 



you ? 



INIay we, with the 



warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good con- 
science, pursue him with any farther revenge ? 

3'Irs. Page. The spirit of wantonness, is, sure, scared 
out of him : if the devil have him not in fee simple, 
with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, in the 
way of waste, attempt us again. 

Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we have 
served him ? 

Mrs. Page. Yes. by all means ; if it be but to scrape 
the figures out of your husband's brains. If they can 
find in their hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight 



shall be any farther afflicted, we two will still be the 
ministers. 

3Irs. Ford. I '11 warrant, they '11 have liim publicly 
shamed, and, methinks, there would be no period to 
the jest. Should he not be publicly shamed ? 

Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it, then shape 



it : I would not have things cool. 



[Exeunt. 



SCENE III.— A Room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Ho.'it and Bardolph. 
Bard. Sir. the Germans desire to have three of your 
horses : the duke himself will be to-morrow at court, 
and they are going to meet him. 

Host. What duke should that be, comes so secretly? 
I hear not of him in the court. Let me speak with 
the gentlemen ; they speak English ? 
Bard. Ay, sir : I '11 call them to you. 
Host. They shall have my horses, but I '11 make 
them pay ; I '11 sauce them : they have had my house 
a week at command ; I have turned away my other 
guests : they must come oft^* ; I'll sauce them. Come. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— A Room in Ford's House. 

Enter Page, Ford. 3Irs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and 

Sir Hugh Evans. 

Eva. 'T is one of the pest discretions of a 'oman as 
ever I did look upon. 

Page. And did he send you both these letters at an 
instant ? 

Mrs. Page. Witliin a quarter of an hour. 

Ford. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth do what thou 
wilt; 
I rather will suspect the sun with cold, 
Than thee with wantonness ; now doth thy honour 

stand, 
In him that was of late a heretic, 
As firm as faith. 

Page. 'T is well, 't is well ; no more. 
Be not as extreme in submission, 
As in offence ; 

But let our plot go forward : let our wives 
Yet once again, to make vis public sport, 
Appoint a meeting willi this old fat fellow, 
Where we may take him, and disgrace him for it. 

Ford. There is no better way than that they spoke of. 

Page. How ? to send him word they '11 meet him in 
the park at midnight ? fie, fie ! he '11 never come. 

Eva. You see,*" he has been thrown into the rivers, 
and has been grievously peaten, as an old 'oman ; me- 
thinks, there should be terrors in him, tliat he should 
not come ; methinks, his flesh is punished, he shall 
have no desires. 

Page. So think I too. 

Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you '11 \ise him when he 
comes, 
And let us two devise to bring him thither. 

Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that Heme 
the hunter. 
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest, 
Doth all the winter time, at still midnight. 
Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns ; 
And there he blasts the trees, and takes* the cattle ; 
And makes milcli-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain 
In a most hideous and dreadful manner. 
You have heard of such a spirit ; and well you know, 
The superstitious idle-headed eld 
Received, and did deliver to our age. 
This tale of Heme the hunter for a truth. 



iNotinf. e. 'i Lot-er ; also used for mistress. ^ Vt. rogue, ior scurf . * come down. 6 say : in f. e. ^possesses. 



SCENE V. 



THE MERRY WIYES OF WINDSOR. 



57 



Page. Why, yet there want not many, that do fear 
In deep of night to walk by this Heme's oak. 
But what of this ? 

3Irs. Ford. Marry, this is our devise ; 

That FalstafF at that oak shall meet with us, 
Disguis'd like Heme, with huge horns on his head. 

Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he '11 come. 
And in this shape: whcnyouhavebrought him thither, 
What shall be done with him ? what is your plot ? 

Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought upon, 
and thus. 
Nan Page my daughter, and my little son, 
And three or four more of their growth, we '11 dress 
Like urchins, ouphes', and fairies, green and white, 
With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, 
And rattles in their hands. Upon a sudden, 
As FalstafF, she, and I, are newly met. 
Let them from forth a saw-pit rush at once 
With some diffused^ song: upon their sight, 
We two in great amazedness will fly : 
Then, let them all encircle him about, 
And, fairy-like, to-pinch^ the unclean knight ; 
And ask him, why, that hour of fairy revel, 
In their so sacred paths he dares to tread, 
In shape profane. 

Mrs. Ford. And till he tell the truth, 
Let the supposed fairies pinch him soundly, 
And burn him with their tapers. 

Mrs. Page. The truth being known. 

We '11 all present ourselves, dis-liorn the spirit. 
And mock him home to Windsor. 

Ford. The children must 

Be practised well to this, or they '11 ne'er do 't. 

Eva. I will teach the children their behaviours ; and 
I will be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the knight 
with my taber. 

Ford. That will be excellent. I '11 go buy them 
vizards. 

Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all the 
fairies. 
Finely attired in a robe of white. 

Page. That silk will I go buy ; — [Aside.] and in 
that time 
Shall master Slender steal my Nan away, 
And marry her nt Eton. [To them.] Go, send to 
Fa Istatf straight. 

Ford. Nay, I '11 to him again in name of Brook ; 
He'll tell me all his purpose. Sure, he'll come. 

Mrs. Page. Fear not you that. Go, get us properties, 
And tricking for our fairies. 

Eva. Let us about it : it is admirable pleasures, and 
fery honest knaveries. 

[Exeunt Page, Ford, and Evans. 

Mrs. Page. Go, mistress Ford, 
Send Quickly to sir John, to know his mind. 

[Exit Mrs. Ford. 
I '11 to the doctor : he hath my good will. 
And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. 
That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot ; 
And him my husband best of all affects : 
The doctor is well moncy'd, and his friends 
Potent at court : he, none but he, shall have her, 
Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. 

[Exit. 

SCENE v.— A Room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Host and Simple. 
Host. What wouldst thou have, boor? what, thick- 
skin ? speak, breathe, discuss ; brief, short, quick, snap. 



Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with sir John Fal- 
staff from master Slender. 

Host. There 's his chamber, his house, his castle, his 
standing-bed, and truckle-bed : 't is painted about with 
the story of the prodigal, fresh and new. Go, knock 
and call ; he '11 speak like an Anthropophaginian unto 
thee : knock, I say. 

Sim. There 's an old womari, a fat woman, gone up 
into his clmmber : I '11 be so bold as stay, sir, till she 
come down : I come to speak with her, indeed. 

Host. Ha ! a fat woman ? the knight may be robbed : 
I'll call. — Bully knight ! Bully sir John ! speak from 
thy lungs military ; art thou there ? it is thine host^ 
thine Ephesian, calls. 

Fal. [Above^ How now, mine host ? 

Host. Here's a Bohemian Tartar tarries the coming 
down of thy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, let 
her descend : my chambers are honourable : fie ! pri- 
vacy ? fie ! 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even 
now with me, but she 's gone. 

Sim. Pray you, sir, was 't not the wis*e woman of 
Brentford ? 

Fal. Ay, marry, was it, muscle-shell : what would 
you with her ? 

Sim. My master, sir, my master Slender, sent to her, 
seeing her go through the streets, to know, sir, whether 
one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain, had the 
chain, or no. 

Fal. I spake with the old woman about it. 

Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir ? 

Fal. Marry, she says, that the very same man that 
beguiled master Slender of his chain, cozened him 
of^it. 

Sim. I would I could have spoken with the woman 
herself : I had other things to have spoken with her, 
too, from him. 

Fal. What are they ? let us know. 

Host. Ay, come ; quick. 

Fal. You* may not conceal them, sir. 

Host. Conceal them, and^ thou diest. 

Sim. Why, sir, they were nothing but about mistress 
Anne Page ; to know, if it were my master's fortune to 
have her, or no. 

Fal. 'T is, 't is his fortune. 

Sim. What, sir ? 

Fal. To have her, — or no. Go ; say, the woman 
told me so. 

Sim. May I be bold to say so, sir ? 

Fal. Ay, sir, tike, who more bold ? 

Sim. I thank your wor.ship. I shall make my mas- 
ter glad with these tidings. [Exit Simple. 

Host. Thou art clerkly, tliou art clerkly, sir John. 
Was there a wise woman with thee ? 

Fal. Ay, that there was, mine host : one, that hath 
taught me more wit than ever I learned before in my 
life : and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid 
for my learning. 

Enter Bardolph. 

Bard. Out, alas, sir! cozenage; mere cozenage I 

7/o.s?. Where be my horses ? speak well of them, 
varletto. 

Bard. Run away with by^ the cozeners; for so soon as 
I came beyond Eton, tliey threw me off from behind one 
of them in a slough of mire ; and set spurs, and away, 
like three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses. 

Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, villain. 
Do not say, they be fled ; Germans are honest men. 



1 Elves. 2 Irregular. ' Be-pinch. * I : in f. e. * or : in f. e. ^ Not in f. e. 



58 



THE MEREY WIVES OF WINDSOE. 



ACT V. 



Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 
Eim. Where is mine host ? 
Host. What is the matter, sir ? 

Eva. Have a care of your entertainments : there is 
a friend of mine come to town tells me, there is three 
couzin germans, that has cozened all the hosts of Read- 
ings, of Maidenhead, of Colcbrook, of horses and money. 
I tell you for good N^ill, look you : you arc wise, and 
full of gibes and vlouting-stogs, and 'tis not convenient 
you should be cozened. Fare you well. 

[Exit. 
Enter Doctor Caius. 
Caius. Vere is mine Host de Jarretihe ? 
Ho-ft. Here, master doctor, in perplexity, and doubt- 
ful dilemma. 

Caius. I cannot tell vat is dat ; but it is tell-a me, 
dat you make grand preparation for a duke de Jar- 
many : by my trot, dere is no duke, dat de court is 
know to come. I tell you for good vill: adieu. 

[Exit. 
Host. Hue and cry, villain ! go. — Assist me, knight : 
I am undone. — Fly, run, hue and cry, villain ! I am 
undone ! 

[Exeunt Host and Bardolph. 
Fal. I would all the world might be cozened, for I 
have been cozened and beaten too. If it should come 
to the ear of the court how I have been transformed, 
and how my transformation hath been washed and cud- 
gelled, they would melt me out of my fat, drop by drop, 
and liquor fisliermen's boots M'ith me : I warrant, they 
would wliip me with their fine wits, till I were as crest- 
fallen as a dried pear. I never prospered since T for- 
swore myself at primero.' Well, if my wind were but 
long enough,^ I would pray and repent. 
Enter Mistress Quickly. 
Now, whence come you ? 

Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. 
Fal. The devil take one party, and his dam the other, 
and so they shall be both bestowed. I have suffered 
more for their sakes, more, than the villainous incon- 
stancy of man's disposition is able to bear. 

Quick. And have not they suffered? Yes, I war- 
rant ; speciously one of them : mistress Ford, good 
heart, is beaten black and blue, that you camiot see a 
white spot about her. 

Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue ? I 
was beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow; 
and I was like to be apprehended for the witch of 
Brentford ; but that my admirable dexterity of wit, my 
counterfeiting the action of an old woman, deliver'd 
me, the knave constable had set me i' the stocks, i' 
the common stocks, for a witch. 

Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber; 
you shall hear how things go, and, I warrant, to your 
content. Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good 
hearts ! what ado here is to bring you together. Sure, 
one of you does not serve heaven well, that you are so 
crossed. 

Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt. 



SCENE VI. — Another Room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Fenton and Host. 
Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind is 
heavy; I will give over all. 

Fent. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose, 
And, as I am a gentleman, I' 11 give thee 
A hundred pound in gold more than your loss. 

Host. I will hear you, master Fenton ; and I will, 
at the least, keep your counsel. 

Fent. From time to time I have acquainted you 
With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ; 
Who, mutually, hath answer' d my affection 
(So far forth as herself might be her chooser) 
Even to my wish. I liave a letter from her 
Of such contents as you will wonder at; 
The mirth whereof so larded with my matter, ^ 
That neither, singly, can be manifested. 
Without the show of both ; — wherein fat Falstaff 
Hath a great scene : the image of the jest 

[Showing the Letter. 
I '11 show you here at large. Hark, good mine Host : 
To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one, 
Must my sweet Nan present tlie fairy queen; 
The purpose why, is here ; in which disguise, 
While other jests are something rank on foot, 
Her father hath commanded her to slip 
Away with Slender, and with him at Eton 
Innnediately to marry : she hath consented. 
Now, sir, 

Her motlier, even strong against that match, 
And firm for Dr. Caius, hath appointed 
Tliat he shall likewise shuffle her away, 
While other sports are tasking of their minds, 
And at the deanery, where a priest attends, 
Straight marry her : to this her mother's plot 
She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath 
Made promise to the doctor. — Now, thus it rests : 
Her father means she shall be all in white; 
And in that habit, when Slender sees his time 
To take her by the hand, and bid her go. 
She shall go with him : — her mother hath intended, 
The better to denote her to the doctor, 
(For they must all be mask'd and vizarded) 
That quaint in green she shall be loose enrob'd. 
With ribands pendant, flaring 'bout her head , 
And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, 
To pinch her by the hand, and on that token 
The maid hath given consent to go with him. 

Host. Which means she to deceive ? father or 

mother ? 
Fent. Both, my good host, to go along with me : 
And here it rests, — that you '11 procure tlie vicar 
To stay for me at church "twixt twelve and one, 
And in the lawful name of marrying. 
To give our hearts united ceremony. 

Host. Well, husband your dcAdce : I '11 to the vicar. 
Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. 
Fent. So shall I evermore be bound to thee ; 
Besides, I '11 make a present recompense. [Exeu7it. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— A Room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly. 
Fal. Pr'ythee, no more prattling; — go: — I'll hold 
* A game of cards. 2 to say my prayers from the quartos : in f. e 



This is the third time : I hope, good luck lies in odd 
numbers. Away, go. They say, there is divinity in 
odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death. — 
Away. 



SCENE V. 



THE MEREY WIVES OF WINDSOE. 



69 



Quick. I '11 provide you a chain, and I '11 do what I 
can to get you a pair of horns. 

Fal. Away, I say ; time wears ; hold up your head, 
and mince/ [Exit Mrs. Quickly. 

Enter Ford. 
How now, master Brook ! Master Brook, the matter 
will be known to-night or never. Be you in the Park 
about midnight, at Heme's oak, and you shall see 
wonders. 

Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you 
told me you had appointed ? 

Fal. I went to her, master Brook, as you see, like a 
poor old man ; but I came from her, master Brook, 
like a poor old woman. That same knave. Ford her 
husband, hath the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, 
master Brook, that ever governed frenzy. I will tell 
you. — He beat me grievously, in the shape of a woman ; 
for in the shape of man. master Brook, I fear not 
Goliah with a weaver's beam, because I know also, 
life is a shuttle. I am in haste : go along with me ; 
I '11 tell you all, master Brook. Since I plucked geese, 
played truant, and whipped top, I knew not what it 
was to be beaten, till lately. Follow me: I'll tell you 
strange things of this knave Ford, on whom to-night I 
will be revenged, and I will deliver his wife into your 
hand. — Follow. Strange things in hand, master Brook : 
follow. [Exeunt. 

SCENE H.— Windsor Park. 
Enter Pack, Shallow, mid Slender. 

Page. Come, come : we '11 couch i' the castle-ditch, 
till we see the light of our fairies. — Remember, son 
Slender, my daughter. 

Slen. Ay, forsooth ; I have spoke with her, and we 
have a nay-word, how to know one another. I come 
to her in white, and cry ''mum;" she cries, "budget," 
and by that we know one another. 

Shal. That 's good too ; but what needs either your 
'•mum,'" or her "budget?" the wliite will decipher her 
well enough. — It hatli struck ten o'clock. 

Page. The night is dark; light, and spirits will 
become it well. Heaven prosper our sport ! No man 
means evil but the devil, and we shall know him by 
his horns. Let's away: follow me. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— The Street in Windsor. 
Enter Mrs. Page, 3Irs. Ford, and Dr. Caius. 

Mrs. Page. Master Doctor, my daughter is in green : 
when you see your time, take her by the hand, away 
with her to the deanery, and dispatch it quickly. Go 
before into the park : we two must go together. 

Caius. I know vat I have to do. Adieu. 

3Irs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Caius.] My 
husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Fal- 
staff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying my 
daughter : but 't is no matter ; better a little chiding, 
than a great deal of heart-break. 

Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now, and her troop of 
fairies ? and the Welch devil, Evans ?^ 

I\Irs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard by 
Heme's oak. with obscured lights; which, at the very 
instant of Falstaff's and our meeting, they will at once 
display to the night. 

]\[rs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. 

3Irs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be mocked ; 
if he be amazed, he will every way be mocked. 

Mrs. Ford. We "11 betray him finely 



3Irs. Page. Against such lewdsters. 



and their 



lechery, 



Those that betray them do no treachery. 

3Irs. Ford. The hour draws on: to the oak, to the 
oak ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Windsor Park. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans, and Fairies. 

Eva. Trib, trib, fairies: come; and remember your 

parts. Be pold, I pray you ; follow me into the pit, 

and when I give the watch-'ords, do as I pid you. 

Come, com6- trib, trib. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— Another Part of the Park. 

Enter Falstaff, disguised, with a BucWs Head on. 

Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve ; the 
minute draws on. Now, the hot-blooded gods assist 
me ! — remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Eu- 
ropa; love set on thy horns. — O powerful love! that, 
in some respects, makes a beast a man. in some other, 
a man a beast. — You were also, Jupiter, a swan, for 
the love of Leda : 0, omnipotent love ! how near the 
god drew to the complexion of a goose ! — A fault done 
first in the form of a beast ; — Jove, a beastly fault ! 
and then another fault in the semblance of a fowl : 
think on 't, Jove ; a foul fault. When gods have hot 
backs, what shall poor men do ? For me, I am here 
a Windsor stag; and the fattest, I tliink, i' the forest: 
send me a cool rut -time, Jove, or who can blame me to 
piss my tallow ? Who comes here ? my doe ? 
Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. 

3Irs. Ford. Sir John ? art thou there, my deer ? my 
male deer ? 

Fal. My doe with the black scut ? — Let the sky 
rain potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune of " Green 
Sleeves ;" hail kissing-comfits. and snow eringoes ; let 
there come a tempest of provocation, I will shelter me 
here. [Embracing her. 

3Irs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, sweet- 
heart. 

Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck,' each a haunch : 
I win keep my sides to myself, my shovilders for the 
fellow of this walk, and my liorns I bequeath your 
husbands. Ajn I a woodman ? ha ! Speak I like 
Heme the hunter ? — Why, now is Cupid a child of 



As I am a true 
[J\oise within. 



* Walk (tnincingly.) ^ Hugh : in f. e. ' Buck sent for a bribe. 



conscience ; he makes restitution, 
spirit, welcome. 

3Irs. Page. Alas ! what noise ? 

3Irs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins ! 

Fal. What should this be ? 

3Irl'. Page. } ^^^^' '^^^^ ' t^^^/ run off. 

Fal. I think, the devil will not have me damned, 

lest the oil that is in me should set hell on fire ; he 

would never else cross me thus. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans, like a Satyr; 3Irs. Quickly, 
and Pistol; Anne Page, as the Fairy Queen., at- 
tended by her brother and others, dressed like fairies, 
with waxen tapers on their heads. 
Queen. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, 

You moon.shine revellers, and shades of night, 

You orphan-heirs of fi.xed destiny. 

Attend your office, and your quality. 

Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes. 

Pist. Elves, list your names : silence, you aiiy toys ! 

Cricket, to Windsor chimneys when thoust leapt,* 

Where fires thou find'st uiu-ak'd, and heartlis unswept, 

There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry : 

Our radiant queen hates sluts, and sluttery. 

Fal. They are fairies ; he, that speaks to them, 
shall die : [To himself.'' 

* shalt thou leap. * Not in f. e. 



60 



THE MERKY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



ACT V. 



I '11 "wink and couch. No man their works must eye. 

[Lies down upon his face. 

Eva. Where 's Bead ? — Go you, and where you find 
a maid, 
That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, 
Rouse^ up the organs of her fantasy, 
Sleep she as sound as careless infancy ; 
But those tliat^ sleep, and tliink not on their sins. 
Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins. 

Queen. About, about ! 
Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out : 
StrcAV good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room, 
That it may stand till the perpetual doom, 
In state as wliolesome, as in state 't is fit ; 
Worthy the owner, and the owner it. 
The several chairs of order look you scour 
With juice of balm, and every precious flower : 
Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest. 
With loyal blazon, ever more be blest ! 
And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sing, 
Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring : 
Til' expressure that it bears, green let it be, 
More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; 
And, Honi soit qui mal y pense^ write. 
In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white ; 
Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, 
Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee : 
Fairies, use flowers for their charactery. 
Away ! disperse ! but, till 't is one o'clock, 
Our dance of custom, rovmd about the oak 
Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget. 

Eva. Lock hand in hand ; yourselves in order set ; 
And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be. 
To guide our measure round about the tree. 
But, stay ! I smell a man of middle earth. 

Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest 
he transform me to a piece of cheese ! [To himself.^ 

Fist. Vile worm, thou wast o'er-look'd* even in thy 
birth. 

Queen. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end : 
If he be chaste, the flame will back descend, 
And turn him to no pain ; but if he start, 
It is the flesh uf a corrupted heart. 

Pist. A trial ! come. 

Fva. Come, ^^^ll this w^ood take fire ? 

[They burn him with their tapers. 

Fal. Oh, oh, oh ! 

Queen. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire ! 
About him, fairies, sing a scornful rhyme ; 
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.' 
Song, by one. 

Fie on sinful fantasy ! 

Fie on lust and luxury ! 

Lust is but a bloody fire ., 

Kindled with unchaste desire, 

Fed in heart ; whose flames a.<<pirc, 

As thoughts do blow them higher and higher. 
Chorus. 

Pinch him, fairies, mutually ; 

Pinch him for his villainy ; 

Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about. 

Till candles, and star-light, and moon-shine be end. 
During this song, the fairies finch Falstaff : Doctor 

Caius comes one way, and steals away a fairy in green; 

Slender another way, and takes off a fairy in white; 

and Fenton comes, and steals away Anne Page. A 

noise of hunting is made unthin. All the fairies run 

away. Falstaff pulls off his buck^s head, and rises. 



1 raise : in f. e 2 as : in f. e. ^,„., „ 

lecheries and iniquity. « A fool's cap of frieze. 



Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, and Mrs. Ford. They 
lay hold of him. 

Page. Nay, do not fly : I think, we have match'd 
you now. 
Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn ? 

3Irs. Page. I pray you come ; hold up the jest no 
higher. — 
Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives ? 
See you tliese, luisband ? do not these fair yokes 
Become the forest better than the town ? 

Ford. Now, sir, who 's a cuckold now ! — Master 
Brook, Falstaff 's a knave, a euckoldly knave ; here are 
his horns, master Brook : and, master Brook, he hath 
enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, his 
cudgel, and twenty pounds of money, M'hich must be 
paid to master Brook : his horses are arrested for it, 
master Brook. 

Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill-luck ; we could 
never meet. I will never take you for my love again, 
but I will always count you my deer. 

Fal. I do begin to perceive, that I am made an ass. 

Ford. Ay, and an ox too ; both the proofs are 
extant. 

Fal. And these are not fairies ! I was three or four 
times in the thought, they were not fairies ; and yet 
the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my 
powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a re- 
ceived belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and 
reason, that they were fairies. See now, how wit may 
be made a Jack-a-lent, when 't is upon ill employment ! 

Eva. Sir John Falstaff", serve Got, and leave your 
desires, and fairies will not pinse you. 

Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. 

Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you. 

Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou 
art able to woo her in good English. 

Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, 
that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er-reaching 
as this ? Am I ridden with a Welch goat too ? shall 
I have a coxcomb of frize ?■* 'T is time I were choked 
with a piece of toasted cheese. 

Eva. Seese is not good to give putter : your pelly is 
all putter. 

Fal. Seese and putter ! have I lived to stand at 
the taunt of one that makes fritters of English ? This 
is enough to be the decay of lust, and late-walking, 
through the realm. 

Mrs. Page. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we 
would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head 
and shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple 
to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our 
delight ? 

Ford. What, a hog-pudding ? a bag of flax ? 

3Irs. Page. A puffed man ? 

Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable entrails? 

Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan? 

Page. And as poor as Job ? 

Ford. And as wicked as his wife ? 

Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and 
sack, and wine, and mctlieglins, and to drinkings, and 
swearings, and starings. pribbles and prabbles ? 

Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the start of 
me ; I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the Welch 
flannel. Ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me : use 
me as you' will. 

Ford. Marry, sir, we '11 bring you to Windsor, to one 
master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to 
whom you should have been a pander : over and above 

3 Not in f. e. * Bewitched. » Malone adds, from the quarto -.—Eva. It is right, indeed; he is lull of 
'ap of frieze. 



SCENE V. 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



61 



that you have suffered, I think, to repay that money 
will be a biting affliction.^ 

Page. Yet be cheerful, knight : thou shalt eat a pos- 
set to-night at my house ) where 1 will desire thee to 
laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her, 
master Slender hath married her daughter. 

Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that : if Amie Page be my 
daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius' wife. [Aside. 
Enter Slender, crying. 

Slen. Whoo, ho ! ho ! father Page ! 

Page. Son, how now ! how now, son ! have you 
despatched ? 

Slcn. Despatched ! — I '11 make the best in Glouces- 
tershire know on 't ; would I were hanged, la, else. 

Page. Of what, son ? 

Slcn. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress Anne 
Page, and she 's a great lubberly boy : if it had not 
been i' the church, I would have swinged him, or he 
should have swinged me. If I did not think it had 
been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and 't is a 
post -master's boy. 

Page. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong. 

Slen. What need you tell me that? I think so, 
when I took a boy for a girl : if I had been married 
to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not 
have had him. 

Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell 
you, how you should know my daughter by her gar- 
ments ? 

Slen. I went to her in white, and cried " mum," 
and she cried " budget," as Amie and I had appointed; 
and yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy. 

Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry : I knew of 
your purpose ; turned my daughter into green ; and, 
indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and 
there married. 

Enter Doctor Caius. 

Caius. Vore is mistress Page ? By gar, I am co- 
zened ; I ha' married un gar^on, a boy ; iin paisan^ by 
gar, a boy : it is not Anne Page ; by gar, I am 
cozened. 

Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green? 

1 The quartos here have — 

Mr.s. Ford. Nay. husband, let that go to make amends : 
Forfiive thnt sum and so we '11 all be friends. 
Ford. Well, here 's my hand : all 's forgiven at last. 
Faf. It halh cost me well : I have been well pinched and wash'd. 

2 title : in f. e. ' 



Caius. Ay, by gar, and 't is a boy : by gar, I '11 raise 
all Windsor. [Exit Caius. 

Ford. This is strange. Who hath got the right Amie ? 

Page. My heart misgives me. Here comes master 
Fenton. 

Enter Fenton a7ia Anne Page. 
How now, master Fenton ! [They kneel. 

Amie. Pardon, good father ! good my mother, pardon. 

Page. Now, mistress ; how chance you went not 
with master Slender ? 

Mrs. Page. Wliy went you not with master doctor, 
maid ? 

Fent. You do amaze her : hear the truth of it. 
You would have married her most shamefully, 
Where there was no proportion held in love. 
The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, 
Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us. 
The offence is holy that she hath committed j 
And this deceit loses the name of craft, 
Of disobedience, or unduteous guile,^ 
Since therein she doth evitate and shun 
A thousand irreligious cursed hours. 
Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. 

Ford. Stand not amaz'd : here is no remedy. — 
In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state : 
Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. 

Fat. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special 
stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. 

Page. Well, what remedy ? Fenton, heaven give 
thee joy. 
What cannot be eschew'd must be embrac'd. 

Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are 
chas'd. 

Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no farther. — Master 
Fenton, 
Heaven give you many, many merry days. — 
Good husband, let us every one go home. 
And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire ; 
Sir Jolm and all. 

Ford. Let it be so. — Sir John, 
To master Brook you yet shall hold your word ; 
For he, to-night, shall lie with mistress Ford. [Exeunt, 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



DRAMATIS PEKSON"^. 



ViNCENTio, the Duke. 

Angelo, the Deputy. 

EscALUs, an ancient Lord. 

Ci.AUDio, a young Gentleman. 

Lucio. a Fantastic. 

Two olher like Gentlemen. 

Provost. 

Thomas, "I 

Peter, j 

A Justice. 

Elbow, a simple Constable. 



Two Friars. 



Froth, a foolish Gentleman. 

Clown. 

Abhorson, an Executioner. 

Barnardine, a dissolute Prisoner. 

Isabella, sister to Claudio. 
JMariana, betrothed to Angelo. 
Juliet, beloved of Claudio. 
Francisca, a Nun. 
Mistress Over-done, a Bawd. 



Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers, and other Attendants. 
SCENE. Vieima. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L — An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. 



Enter Duke, Escalus, 



Lords, and Attendants. 



Duke. Escalus ! 

Esral. My lord. 

Eiike. Of government the properties to unfold, 
Would seem in me t' affect speech and discourse ; 
Since I am apt' to know, tliat your own science 
Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice 
My strength can give you : then, no more remains, 
But add° to your sufficiency your worth, ^ 
And let them work. The nature of our people, 
Our city"s institutions, and the terms 
For common justice, y' are as pregnant in 
As art and practice hath enriched any 
That we remember. There is our commission, 

[Giving it.* 
From which we would not have you warp. — Call hither, 
I say. bid come before us Angelo. — [Exit an Attendant. 
What figure of us think you he will bear ? 
For, you must know, we have Avith special soul 
Elected him our absence to supply. 
Lent him our terror, drest him with our love, 
And given his deputation all the organs 
Of our own power. What think you of it ? 

E.scal. If any in Vienna be of worth 
To undergo such ample grace and honour, 
It is lord Angelo. 

Enter Angelo. 

DuJce. Look, where he comes. 

Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, 
I come to know your pleasure. 

Duke. Angelo, 

There is a kind of character in thy life, 
That, to th' observer, doth thy history 
Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings 
Are not thine own so proper, as to waste 
Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. 

' put : in f. e 



Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do. 

Not light them for ourselves ; for if our virtues 

Did not go forth of us, 't were all alike 

As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch' d, 

But to fine issues ; nor nature never lends 

The smallest scruple of her excellence, 

But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 

Herself the glory of a creditor, 

Both thanks and use^ But I do bend my speech 

To one that can my part in him advertise : 

Hold, thc'efore, Angelo : [Tendering his commission.^ 

In our remove Idc thou at full ourself ; 

Mortality and mercy in Vienna 

Live in thy tongue and heart. Old Escalus, 

Though first in question, is thy secondary : 

Take thy commission. [Giving it.'' 

Ang. Now, good my lord, 

Let there be sonie more test made of my metal, 
Before so noble and so great a figure 
Be stamp'd upon it. 

Dtdce. No more evasion: 

We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice 
Pr.oceeded to you ; therefore, take your honours. 
Our haste from hence is of so quick condition. 
That it p"efers itself, and leaA'cs unquestion'd 
Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, 
As time and our concernings shall importune, 
How it goes with us ; and do look to know, 
What doth befall you here. So, fare you well : 
To the hopeful execution do I leave you 
Of your commissions. 

Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord. 

That we may bring you something on the way. 

Duke. My haste m.ay not admit it ; 
Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do 
With any scruple : your scope is as mine own, 
So to enforce, or qualify the laws 
As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand. 



2 that : in f. e. 3 as your worth is able : in f. e. * Not in f. e. » interest. « ' Not in f. e. 



SCENE n. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



63 



I "11 privily away : I love the people, 
But do not like to stage me to their eyes. 
Though it do well, I do not relish well 
Their loud applause, and aves vehement, 
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion, 
That does afiect it. Once more, fare you well. 

Ang. The heavens give safety to your purposes ! 

Escal. Lead forth, and bring you back in happi- 
ness ! 

Dvke. I thank you. Fare you well. [Exit. 

Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave 
To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me 
To look into the bottom of my place : 
A power I have, but of what strength and nature 
I am not yet instructed. 

Ang. 'T is so with me. Let us withdraw together, 
And we may soon our satisfaction have 
Touching that point. 

Escal. I '11 wait upon your honour. \Exeunt. 

SCENE n.— A Street. 
Enter Lucio and two Gentlemen. 
Lucio. If the duke, with the other dukes, come not 
to composition with the king of Hungary, why then, 
all the dukes fall upon the king. 

1 Gent. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the king 
of Hungary's ! 

2 Gent. Amen. 

Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pirate, 
that went to sea with the ten commandments, but 
scraped one out of the table. 

2 Gent. Thou shalt not steal? 

Lucio. Ay, that he razed. 

1 Gent. Why?' 'T was a commandment to command 
the captain and all the rest from their functions : they 
put forth to steal. There 's not a soldier of us all, that, 
in the thanksgiving before meat, doth relish the peti- 
tion well that prays for peace. 

2 Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. 
Lucio. I believe thee ; for, I think, thou never wast 

where grace was said. 

2 Gent. No ? a dozen times at least. 

1 Gent. What, in metre ? 

Lucio. In any proportion, or in any language. 

1 Gent. I think, or in any religion. 

Lucio. Ay : why not ? Grace is grace, despite of all 
controversy : as for example ; thou thyself art a wicked 
villain, despite of all grace. 

1 Gent. Well, there went but a pair of sheers be- 
tween us. 

Lucio. I grant; as there may between the lists and 
the velvet : thou art the list. 

1 Gent. And thou the velvet ? thou art good velvet : 
thou art a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee. I had as 
lief be a list of an English kersey, as be pil'd, as thou 
art pil'd, for a French velvet. Do I speak feelingly 
now? 

Lucio. I thing thou dost ; and, indeed, with most 
painful feeling of thy speech : I will, out of thine own 
confession, learn to begin thy health ; but, whilst I 
live, forget to drink after thee. 

1 Gent. I think, I have done myself wrong, have I 
not? 

2 Gent. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art 
tainted, or free. 

Lucio. Behold, behold, where madam Mitigation 
comes ! 

1 Gent. I have purchased as many diseases under 
her roof, as come to — 

* Mr. Dyce removes the interrogation (?) giving why an emphatic 



2 Gent. To what, I pray? 

Lucio. Judge. 

2 Gent. To three thousand dollars'* a-year. 

1 Gent. Ay, and more. 
Lucio. A French crown more. 

2 Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases in me; 
but thou art full of error : I am sound. 

Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy ; but so 
sound as things that are hollow : thy bones are hollow; 
impiety has made a feast of thee. 
Enter Bawd. 

1 Gent. How now ? Which of your hips has the most 
profound sciatica ? 

Bawd. Well, well ; there's one yonder arrested, and 
carried to prison, was worth five thousand of you all. 

2 Gent. Who 's that, I pray thee ? 

Baivd. Marry, sir, that 's Claudio ; signior Claudio. 

1 Gent. Claudio to prison ! 't is not so. 

Bawd. Nay, but I know, 'tis so ; I saw him arrested ; 
saw him carried away ; and, which is more, within these 
three days his head is^ to be chopped off. 

Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not have 
it so. Art thou sure of this ? 

Bawd. I am too sure of it ; and it is for getting 
madam Julietta with child. 

Lucio Believe me, this may be: he promised to 
meet me two hours since, and he was ever precise in 
promise-keeping. 

2 Gent. Besides, you know, it draws something near 
to the speech we had to such a purpose. 

1 Gent. But most of all, agreeing with the proclama- 
tion. 

Lucio. Away : let 's go learn the truth of it. 

[Exetmt Lucio and Gentlemen. 

Bawd. Thus, what with the war, what with the 
sweat, what with the gallows, and what with poverty, 
I am custom-shrunk. How now ? what "s the news 
with you? 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. Yonder man is carried to prison. 

Bawd. Well : what has he done ? 

Clo. A woman. 

Bawd. But what 's his offence? 

Clo. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. 

Bawd. What, is there a maid with child by him ? 

Clo. No; but there's a woman with maid by him. 
You have not heard of the proclamation, have you ? 

Bawd. What proclamation, man? 

Clo. All bawdy* houses in the suburbs of Vienna 
must be pluck'd down. 

Bawd. And what shall become of those in the 
city? 

Clo. They shall stand for seed : they had gone down 
too, but that a wise burgher put in for them. 

Bawd. But shall all our houses of resort in the 
suburbs be pull'd down? 

Clo. To the ground, mistress. 

Bau'd. Why, here 's a change, indeed, in the com- 
monwealth ! What shall become of me ? 

Clo. Come: fear not you: good counsellors lack no 
clients : though you change your place, you need not 
change your trade : I '11 be your tapster still. Courage ! 
there will be pity taken on you ; you that have worn 
yoTu- eyes almost out in the ser^'ice : you will be con- 
sidered. 

Bawd. What 's to do here, Thomas Tapster ? Let 's 
withdraw. 

Clo. Here comes signior Claudio, led by the provost 
to prison ; and there "s madam Juliet. [Exeunt. 

sense only. - A quibble upon dolours. 3 * ]\fot in f. e. 



64 



MEASUKE FOE MEASUKE. 



ACT I. 



SCENE III.— The Same. 
Enter Provost, Claudio, and Officers} 
Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to 
th' world ? 
Bear me to prison, where I am committed. 

Prov. I do it not in evil disposition, 
But from lord Angelo by special charge. 

Claud. Thus can the demi-god, authority. 
Make us pay down for our offence by weight. — 
The words of heaven f — on whom it will, it will ) 
On whom it will not, so : yet still 't is just. 
Enter Lucio and two Gentlemen.^ 
Lvcio. Why, how now, Claudio? whence comes this 
restraint ? 

Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty : 
As surfeit is the father of much fast, 
So every scape by the immoderate use 
Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue. 
Like rats that ravin* down their proper bane, 
A thirsty evil, and when we drink, we die. 

Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I 
would send for certain of my creditors. And yet, to 
say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom, 
as the morality of imprisonment. — What 's thy offence, 
Claudio? 

Claud. What but to speak of would offend again. 
What is it ? murder ? 
No. 



tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be in 



love, may sigh it off. 
to him. 



Send after the duke, and appeal 



Lucio. 

Claud. 

Lucio. 

Claud. 

Prov. 

Claud. One word, 



Lechery? 
Call it so. 
Away, 



sn- 



you must go. 

good friend. — Lucio, a word with 
[Takes him aside. 
'11 do you any good. — Is 



-Upon a true con- 



you. 

Lucio. A hundred, if they 
lechery so loolf'd after ? 

Claud. Thus stands it with me 
tract, 

I got jjossession of Julietta's bed : 
You know the lady ; she is fast my wife, 
Save that we do the pronunciation' lack 
Of outward order : this we came not to, 
Only for procuration' of a dower 
Remaining in the coffer of her friends. 
From whom we thought it meet to hide our love, 
Till time had made them for vis. But it chances. 
The stealth of our most mutual entertainment 
With character too gross is -writ on Juliet. 

Lucio. With child, perhaps? 

Claud. Unliappily, even so. 
And the new deputy now for the duke, — 
Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness, 
Or whether that the body public be 
A horse whereon the governor doth ride, 
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know 
He can command, lets it straight feel the spur ; 
Whether the tyranny be in his place, 
Or in his eminence that fills it up, 
I stagger in ; — but this new governor 
Awakes me all the em-olled penalties, 
Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall 
So long, that nineteen zodiacks have gone round. 
And none of them been worn ; and, for a name, 
Now puts the drowsy and neglected act 
Freshly on me : — 't is surely, for a name. 

Lucio. I warrant it is ; and thy head stands so 



Claud'. I have done so, but he 's not to be found. 
I pr'ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service. 
This day my sister should the cloister enter, 
And there receive her approbation : 
Acquaint her with the danger of my state ; 
Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends 
To the strict deputy ; bid herself essay him : 
I have great hope in that ; for in her youth 
There is a prone and speechless dialect. 
Such as moves men : beside, she hath prosperous art., 
When she will play with reason and discourse, 
And she can well persviade. 

Lucio. I pray, she may: as well for the encourage- 
ment of the like, which else would stand under grie\ous 
imposition, as for the enjoying of thy life, who J, would 
be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a game of tick- 
tack.' I'll to her. 

Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio. 

Lucio. Within two hours. 

Claud. Cnrnp nffinpr ■ n-n,'nv ' 



Come, officer ; away \ 

SCENE IV.— A Monastery. 
Enter Duke, and Friar Thomas. 



[Exeunt. 



,, pious sir, 
why I do tliis ? 



Duke. No, holy father ; throw away that thought : 
Believe not tliat the dribbling dart of love 
Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee 
To give me secret harbour liath a purpose 
More grave and wrinkled, than the aims and ends 
Of burning youth. 

Fri. May your grace speak of it ? 

Ihike. My holy sir, none better knows than you 
How I have ever lov"d the life removed ; 
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies, 
Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps. 
I have deliver'd to lord Angelo 
(A man of stricture, and firm abstinence) 
My absolute power and place here in Vienna, 
And he supposes me travelled to Poland ; 
For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, 
And so it is receiv'd. Now, 
You will demand of me, 

Fri. Gladly, my lord. 

Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting laws, 
(The needful bits and curbs to head-strong steeds*) 
Which for this fourteen years we have let sleep' ; 
Even like an o'er-grown lion in a cave, 
That goes not out to prey : now, as fond fathers, 
Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch 
Only to stick it in their children's sight. 
For terror, not to use, in time the rod' s^" 
More mock'd than feared ; so our most just decrees, 
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead. 
And liberty plucks justice by the nose ; 
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 
Goes all decorum. 

Fri. It rested in your grace 

To unloose this tied-up justice, when you pleas'd ; 
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd. 
Than in lord Angelo. 

Duke. I fear, too dreadful : 

Sith 't was my fault to give the people scope, 
'T would be my tyi-anny to strike and gall them 
For what I bid them do : for we bid this be done, 



1 Enter Provost, Clattdio, Juliet, and Officers ; Lfcio and two Gentlemen : in f. e. 2 ^n allusion to St. Paul's Ep. to Romans ix : 
15. 3 Not in f. e. ^ Greedily devour. 6 denunciation : in f. e. ^ propagation : in f. e. '' Tric-trac. 8 weeds : in f. e. ' Old Eds. 
and Knight : slip. Theobald suggested the change also, lo f. e. : 

In time, the rod 
Becomes more mock'd, than fear'd : so our decrees. Becomes was added by Pope. 



SCENE V. 



MEASUEE FOR MEASURE. 



65 



When evil deeds have their permissive pass, 

And not due punishment. Therefore, indeed, my father. 

I have on Angclo impos'd the office, 

Who may, in th' ambush of my name, strike home, 

And yet my nature never in the sight,' 

To draw on^ slander. And to behold his sway, 

[ will, as 'twere a brother of your order, 

Visit both prince and people : therefore, I pr'ythee, 

Supply me with the habit, and instruct me 

How I may formally in person boar me 

Like a true friar. More reasons for this action. . 

At our more leisure shall I render you ; 

Only, this one : — Lord An^lo is precise : 

Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 

That his blood flows, or that his appetite 

Is more to bread than stone : hence shall we see. 

If power change purpose, what our seemers be. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— A Nunnery. 
Entei- Isabella and Francisca. 

Isab. And have you nuns no fartlicr privileges? 

Fran. Are not these large enough ? 

Isab. Yes, truly: I speak not as desiring more, 
But rather wishing a more strict restraint 
Upon the sisterhood, the votari»ls of saint Clare. 

Lucio. [Within.] Ho! Peace be in this place ! 

Isab. Who 's that which calls ? 

Fran. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, 
Turn you the key, and know his business of him : 
You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn. 
When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men. 
But in the presence of the prioress : 
Then, if you speak, you must not show your face ; 
Or. if you show your face, you must not speak. 

[Lucio calls.^ 
He calls again : I pray you, answer him. 

[Exit Francisca. 

Isab. Peace and prosperity ! Who is 't that calls ? 
Enter Lucio. 

Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses 
Proclaim you are no less, can you so stead me, 
As bring me to the sight of Isabella, 
A novice of this place, and the fair sister 
To her unhappy brother Claudio ? 

Lsab. Why her unhappy brother? let me ask, 
The rather, for I now must make you know 
I am that Isabella, and his sister. 

Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets 
you. 
Not to be weary with you, he 's in prison. 

Isab. Woe me ! for what ? 

Lucio. For that, which, if myself might be his judge. 
He should receive his punishment in thanks. 
He hath got his friend with child. 

Isab. Sir, make me not your scorn.* 

Lucio. 'T is tnie. I would not, though 't is my 
familiar .sin 
With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest. 
Tongue far from heart, play with all virgins so : 
I hold you as a thing ensky'd, and sainted 
By your renouncement, an immortal spirit, 
And to be talk'd with in sincerity, 
As with a saint. 



Lab. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me. 

Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis 
thus : 
Your brother and his lover have embraced : 
As those that feed grow full ; as blossoming time, 
That from the seeding the bare fallow brings 
To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb 
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. 

Isab. Some one with child by him? — My cousin 
Juliet ? 

Lucio. Is she your cousin ? 

hab. Adoptedly; as school-maids change their names 
By vain, though apt, affection. 

Lucio. She it is. 

Isab. ! let him marry her. 

Lucio. ' This is the point. 

Tlie duke, who 's very strangely gone from hence, 
Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, 
In hand, and hope of action ; but we do learn, 
By those that know the very nerves of state, 
His givings out were of an infinite distance 
From his true-meant design. Upon his place, 
And with full line of his authority. 
Governs lord Angelo ; a man whose blood 
Is very snow-broth ; one who never feels 
The wanton stings and motions of the sense, 
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 
With profits of the mind, study and fast. 
He (to give fear to use and liberty. 
Which have for long run by the hideous law, 
As mice by lions,) hath pick'd out an act. 
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life 
Falls into forfeit : he arrests him on it, 
And follows close the rigour of the statute. 
To make him an example. All hope is gone. 
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer 
To soften Angelo ; and that 's my pith 
Of business 'twixt you and your poor brother. 

Isab. Doth he so seek his life ? 

Lucio. Has censur'd him 

Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath 
A warrant for his execution. 

Isab. Alas ! what poor ability 's in me 
To do him good ? 

Lucio. Essay the power you have. 

Isab. My power, alas ! I doubt. » 

Lucio. Our doubts are traitors. 

And make us lose the good we oft might win. 
By fearing to attempt. Go to lord Angelo, 
And let him learn to know, when maidens sue. 
Men give like gods ; but when they weep and kneel. 
All their petitions are as freely theirs 
As they themselves would owe them. 

hab. I'll see what I can do. 

Lucio. But speedily. 

Isab. I will about it straight. 
No longer staying but to give the mother 
Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you : 
Commend me to my brother ; soon at night 
I '11 send him certain word of my success. 

Lucio. I take my leave of you. 



Isab. 



Good sir, adieu. [Exeunt, 



« fight : in f. e. a do in : in f. e. s Not in f. e. 



* story : in f. e. 
5 



66 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



ACT n. 



ACT II 



SCENE I.— A Hall in Angelo's House. 

Enter Angelo, Escalus, a Justice, Officers, and other 
Attendants. 

Ang. We must not make a scare-crow of the law, 
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, 
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it 
Their perch, and not their terror. 

Escal. Ay, but yet 

Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, 
Than fall,^ and bruise to death. Alas ! this gentleman. \ 
Whom I would save, had a most noble father. 
Let but your honour know, 
(Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue.) 



That, in the working of your own affections. 

Had time cohet-'d with place, or place with Avishing, 

Or that the resolute acting of your blood 

Could have attained th' effect of your owa purpose, 

Whether you had not. sometime in your life, 

Err'd in this point, which now you censure him, 

And pull'd the law upon you. 

Ang. 'T is one tiling to be tempted, Escalus, 
Another thing to fall. I not deny, 
The jury, passing on a prisoner's life, 
May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two 
Guiltier than him they try ; what 's open made to justice, 
That justice seizes : what know the laws, 
That thieves do pass on thieves ? 'T is very pregnant, 
The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it, 
Because we see it ; but what we do not see 
We tread upon, and never think of it. 
You may not so extenuate his offence, 
For I have had such faults : but rather tell me, 
When I, that censure him, do so offend, 
Let mine own judgment pattern out my death, 
And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. 

Escal. Be it as your wisdom will. 

^"gr- Where is the provost ? 

Enter Provost. 

Prov. Here, if it like your honour. 

^9g' See that Claudio 

Be executed by nine to-morrow morning. 
Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared. 
For that 's the utmost of his pilgrimage. [Exit Provost. 

Escal. Well, heaven forgive him, and forgive us all ! 
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall : 
Some run from breaks^ of ice. and answer none. 
And ^ ,.„'.- ' 



Escal. This comes off well : here 's a wise officer. 

Aug. Go to: what quality are they of? Elbow ia 
your name : why dost thou not speak. Elbow ? 

Clo. He cannot, sir : he 's out at elbow. 

Ang. AVhat are you, sir? 

Elb. He, sir? a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that 
serves a bad woman, whose house, sir, was, as they say, 
pluck' d down in the subiirts ; and now she professes 
a hot-house, which, I think, is a very ill house too. 

Escal. How know you that? 

Elh. My wile, sir, whom I detect before hearen and 
jyour honour, — 
I Escal. How ! thy wife ? 

Elb. Ay. sir ; wliom, I thank licaven, is an honest 
woman, — 

Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore ? 



Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as vrell as 
she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's liousc, it is 
pity of her life, for it is a naughty house. 

Escal. How dost thou know that, constable ? 

Elb. ]\'Iarry sir, by my wife ; who, if she had been a 
woman cardinally given, miglit have been accused in 
fornication, adulter)', a,nd all unclcanlincss there. 

Escal. By the woman's means? 

Elb. Ay, sir, by mistress Over-dene's means; but as 
she spit in his face, so she dcflcd him. 

Clo. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. 

Elb . Prove it before these varlets here, thou *hon- 
ourable man; prove it. 

Escal. [7b Angelo.] Doyouhcnr how he misplaces? 

Clo. Sir, she came in great with child, and I'onging 
(saving your honour's reverence) for stew'd prunes : sir, 
we had but two in the house, which at that very distant 
time stood, as it were, in a fruit-dish, a dish of some 
three-pence : your honours have seen such dishes : they 
are not China 'dishes, but very good dishes. 

Escal. Go to, go to : no matter for the dish.- sir. 

Clo. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you are therein 
in the right; but to the point. As I say, this mistress 
Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and being great 
bclly'd. and longing, as I said, for prunes, and having 
but two in the dish, as I said master Froth liere, this 



very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, and, as I say, 
paying 



'V 

for 



them very honestly; — for, as you know, 
master Froih, I could not give you three-pence again. 



some condemned for a fault alone. 
Enter Elbow, Froth, Clown, Officers, ^c. 
Elb. Come, bring them away. It' these be 



good 



people in a common- weal, that do nothing but use their 
abuses in common houses, I know no law : bring them 
away. 

Ang. How now, sir? What 's yourname, and what 's 
the matter? 

Elb. If it please your honour, I am the poor duke's 
constable, and my name is Elbow : I do not lean upon 
justice, sir; and do bring in here before your good 
honour two notorious benefactors. 

Ang. Benefactors! Well; wh at benefactors are they ! 
are they not malefactors ? 

Elb. If it please your honour, I know not well what 

they are; but precise villains they are, that I am sure _, ^.. , ^^ -. 

of, a,nd void of all profanation in the world, that good i father died at Hallowmas 
Christians ought to have. I master Froth? 



Froth. No, indeed. 
Clo. Very well; you 



beimr then, if vou be remem- 



ber'd, cracking the stones of me foresaid prunes. 

Froth. Ay, so I did, indeed. 

Clo. Why, very well ; I telling you then, if you be 
rcmember'd, that such a one. and such a one, were past 
cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very 
good diet, as I told 



you. 

Froth. All this is true. 

Clo. Why, very well then. 

Escal. Come ; you are a tedious fool : to the purpose. 
— ^What was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause 
to complain of? Come me to what was done to her. 

Clo. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. 

Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. 



Clo. Sir, 
leave. And 
here, sir ; a man 



but you shall come to it, by your honour's 

I beseech you, look unto master Froth 

of fourscore pound a year, whose 

Was 't not at Hallowmas, 



^fell. a brakes was altered to breaks by Steevens. Dyce would read brakes (instruments of torture) of vice. 



SCENE I. 



MEASUEE FOE MEASUEE. 



67 



Froth. AU-hallownd eve. 

Clo. Why, very well : I hope here be truths. He, 
sir, .sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir ; — 'twas in the 
Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed, you have a delight to 
sit, have you not ? 

Froth. I have so ; because it is an open room, and 
good for windows.' 

Clo. Why, very well then: I hope here be truths. 

Ang. Tliis will last out a night in Russia, 
When nights are longest there. I '11 take my leave, 
And leave you to the hearing of the cause. 
Hoping you '11 find good cause to whip them all. 

Escal. I think no less. Good morrow to your lord- 
ship. [Exit Angelo. 
Now, sir, come on : what was done to Elbow's wife, 
once more : 

Clo. Once, sir ? the.-c was nothing done to her once. 

Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did 
to my wife. 

Clo. I beseech your honour, ask me. 

E.-ycal. Well, sir, what diJ this gentleman to her ? 

Clo. I btseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face. 
— Good master Froth, look upon his honour ; 't is for a 
good }iurpose. Doth your honour mark his face? 

Escal. Ay, sir, very well. 

Clo. Nay. I beseech you, mark it well. 

Escnl. Well, I do so. 

Clo. Doth your honour sec any harm in his face ? 

Escal. Why, no. 

Clo. I '11 be supposed upon a book, his face is the 
worst thing about him. Good tlien; if liis face be the 
wor.^t thing about him, how could master Froth do the 
constable's wile any harm? I would know that of 
your honour. 

Escal. He 's in the right. Constable, what say you 
to it? 

Elb. First, an it like you, the house is a, respected 
house ; next, this is a respected fellow, and his mis- 
tress is a respected woman. 

Clo. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected 
person than any of us all. 

Elb. Varlet, thou liest: thou liest, wicked varlet. 
T!ie time is yet to come that she was ever respected 
with man, woman, or child. 

Clo. Sir, she was respected with him, before he mar- 
ried with her. 

Escal. Which is the wiser here ? Justice, or Ini- 
quity — Is this true? 

Elb. thou caitiff! thou varlet ! O thou wicked 
Hamiibal ! I respected with her, before I was married 
to her ? — If ever I was respected with her, or she with 
me, let not your worship think me the poor duke's 
officer. — Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I '11 have 
mine action of battery on thee. 

Escal. If he took you a box o' th' ear, you might 
have your action of slander too. 

Elb. Marry. I thank your good worship for it. What 
is 't your worship's pleasure I shalP do with this wicked 
caitiff? 

Escal. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences 
in liim. that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let 
him continue in his courses, till thou know'st what 
they are. 

Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it. — Thou seest, 
thou wicked varlet now, \\'hat "s come upon thee : thou 
art to continue 
timie. 

Escal. Where were you born, friend ? 



now, thou varlet, thou art to con- 



Froth. Here in 'Vienna, sir. 

1 winter : in f. e. ' Altered by Malone to " should." 3 bay : in f. c. « the : in f. e. 



Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a year ? 

Froth. Yes, an 't please you, sir. 

E.scal. So. — What trade are you of, sir? 

Clo. A tapster ; a poor widow's tapster. 

Efical. Your mistress' name ? 

Clo. Mistress Over-done. 

Escal. Hath she any more than one husband ? 

Clo. Nine, sir ; Over-done by the last. 

Escal. Nine ! — Come hither to me, master Froth. 
Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted with 
tapsters ; they will draw you, master Froth, and you 
will hang them : get you gone, and let me hear no 
more of you. 

Froth. I thank your worship. For mine o\^■n part, 
I never come into any room in a taphouse, but I am 
drawn in. 

Escal. Well; no more of it, master Froth ; farewell. 
[Exit Froth.] — Come you hither to me, master tap- 
ster. What's your name, master tapster? 

Clo. Pompey. 

Escal. What else ? 

Clo. Bum. sir. 

Escal. ' Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing 
about you ; so that, in the beastliest sense, you are 
Pompey the great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, 
Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster. 
Are you not ? come, tell me true : it shall be the better 
for you. 

Clo. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live. 

Escal. How would you live, Pompey? by being a 
bawd ? W^hat do you tliinli of the trade, Pompey ? is 
it a lawful trade ? 

Clo. If the law would allow it, sir. 

Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey ; nor 
it shall not be allowed in Vieima. 

Clo. Does yovir worship mean to geld and spay all 
the youth of the city ? 

Escal. No, Pompey. 

Clo. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will fo 't 
then. If your lordship will take order for the drabs 
and the knaves, you need not fear the bawds. 

Escal. There are pretty orders begimiing, I can tell 
you : it is but heading and hanging. 

Clo. If you head and hang all that offend that way 
but for ten year together, you '11 be glad to give out 
a commission for more heads. If this law hold in 
Vienna ten year. I '11 rent the faire.«t house in it, after 
three pence a day.^ If you live to see this come to 
pass, say Pompey told you so. 

E.scal. Thank you, good Pompey; and in requital 
of your proplieey, hark you : — I advise you, let me not 
find you before me again upon any complaint what- 
soever; no, not for dwelling where you do: if I do, 
Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a 
shrewd Coesar to you. In plain dealing, Pompey, I 
shall have you whipt. So, for this time, Pompey, fare 
you well. 

Clo. I thank your worship for your good counsel, 
but I shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune shall 
better determine. 

Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade; 
The valiant heart 's not whipt out of his trade. [Exit. 

Escal. Come hither to me, master Elbow ; come 
hither, master constable. How long have you been 
in this place of constable ? 

Elb. Seven year and a half, sir. 

Escal. I thought by your* readiness in the office, 
you had continued in it some time. You say, eeven 
years together ? 



68 



MEASUEE FOR MEASUEE. 



ACT n. 



Elb. And a half, sir. 

Escal. Alas ! it hath been great pains to you. They 
do 3'ou wrong to put yon so oft upon 't. Are there not 
men in your ward sufficient to serve it ? 

Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters. As 
they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them : 
I do it for some piece of money, and go through with 
all. 

Escal. Look you bring me in the names of some six 
or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. 

Elb. To yovxr worship's house, sir ? 

Escal. To my house. Fare you well. [£a:jt Elbow. 
What 's o'clock, think you ? 

Just, f^leven, sir. 

Escal. I pray you home to dinner ^^^lth me. 

Just. I humbly thank you. 

Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio ; 
But there 's no remedy. 

Just. Lord Angelo is severe. 

Escal. It is but needful : 

Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so : 
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe. 
But yet, poor Claudio ! — There is no remedy. 
Come, sir. {Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another room in the Same. 
Enter Provost., and a Servant. 

Serv. He 's hearing of a cause : he will come straight. 
I '11 tell him of you. 

Prov. Pray you, do. [Exit Servant.] I '11 know 
His pleasure ; may be, he will relent. Alas ! 
He hath but as offended in a dream : 
All sects, all ages smack of this vice, and he 
To die for it ! — 

Enter Angelo. 

Ang. Now, what 's the matter, provost ? 

Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow ? 

Ang. Did 1 not tell tliee, yea ? hadst thou not order ? 
Why dost thou ask again ? 

Prov. Lest I might be too rash. 

Under your good correction, I have seen, 
When, after execution, judgment hath 
Repented o'er his doom. 

Ang. Go to ; let that be mine : 

Do you your office, or give up your place, 
And you shall well be spar'd. 

Prov. I crave your honour's pardon. 

What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet ? 
She 's very near her hour. 

Ang. Dispose of her 

To some more fitter place, and that with speed. 
Re-enter Servant. 

Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn"d 
Desires access to you. 

Ang. Hath he a sister ? 

Prov. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous maid. 
And to be shortly of a sisterhood, 
If not already. 

Ang. Well, let her be admitted. [Exit Servant. 
See you the fornicatress be remov'd : 
Let her have needful, but not lavish, means ; 
There shall be order for it. 

Enter Lucio and Isabella. 

Prov. Save your honour ! [Offering to go. 

Ang. Stay a little while. — [To Isab.] Y' are wel- 
come : what 's vour will ? 



Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, 
Please but your honour hear me. 

Ang. Well ; what 's your suit ? 

Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor. 
And most desire should meet the blow of justice, . 
For which I would not plead, but that I must; 
For which I must not plead, but that I am 
At war 'twixt will, and will not. 

A7ig. Well ; the matter ? 

Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die : 
I do beseech you, let it be his fault, 
And not my brother. 

Prov. [Aside.] Heaven give thee moving graces. 

Aug. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it? 
Why, every fault 's condemn'd ere it be done. 
Mine were the very cipher of a function. 
To fine the faults, whose fine stands in record,' 
And let go by the actor. 

Isab. just, but severe law ! 

I had a brother then. — Heaven keep your honour ! 

[Going} 

Lucio. [To Isab.] Give 't not o'er so : to him again, 
intreat him: 
Kneel down before him, hang upon his gowii ; 
You are too cold : if you should need a pin, 
You could not with more tame a tongue desire it 
To him, I say. 

Isab. ISIust he needs die? 

Ang. Maiden, no remedy. 

Isab. Yes; I do think tliat you might pardon him. 
And neither heaven, nor man,- grieve at the mere) . 

Ang. I will not do 't. 

Isab. But can you, if you would ? 

Ang. Look ; what I will not, that I cannot do. 

Isab. But might you do 't, and do the world no 
wrong. 
If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse 
As mine is to him ? 

Ang. He 's sentenc'd : 't is too late. 

Lucio. [To Isab.] Thou art' too cold. 

Isab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, 
May call it back again : Well believe this, 
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs. 
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword. 
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, 
Become them with one half so good a grace 
As mercy does. If he had been as you, and you as he,* 
You would have slipt like him ; but he, like you. 
Would not have been so stern. 

Ang. Pray you, begone. 

Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency. 
And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus ? 
No ; I would tell what 't were to be a judge, 
And what a prisoner. 

Lucio. [Aside.] Ay, touch him; there 's the vein. 

Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, 
And you but waste your words. 

Isab. Alas ! alas ! 

Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once; 
And he that might the vantage best have took, 
Found out the remedy. How would you be, 
If he, which is the God* of judgment, sheuld 
But judge you as you are ? 0, think on that. 
And mercy then will breathe within your lips, 
Like man new made ! 



Am 



Be you content, fair maid. 



> Rettrins •" in f. e » You are : in f. e. « Knight reads : 

If he had been as you. 
And you as ho, you would have slipp'd like him ; 
But he, &c. 
' top : in f. e. 



SCENE m. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



60 



It is the law, not I, condemns your trother: 

Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, 

It should he thus with him : he must die to-morrow. 

Isab. To-morrow V 0, that 's sudden ! Spare him, 
spare him ! 
He 's not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens 
We kill the fowl of season : shall we serve heaven 
With less respect than we do minister 
To our gross selves ? Good, good my lord, bethink you ? 
Who is it that hath died for this offence ? 
There 's many have committed it. 

Lucio. [Aside.] Ay, well said. 

Aiig. The law hath not been dead, though it hath 
slept : 
Those many had not dar'd to do that evil. 
If the first onc^ that did th' edict infringe, 
Had answer'd for his deed: now, 'tis awake; 
Takes note of what is done, and, like a prophet, 
Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils 
Either new, or by remissness new-coneeiv'd. 
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born. 
Are now to have no successive degrees. 
But ere° they live to end. 

Isab. _ Yet show some pity. 

Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice; 
For then I pity those L do not know. 
Which a dismissal offence would after gall, 
And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong, 
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied : 
Your brother dies to-morrow : be content. 

Isab. So you must be the first tliat gives this sen- 
tence, 
And he that suffers. ! it is excellent 
To have a giant's strength ; but tyrannous 
To use it like a giant. 

Lucio. [Aside^ That 's well said. 

Isab. Could great men thunder, 
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet. 
For every pelting, petty officer 
Would use his iieaven for thunder ; 
Nothing but thunder. Merciful heaven ! 
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt 
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, 
Than the soft myrtle ; but man, proud man ! 
Brest in a little brief authority, 
Most ignorant of what he 's most assur'd. 
His glassy essence, like an angry ape, 
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 
As make the angels weep ; who, with our spleens, 
Would all themselves laugh mortal. 

Lucio. [To Isab.] 0, to him, to him, wench ! He 
will relent : 
He "s coming; I perceive 't. 

Prov. [Aside^ Pray heaven, she win him ! 

I.mb. You cannot weigh our brother with yourself; 
Great men may jest with saints : 't is wit in them, 
But in the less foul profanation. 

Lucio. [To Isab.] Thou 'rt in the right, girl : more 
o" that. 

hab. That in the captain 's but a gholeric word, 
Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 

Lucio. [Aside?[ Art avis'd o' that? more on 't. 

Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me? 

Isab. Because autliority. tliough it err like others, 
Hath yet a kind of medicine in it.-^elf. 
That skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom ; 
Knock there, and a^k your heart, what it doth know 
That's like my brother's fault: if it confers 
A natural guiltiness, such as is his. 



Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 
Against my brother's life. 

Ang. [Aside^ She speaks, and 't is 

Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. [lb /ter.] 
Fare you well. 

Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. 

Ang. I will bethink me. — Come again to-morrow. 

Isab. Hark, how I 'II bribe you. Good my lord, 
turn back. 

Ang. How ! bribe me ? [with you. 

Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall shaxe 

Lucio. [Aside.] You had marr'd all else. 

hab. Not with fond circles' of the tested gold, 
Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor 
As fancy values them ; but with true prayers. 
That shall be up at heaven, and enter there 
Ere sun-rise : prayers from preserved souls. 
From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate 
To nothing temporal. 



Am 



Well ; come to me to-morrow. 



Lucio. [To Isab.] Goto; 't is well : away! 

Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe ! [Going.* 

■Ang. [Aside.] Amen: 

For I am that way going to temptation, 
Where prayers cross. 

Isab. At what hour to-morrow 

Shall I attend your lordship ? 

Ang. At any time 'fore noon. 

Isab. Save your honour ! 

[Exeunt Lucio, Isabella, and Provost. 

Ang. From thee : even from thy virtue ! — • 

What 's this ? what 's this ? Is this her fault or mine ? 
The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most ? Ha ! 
Not she, nor doth she tempt ; but it is I, • 
That lying by the violet in the sun. 
Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower. 
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be, 
That modesty may more betray our sense 
Than woman's lightness ? Having waste ground enough, 
Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary. 
And pitch our offals' there ? O, fie, fie, fie ! 
What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo ? 
Dost thou desire her foully for those things 
Tliat make her good ? 0, let her brother live ! 
Thieves for their robbery have authority, 
When judges steal themselves. What ! do I love her, 
That I desire to hear her speak again. 
And feast upon her eyes ? What is 't I dream on ? 

cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint. 

With saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dangerous 
Is that temptation, that doth goad us on 
To sin in loving virtue. Never could the strumpet. 
With all her double vigo^^r, art and nature, 
Once stir my temper ; but this virtuous maid 
Subdues me quite. — Even from youth till now, 
When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how. 

[Exit. 

SCENE III.— A Room in a Prison. 
Enter Duke, as a Friar, and Provost. 
Duke. Hail to you. provost ; so I think you are. 
Prov. I am the provost. What 's your will, good 

friar ? 
Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order, 

1 come to visit the afflicted spirits 

Here in the prison : do me the common right 
To let me see them, and to make me know 
The nature of their crimes, that I may minister 
To them accordingly. 



1 Not in f. e. * i'. g. : here. Knight read.s — where. 3 shekels : in f. e. ♦ Not in f. e. * evils : in f. e. 



YO 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



ACT n. 



Prov. I would do more than that, if more were 
needful. 

Enter Juliet. 
Look ; here comes one ; a gentlewoman of mine, 
Who, falling in the flames^ of her own youth, 
Hath blister'd her report. She is with child, 
And he that got it, sentenced — a young man 
More fit to do another such offence, 
Than die for this. 

Duke. When must he die ? 

Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. — 

[To Juliet.] I have provided for you: stay a while, 
And you shall be conducted. 

Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? 

Juliet. I do. and bear the shame most patiently. 

Duke. I '11 teach you how you shall arraign your 
conscience, 
And try your penitence, if it be sound, 
Or hollowly put on. 

Juliet. I '11 gladly learn. 

Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you? 

Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. 

Duke. So then, it seems, your most offeuceful act 
Was mutually committed ? 

Juliet. Mutually. 

Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his. 

Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father. 

Duke. 'T is meet so, daughter : but least^ you do 
repent, 
As that the sin hath brought you to this shame ; 
Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven, 
Showing, we would not serve^ heaven, as we love it. 
But as we stand in fear. 

Julid. I do repent me, as it is an evil. 
And take the shame with joy. 

Duke. There rest. 

Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, 
And I am going with instruction to him. 
Grace go with you ! Benedicite ! [Exit. 

Juliet. Must die to-morrow ! O, injurious love. 
That respites me a life, whose very comfort 
Is still a dying horror ! 

Prov. 'T is pity of him. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A Room in Angelo's House. 
Enter Angelo. 

Ang. When I would pray and think, I think and 
pray 
To several subjects : heaven hath my empty words, 
Whilst my intention, hearing not my tongue, 
Anchors on Isabel : heaven in my mouth. 
As if I did but only chew his name. 
And in my heart the strong and swelling evil 
Of my conception. The state, whereon I studied, 
Is like a good thing, being often read. 
Grown sear and tedious : yea, my gravity. 
Wherein (let no man hear mej I take pride, 
Could I, with boot, change for an idle phime. 
Which the air beats for vain. place ! O form ! 
How ofien dost thou with thy case, thy habit, 
Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls 
To thy false seeming ! Blood, thou art blood : 
Let 's write good angel on the devil's horn, 
'T is not the devil's crest. 

Enter Servant. 
How now ! who 's there ? 



Serv. 
Desires access to you 
Ancr. 



One Isabel, a sister. 



heavens ! 

Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, 

Making it both unable for itself. 

And dispossessing all my other part 

Of necessary fitnes.s ? 

So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons ; 

Come all to help him, and so stop the air 

By which he should revive : and even so 

The general, subject to a well-wish'd king, 

Quit their own path, and in obsequious fondness 

Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love 

Must needs appear offence. 

Enter Isabella. 
How now, fair maid ? 

Lsab. I am come to know your pleasure. 

Ang. That you might know it, would much better 
please me, 
Than to demand what 't is. Your brother canno* live. 

lsab. Even so. — Heaven keep your lionour ! 

[ Going.* 

Ang. Yet may he live a while ; and, it may be. 
As long as you, or I : yet he must die. 

lsab. Under your sentence ? 

Ang. Yea. 

lsab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve. 
Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted. 
That his soul sicken not. 

Ang. Ha ! Fie, these filthy vices ! It were as good 
To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen 
A man already made, as to remit 
Their saucy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image 
In stamps that arc forbid : 't is all as easy 
Falsely to take away a life true made. 
As to put metal in restrained means. 
To make a false one. 

lsab. 'T is set down so in heaven, but not in earth. 

Ang. Say you so ? then, I shall poze you quickly." 
Which had you rather, that the most just law 
Now took your brother's life, or to redeem him 
Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness 
As she that he hath stain'd ? 



lsab. 



Sir, believe this. 



I had rather give my body than my soul. 

Ang. I talk not of your soul. Our compell'd sins 
Stand more for number than for accompt. 

lsab. How say you ? 

Ang. Nay, I '11 not warrant that ; for I can speak 
Against the thing I say. Answer lo this : — 
I. now llie voice of the recorded law. 
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life • 
Might there not be a cliarity in sin, 
To save this brother's life ? 

lsab. Please you to do t, 

I '11 take it as a peril to my soul : 
It is no sin at all, but charity. 

Ang. Plcas'd you to do 't, at peril of your soul, 
Were equal poize of sin and charity. 

lsab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, 
Heaven, let me bear it ! you granting of my suit, 
If that be sin, I '11 make it my morn-prayer 
To have it added to the faults of liiinc. 
And nothing of your answer. 

Ang. Nay. but hear me. 

Your sense pursues not mine: cither you are ignorani 
Or seem so, crafty ; and that is not good. 

lsab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, 
But graciously to know I am no better. 

Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright, 
When it doth tax itself : as these black masks 



Teach her the way. [Exit Serv. 
' Knight, with the old eds., reads : flaws. » Most modern eds. read : lest. 3 spare : in f. e. * Retiring : in f. e 



SCENE I. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Yl 



Proclaim an inshcll'd^ beauty ten times louder 
Than beauty could displayed. — But mark me : 
To be received plain, I '11 speak more gross. 
Your brother is to die. 

Imb. So. 

Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears 
Accountant to the law upon that pain. 

Isab. True. 

A7ig. Admit no other way to save his life, 
(As I subscribe not that, nor any other. 
But in the force" of question) that you, his sister, 
Finding yourself desir'd of such a pertion, 
Whose credit with the judge, or own great place. 
Could fetch your brother from the manacles 
Of the all-binding law ; and that there were 
No earthly mean to save him, but that either 
You must lay down the treasures of your body 
To tliis supposed, or else to let him suffer, 
What would you do ? 

Isab. As much for my poor brother, as myself : 
That is, were 1 under the terms of death, 
Th' impression of keen whips I 'd wear as rubies, 
And strip myself to. death, as to <i bed 
That longing I 've been sick for, ere I 'd yield 
My body up to shame: 

Ano\ Then must 

Your brother die. 

Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way. 
Better it were, a brother died at once. 
Than that a sister, by redeeming him. 
Should die for ever. 

Ang. Were not you, then, as cruel, as the sentence 
That you have slandered so ? 

Isab. Ignomy in ransom, and free pardon, 
Arc of two houses : lawful mercy is 
Notliing akin to foui^redemption. 

Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant ; 
And rather pvov'd the sliding of your brother 
A merriment, than a vice. 

I.mh. 0, pardon me, my lord ! it oft falls out. 
To have what we would have, we speak not what we 

mean. 
I something do excuse the thing I hate, 
For his advantage that I dearly love. 

Ang. We are all frail. 

Isah. Else let my brother die, 

If net a feodary, but onlj' he. 
Owe. and succeed this^ weakness. 

Ang. Nay, women are frail too. 

I.mh. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves, 
Wliich are as easy broke as they make forms. 
Women ! — Help heaven ! men their creation mar 
In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail, 
For we are soft as our complexions are, 
And credulous to false prints. 

Aug. I think it well ; 

And from this testimony of your own sex, 
(Since. I suppose, we are made to be no stronger, 



Than faults may shake our frames,) let me be bold : 

I do arrest your words. Be that you are, 

That is, a woman ; if you be more, you 're none ; 

If you be one, (as you are well express'd 

By all external warrants,) show it now, 

By putting on the destin'd livery. 

Isab. I have no tongue but one : gentle my lord, 
Let me intreat you speak the former language. 

Ang. Plainly, conceive I love you. 

Isab. My brother did love Juliet • and you tell me, 
That he shall die for it. 

Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give mc love. 

hah. I know, your virtue hath a licence in 't, 
Which seems a little fouler than it is. 
To pluck on others. 

Ang. Believe me, on mine honour, 

My words express my purpose. 

Imb. Ha ! little honour to be much believ'd, 
And most pernicious purpose ! — Seeming, seeming !— 
I will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for 't : 
Sign me a present pardon for my brother. 
Or with an outstretch'd throat I '11 tell the world 
Aloud what man thou art. 

Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel ? 

My unsoil'd name, the austerencss of my life. 
May vouch against you, and my place i' the state, 
Will so your accusation overweigh, 
That you shall stifle in your own report. 
And smell of calumny. I have begun. 
And now I give my sensual race the rein : 
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite ; 
Lay by all nicety, and prolixious blushes. 
That banish what they sue for ; redeem thy brother 
By yielding up thy body to my will. 
Or else he must not only die the death, 
But thy unkindness shall his death draw out 
To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow. 
Or, by the affection that now guides me most, 
I '11 prove a tyrant to him. As for you. 
Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. 

[Exit. 

Isab. To whom should I complain ? Did I tell this, 
Who would believe me ? O perilous mouths ! 
That bear in them one and the self-same tongue, 
Either of condemnation or approof, 
Bidding the law make court'sy to their will, 
Hooki)ig both right and wrong to th' appetite. 
To follow as it draws. I '11 to my brother : 
Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood, 
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour, 
That had he twenty heads to tender down 
On twenty bloody blocks, he 'd yield them up. 
Before his sister should her body stoop 
To such abhorr'd pollution. 
Then, Isabel, live chaste, and. brother, die : 
More than our brother is our chastity. 
I '11 tell him yet of Angelo's request, 
And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— A Room in the Prison. 
Enter Duke, as a Friar, Claudio, and Provost. 
Duke. So then, you hope of pardon from lord Angelo ? 



Claud. The miserable have 
No other medicine, but only hope. 
I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. 

Duke. Be absolute for death ; either death, or life, 



1 ensluplii .■ in f. e. 2 loss : in f. e. ^ Knishf : thy. The old copies : by. 
folio, wilh ?.IS. emendations, belonging to Lord Francis Egerton. 



The word in the text was taken from a copy of the first 



72 



MEASUKE FOE MEASURE. 



ACT in. 



Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life : — 

If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 

That none but fools would keep : a breath thou art, 

Servile to all the skyey influences, 

That do this habitation, where thou keep'st. 

Hourly afflict. Merely, thou art death's fool; 

For him thou labourist by tliy flight to shun, 

And yet run'st toward liim still : thou art not noble; 

For all th' accommodations that thou bear'st, 

Are nurs'd by baseness: thou art by no means valiant; 

For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork 

Of a poor worm : thy best of rest is sleep. 

And that thou oft provok'st, yet grossly fear'st 

Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; 

For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 

That issue out of dust : happy thou art not ; 

For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get. 

And what thou hast forget'st. Thou art not certain; 

For thy complexion shifts to strange effects. 

After the moon : if thou art rich, thou 'rt poor ; 

For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, 

Thou bear'st thy iMjavy riches but a journey. 

And death unloads thee : friend hast thou none ; 

For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, 

The mere effVision of thy proper loins. 

Do curse the gout, serpigo', and the rheum. 

For ending thee no sooner : thou hast nor youth, nor age. 

But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, 

Dreaming on both ; for all ihy boasted^ youth 

Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 

Of palsied eld : and when thou art old and rich, 

Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, 

To make thy riches pleasant. What 's yet in this. 

That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life 

Lie hid more thousand deaths, yet death we fear, 

That makes these odds all even. 

Claud. I humbly thank you. 

To sue to live, I find, I seek to die. 
And, seeking death, find life : let it come on. 

Isab. [Without.] What, ho! Peace here; grace and 
good company ! [welcome. 

Prov. Who 's there ? come in : the wish deseiwes a 
E7iter Isabella. 

DuJcc. Dear sir, ere long I '11 visit you again. 

Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. 

Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. 

Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior; here's 
your sister. <« 

Duke. Provost, a word with you. 

Prov. As many as you please. 

Duke. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may 
be conceal'd. [Exeunt Duke UTid Provost. 

Claud. Now, sister, what 's the comfort ? 

Isab. Why, as all 

Comforts are ; most good, most good, indeed. 
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, 
Intends you for his swift ambassador, 
Where you shall be an everlasting lieger^ : 
Therefore, your best appointment make with speed ; 
To-morrow you set on. 

Claud. Is there no remedy ? 

Isab. None, but such remedy, as to save a head 
To cleave a heart in twain. 

Claud. But is there any ? 

Isab. Yes, brother, you may live : 
There is a devilish mercy in the judge. 
If you '11 implore it, that will free your life, 
But fetter you till death. 



Yes, thou must die : 



Claud. Perpetual durance ? 

Isab. Ay, just ; perpetual durance : a restraint, 
Though all the world's vastidity you had, 
To a determin'd scope. 

Claud. But in what nature ? 

Isab. In such a one as, you consenting to it. 
Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, 
And leave you naked. 

Claud. Let me know the point. 

Isab. ! I do fear thee, Claudio ; and I quake, 
Lest thou a feverous life would'st entertain, 
And six or seven winters more respect, 
Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die ? 
The sense of death is most in apprehension, 
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon. 
In corporal sufferance finds a pang, as great 
As when a giant dies. " 

Claud. Why give you me this shame ? 

Think you I can a resolution fetch 
From flowery tenderness ? If I must die, 
I will encounter darkness as a bride, 
And hug it in mine arms. 

Isab. There spake my brother : there my father's 
grave 
Did utter forth a voice. 
Thou art too noble to conserve a life 
In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy. 
Whose settled visage and deliberate word 
Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth enmew 
As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a de^dl ; 
His filth within being cast, he would appear 
A pond as deep as hell. 

Claud. The priestly* Angelo ? 

Isab. 0, 't is the cunning livery of hell. 
The damned'st body to invest and cover 
In priestly garb !^ Dost thou think, Claudio, 
If I would yield him my virginity. 
Thou might'st be freed. 

Claud. 0, heavens ! it cannot be. 

Isab. Yes, he would give 't thee from tliis rank offence^ 
So to offend him still. This night 's the time 
Tliat I should do what I abhor to name, 
Or else thou diest to-morrow. 

Claud. Thou shalt not do 't. 

Isab. O ! were it but my life, 
I 'd throw it down for your deliverance 
As frankly as a pin. 

Claiul. Thanks, dear Isabel. 

Isab. Be ready. Claudio, for your death to-morrow. 

Claud. Yes. Has he affections in him. 
That thus can make him bite the law by the nose. 
When he would force it ? Sure, it is no sin ; 
Or of the deadly seven it is the least. 

Isab. Which is the least ? 

Claud. If it were damnable, he being so wise. 
Why would he for the momentary trick 
Be perdurably fin'd ? — O Isabel ! 

Isab. What says my brother ? 

Claud. Death is a fearful thing 

Isab. And shamed life a hateful. 

Claiul. Ay, but to die. and go we know not where ; 
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; 
This sensible warm motion to become 
A kneaded clod ; and the delighted' spirit 
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside 
In tlirilling region of thick-ribbed ice ; 
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds. 
And blown with restless violence round about 



> A ki.nd of tetter, s blessed : in f. e. 3 Resident embassador. 
BUggests de-lighted, that is, removed from light. 



* f. e. princely ; Knight : precise 



5 f. e. : guards. ^ Knight 



SCENE I. 



MEASUKE FOE MEASUKE. 



T3 



hear me, Isabella ! 



The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst 

Of those that lawless and incertain thoughts 

Imagine howling ! — 't is too horrible. 

Tlie weariest and most loathed worldly lifC; 

That age. ache, pcnurj', and imprisonment 

Can lay on nature, is a paradise 

To what we fear of death. 

Jsab. Alas ! alas ! 

Claud. Sweet sister, let me live. 

What sin you do to save a brother's life. 
Nature dispenses with the deed so far, 
That it becomes a virtue. 

Isab. 0, you beast ! 

0, faithless coward ! O, dishonest wretch ! 
Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice ? 
Is 't not a kind of incest to take life 
From thine own sister's shame ? What should I think ? 
Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fair, 
For such a warped slip of wilderness^ 
Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance : 
Die ; perish ! might but my bending down ^ 

Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed. 
I '11 pray a thousand prayers for thy death, 
No word to save thee. 

Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 

Isab. 0, fie, fie, fie ! 

Thy sin 's not accidental, but a trade. 
Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd : 
'T is best that thou diest quickly. [Goin^ 

Claud. 

Re-enter Duke 

Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister ] but one word. 

Isab. What is your will ? 

Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would 
by and by have some speech with you : the satisfaction 
I would require, is likewise your own benefit. 

Isab. I have no superfluous leisure : my stay must 
be stolen out of other affairs ; but I will attend you a 
while. 

Duke. \To Claudio.] Son, I have overheard what 
hath passed between you and your sister. Angelo had 
never the purpose to corrupt h'=>r ; only he hath made 
an essay of her virtue, to practise his judgment with 
the disposition of natures. She, having the truth of 
honour in her, hath made him that gracious denial 
which he is most glad to receive : I am confessor to 
Angelo, and I know this to be true ; therefore, prepare 
yourself to death. Do not satisfy your resolution with 
hopes that are fallible ; to-morrow you must die. Go ; 
to your knees, and make ready. 

Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out 
of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it. 

Duke. Hold you there : farewell. {Exit Claudio. 
Re-enter Provost. 
Provost, a word with you. 

Prov. What 's your will, father ? 

Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone. 
Leave me awhile with the maid : my mind promises 
with my habit no loss shall touch her by my company. 

Prov. In good time. [Exit Provost. 

Duke. The hand that hath made you fair hath made 
you good; the goodness that is chief in beauty makes 
beauty brief in goodness ; but grace, being the soul of 
your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair. 
The assault, that Angelo hath made to you, fortune 
hath convey'd to my understanding ; and, but that 
frailty hath examples for his falling, I should wonder 
at Angelo. How will you do to content this substitute, 
and to save your brother ? 

* Wildness, ungrafted. s cheap : in f. e. ^ Contracted. 



Isab. I am now going to resolve him. I had rather 
my brother die by the law, than my son should be 
unlawfully born. But 0, how much is the good duke 
deceived in Angelo ! If ever he return, and I can 
speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover 
his government. 

Dulce. That shall not be much amiss ; yet, as the 
matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation : he 
made trial of you only. — Therefore, fasten your ear 
on my advisings : to the love I have in doing good a 
remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe, that 
you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady 
a merited benefit, redeem your brother from the angry 
law, do no stain to your own gracious person, and 
much please the absent duke, if, peradventure, he shall 
ever return to have hearing of this business. 

Isab. Let me hear you speak farther. I have spirit 
to do any thing that appears not foul in the truth of 
my spirit. 

Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. 
Have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of 
Frederick, the great soldier who njjscarried at sea ? 

Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good words went 
with her name. 

Duke. Her should this Angelo have married ; he was 
affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed : 
between which time of the contract, and limit of the 
solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, 
having in that perish'd vessel the dowry of his sister. 
But mark how heavily this befel to the poor gentle- 
woman : there she lost a noble and renowned brother, 
in his love toward her ever most kind and natm'al ) 
with him the portion and sinew of her fortune, her 
marriage-dowry ; with both, her combinate^ husband, 
this well-seeming Angelo. 

Isab. Can this be so ? Did Angelo so leave 
her? 

Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them 
with his comfort ; swallowed his vows whole, pretending 
in her discoveries of dishonour : in few, bestowed her 
on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his 
sake, and he, as marble to her tears, is washed with 
them, but relents not. 

Isab. What a merit were it in death to take this 
poor maid from the world ! What corruption in this 
life, that it will let this man live ! — But how out of this 
can she avail ? 

Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and 
the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps 
you from dishonour in doing it. 

Isab. Show me how, good father. 

.Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the 
continuance of her first affection : his unjust unkind- 
ness, that in all reason should have quenched her love, 
hath, like an impediment in the current, made it more 
violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo : answer his 
requiring with a plausible obedience : agree with his 
demands to the point ; only refer yovirself to this 
advantage, — first, that your stay with him may not be 
long, that the time may have all shadow and silence 
in it, and the place answer to convenience. This 
being granted in course, and now follows all : we shall 
advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, 
go in your place ; if the encounter acknowledge itself 
hereafter, it may compel him to her recompense ; and 
here by this is your brother saved, your honour un- 
tainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the cor- 
rupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame, and make 
fit for his attempt. If you think well to carry this, as 



n 



MEASUEE FOR MEASURE. 



ACT m. 



you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the! 
deceit from reproof. What think you of it ? I 

Isab. The image of it gives me content already, ' 
and. I trust, it will grow to a most prosperous perfection. I 

Duke. It lies much in your holding up. Haste you 
speedily to Angelo : if for this night he entreat you to 
his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will pre- 
sently to St. Luke's ; there, at the moated grange, 
resides this dejected Mariana : at that place call upon 
me, and despatcli with Angelo, that it may be quickly. 

Isab. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, 
good father. [Exeunt. 

SCENE ir.— The Street before the Prison. 

Enter Duke, as a Friar ; to him Elbow, Clown., and 

Officers. 

Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it. but that you 
will needs buy and sell men and women like beasts, 
we shall have all the world drink brown and white 
bastard.' 

Duke. 0, heavens ! what stuff is here ? 

Clo. 'T was never merry world, since, of two usances,' 
the merriest was pift dowii, and the worser allow'd by 
order of law a furr'd gown to keep him warm ; and 
furr'd with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify that craft, 
being richer than innocency, stands for the facing. 

Elb. Come your way, sir. — Bless you, good father 
friar. 

Duke, And you, good brother father. What offence 
hath this man made you, sir? 

Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law : and, sir, 
we take him 1o be a thief too, sir ; for we have found 
upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock, which we have sent 
to the deputy. 

Duke. Fie, sirrah : a bawd, a wicked bawd ! 
The evil that thou causest to be done, 
That i.^ thy means to live. Do thou Wt think 
What 't is to cram a maw, or clothe a back, 
From such a filthy vice : say to thyself. 
From their abominable and beastly touches 
I drink, I eat. array myself, and live. 
Canst thou believe tliy living is a life, 
So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend. 

Clo. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir ; but yet, 
sir, I would prove- 

Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin. 
Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer : 
Correction and instruction must both work. 
Ere this rude beast will profit. 

Elb. He must before the deputy, sir ; he has given 
him warning. The deputy cannot abide a whoremas- 
ter : if he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, 
he were as good go a mile on his errand. 

Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be. 
From our faults, as faults from seeming, free ! 
Enter Lucio. 

Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, sir. 

Clo. I spy comfort : I cry, bail. Here 's a gentleman, 
and a friend of mine. 

Lucio. How now, noble Pompey ! What, at the 
wheels of Casar ? Art thou led in triumph ? What, is 
there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made woman, 
to be had now, for putting the hand in the pocket and 
extracting it clutch'd ? What reply ? Ha ! What 
say'st thou to this tune, matter, and method ? Is 't not 
drown'd i' the last rain ? Ha ! What say'st thou, 
troth ?^ Is the world as it was, man ? Which is the 
way ? Is it sad, and few words, or how ? The trick 
of it? 



Duke. Still thus, and thus : still worse ! 

Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? 
Procures she still ? Ha ! 

Clo. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and 
she is herself in the tub. 

Lucio. Why, 't is good ; it is the right of it ; it must 
be so : eyer your fresh whore, and your powder'd bawd : 
an unshunn'd consequence ; it must be so. Art going 
to prison, Pompey ? 

Clo. Yes, faith, sir. 

Lucio. Why, 't is not amiss, Pompey. Farewell. Go ; 
say, I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey, or how ? 

Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. 

Lucio. Well, then imprison him. If imprisonment 
be the due of a bawd, why, 't is his right : bawd is he, 
doubtless, and of antiquity too ; bawd-born. Farewell, 
good Pompey : commend me to the prison, Pompey. 
You will turn good husband now, Pompey ; you will 
keep the house. 

Clo. I hope, sir, your good worship will be mv 
bail. 

Lflcio. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the 
wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage : 
if you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the 
more. Adieu, trusty Pompey. — Bless you, friar. 

Drike. And you. 

Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey ? Ha ! 

Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come. 

Clo. You will not bail me, then, sir ? 

Lucio. Then, Pompey, nor now. — What news abroad, 
friar ? What news ? 

Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come. 

Lucio. Go; to kennel, Pompey, go. 

[Exeunt Elbow, Clown, and Officers. 
What news, friar, of the duke ? 

Duke. I know none. Can you tell me of any ? 

Lucio. Some say, he is with the emperor of Russia ; 
other some, he is in Rome : but where is he, think you ? 

Duke. I know not where ; but wheresoever, I wish 
him well. 

Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him, to steal 
from the state, and usurp the beggary he was never 
born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence : 
he puts transgression to 't. 

Duke. He does well in 't. 

Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would do no 
harm in him : something too crabbed that way, friar. 

Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must 
cure it. 

Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kin- 
dred : it is well allied ; but it is impossible to extirp it 
quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put down. 
They say, this Angelo was not made by man and 
woman, after the dowiu-ight way of creation : is it 
true, think you ? 

Duke. How should he be made then? 

Lucio. Some report, a sea-maid spawn'd him ; some, 
that he was begot between two stock-fishes ; but it is 
certain, that when he makes water, liis urine is con- 
geal'd ice : that I know to be true ; and he is a motion 
ingenerative, that 's infallible. 

Duke. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace. 

Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for 
the rebellion of a cod-piece to take away the life of a 
man ? Would the duke that is absent have done this ? 
Ere he would have hang'd a man for the getting a 
hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing 
a thousand. He had some feeling of the sport : he 
knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy. 



1 Ital. bastardo, a sweet wine made of raisins. 2 usuries : in f. e. 3 trot : in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



T5 



Duke. I never heard the absent duke much detected^ 
for women : he ■was not inclined that way. 
Lticio. O, sir ! you are deceived. 
Buke. 'T is not possible. 

Lticio. Who? not the duke? yes, your beggar of 
fifty ; and his use was, to put a ducat in her clack-dish. 
The duke had crotchets in him : he would be drunk 
too ; that let mc inform you. 

Duke. You do him wrong, surely. 
Lucio. Sir. I was an inward of his. A shy fellow 
was the duke • and, I believe, I know the cause of his 
withdrawing. 

Duke. What, I pr'ythee, might be the cause ? 
Lucio. No, — pardon ; — 't is a secret must be lock'd 
within the teeth and the lips ; but this I can let you 
understand, — the greater file of the subject^ held the 
duke to be wise. 

D(ke. Wise ? why, no question but he was. 
Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing 
fellow. 

Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mis- 
taking : the very stream of his life, and the business 
he hath helmed, must, upon a warranted need, give 
him a better proclamation. Let him be but testi- 
monied in his own bringings forth, and he shall appear 
to the envious a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. 
Therefore, you speak unskilfully; or, if your know- 
ledge be more, it is much darken'd in your malice. 
Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. 
Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and know- 
ledge with dearer love. 

Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. 
Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know not 
what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, (as our 
prayers are he may,) let me desire you to make yoior 
answer before him : if it be honest you have spoke, you 
have courage to maintain it. I am bound to call upon 
you ; and, I pray you, your name. 

Lticio. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the 
duke. 

Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to 
report you. 

Lucio. I fear you not. 

Duke. ! you hope the duke will return no more, 
or you imagine me too unliurtful an opposite. But, 
indeed, I can do you little harm ; you '11 forswear this 
again. 

Lucio. I '11 be hang'd first : thou art deceived in me, 
friar. But no more of this. Canst thou tell, if Claudio 
die to-morrow, or no ? 

Duke. Why should he die, sir ? 
Lucio. Why? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I 
would, the duke, we talk of, were return'd again : this 
ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province with con- 
tinency ; sparrows must not build in his house-eaves, 
because they are lecherous. The duke yet would have 
dark deeds darkly answer'd; he would never bring 
them to light : would he were return'd ! Marry, this 
Claudio is condemn'd for untrussing. Farewell, good 
friar; I pryiihee, pray for me. The duke, I say to 
thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He 's now 
past it ; yet, and I say to thee, he would mouth with 
a beggar, though she smelt brown bread and garlic : 
say, that I said so. Farewell. [Exit. 

Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality 
Can censure 'scape : back- wounding calumny 
The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong. 
Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue ? 
But who comes here ? 



Enter Escalus, Provo.'<tj Bawd, and Officers. 
Escal. Go : away with her to prison ! 
Bawd. Good my lord, be good to me ; your honour 
is accounted a merciful man : good my lord. 

Escal. Double and treble admonition, and still for- 
feit in the same kind ? This would make mercy swear, 
and play tlie tyrant. 

Prov. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it 
please your honour. 

Bawd. My lord, this is one Lucio's information 
against me. Mistress Kate Keep-down was with child 
by him in the duke's time : he promised her marriage ; 
his child is a year and a quarter old, come Philip and 
Jacob. I have kept it myself, and see how he goes 
about to abuse me ! 

Escal. That fellow is a fellow of much licence : — let 
liim be called before us. — Away with her to prison ! 
Go to ; no more words. [Exeunt Bawd and Officers.^ 
Provost, my brother Angelo will not be alter'd ; Claudio 
must die to-morrow. Let him be furnished with divines, 
and have all charitable preparation : if my brother 
wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him. 

Frov. So please you, this friar hath been with him, 
and advised him for the entertainment of death. 
Escal. Good even, good father. 
Duke. Bliss and goodness on you. 
Escal. Of whence are you ? 

Duke. Not of this country, though my chance is now 
To use it for my time : I am a brother 
Of gracious order, late come from the See, 
In special business from his hottness. 
Escal. What news abroad i' the world ? 
Duke. None, but that there is so great, a fever on 
goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it : 
novelty is only in request ; and as it is as dangerous 
to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to 
be constant in any undertaking, there is scarce truth 
enough alive to make societies secure, but security 
enough to make fellow.ships accurs'd. Much upon 
this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news 
is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I pray you, 
sir. of what disposition was the duke ? 

Escal. One that, above all other strifes, contended 
especially to know himself. 

Duke. What pleasure was he given to ? 
E.scal. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than 
merry at any thing which profcss'd to make him re- 
joice : a gentleman of all temperance. Btit leave we 
him to his events, with a prayer they may prove 
prosperous, and let me desire to know how you find 
Claudio prepared. I am made to tmderstand, that 
you have lent him visitation. 

Duke. He professes to have received no sinister 
measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles 
himself to the determination of justice ; yet had he 
framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, 
many deceiving promises of life, which I, by my good 
leisure, have discredited to him, and now is he resolved 
to die. 

Escal. You have paid the heavens the due of ^ your 
function, and the prisoner the very debt of your call- 
ing. I have laboitr'd for the poor gentleman to the 
extremest shore of my modesty ; but my brother jus- 
tice have I found so severe, that he liath forced me to 
tell him, he is indeed — justice. 

Duke. If his o\^■n life answer the straitness of his 

proceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein if he 

chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. [well. 

Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you 



> Suspected, a Number of the subjects. 3 The words " tUo due of" : not in f. e. 



Y6 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



ACT rv. 



Duke. Peace be "with you ! 

[Exeunt Escalus and Provost. 
He, who the sword of heaven \vill bear, 
Should be as holy as severe j 
Pattern in himself to know, 
Grace to stand, virtue to go ;^ 
More nor less to others paying, 
Than by self offences weighing. 
Shame to him, whose cruel striking 
Kills for faults of his own liking ! 
Twice treble shame on Angelo, 
To weed my vice, and let his grow ! 



0, what may man within him hide, 
Though angel on the outward side ! 
How may likeness, made in crimes, 
Masking^ practice on the times. 
Draw with idle spiders' strings 
Most pond'rous and substantial things ! 
Craft against vice I must apply. 
With Angelo to-night shall lie 
His old betrothed, but despised : 
So disguise shall, by the disguised, 
Pay with falsehood false exacting, 
And perform an old contracting. 



[Exit. 



ACT ly. 



SCENE I. — A Room at the moated Grange. 
Mariana discovered sitting : a Boy singing. 

SONG. 

Take, O ! take those lips away, 

That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
And those eyes, the break of day, 

Lights that do mislead the morn : 
But my kisses bring again, 
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.^ 
Mari. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick 
away: 
Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice 
Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. — 

[Exit Boy. 
Enter Duke. 
I cry you mercy, sir ; and well could wish 
You had not found me here so musical : 
Let me excuse me, and believe me so, 
My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe. 
Duke. 'T is good : though music oft hath such a 
charm, 
To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. 
I pray you, tell me, hath any body inquired for me 
here to-day? much upon this time have I promis'd 
here to meet. 

Mari. You have not been inquired after: I have 
sat here all day. 

Enter Isabella. 
Duke. I do constantly believe you. — The time is 
come, even now. I shall crave your forbearance a 
little : may be, I will call upon you anon, for some 
advantage to yourself. 

Mari. I am aFways bound to you. [Exit. 

Duke. Very well met, and welcome. 
What is the news from this good deputy ? 

Isab. He hath a garden circvimmur'd with brick. 
Whose western side is with a \'ineyard back'd ; 
And to that vineyard is a planched* gate, 
That makes his opening with this bigger key : 
This other doth command a little door, 
Which from the vineyard to the garden leads ; 
There have I made my promise upon the heavy" 
Middle of the night to call upon him. 

Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find this 



way; 



Isab. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't: 
With whispering and most guilty diligence, 
In action all of precept, he did show me 
The way twice o'er. 

Duke. Are there no other tokens 

Between you 'greed, concerning her observance? 

Isab. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark ; 
And that I have possess'd him my most stay 
Can be but brief : for I have made him know, 
I have a servant comes with me along. 
That stays upon me ; whose persuasion is, 
I come about my brother. 

Duke. 'T is well borne up. 

I have not yet made known to Mariana 
A word of this. — What, ho ! within ! come forth. 

Re-enter Mariana. 
I pray you, be acquainted with this maid : 
She comes to do you good. 

Isab. I do desire t"he like. 

Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you? 

Mari. Good friar, I know you do, and have found it. 

Duke. Take then this your companion by the hand, 
Who hath a story ready for your ear. 
I shall attend your leisure : but make haste ; 
The vaporous night approaches. 

Mari. Will 't please you walk aside ? 

[Exeunt Mariana and Isabella. 

Duke. place and greatness ! millions of false eyes 
Are stuck upon thee. Volumes of report 
Run with base', false and most contrarious quests 
Upon thy doings : thousand escapes of wit 
Make thee the father of their idle dreams. 
And rack thee in their fancies ! 

Re-enter Mariana and Isabella. . 

Welcome ! How agreed ! 

Isab. She '11 take the enterprise upon her, father. 
If you advise it. 

Duke. It is not my consent. 

But my entreaty too. 

Isab. Little have you to say. 

When you depart from him, but, soft and low, 
" Remember now my brother." 

Mari. Fear me not. 

Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all. 
He is your husband on a pre-contract : 
To bring you thus together, 



., 'tis no sin, 



I and virtue go : in f. e. 
a second stanza, as follows. 



♦ Boarded. 



2 Making : in f. e. ' This song is found in Beaumont and Fletcher's Bloody Brother, Act V., Sc. II., with 
It is attributed to Shakespeare in the spurious Ed. of his Poems, printed in 1640. 
Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow, 
Which thy frozen bosom bears, 
On whose tops the pinks that grow 

Are of those that April wears ; 
But first set my poor heart free, 
Bound in icy chains by thee. 
* Knight, following the old eds., transfers this word to the beginning of the next line. « these : in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



MEASURE FOE MEASUEE. 



77 



Sith that the justice of your title to him 
Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go : 
Our corn's to reap, for yet our field's' to sow. 



[Exeunt. 



SCENE IL— A Room in the Prison. 

Enter Provost ami Clown. 

Prov. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut oflF a man's 
head? 

Clo. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can: but if he 
be a married man, he is his -wife's head, and I can 
never cut off a woman's head. 

Prov. Come, sirj leave me your snatches, and yield 
me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are to die 
Claudio and Barnardine : here is in our prison a com- 
mon executioner, who in his office lacks a helper : if 
you Avill take it on you to assist him. it shall redeem 
you from your gyves ; if not, you shall have your full 
time of imprisonment, and your deliverance with an 
unpiticd whipping, for you have been a notorious 
bawd. 

Clo. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd, time out 
of mind : but yet I will be content to be a lawful 
hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruction 
from my fellow partner. 

Prov. What ho, Abhorson ! Where 's Abhorson, 
tliere ? 

Enter Abhorson. 

Abhor. Do you call, sir? 

Prov. Sirrah, here 's a fellow will help you to-morrow 
in your execvition. If you think it meet, compound 
with him by the year, and let him abide here with you ; 
if not, use him for the present, and dismiss liim. He 
cannot plead his estimation with you : he hath been a 
bawd. 

Abhor. A bawd, sir? Fie upon him! he will dis- 
credit our mystery. 

Prov. Go to, sir; you weigh equally: a feather will 
turn the scale. [Exit. 

Clo. Pray, sir, by your good favour, (for, surely, sir, 
a good favour you have, but that you have a hanging 
look.) do you call, sir, your occupation a mystery? 

Abhor. Ay, sir; a mystery. 

Clo. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; 
and your whores, sir, being members of my occupation, 
using painting, do prove my occupation a mystery ; but 
what mystery there should be in hanging, if I should 
be hang'd, I cannot imagine. 

Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. 

Clo. Proof? 

Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits yovir thief. 

Clo. If it be too little for your thief, your true man 
thinks it big enough ; if it be too big for your thief, 
your thief thinks it little enough : so, every true man's 
apparel fits your thief. 

Re-enter Provost. 

Prov. Are you agreed ? 

Clo. Sir, I will serve him ; for I do find, your hang- 
man is a more penitent trade than your bawd : he doth 
oftener ask forgiveness. 

Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe 
to-morrow, four o'clock. 

Abhor. Come on, bawd : I will instruct thee in my 
trade : follow. 

Clo. I do desire to learn, sir; and, I hope, if you 
liave occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall 
find me yare ; for, truly, sir, for your kindness I owe 
you a good turn. 

Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio : 

[Exeunt Clown and Abhorson. 



Th' one has my pity ; not a jot the other. 
Being a murderer, though he were my brother. 

Enter Claudio. 
Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death: 
'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow 
Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine? 

Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless laboiir, 
When it lies starkly* in the traveller's bones : 
He will not awake. 

Prov. Who can do good on him? 

Well, go ; prepare yourself. But hark ! what noise ? 

[Knocking within. 
Heaven give your spirits comfort ! — By and by : — 

[Exit Claudio. 
I hope it is some pardon, or reprieve. 
For the most gentle Claudio. — Welcome, father. 
Enter Duke. 

Duke. The best and wholesom'st spirits of the -night 
Envelop you, good provost ! Who call'd here of late? 

Prov. None, since the curfew rung. 

Duke. Not Isabel ? 

Prov. No. 

Duke. There will then, ere't be long. 

Prov. What comfort is for Claudio? 

Duke. There 's some in hope. 

Prov. It is a bitter deputy. 

Duke. Not so, not so : his life is parallel'd 
Even with the stroke and line of his great justice. 
He doth with holy abstinence subdue 
That in himself, which he spurs on his power 
To qualify in otliers : were he meal'd' with that 
Which he corrects, then were he t>Tannous ; 

[Knocking within. 
But this being so, he 's just. — Now are they come. — 

[Exit Provost. 
This is a gentle provost : seldom, when 
The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. [Knocking. 
How now ? What noise ? Tliat spirit 's possessed with 

haste. 
That wounds the resisting* postern with these strokes. 
Re-enter Provost. 

Prov. [Speaking to one at the door.] There he must 
stay, until the officer 
Arise to let him in : he is call'd up. 

Duke. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet, 
But he must die to-morrow? 

Prov. None, sir, none. 

Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is, 
You shall hear more ere morning. 

Prov. Happily, 

You something know ; yet, I believe, there comes 
No countermand : no such example have we. 
Besides, upon the very siege of justice, 
Lord Angelo hatli to the public ear 
Profess'd the contrary. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Duke. This is his lordship's man.' 

Prov. And here comes Claudio's pardon. 

Mes. My lord liath sent you this note ; [giving a 
paper] and by me this further charge, that you swerve 
not from the smallest article of it, neither in time, 
matter, or other circumstance. Good morrow; for, as 
I take it, it is almost day. 

Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger. 

Duke. This is his pardon ; purchas'd by such sin, 

[Aside. 
For which the pardoner himself is in : 
Hence hath offence his quick celerity, 
When it is born in high authority. 



' tithe 'a : in f. e. » Stiffly. ' Mingled. * unsisting : in f. e. • Knight gives this speech to the Provost, and the next to the Duke 



7S 



MEASUKE FOR MEASURE. 



ACT lY. 



When vice makes mercy, mercy 's so extended, 
That for the fault's love is th' offender friended. — 
Now, sir, what news ? 

Prov. I told you : Lord Angelo, belike thinking me 
remiss in mine office, awakens me with this unwonted 
putting on ; methinks strangely, for he hath not used 
it before. 

Duke. Pray you, let 's hear. 

Prov. [Reads.] "Whatsoever you may hear to the 
contrary, let Claudio be executed by four of the clock; 
and, in the afternoon, Barnardine. For my bette?^ satis- 
faction, let me have Claudio's head sent me by five. 
Let this be duly performed ; with a thought, that more 
depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not 
to do your oiTice, as you will answer it at your peril." — 
What say you to this, sir ? 

Duke. Wliat is that Barnardine, who is to be exc- 
cu!cd in the afteriioon? 

Prov. A Bohemian born ; but here nursed up and 
bred : one that is a prisoner nine years old. 

Duke. How came it, that the absent Duke had not 
either deliver'd him to his liberty, or executed him ? 
I have heard, it was ever his manner to do .'o. 

Prov. His friends still wj-ought reprieves for him: 
and. indeed, his fact, till now in the government of 
Lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof. 

Duke. It is now ajiparent ? 

Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by liimself. 

Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison? 
How s-^ems he to be toueh'd ? 

Prov. A man that apprehends death no m.orc dread- 
fully but as a drunken sleep ; carele.^s, reckless, and 
fearless of what 's past, present, or to come : inseiisible 
of mortality, and desperately mortal. 

Duke. He wants advice. 

Prov. He will hear none. He hath evermore had 
the liberty of the prison : give him leave to escape 
hence, he would not : drunk many times a day, if not 
many days entirely drunk. We have very oft awaked 
him. as if to carry him to execution, and .show'd him 
a seeming warrant for it : it hath not moved him at all. 

Duke. More of him anon. There is written in your 
brow, provost, honesty and constancy : if I read it not 
truly, my ancient skill beguiles me ; but in the bold- 
ness of my cunning I will lay myself in hazard. 
Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is 
no greater forfeit to the law. than Angelo who hath 
sentenced him. To make you understand this in a 
manifested effect, I crave but four days' respite, for the 
which you are to do me bolh a present and a dangerous 
toyrtesy. 

Prov. Pray, sir, in what? 

Duke. In the delaying death. 

Prov. Alack ! how may I do it. having the hour 
limited, and an expre.'-s command, under penalty, to 
deliver his head in the view of Angelo ? I may make 
my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the smallest. 

Dnke. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you : if 
my instructions may be your guide, let this Barnardine 
be this morning executed, and his head borne to 
Angelo. 

Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and -will discover 
the favour. 

Duke. ! death 's a great disguiser, and you may 
add to it. Shave the head, and lie the beard; and say, 
it was the desire of the penitent to be so bared before 
his death : you know, the course is common. If any 
thing fall to you upon this, more than thanks and good 



fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plettd 
against it with my life. 

Prov. Pardon me, good father : it is against my 
oath. 

Duke. Were you sworn to the Duke, or to the 
deputy ? 

Prov. To him, and to his substitutes. 

Duke. You will think you have made no offence, if 
the Duke avouch the justice of your dealing. 

Prov. But what likelihood is in that ? 

Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet 
since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, 
nor my persuasion, Can with ease attempt you, I will 
go farther than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you. 
Look you, sir ; here is the hand and seal of the Duke : 
you know the character, I doubt not, and the signet is 
not strange to you. 

Prov. I know them both. 

Duke. The contents of this is the return of the 
Duke : you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure, 
v.herc you shall find, Avithin these two days he will be 
here. This is a thing that Angelo knows not, for he 
this very day receives letters of strange tenor; per- 
chance, of the Duke's death ; perchance, entering into 
some monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is 
A\Tit. Look, the unfolding star calls up the shepherd. 
Put not yourself into amazement how these things 
should be : all difficulties are but ea.sy when they are 
known. Call your executioner, and off with Barnar- 
dine's head : I will give him a present shrift, and 
advise him for a better place. Yet you are amazed, 
but this shall absolutely resolve you. Come away; it 
is almost clear dawn. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another Room in the Same. 
Enter Clown. 

Clo. I am as well acquainted here, as I was in our 
house of profession : one would think, it were mistress 
Over-done's own house, for here be many of her old 
customers. First, here 's young Mr. Rash ; he 's in for 
a commodity of brown paper and old ginger,^ ninescore 
and. seventeen pounds, of which he made five marks, 
ready money : marry, then, ginger was not much in 
request, for the old women were all dead. Then is 
there here one Mr. Caper, at the suit of master Three- 
pile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-colour'd 
satin, which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we 
here young Dicy, and young Mr. Deep-vow, and Mr. 
Copper-spur, and Mr. Starve-lackey, the rapier and 
dagger-man, and young Drop-heir that kill'd Lusty 
Pudding, and Mr. Forthright the filter, and brave Mr. 
Shoe-tie the great traveller, and wild Half-can that 
stabb'd Pots, and, I think, forty more, all great doers 
in our trade, and are now in' for the Lord's sake.' 
Enter Abhorson. 

Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. 

Clo. Mr. Barnardine ! you must rise and be hang'd, 
Mr. Barnardine. 

Abhor. What, ho, Barnardine ! 

Barnar. [Within] A pox o' your throats! Who 
makes that noise there ? What are you ? 

Clo. Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must 
be so good, sir. to rise and be put to death. 

Barnar. [Within] Away, you rogue, away! I am 
sleepy. 

Abhor. Tell him, he must awake, and that quickly too. 

Clo. Pray, master Barnardine, awake till you are 
executed, and sleep afterwards. 



1 It was a custom of usurers to compel borrowers to take part of the sum advanced to them in goods, often of little real value. 
* Not in f. e. 3 Imprisoned debtors used to beg from tiie jail windows, " for the Lord's sake." 



SCENE in. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Y9 



Abhor. Go in to hinij and fetch him out. 

Clo. He is coming, sir, he is coming : I hear his 
straw rustle. 

Enter Barnardine. 

Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah ? 

Clo. Very ready, sir. [you ? 

Barnar. How now, Abhorson? what's the news with 

Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into 
your prayers ; for, look you, the warrant 's come. 

Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking all night : 
I am not fitted for 't. 

Clo. ! the better, sir ; for he that drinks all night, 
and is hang'd betimes in the morning, may sleep the 
sounder all the next day. 

Enter Duke. 

Abhor. Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly 
father. Do we jest now, think you ? 

Duke. Sir, induced by m.y charity, and hearing how 
hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise you, 
comfort you, and pray with you. 

Barnar. Friar, not I : I have been drinking hard all 
night, and I will have more time to prepare me, or 
they shall beat out my brains with billets. I will not 
consent to die this day, that 's certain. 

Duke. O, sir, you must; and therefore, I beseech 
you. 
Look forward on the journey you shall go. 

Barnar. I swear, I will not die to-day for any man's 
persuasion. 

D'jke. But hear you, — 

Barnar. Not a word : if you have any thing to say 
to me, come to my ward : for thence will not I to-day. 

[Exit. 
Enter Provost. 

Duke. Unfit to live, or die. 0, grovelling beast !* — 
After him, fellows : bring him to the block. 

[E.veimt Abhorson and Clown. 

Prov. Now, sir; how do you find the prisoner? 

Duke. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death j 
And, to transport liim in the mind he is, 
Were damnable. 

Prov. Here in the prison, father. 

There died this morning of a cruel fever 
0;ic Ragozinc, a most notorious pirate, 
A man of Claudio's years ; his beard, and head, 
Just of his colour. What if we do omit 
This rcpi-obatc. till he were well inclin'd, 
And satisfy the deputy with 1he visage 
Of Ragozinc. more like to Claudio? 

Duke. 0, 't is an accident that heaven provides ! 
Despatch it presently : the hour draws on 
Prefix'd by Angelo. See, tliis be done, 
And sent according to command, whiles I 
Persuade this rude WTctch willingly to die. 

Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently. 
But Barnardine must die this afternoon ; 
And how shall we continue Claudio, 
To save me from the danger that might come. 
If he were known alive ? 

Dxtke. Let this be done. — Put them in secret 
holds. 
Both Barnardine and Claudio; 
Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting 
To yonder' generation, you shall find 
VTour safety manifest.^ 

Prov. I am your free dependant. 

Duke. Quick, despatch, and send the head to Angelo. 

[Exit Provost. 



gracious 



' pravel heart : in f. e. 
■words to you not in f. e. 



' yond : in f. e. ' manifested : in f. e 
8 Wish. » combined : in f. e. 



Now will I write letters to Angelo, 

(The provost, he shall bear them) wliose contents 

Shall witness to him, I am near at home, 

And that by great injunctions I am bound 

To enter publicly : him I '11 desire 

To meet me at the consecrated fount, 

A league below tlie city ; and fi'om thence. 

By cold gradation and wcll-balanc'd form,* 

We shall proceed with Angelo. 

Re-enter Provost. 

Prov. Here is the head ; I '11 carry it myself. 

Duke. Convenient is it. Make a swift return. 
For I would commune with you of such things. 
That want no ear but yours. 

Prov. I '11 make all speed. [Exit 

Isab. [Within.] Peace, ho, be here! 

Duke. The tongue of Isabel. — She 's come to know, 
If yet her brother's pardon be come hither; 
But I will keep lier ignorant of her good, 
To make her heavenly comforts of despair. 
When it is least expected. 

Enter Isabella 

Isab. Ho ! by your leave. 

Duke. Good morning to you, fair and 
daughter. 

Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man. 
Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon? 

Duke. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the world. 
His head is off, and sent to Angelo. 

Isab. Nay, but it is not so. 

Duke. It is no other. [Catching her.' 

Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience. 

hab. O ! I will to him, and pluck out his eyes. 

Duke. You shall not be admitted to his sight. 

Isab. Unhappy Claudio ! Wretched Isabel ! 
Perjurious^ world ! Most damned Angelo ! 

Duke. This not hurts him, nor profits you a jot : 
Forbear it therefore ; give your cause to heaven. 
Mark what I say to you,' which you shall find 
By every syllable a faithful verity. 
The duke comes home to-morrow ; nay, dry your eyes : 
One of our couA'ent, and his confessor, 
Gives me tins instance. Already he hath carried 
Notice to Escalus and Angelo, 
Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, 
There to give up their power. If you can, pace your 

wisdom 
Fn that good path that I would wish it go, 
And you shall liave your bosom' on this WTetchj 
Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, 
And general honour. 

/sa6. I am directed by you. 

Duke. This letter, then, to friar Peter give : 
'T is that he sent me of the duke's return : 
Say, by this token, I desire his company 
At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause, and yours 
I '11 perfect him withal, and he shall bring you 
Before the duke ; and to the head of Angelo 
Accuse him home, and liome. For my poor self, 
I am confined' by a sacred vow, 
And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter. 
Command these fretting waters from your eyes 
With a light heart : trust not my holy order, 
If I pervert your course. — ^\Vho 's here ? 
Enter Lucio. 

Lucio. Good even. 

Friar, where is the provost ? 

Duke. Not within, sir. 

* weal-balanc'd : in f. e. ' Not in f. e. 'Injurious : in f. e. ^The 



r 



80 



MEASUEE FOR MEASURE. 



ACT V. 



Lucio. 0, pretty Isabella ! I am pale at mine heart, 
to see thine eyes so red : thou must be patient. I am 
fain to dine and sup with water and bran ; I dare not 
for my head fill my belly: one fruitful meal would set 



to 't. But, 



they say, 
troth, Isabel 



the duke will be here to- 



Yes, marry, did I ; but I was fain to forswear 
would else have married me to the rotten 



mo 

morrow. By rny troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother; 
if the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been at 
home, he had lived. [Exit Isabella. 

Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholding to 
your reports ; but the best is, he lives not in them. 

Lucio. Friar, tliou knowest not the duke so well as 
I do : he 's a better woodman than thou takest him 
for. 

Luke. Well, you '11 answer this one day. Fare ye 
well. [Going. 

Lucio. Nay, tarry ; I '11 go along with thee. I can 
tell thee pretty tales of the duke. 

Duke. You have told me too many of him already. 
sir, if they be true ; if not true, none were enough. 

Lucio. I was once before him for getting a wench 
with child. 

Duke. Did you such a thing ? 

Lucio. 
it : they 
medlar. 

Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. 
Rest you well. [Going. 

Lucio. By my troth, I '11 go with thee to the lane's 
end. If bawdy talk offend you, we '11 have very little 
of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr ; I shall stick. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A Room in Angelo's House. 
Enter Angelo and Escalus. 

E.'^cal Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd 
other. 

Aug. In most uneven and distracted manner. 
His actions show much like to madness : pray heaven. 
His wisdom be not tainted ! 
And why meet him at the gates, and re-deliver 
Our authorities there ? 

Escal. I guess not. 

Ang. And why should we 
Proclaim it an hour before his entering, 
That if any crave redress of injustice. 
They should exhibit their petitions 
In the street ?^ 

Escal. He shows his reason for that : to have a des- 
patch of complaints, and to deliver lis from devices 
hereafter, 
Which shall then have no power to stand against us. 

Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd : 
Betimes i' the morn, I '11 call you at your house. 
Give notice to such men of sort and suit, 
As are to meet him. 

Escal. I shall, sir : fare you well. [Exit. 

Ang. Good night. — 
This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant, 



And dull to all proceedings. A deflowered maid, 

And by an eminent body, that enforc'd 

The law against it ! — But that her tender shame 

Will not proclaim against her maiden loss. 

How miglit she tongue me ! Yet reason dares her : 

no : 
For my authority bears such^ a credent bulk 
That no particular scandal once can touch. 
But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd, 
Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, 
Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge, 
For {-0 receiving a dishonour'd life 
With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had liv'd ! 
Alack ! when once our grace we have forgot. 
Nothing goes right : we would, and we would not. [Exit. 

SCENE v.— Fields without the Town. 
Enter Duke, in his own habit, and Friar Petcr. 
Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me. 

[Giving them.' 
The provost knows our purpose, and our plot. 
The matter being afoot, keep your instruction. 
And hold you ever to our special drift, 
Though sometimes you do blench* from this to that, 
As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house. 
And tell him where I stay : give the like notice 
Unto Valentius, Rowland, and to Crassus, 
And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate; 
But send me Flavius first. 

F. Peter. It shall be speeded well. [Exit J^eter. 

Enter Varrius. 
Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast made good 
haste. 
Come, we will walk : there 's other of our friends 
Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— Street near the City Gate. 
Enter Isabella and Mariana. 
hab. To speak so indirectly, I am loath : 
I would say the truth ; but to accuse him so. 
That is your part ; yet I 'm ad^vas'd to do it, 
He says, to 'vailfuP purpose. 

Mari. Be rul'd by him. 

hab. Besides, he tells me, that if peradventure 
He speak against me on the adverse side, 
I should not think it strange ; for 't is a physic, 
That 's bitter to sweet end. 
3Iari. I would, friar Peter— 
Isab. O, peace ! the friar is come. 

Filter Friar Peter. 
JP. Peter. Come ; I have found you out a stand most 
fit. 
Where you may have such vantage on the duke, 
He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets 

sounded : 
The generous and gravest citizens 
Have hent the gates, and very near upon 
The duke is ent'ring : therefore hence, away. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— A public Place near the City Gate. 

Mariana, [veiTd.) Isabella and Peter, at a distance. 
Enter at several doors, Duke, Varrius, Lords ; An- 
gelo, Escalus, Lucio, Provost, Officers, aiul Citizens. 
Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met. — 

' Knight and other eds. print this and Angela's former speech in prose. 



Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see yoti. 
Ang. atvl Escal. Happy return be to your royal 



grace 



Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both. 
We have made inquiry of you ; and we hear 
Such goodness of your justice, that our soul 

2 of : in f. e. ' letters : In f. e. * Start off. s to veil full purpose : in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



MEASUKE FOE MEASURE. 



81 



Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, 
Forerunning more requital. 

Ang. You make my bonds still gi-eater. 

Duke. O ! your desert t^peaks loud ; and I should 
wrong it. 
To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, 
When it deserves with characters of brass 
A i'orted residence 'gainst the tooth of time. 
And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand, 
And let the subject see, to make them know 
That outward courtesies would fain proclaim 
Favours that keep within. — Come, Escalus ; 
You nuist walk by us on our other hand, 
And good supporters are you. 

Friar Peter and Isabella come fortvard. 

F. Peter. Now is your time. Speak loud, and kneel 
before him. 

Isab. Justice, royal duke ! Vail your regard 

[Kiieeling.'^ 
Upon a ^Tong'd, 1 would fain have said, a maid ! 
worthy prince ! dislionour not your eye 
By throwing it on any other object. 
Till you have heard me in my true complaint, 
And given me justice, justice, justice, justice ! 

Duke. Relate your wrongs : in what ? by whom ? Be 
brief. 
Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice : 
R,eveal yourself to him. 

Isab. 0, worthy duke ! [Rising.'^ 

You bid me seek redemption of the devil. 
Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak 
Must either punish me, not being believ'd, 
Oi WTing redress from you. Hear me, O, hear, me, 
here ! [Kneeling again.^ 

Ang. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not tirm : 
Slie hath been a suitor to me for her brother. 
Cut off by course of justice. 

J.mi. By course of justice ! [Risirig.* 

Aug. And she will speak most bitterly, and strangely.* 

hah. Most strangely, yet^ most truly, will I sneak. 
That Angelo 's forsworn, is it not strange ? 
That Angelo 's a murderer, is 't not strange ? 
That Angelo is an adulterous thief. 
An hypocrite, a virgin-violator. 
Is it not strange, and strange ? 

Duke. Nay, it is ten times strange. 

Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo, 
Than this is all as true as it is strange : 
Nay, it is ten times true ; for truth is truth 
To th' end of reckoning. 

Duke. Away with her. — Poor soul ! 

She speaks this in th" infirmity of sense. 

Isab. prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st 
There is another comfort than this world. 
That thou neglect me not, with that opinion 
That I am touch'd with madness : make not impossible 
That which but seems unlike. 'T is not impossible, 
But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground, 
May seem as shy. as grave, as just, as absolute. 
As Angelo ; even so may Angelo, 
In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms, 
Be an arch-villain. Believe it, royal prince : 
If he be less, he 's nothing ; but he 's more. 
Had I more name for badness. 

Duke. By mine honesty. 

If she be mad, as I believe no other. 
Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, 
Such a dependency of thing on thing, 
As e'er I heard in madness. 



Isab. 



0, 



, gracious duke ! 
Harp not on that ; nor do not banish reason 
For incredulity"; but let your reason serve 
To make the truth appear, where it seems hid, 
And hide the false seems true. 

Duke. Many that are not mad, 

Have, sure, more lack of reason. — What would you say? 

Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio, 
Condemn'd upon the act of fornication 
To lose his head ; condemn'd by Angelo. 
I, in probation of a sisterhood. 
Was sent to by my brother , one Lucio 
As then the messenger. — 

Lucio. That 's I, an 't like your grace. 

I came to her from Claudio. and desir'd her 
To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo, 
For her poor brother's pardon. 

Isab. • That 's he, indeed. 

Dxike. You were not bid to speak. 

Lucio. No. my good lord; 

Nor wish'd to hold my peace. 



Duke. 



I wish vou now, then : 



Pray you, take note of it ; and when you have 
A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then 
Be perfect. 

Lucio. I warrant your honour. 

Duke. The warrant 's for yourself: take heed to it. 

Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. 

Lucio. Right. 

Duke. It may be right ; but you are in the 'WTong 
To speak before your time. — Proceed. 

Isab. . I went 

To this pernicious, caitiff deputy. 

Duke. That 's somewhat madly spoken. 

hab. Pardon it : 

The phrase is to the matter. 

Duke. Mended again; the matter? — Now proceed. 

Isab. In brief, — ^to set the needless process by, 
How I persiiaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd. 
How he reiell'd me, and how I replied, 
(For this was of much length) the vile conclusion 
I now begin with grief and shame to utter. 
He would not, but by gift of my chaste body 
To his concupiscible intemperate lust. 
Release my brother ; and, after much debatement, 
My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour. 
And I did yield to him. But the next morn betimes, 
His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant 
For my poor brother's head. 

Duke. This is most likely. 

Isab. 0, that it were as like*, as it is true ! 

Duke. By heaven, fond wretch ! thou know'st not 
what thou speak' st. 
Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour. 
In hateful practice. First, his integrity 
Stands without blemish : next, it imports no reason, 
That with such vehemency he should pursue 
Faults proper to himself; if he had so offended, 
He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself. 
And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on : 
Confess the truth, and say by whose advice 
Thou cam'st here to complain. 

hab. And is this all ? 

Tlien, O ! you blessed ministers above. 
Keep me in patience ; and, with ripcn'd time. 
Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up 
In countenance ! — Heaven shield your grace from woe. 
As I, thus wrong'd. hence unbelievcd go ! 

Duke. I knov,-, you'd fain be gone. — An officer ! 



13 3 4 jvjot in f. e. * strange : in f. e. 



» Most strange, but yet, &c. 

6 



in f. e. '' inequality : in f. e. * Probabh. 



82 



MEASUEE FOE MEASUEE. 



ACT Y. 



To prison with her. — Shall we thus permit 

A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall 

On him so near us ? This needs must be a practice. 

Who knew of your intent, and coming hither ? 

Isab. One that I would were here, friar Lodowick. 

Duke. A ghostly father, belike. — Who knows that 
Lodowick ? 

Lucio. My lord, I know him : 't is a meddling friar : 
I do not like the man : had he been lay, my lord, 
For certain words he spake against your grace. 
In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly. 

Didce. Words against me? This a good friar, belike. 
And to set on this wretched woman here 
Against our sub.stitute ! — Let this friar be found. 

Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar 
I saw them at the prison. A saucy friar, 
A very scurvy fellow. 

F. Peter. Blessed be your royal grace ! 

I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard 
Your roval ear abus'd. First, hath this woman 
Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute, 
Who is as free from touch or soil with her. 
As she from one ungot. 

Ihike. We did believe no less. 

Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of? 

F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holyj 
Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, 
As he 's reported by this gentleman ; 
And. on my truth', a man that never yet 
Did, as he vouches, misrcport your grace. 

Lucio. My lord, most villainously: believe it. 

F. Peter. Well ; he in time may come to clear him- 
self, 
But at this instant he is sick, my lord, 
Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request, 
Being come to knowledge that there was complaint 
Litended 'gainst lord Angelo. came I hither. 
To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know 
Is true, and false; and what he with his oath, 
And all probation, will make up full clear, 
Whensoever he 's convented. First, for this woman. 
To justify this worthy nobleman. 
So vulgarly and personally accus'd. 
Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, 
Till she herself confess it. 

Duke. Good friar, let "s hear it. 

[Isabella is carried off guarded; and Mariana 
comes forward. 
Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo ? — 
heaven, the vanity of wretched fools ! — 
Give us some seats. — Come, cousin Angelo ; 
In this I '11 be impartiaP : be you judge 
Of your own cause. — Is this the witness, friar? 
First, let her show her face, and after speak. 

Mari. Pardon, my lord, I will not show my face, 
Until my husband bid me. 

Duke. What, are you married ? 

Mari. No, my lord. 

Duke. Are you a maid ? 

Mari. No, my lord. 

Ihike. A widow, then ? 

Mari. Neither, my lord. 

Ihike. Why, you 

Are nothing then : neither, maid, widow, nor wife ? 

Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk ; for many of 
them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. 

Duke. Silence that fellow: I would, he had some 
cause 
To prattle for himself. 

1 trust : in f. e 2 jjn^ that is, very partial, a common use of the 



Lucio. Well, my lord. 

Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married; 
And, I confess, besides, I am no maid : 
I have known my husband, yet my husband knows not 
That ever he knew me. 

Lucio. He was drunk, then, my lord : it can be no 
better. 

Duke. For the benefit of silence, 'would thou wert 
so too ! 

Lucio. Well, my lord. 

Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo. 

Mari. Now I come to 't, my lord. 
She that accuses him of fornication. 
In self-same manner doth accuse my husband ; 
And charges him, my lord, witli such a time, 
When, I '11 depose, I had him in mine arms, 
With all th' effect of love. 

Ang. Charges she more -than me ? 

Mari. Not that I know. 

Duke. No ? you say, your husband. 

Mari. Why, just my lord, and that is Angelo. 
Who thinks, he knows, that he ne 'er knew my body. 
But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's. 

Ang. This is a strange abuse. — Let 's see thy face. 

Mari. My husband bids me ; now I will unmask. 

[ Unveiling. 
This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, 
Which once, thou swor'st, was worth the looking on : 
This is the hand which with a vow'd contract. 
Was fast belock'd in thine : this is the body 
That took away the match from Isabel, 
And did supply thee at thy garden-house^ 
In her imagin'd person. 

Duke. Know you this woman? 

Lucio. Carnally, she says. 

Duke. Sirrah, no more. 

Lucio. Enough, my lord. 

Ang. My lord, I must confess, I know this woman ; 
And five years since tliere was some speech of marriage 
Betwixt myself and her, which was broke off, 
Partly, for that her promised proportions 
Came short of composition; but, in chief, 
For that her reputation was disvalued 
In levify : since which time of five years 
I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her, 
Upon my faith and honour. 

Mari. Noble prince, [Kneeling.*^ 

As there comes light from heaven, and words from 

breath. 
As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue, 
I am aflnianc'd this man's wife, as strongly 
As words could make up vows : and, my good lord. 
But Tuesday night last gone, in 's garden-house. 
He knew me as a wife. As this is true 
Let me in safety raise me from my knees, 
Or else for ever be confixed here, 
A marble monument. 

Ang. I did but smile till now : 

Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice ; 
My patience here is toueh'd. I do perceive, 
These poor inforraaP women are no more 
But instruments of some more mightier member, 
That sets them on. Let me have way, my lord, 
To find this practice out. 

Duke. Ay, with my heart ; 

And punish them unto your height of pleasure. — 
Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman. 
Compact with her that 's gone, think'st thou, thy oaths, 
Though they would swear down each particular saint, 

prefix. 3 Summer-house. * Not in f. e. * Senseless. 



SCENE I. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



83 



Were testimonies against his worth and credit, 
That 's sealed in approbation ? — You, lord Escalus, 
Sit with my cousin : lend him your kind pains 
To find out this abuse, whence 't is deriv'd. — 
There is another friar that set them on ; 
Let him be sent for. 

F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord; for he, 
indeed, 
Hath set the women on to this complaint. 
Your provost knows the place where he abides, 
And he may fetch him. 

Duke. Go, do it instantly. — [Exit Provost. 

And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, 
Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth. 
Do with your injuries as seems you best. 
In any chastisement : I for a while 
Will leave you ; but stir not you, till you have well 
Determined upon these slanderers. [Exit Duke. 

Escal. My lord, we '11 do it thoroughly. — Siguier 
Lucio, did not you say, you knew that friar Lodowick 
to be a dishonest person ? 

Lucio. Cucullus non facit monachum : honest in 
nothing, but in his clothes ; and one that hath spoke 
most villainous speeches of the duke. 

Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till he 
come, and enforce them against him. We shall find 
this friar a notable fellow. 

Lvcio. As any in Vienna, on my word. 

Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again : [To 
an Attendant^ I would speak with her. Pray you, 
my lord, give me leave to question ; you shall see how 
I "11 handle her. 

Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report. 

Escal. Say you ? 

Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her pri- 
vately, she would sooner confess : perchance, publicly 
she '11 be a.shamed. 

Re-enter OJficers^ with Isabella : the Duke, in a 
Friars habit, and Provost. 
I will go darkly to work with her. 
That 's the way ; for women are light at mid- 



Escal. 

Lucio 
night. 

Escal. Come on, mistress. [To Isabella.] Here 's a 
gentlewoman denies all that you have said. 

Lucio. My lord,- here comes the rascal I spoke of; 
here, Avith the provost. 

Escal. In A^ery good time : — speak not you to him, 
till we call upon you. 

Lucio. Mum. 

Escal. Come, sir. Did you set these women on to 
slander lord Angelo? tliey have confess'd you did. 

Duke. 'T is false. 

E.-ical. How ! know you where you are ? 

Duke. Respect to your great place ! then let the devil 
Be sometime lioiiour'd for his burning throne. — 
Where is the duke ? 't is he should hear me speak. 

Escal. The diike 's in us, and we will hear you speak : 
Look, you speak justly. 

Duke. Boldly, at least. — ^But O, poor souls ! 

Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox ? 
Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone ? 
Then is j^our cause gone too. The duke 's unjust, 
Thus to reject^ your manifest appeal, 
And put your trial in the villain's mouth, 
Which here you come to accuse. 

Lucio. This is the rascal : this is he I spoke of. 

Escal. Why, thnu unreverend and unhallow'd friar ! 
Is 't not enoush. thou hast suborn'd these women 



To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth, 
And in the witness of his proper ear. 
To call him villain ? And then to glance from him 
To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice ? — 
Take him hence ; to tlie rack with him. — We '11 touse you 
Joint by joint, but we will know your^ purpose. — 
What ! unjust? 

Duke. Be not so hot ; the duke dare' 
No more stretch this finger of mine, than he 
Dare rack his own ; his subject am I not. 
Nor here provincial. My business in this state 
Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, 
Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble, 
Till it o'er-run the stew : laws for all faults. 
But faults so countenancd, that the strong statutes 
Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, 
As much in mock as mark. 

Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with him to prison. 

Ang. What can you vouch against him, signior 
Lucio ? 
Is this the man that you did tell us of? 

Lucio. 'T is he, my lord. — Come hither, goodman 



bald-pate : 
Duke. I 



I met you at the prison in the absence of the 
And do you remember what 



do you know me ? 

remember you, sir, by the sound of your 
voice 
duke. 

Lucio. O, did you so ? 
you said of the duke ? 

Duke. Most notedly, sir. 

Lucio. Do you so, sir? And was the duke a flesh- 
monger, a fool, and a coward, as you then reported 
him to be ? 

Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me, ere 
you make that my report : you, indeed, spoke so of 
him : and much more, much worse. 

Lucio. 0, thou damnable follow ! Did not I pluck 
thee by the nose, for thy speeches ? 

Duke. I protest, I love the duke as I love myself. 

Ang. Hark how the villain would gloze now, after 
his treasonable abuses. 

Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withal : — 
Away with him to prison. — Where is the provost ? — 
Away with him to prison. Lay bolts enough upon 
him, let him speak no more. — Away with those giglots* 
too, and with the other confederate companion. 

[The Provost lays hand on the Duke. 

Duke. Stay, sir ; stay a while. 

Ang. What ! resists he ? Help him, Lucio. 

Lucio. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh ! sir. 
Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal ! you must be hooded, 
must you ? show your knave's visage, Mdth a pox to 
you ! show your sheep-biting face, and be hang'd an 
hour. Will 't not off? 

[Pulling off the Duke's disguise.^ 

Duke. Thou art the first knave, that e'er made a 
duke. — [All start and stand^. 

First, provost, let me hail these gentle three. — 
Sneak not away, sir; [To Lucio.] for the friar and you 
Must have a word anon. — Lay hold on him. 

Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. 

Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon ; sit you 
do\sni. [To Escalus. 

We '11 borrow place of him : — Sir, by your leave. 

To Angelo. 
Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence. 
That yet can do thee office ? If thou hast, 
Rely upon it till my tale be heard, 
And hold no longer out. 



1 retort : in f. e. ' his : in f. e. ' Knight transfers this word to the beginning of the next line. 
hoojf. a>ui disrovers the Duke : in f. e. << Not in f. e. 



* Want cms. > Pulls off tlie Friar's 



84 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



ACT r. 



Ang. O, my dread lord ! 

I sliould be guiltier than my guiltiness, 
To think I can be undiscernible, 
When I perceive your grace, like power divine, 
Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good prince. 
No longer session hold upon my shame, 
But let my trial be mine own confession : 
Immediate sentence then, and sequent death, 
Is all the grace I beg. 



Dtike. 



Come hither, Mariana.' 



Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman? 

Aug. I was, my lord. 

Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her instantly. — 
Do you the office, friar ; which consummate, 
Return him here again. — Go with him, provost. 

[Exeunt Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. 

E.scal. My lord, I am more amaz'd at his dishonour. 
Than at the strangeness of it. 

Duke. Come hither, Isabel. 

Your friar is now your jirince : as I was then 
Advertising and holy to your business. 
Not changing heart with habit, I am still 
Attorney'd at your service. 

Isab. 0, give me pardon, 

That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd 
Your unknown sovereignty ! 

Diike. You are pardon'd, Isabel : 

And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. 
Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart ; 
And you may marvel, why I obscur'd myself. 
Labouring to save his life, and would not rather 
Make rash demonstrance of my hidden power, 
Than let him so be lost. 0, most kind maid ! 
It was the swift celerity of his death. 
Which I did think with slower foot came on. 
That brain'd my purpose : but all peace be with him ! 
That life is better life, past fearing death. 
Than that which lives to fear. iSIake it your comfort, 
So happy is your brother. 

Re-enter Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. 

I'^ab. I do, my lord. 

Dnke. For this new-married man, approaching here, 
Whose salt imagination yet hath >'VTong'd 
Your well-defended honour, you must pardon 
For Mariana's sake. But, as he adjudg'd your brother, 
(Being criminal, in double violation 
Of sacred chastity, and of promise-breach, 
Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,) 
The very mercy of the law cries out 
Most audible, even from his proper tongue, 
" An Angelo for Claudio, death for death !" 
Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure. 
Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure. 
Then, Angelo, thy fault 's thus manifested. 
Which, though thou would'st deny, denies thee vantage. 
We do condemn thee to the very block 
Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste. — 
Away with him. 

Mari. O, my most gracious lord ! 

I hope you will not mock me with a husband. 

Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a 
husband. 
Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, 
I thought your marriage fit ; else imputation. 
For that he knew you, might reproach your life, 
And choke your good to come. For his possessions. 
Although by confiscation they are ours, 
We do instate and widow you withal, 
To buy you a better husband. 

1 = Not in f. e. 



3Iari. O, my dear lord, 

I crave no other, nor no better man. 

Duke. Never crave him : we are definitive. 
Mari. Gentle my liege, — [Kneeling. 

Duke. You do but lose your labour. 

Away with him to death. — Now, sir, [To Lucio.] to you, 
Mari. 0, my good lord ! — Sweet Isabel, take my part; 
Lend me your knees, and all my life to come, 
I '11 lend you all my life to do you service. 

Duke. Against all sense you do importune her : 
Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, 
Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, 
And take her hence in horror. 

Mari. Isabel, 

Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me : 
Hold up your hands, say nothing, I '11 speak all. 
They say, best men are moulded out of faults, 
And, for the most, become miich more the better 
For being a little bad : so may my husband. 
O, Isabel ! yill you not lend a knee? 
Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. 

Isab. Most bounteous sir, [Kneeling. 

Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, 
As if my brother liv'd. I partly think, 
A due sincerity govern'd his deeds. 
Till he did look on me : since it is so, 
Let him not die. My brother had but justice. 
In that he did the thing for which he died : 
For Angelo, 

Hi» act did not o'ertake his bad intent • 
And must be btu-ied but as an intent 
That perish'd by the Avay. Thoughts are no subjects, 
Intents but merely thoughts. 

Mari. Merely, my lord. 

Duke. Your suit 's unprofitable : stand up. I say. — 

[They rise.^ 
I have bethought me of another fault. — 
Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded 
At an unusual hour ? 

Prov. It was commanded so. 

Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed ? 

Prov. No, my good lord : it was by private message. 

Duke. For which I do discharge you of your oflice : 
Give up your keys. 

Prov. Pardon me, noble lord : 

I thought it was a fault, but knew it not. 
Yet did repent me, after more advice : 
For testimony whereof, one in the prison, 
That should by private order else have died. 
I have reserv'd alive. 

Duke. What 's he ? 

Prov. His name is Barnardine. 

Duke. I would thou had'st xlone so by Claudio. — 
Go, fetch him hither : let me look upon him. 

[Exit Provost. 

Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise 
As you, lord Angelo, have still appeared. 
Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood, 
And lack of tempered judgment afterward. 

Ang. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure ; 
And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart, 
That I crave death more willingly than mercy : 
'T is my deserving, and I do entreat it. 

Re-enter Provost^ Barnardine, Claudio (rmiffled'''), 
and Juliet. 

Duke. Which is that Barnardine ? 

Prov. This, my lord. 

Duke. There was a friar told me of this man. — 
Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, 



SCENE I. 



MEASUKE FOR MEASURE. 



85 



That apprehends no farther than this world, 

And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt condemned ; 

But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all, 

And pray thee, take this mercy to provide 

For better times to come. — Friar, advise him : 

I leave him to your hand. — What muffled fellow 's that ? 

Prov. This is another prisoner that I sav'd. 
That should have died when Claudio lost his head. 
As like almost to Claudio as himself. [Unmuffles kim. 

Duke. If he be like your brother, \To Isabella,] 
for his sake, 

[Claudio and Isabella embrace} 
Is he pardon'd ; and for your lovely sake. 
Give me your hand, and say you will be mine, 
He is my brother too. But fitter time for that. 
By this lord Angelo perceives he 's safe : 
Methinks, I see a quick'ning in his eye. — 
Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well : 
Look that you love j^our wife ; her worth, worth yours. — 
I find an apt remission in myself. 
And yet here 's one in place I cannot pardon. — 
You, sirrah, [Jo Lucio,] that knew me for a fool, a 

coward, 
One all of luxury, an ass, a madman : 
Wherein have I so well deserv'd of you, 
That you extol me thus ? 

Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to 
the trick. If you will hang me for it, you may ; but 
I had rather it would please you, I might be whipp'd. 

Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after. — 
Proclaim it, provost, round about the city, 
If any woman 's wrong'd by this lewd fellow, 

1 Not in f. e. ^ Exeunt : in f. e. 



(As I have heard him swear himself there 's one 
Whom he begot with child.) let her appear. 
And he shall marry her : the nuptial finish'd, 
Let him be whijjp'd and hang'd. 

Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not marry me to 
a whore ! Your highness said even now I made you a 
duke : good my lord, do not recompense me in making 
me a cuckold. 

Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. 
Thy slanders I forgive ; and therewithal 
Remit thy other forfeits. — Take him to prison. 
And see our pleasure herein executed. 

Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to 
death, whipping, and hanging. 

Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it. — 
She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore. — 
Joy to you, Mariana ! — love her, Angelo : 



I have confess'd her. 



and I know her virtue. — 

for thy much goodness : 



Thanks, good friend Escalus, 
There 's more behind that is more gratulate. 
Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy ; 
We shall employ thee in a worthier place. — 
Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home 
The head of Ragozine for Claudio's : 
Th' ofience pardons itself. — Dear Isabel, 
I have a motion much imports your good : 
Whereto if you '11 a willing ear incline. 
What 's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. — 
So, bring us to our palace ; where we '11 show 
What 's yet behind, that 's meet you all should know. 

[^Curtain draion.'^ 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



DRAMATIS PEKSON^. 



SoLiNus, Duke of Epliesus. 
^GEON. a Merchant of Syracuse. 
Antipholus of Ephesus, 1 Twin Brothers, Sons to 
Antipholus of Syracuse, j iEgeon and ^Emilia. 
Dromio of Ephesus, ) Twin Brothers, Attendants 
Dromio of Syracuse, ) on the two Antipholuses. 
Balthazar, a Merchant. 
Angelo, a Goldsmith. 



A Merchant, Friend to Antipholus of Syracuse. 
Pinch, a Schoolmaster. 

.Emilia, Wife to ^Egeon. 

Adriana, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus. 

LuciANA, her sister. 

Luce, Servant to Adriana. 

A Courtezan. 



Jailor, Officers, and other Attendants. 
SCENE: Ephesus. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— A Hall in the Duke's Palace. 

Enter Solinus, Duke of Ephesus, iEcEON, a Merchant 

of Syracttsa, Jailor, Officers, and other Attendants. 

-^ge. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, 
And by the doom of death end woes and all. 

Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more. 
I am not partial, to infringe our laws : 
The enmity and discord, which of late 
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke 
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, — 
Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives. 
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods, — 
Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks. 
For, since the mortal and intestine jars 
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, 
It hath in solemn synods been decreed, 
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves, 
To admit no traffic to our adver.*e towns : 
Nay, more, if any, born at Ephesus, 
Be seen at Syracusian marts and fairs ; 
Again, if any Syracusian born 
Come to the bay of Ephesus. he dies ; 
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose. 
Unless a thousand marks be levied, 
To quit the penalty, and to ransom him. 
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, 
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks ; 
Therefore, by law thou art condenm'd to die. 

jEge. Yet this my comfort ; when your words are 
done. 
My woes end likewise with the evening sun. 

Duke. Well, Syracusian , say, in brief, the cause 
Why thou departedst from thy native home, 
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. 

.Mge. A heavier task could not have been impos'd, 
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable ; 
Yet, that the world may witness, that my end 
Was wrought by fortune', not by vile offence, 
I '11 utter what my sorrow gives me leave. 



In Syracusa was I bom ; and wed 

Unto a woman, happy but for me, 

And by me too, had not our hap been bad. 

With her I liv'd in joy : our wealth increased, 

By prosperous voyages I often made 

To Epidamnum : till my factor's death. 

And the great care of goods at random left 

Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse : 

From whom my absence was not six months old, 

Before herself (almost at fainting under 

The pleasing puni.shment that women bear) 

Had made provision for her following me. 

And soon, and safe, arrived where I was. 

There had she not been long, but she became 

A joyful mother of two goodly sons ; 

And. which was strange, the one so like the other. 

As could not be distinguish'd but by names. 

That very hour, and in the self-same imi, 

A poor mean woman was delivered 

Of such a burden, male twins, both alike. 

Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, 

I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. 

My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys. 

Made daily motions for our home return : 

Unwilling I agreed. Alas, too soon we came aboard !" 

A league from Epidamnvim had we sail'd, 

Before the always-wind-obeying deep 

Gave any tragic instance of our harm : 

But longer did we not retain much hope ; 

For what obsciired light the heavens did grant 

Did but convey unto our fearful minds 

A doubtful warrant of immediate death ; 

Which, tliough myself would gently^ have embrac'd, 

Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, 

Weeping before for what she saw must come, 

And piteous plainings of the pretty babes. 

That mourn' d for fashion, ignorant what to fear, 

Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me. 

And this it was, — for other means were none. — 

The sailors sought for safety by our boat. 



' nature : in f. e. * Malone makes a separate line of the last three words. ^ gladly. 



SCENE II. 



THE COMEDY OF EEKORS. 



87 



And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to iis. 
My wife, more careful for the latter-born, 
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast, 
Such as pea-faring men provide for storms : 
To liim one of the other twins was bound, 
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. 
The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I, 
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd," 
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast; 
And floating straight, obedient to the stream, 
Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought. 
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, 
Dispcrs'd those vapours that offended us, 
And by the benefit of his wish'd light 
Tlie seas wax'd calm, and we discovered 
Two ships from far making amain to us) 
Of Corinth that, of E]iidaurus this : 
But ere they came. — 0, let me say no more ! 
Gather the sequel by that went before. 

Duke. Nay, forward, old man ; do not break off so, 
For we may pity, though not pardon tliee. 

jEge. 0, had the gods done so, I had not now 
WortTiily term'd them merciless to us ! 
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, 
We were encounter'd by a mighty rock, 
Which being violently borne upon. 
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst; 
So that in this unjust divorce of us 
Fortvuie had left to both of us alike 
What to delight in, what to sorrow for. 
Her part, poor soul ! seeming as burdened 
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe. 
Was carried with more speed before the wind, 
And in our sight they three were taken up 
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. 
At length another ship had seized on us ; 
And knowing whom it was their hap to save, 
Gave healthful welcome to their shipwrecked guests; 
And would have reft the fishers of their prey. 
Had not their bark been very slow of sail, 
And therefore homeward did they bend their course. — 
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss, 
And by misfortune was my life prolong'd, 
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. 

Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for. 
Do me the favoiir to dilate at full 
What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now. 

jEge. jNIy youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, 
At eighteen years became inquisitive 
After his brother ; and importun'd me. 
That his attendant (so his case was like. 
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name,) 
Misht bear him company in the quest of him ; 
Whom whilst he^ labour'd of all love to see, 
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd. 
Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece, 
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia ; 
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephe.sus, 
Hopeless to find, yet loth to leave unsought 
Or tliat, or any place that harbours men. 
But here must end the story of my life ; 
And happy were I in my timely death, 
Could all my travels warrant me they live. 

Di(ke. Hapless iEgeon, whom the fates have rnark'd 
To bear the extremity of dire mishap ! 
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, 
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity. 
Which princes, would they, may not disannul, 
My soul should sue as advocate for thee. 



But though thou art adjudged to the death, 
And passed sentence may not be reeall'd, 
But to our honour's great disparagement, 
Yet will I favour thee in what I can : 
Therefore, merchant, I '11 limit thee this day, 
To seek thy hope° by beneficial help. 
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus ; 
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum. 
And live : if no, then thou art doom'd to die. — 
Jailor, now^ take him to thy custody. 

Jail. I will, my lord. 

j/Ege. Hopeless, and helpless, doth .^geon wend, 
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. 

SCENE n.— A public Place. 

Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse., and a 
Merchant. 

Mer. Therefore, give out you are of Epidamnum, 
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. 
This very day, a Syracusian merchant 
Is apprehended for arrival here ; 
And, not being ahle to buy out his life 
According to the statute of the town, 
Die.'' ere the weary sun set in the west. 
There is your money that I had to keep. 

Ant. S. Go, bear it to the Centaur, where we host, 
And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. 
Within this hour it will be dinner-time : 
Till then, I '11 view the manners of the town, 
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings. 
And then return and sleep within mine imi, 
For with long travel I am stiff and weary. 
Get thee away. 

Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word, 
And go indeed, having so good a mean. 

[Exit* shaking money-bag. 

Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir ; that very oft, 
When I am dull with care and melancholy. 
Lightens my humour with his merry jests. 
What, will you walk with me about the town, 
And then go to my inn, and dine with me ? 

Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants. 
Of wliom I hope to make much benefit ; 
I crave your pardon. Soon* at five o'clock, 
Please you, I '11 meet with you upon the mart. 
And afterwards consort you till bed-time : 
My present business calls me from you now. 

Ant. S. Farewell till then. I will go lose myself, 
And wander up and down to view the city. 

3Icr. Sir, I commend you to your own content. 

[Exit. 

Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own content, 
Commends me to the thing I cannot get. 
I to the world am like a drop of water, 
That in tlie ocean seeks another drop ; 
Who, falling there to find liis fellow forth, 
Unseen, inquisitive, confoiinds himself: 
So I, to find a mother, and a brother, 
In quest of them, luihappy, lose myself. 
Enter Dromio of Ephesits. 
Here comes the almanack of my true date. — 
What now? How chance thou art return'd so soon? 

Dro. E. Return'd 6o soon ! rather approach'd too 
late. 
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit. 
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell ; 
My mistress made it one upon my cheek : 
She is so hot, because the meat is cold ; 
The meat is cold, because you come not home ; 



1 I laboured of a : in f. e. * help : in f. e. ^ Not in f. e. * The rest of this direction is not in f. e. * About Jive o'clock. 



88 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



ACT 11. 



You come not home, because you have no stomach ; 
You have no stomach, having broke your fast : 
But we, that know what 't is to fast and pray, 
Are penitent' for your default to-day. 

Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir. Tell me this, I pray; 
Where have you left the money that I gave you '? 

D70. E. O ! sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday last 
To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper. 
The saddler had it, sir ; I kept it not. 

Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now. 
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money ? 
We being strangers here, how dar'st thovi trust 
So great a charge from tliine own custody ? 

Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner. 
I from my mistress come to you in post ; 
If I return, I shall be post^ indeed. 
For she will scoi'e your fault upon my pate.' 
Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your clock, 
And strike you home without a messenger. 

Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come ; these jests are out 
of season : 
Reserve them till a merrier hour tlian this. 
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee ? 

Dro. E. To me, sir? why you gave no gold to me. 

Ant. S. Come on, sir knave ; have done your fool- 
ishness. 
And tell me how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. 

Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the 
mart 
Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner. 
My mistress, and her sister, stay for you. 

Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me. 
In what safe place you have bestow'd my money, 



Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours. 
That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd. 
Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me ? 

Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my pate ; 
Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, 
But not a thousand marks between you both. 
If I should pay your worship those again. 
Perchance, you would not bear them patiently. 

Ant. S. Thy mistrets' marks ! what mistress, slave, 
hast thou ? 

Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the 
Phoenix ; 
She that doth fast till you come home to dinner. 
And prays that you will hie you home to dinner. 

Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face, 
Being forbid ? There, take you that, sir knave. 

[Strikes him. 

Dro. E. What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold 
your hands. 
Nay, an you will not, sir, I '11 take my heels. 

[Exit running.* 

Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other 
The villain is o'er-raught^ of all my money. 
They say, this town is full of cozenage ; 
As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, 
Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind. 
Soul-killing witches that deform the body, 
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, 
And many such like libertines of sin : 
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. 
I '11 to the Centaur, to go seek this slave : 
I greatly fear, my money is not safe. 

[Exit. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— A public Place. 

Enter Adriana, wife to Antipholus of Ephesus, and 
LuciANA, her sister. 

Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd. 
That in such haste I sent to seek his master? 
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. 

Luc. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him. 
And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner. 
Good sister, let us dine, and never fret. 
A man is master of his liberty : 
Time is their master ; and, when they see time. 
They '11 go, or come : if so, be patient, sister. 

Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be more ? 

Luc. Because their business still lies out 0' door. 

Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. 

Luc. ! know he is the bridle of your will. 

Adr. There 's none but asses will be bridled so. 

Luc. Why, head-strong liberty is lash'd with woe. 
There 's nothing situate under heaven's eye. 
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky : 
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls. 
Are their males' subjects, and at their controls. 
Men, more divine, the masters of all these, 
Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas. 
Indued with intellectual sense and souls, 
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls. 
Are masters to their females, and their lords : 
Then, let your will attend on their accords. 



Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. 

Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed. 

Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear some 
sway. 

Luc. Ere I learn love, I '11 practise to obey. 

Adr. How if your husband start some other where ? 

Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear. 

Adr. Patience unmov'd, no marvel though she pause ; 
They can be meek, that have no other cause. 
A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity. 
We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry : 
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain, 
As much, or more, we should ourselves complain : 
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, 
With urging helpless patience would' st relieve me ; 
But if thou live to see like right bereft. 
This fool-begg'd patience' in thee will be left. 

Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try. — 
Here comes your man : now is your husband nigh. 
Enter Dromio of Ephesus. 

Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand ? 

Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and that 
my two ears can witness. 

Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him ? Know'st 
thou his mind ? 

Dro. E. Ay, ay; he told his mind upon mine ear. 
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. 

Luc. Spake he so doubly,' thou couldst not feel his 



meamng : 



1 Doing penance. 2 It was a custom to mark the score of a sliop on a post. ^ cook : in f. e. 
allusion to the custom of soliciting the management of the estate of a fool. ' Doubtfully. 



* Not in f. e. ' Over-reached. ' An 



8CENE II. 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



89 



Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well 
feel his blows ; and withal so doubly, that I could 
scarce understand them. 

Adr. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home? 
It seems, he hath great care to please his wife. 

Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad. 

Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain ! 

Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad ; 

But, sure, he is stark mad. 
When I desir'd him to come home to dinner. 
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold : 
'T is dinner-time, quoth I ; my gold, quoth he : 
Your meat doth burn, quoth I ; my gold, quoth he : 
Will you come, quoth I ? my gold, quoth he : 
Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain ? 
The pig, quoth I, is burn'd ; my gold, quoth he : 
My mistress, sir, quoth I ; hang up thy mistress ! 
I know not thy mistress : out on thy mistress ! 

Luc. Quoth who ? 

Dro. E. Quoth my master : 
I know, quoth he. no liouse, no wife, no mistress. 
So that my errand, dvie unto my tongue, 
I thank him, I bear home upon my shoulders • 
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. 

Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. 

Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home ? 
For God's sake, send some other messenger. 

Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. 

Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other beating. 
Between you I shall have a holy liead. 

Adr. Hence, prating peasant ! fetch thy master home. 

Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with me. 
That like a foot-ball you do spurn me thus ? 
You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither : 
If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. 

[Exit. 

Luc. Fie, how impatience lowrcth in your ftice ! 

Adr. His company must do his minions grace, 
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. 
Hath homely age th' alluring beauty took 
From my poor cheek ? then, he hath wasted it : 
Are my discourses dvill ? barren my wit ? 
If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, 
Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard. 
Do their gay vestments his affections bait ? 
That 's not my fault ; he 's master of my state. 
What ruins are in me, that can be found 
By him not ruin'd ? then, is he the ground 
Of my defeatures'. My decayed fair^ 
A sunny look of his would soon repair ; 
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale, 
And feeds from home : poor I am but his stale. ^ 

Luc. Self-harming jealousy ! — fie ! beat it hence. 

Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. 
I know his eye doth homage other where. 
Or else, what lets it but he would be here ? 
Sister, you know, he promis'd me a cliain : 
Would that alone, alone he would detain. 
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed ! 
I see, the jewel best enamelled* 
Will lose his beauty : yet though gold 'bides still, 
That others touch, and often touching will 
Wear gold ; and no man, that hath a name, 
But falsehood and corruption doth it shame. 
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, 
I '11 weep what 's left away, and weeping die. 

Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy ! [Ex'nt. 



SCENE II.— The Same. 
Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. 

Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up 
Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave 
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out. 
By computation, and mine host's report, 
I could not speak with Dromio, since at first 
I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 
How now, sir ! is your merry humour alter'd ? 
As you love strokes, so jest with me again. 
You know no Centaur ? You receiv'd no gold ? 
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? 
My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad, 
That thus so madly thou didst answer me ? 

Dro. S. What answer, sir ? when spake I such a 
word ? 

Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour 
since. 

Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence, 
Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. 

Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt, 
And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner ; 
For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd. 

Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein. 
What means this jest ? I pray you, master, tell me. 

Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the 
teeth ? 
Think'st thou, I jest ? Hold, take thou that, and that. 

[Beatirig him. 

Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake ! now your jest is 
earnest : 
Upon what bargain do you give it me ? 

Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes 
Do use you for my fool, and chat with you, 
Your sauciness will jest upon my love. 
And make a common of my serious hours. 
When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport. 
But creep in crannies when he hides his beams. 
If you will jest with me, know my aspect, 
And fashion your demeanour to my looks. 
Or I will beat this method in your sconce. 

Dro. S. Sconce, call you it ? so you would leave 
battering, I had rather have it a head : an you use 
these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and 
insconce^ it too ; or else I shall seek my wit in my 
shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten ? 

Ant. S. Dost thou not know? 

Dro. S. Nothing, sir ; but that I am beaten. 

Ant. S. Shall I tell you why ? 

Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore ; for, they say, every 
why hath a wherefore. 

Ant. S. Why, fu-st, — for flouting me ; and then, 
wlrerefore, — for urging it the second time to me. 

Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of 
season, 
When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither rliyme 

nor reason ? — 
Well, sir, I thank you. 

Ant. S. Thank me, sir ? for what ? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something, that you 
gave me for nothing. 

Ant. S. I '11 make you amends next, and give you 
nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner time? 

Dro. S. No, sir : I think, the meat wants that I have. 

Ant. S. In good time, sir : what 's that ? 



I Uncotneiinesn. a Fairne.^s. ^ His pretended wife — the stalking-horse, behind which sportsmen formerly shot, was so called. *This 
and the two followinff lines are struck out by the MS. emcndator of the folio of 1032 — where the two succeeding lines of the text, in the 
first folio of l(i-£i, are also omitted. * Sconce means a small fortification, as well as head ; hence, insconce, to fortify. 



90 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



ACT n. 



Dro. S. Basting. 

Ant. S. Well, sir, then 't will be dry. 

Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. 

Ant. S. Your reason ? 

Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase 
me another dry basting. 

Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time : there 's 
a time for all things. 

Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were 
so choleric. 

Ant. S. By what rule, sir ? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain 
bald pate of father Time himself. 

Ant. S. Let 's hear it. 

Dro. S. There 's no time for a man to recover his 
hair that grows bald by nature. 

Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery ? 

Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and recover 
the lost hair of another man. 

Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, 
as it is, so plentiful an excrement ? 

Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on 
beasts ; and what he hath scanted men in hair, he hath 
given them in wit. 

Ant. S. Why, but there 's many a man hath more 
hair than wit. 

Dro S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit to 
lose his hair. 

Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain 
dealers, without wit. 

Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost : yet he 
loseth it in a kind of jollity. 

Ant. S. For what reason ? 

Dro. S. For two ; and sound ones too. 

Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. 

Dro. S. Sure ones then. 

Ant. S. Nay, not sufe, in a thing falsing. 

Dro. S. Certain ones then. 

Ant. S. Name them. 

Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends 
in trimming' ; the other, that at dinner they should 
not drop in his porridge. 

Ant. S. You would all this time have proved, there 
is no time for all things. 

Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir ; namely, e'en no time 
to recover hair lost by nature. 

Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why 
there is no time to recover. 

Dro. S. Thus I mend it : Time himself is bald, and 
therefore, to the world's end, will have bald followers. 

Ant. S. I knew, 't would be a bald conclusion. 
But soft ! who wafts us yonder ? 

Enter Adriana and Luciana. 

Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and frown : 
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects, 
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. 
The time was once, when thou unurg'd wouldst vow 
That never words were music to thine ear. 
That never object pleasing in thine eye, 
That never touch well welcome to thy hand, 
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, 
Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd. 
How comes it noM', my husband, ! how comes it, 
That thou art thus estranged from thyself ? 
Thyself I call it, being strange to me. 
That, undividable, incorporate. 
Am better than thy dear self's better part. 
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me ; 



For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall 

A drop of water in the breaking gulph, 

And take unminglcd thence that drop again. 

Without addition or diminishing. 

As take from me thyself, and not me too. 

How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, 

Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious, 

And that this body, consecrate to thee, 

By ruffian lust should be contaminate ! 

Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me, 

And hurl the name of liusband in my face. 

And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow, 

And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring. 

And break it with a deep-divorcing vow ? 

I know thou canst ; and therefore, see, thou do it. 

I am possess'd with an adulterate blot ; 

My blood is mingled with the crime of lust : 

For, if we two be one, and thou play false, " 

I do digest the poison of thy flesh, 

Being strumpeted by thy contagion. 

Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed, 

I live unstain'd,^ thou undishonoured. 

Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame ? I know you not. 
In Ephesus I am but two hours old. 
As strange unto your town, as to your talk ; 
Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd, 
Want wit in all one word to understand. 

Luc. Fie, brother : how the world is chang'd with you ! 
When were you wont to use my sister thus ? 
She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. 

Ant. S. By Dromio ? 

Dro. S. By me ? 

Adr. By thee ; and this thou didst return from 
him, — 
That he did buifet thee, and, in his blows 
Denied my house for his, me for his wife. 

Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentle- 
woman ? 
What is the course and drift of your compact ? 

Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time. 

Ant. S. Villain, thou liest ; for even her very words 
Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. 

Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. 

Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our names, 
Unless it be by inspiration ? 

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity 
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, 
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood ! 
Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt. 
But WTong not that wrong with a more contempt. 
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine ; 
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine. 
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state. 
Makes me with tliy strength to communicate : 
If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, 
Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss ; 
Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion 
Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. 

Ant. S. To me she speaks: she means^ me for her 
theme ! 
What, was I married to her in my dream, 
Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this ? 
What error draws* our eyes and ears amiss ? 
Until I know this sure uncertainty, 
I '11 entertain the profter'd^ fallacy. 

Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. 

Dro. S. O, for my beads ! I cross me for a sinner. 
This is the fairy land : O, spite of spites ! 



1 tyring : in f. e. ; an alteration by Pope, of trying, in old eds. " disstained : the emendation in the text was suggested by Warbur- 
ton. 3 njoves : in f. e. * Drives. * offered : in f. e. The old eds. read : freed. 



SCENE I. 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



91 



We talk with goblins, owls, and elves and sprites.' 

If we obey them not, this will ensue, 

They '11 suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. 

Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st not ? 
Dromio, thou Dromio, thou snail, thou .slug, thou sot ! 

Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am I not ? 

Ant. S. I think thou art, in mind, and ?o am I. 

Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape. 

Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. 

Dro. S. No, I am an ape. 

Luc. If thou art chang'd to aught, 't is to an ass. 

Dro. S. 'T is true ; she rides me, and I long for grass. 
'T is so, I am an ass ; else it could never be. 
But I should know her, as well as she knows me. 

Adr. Come, come ; no longer will I be a fool, 
To put the finger in my eye and weep, 



Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorft. 
Come, sir, to dinner. — Dromio. keep the gate.^ — 
Husband, I '11 dine above with you to-day, 
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks. — 
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master. 
Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter. — 
Come, Sister. — Dromio, play the porter well. 

Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? 
Sleeping or waking ? mad, or well-advis'd ? 
Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd ? 
I '11 say as they say. and persever so, 
And in this mist, at all'adventures, go. 

Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate? 

Adr. Ay, and let none enter, lest I break your pate. 

Luc. Come, come, Antipholus ; we dine too late. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III 



SCENE I.— The Same. 

Enter Antipholus of Ephesus^ Dromio of Ephesus^ 

Angelo, atvl Balthazar. 
Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us ; 
]\Iy wife is shrewish, when I keep not hours, 
Say, that I lingcr'd with you at your shop 
To see the making of her carkanet^, 
And that to-morrow you will bring it home; 
But here 's a villain, that would face me down 
He met me on the mart, and that I beat him, 
And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold ; 
And that I did deny my wife and house. — 
Thou drunkard, thou, what did'st thou mean by this ? 
Dro. E. Say what you will, sir ; but I know what I 
know. 
That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to 

show ; 
If my^ skin were parchment, and the blows you gave 

were ink, 
Your own li and -writing would tell you for certain* 
what I tliink. 
Ant. E. I thijilv, thou art an ass. 
Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear. 

By the %^Tongs I suffer, and the blows I bear. 
I should kick, being kick'd ; and being at that pass. 
You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass. 
Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar : pray God, 
our cheer 
May answer my good-will, and your good welcome 
here. 
Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your wel- 
come dear. 
Ant. E. 0, signior Balthazar ! either at flesh or fi.sh, 
A table-full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. 
Bal. Good meat, sir, is common ; that evei-y churl 

affords. 
Ant. E. And welcome more common, for that 's 

nothing but words. 
Bal. Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry 

feast. 
Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing 
guest : 
But though my cates be mean, take them in good part; 
Better cheer may you haA'e, but not with better heart. 
But soft ! my door is lock'd. Go bid them let us in. 



Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, 

Gin ! [Calling. 

Dro. S. [Within.] Mome,* malt-horse, capon, cox- 
comb, idiot, patch !^ 
Either get thee from the door, or sit do'wai at the 

hatch. 
Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for 

such store. 
When one is one too many ? Go, get thee from the door. 
Dro. E. What patch is made our porter? — My 

master stays in the street. 
Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest he 

catch cold on 's feet. 
Ant. E. Who talks within there ? ho ! open the door. 
Dro. S. Right, sir : I '11 tell you when, an you '11 tell 

me wherefore. 
Ant. E. Wlierefore ? for my dinner : I have not 

din'd to-day. 
Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not, come again 

when you may. 
Ant. E. What art thou that keep'st me out from 

the house I owe ? 
Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir ; and my name 

is Dromio. 
Dro. E. O villain ! thou hast stolen both mine office 

and my name : 
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. 
If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place. 
Thou wouldst hiive chang'd thy face for a name, or 

thy name for a face.' 
Luce. [JVitkin.] What a coil is there, Dromio: who 

are those at the gate ? 
Dro. E. Let my master in. Luce. 
Luce. Faith no ; he comes too late ; 

And so tell your master. 

Dro. E. Lord, I must laugh : — 

Have at you with a proverb. — Shall I set in my 

staff? 
Luce. Have at you yniXx another : that 's, — when ? 

can you tell ? 
Dro. S. If thy name be called Luce, Luce, thou hast 

answer'd him well. 
Ant. E. Do vou hear, you minion ? you '11 let us in, 

I trow?» 
Luce. I thought to have ask'd you. 
Dro. S. And you said, no. 



• elvish sprites : in f. e. 2 KerkJnre. ' tho : in f. p. 
who has nothing to say. ' One patched vp, a pretender. 



* Thfsc two words not in f. c. ' fiwfios^ mummer, a silent performer, blockhead, 
' an ass : in f. e. 8 liopo : in f. e. 



92 



THE COMEDY OF EREOES. 



ACT in. 



Dro. E. So ; come, help ! well struck ; there was 

blow for blow. 
Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. 
Luce. Can you tell for whose sake ? 

Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. 
Luce. Let him knock till it ache. 

Ant. E. You '11 cry for this, minion, if I beat the 

door down. 
Xiice. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in 

the tovni ? 
Adr. [Within.] "Who is that at the door, that keeps 

all this noise ? 
Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with 

unruly boys. 
Ant. E. Are you there, wife ? you might have come 

before. 
Adr. Your wife, sir knave ? go, get you from the 

door. 
Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this knave 

would go sore. 
Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome : we 

would fain have either. 
Bal. In debating wliich'was best, we shall part' with 

neither. 
Dro. E. They stand at the door, master : bid them 

welcome hither. 
Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we 

camiot get in. 
Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your garments 
were thin. 
Your cake here is warm within ; you stand here in the 

cold: 
It would make a man mad as a buck to be so bought 
and sold.' 
Ant. E. Go, fetch me something : I '11 break ope the 

gate. 
Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I '11 break 

your knave's pate. 
Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, sir, 
and words are but wind • 
Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not be- 
hind. 
Dro. S. It seemSj thou want'st breaking. Out upon 

thee, hind ! 
Dro. E. Here 's too much out upon thee ! I pray 

thee, let me in. 
Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish 

have no tin. 
Ant. E. Well, I '11 break in. Go, borrow me a 
crow. 

Dro. E. A crow without feather ? master, mean you 

so? 

For a fish "w-ithout a fin, there 's a fowl without a feather. 

If a crow help us in, sirrah, we '11 pluck a crow together. 

Ant. E. Go, get thee gone : fetch me an iron 

crow. 
Bal. Have patience, sir ; O let it not be so : 
Herein you war against your reputation. 
And draw within the compass of suspect 
Th' unviolated honour of your wife. 
Once this,' — Your long experience of her wisdom, 
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, 
Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ; 
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse 
Why at this time the doors are made against you. 
Be rul'd by me : depart in patience, 
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner ; 



And about evening come yourself alone 

To know the reason of this strange restraint. 

If by strong hand you offer to break in. 

Now in the stirring passage of the day, 

A vulgar comment will be made of it ; 

And that supposed by the common route, 

Against your yet ungalled estimation. 

That may with foul intrusion enter in. 

And dwell upon your grave when you are dead : 

For slander lives upon succession, 

For ever housed, where it gets possession. 

Ant. E. You have prevail'd : I will depart in quiet. 
And, in despite of mii'th, mean to be merry. 
I know a wench of excellent discourse. 
Pretty and witty • wild, and yet too, gentle ; 
There will we dine. This woman that I mean, 
My wife (but I protest, without desert,) ^ 

Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal : 
To her will we to dinner. — Get you home. 
And fetch the chain; by this, I know, 't is made : 
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine ;* 
For there 's the house. That chain will I bestow 
(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife) 
Upon mine ho.stess there. Good sir, make haste. 
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 
I '11 knock elsewhere, to see if they '11 disdain me. 

Ang. I '11 meet you at that place, some hour hence. 

Ant. E. Do so. This jest shall cost me some ex- 
pense. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. 
Enter Luciana, and Antipholus of Syracuse. 

Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot, 

A husband's office ? Shall unkind debate* 
^ven in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot ? 

Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate ? 
If you did wed my sister for her wealth. 

Then, for her wealth's sake use her with more kind- 
ness : 
Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth : 

Muffle your false love with some show of blindness ; 
Let not my sister read it in your eye ; 

Be not thy tongue tliy own shame's orator ; 
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty ; 

Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger : 
Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted ; 

Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint : 
Be secret-false ; what need she be acquainted ? 

What simple thief brags of his own attaint ? 
'T is double wrong to truant with your bed. 

And let her read it in thy looks at board : 
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed ; 

111 deeds are doubled with an evil word. 
Alas, poor women ! make us but believe, 

Being compact of credit,' that you love us; 
Though others have the arm, sliow us the sleeve, 

We in your motion turn, and you may move us. 
Then, gentle brother, get you in again : 

Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife. 
'T is holy sport to be a little vain, 

When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. 

Ant. S. Sweet mistress, (what your name is else, I 
know not. 

Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,) 
Less in your knowledge, and your grace you show not. 

Than our earth's wonder ; more than earth divine. 
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak : 



1 Depart, a In the same sense as our slang phrase, sold. 3 Once for all let me tell you this. * All the old eds. have Porpentine. 
■which Dyce would retain, as a distinct form of the word used by many old writers. » f. e. have Antipholus, in place of the last two 
words. « Full of credulity. 



SCEXE II. 



THE COMEDY OF EEEORS. 



93 



Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, 
Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, 

The folded meaning of j'our words' deceit. 
Agiiinst my soul's pure truth, why labour you 

To make it wander in an unknown field ? 
Are you a god ? would you create me new ? 

Transform me then, and to your power I '11 yield. 
But if that I am I, then well I know, 

Your weeping sister is no wife of mine. 
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe : 

Far more, far more, to you do I incline.' 
0, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, 

To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears. 
Sing, syren, for thyself, and I will dote : 

Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, 
And as a bed I '11 take thee, and there lie ; 

And, in that glorious supposition, think 
He gains by death, that hath such means to die : 

Let Love,'' being light, be drowned if she sink ! 

Luc. What ! are you mad, that you do reason so? 

Ant. S. Not mad, bul. mated f how, I do not know. 

Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. 

Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. 

Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear 
your sight. 

Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on 
night. 

Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so. 

Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. 

Luc. That 's my sister. 

Ant. S. No; 

It is thyself, mine own self's better part ; 
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart ; 
My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim. 
My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. 

Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. 

Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee. 
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life : 
Thou hast no husband yet. nor I no wife. 
Give me thy hand. 

Luc. O, soft, sir ! hold you still : 

I '11 fetch my sister, to get her good- will. [Exit. 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse, running.* 

Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio ! where run'st thou 
so fast? 

Dro. S. Do you know me, sir ? am I Dromio ? am I 
your man? am I myself? 

Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou 
art thyself. 

Dro. S. I am an ass ; I am a woman's man, and 
besides myself. ■ 

Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides thy- 
self? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a 
woman ; one that claims me, one that haunts me. one 
that will have me. 

Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee? 

Dro. S. Marr>', sir. such claim as you would lay to 
your horse ; and she would have me as a beast : not 
that, I being a beast, she would have mc ; but that she, 
beins a very beastly creature, lays claim to me. 

Ant. S. What is she? 

Dro. S. A very reverend body : ay, such a one as a 
man may not speak of, without he say, sir-reverence.' 
I have but lean luck in the match, and yet she is a 
wondrous fat marriage. 

Ant. S. How dost thou mean a fat marriage? 



Dro. S. Marry, sir, she 's the kitchen- wench, and all 
grease ; and I know not what use to put her to, but to 
make a lamp of her, and run from her by her owni light. 
I warrant, her rags, and the tallow in them, will burn 
a Polar winter: if she lives till doomsday, she '11 burn 
a week longer than the whole world. 

Ant. S. What complexion is she of.^ 

Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing 
like so clean kept : for why ? she sweats ; a man may 
go over shoes in the grime of it. 

Ant. S. That 's a fault that water will mend. 

Dro. S. No. sir ; 't is in grain : Noah's flood could 
not do it. 

Ant. S. What 's her name ? 

Dro. S. Nell, sir; but her name is three quarters, 
that is, an ell ; and three quarters will not measure 
her from hip to hip. 

Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth ? 

Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from hip 
to hip : she is spherical, like a globe , I could find out 
countries in her. 

Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland ? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks ; I found it out 
by the bogs. 

Ant. S. Where Scotland? 

Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness, hard, in the 
palm of the hand. 

Ant. S. Where France? 

Dro. S. In her forehead ; arm'd and reverted, mak- 
ing war against her heir.' 

Ant. S. Where England ? 

Dro. S. I looked for the chalky cliflJs, but I could 
find no whiteness in them : but I guess, it stood in 
her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France 
and it. 

Ant. S. Wliere Spain ? 

Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her 
breath. 

Ant. S. Where America, the Indies? 

Dro. S. ! sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished 
■with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich 
aspect to the hot breath of Spain, who sent whole 
armadoes of carracks to be ballast at her nose. 

A7it. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands ? 

Dro. S. ! sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, 
this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me : call'd me 
Dromio ; swore, I was assured to her : told me what 
privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my 
shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my 
left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a ^^'itch : and, 
I think, if my iDreast had not been made of faith, and 
my heart of steel, she had transform'd me to a curtail- 
dog, and made me turn i' the wheel. 

Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently post to the road, 
And if the wind blow any way from shore, 
I will not harbour in this town to-night. 
If any bark put forth, come to the mart, 
Wliere I will Avalk till thou return to me. 
If every one knows us. and we know none, 
'T is time. I think, to trudge, pack, and begone. 

Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life, 
So fly I from her that would be my wife. [E.Tit 

Ant. S. There "s none but A^ntchcs do inhabit here, 
And therefore 't is high time that I were hence. 
She that doth call me husband, even my soul 
Doth for a wife abhor ; but her fair sister. 
Posscss'd with such a gentle sovereign gi'ace, 



I decline : in f. e, 2 Plmkpsponre often speaks of love as feminine. 3 Made sen.ieks/!. * hastily : in f. e. * Salvd reverentid, save 
reverence. ^ This and the foUowini? passai^es, toand includins. " 1 did not look so low," arc struck out by the MS. emendator. "An 
allusion to the war of the League — the people were " making war," after theassassinationof Henry III. in 15c9, against the heir Henry IV. 



94 



THE COMEDY OF EKEORS. 



ACT rv. 



Of such enchanting presence and discourse, 
Hath almost made me traitor to myself: 
But, lest myself be guilty of self- wrong, 
I '11 stop mine ears against the mermaid's song 
Enter Angelo. 

Ang. Master Antipholus ? 

Ant. S. Ay, that 's my name. 

Ang. I know it well, sir. Lo ! here is the chain. 
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine j 
The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. 

Ant. S. What is your will that I shall do with 
this? 

Ang. What please yourself, sir : I have made it for 
you. 

Ant. S. Made it for me, sir ? I bespoke it not. 



Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have. 
Go home with it, and please your wife withal ; 
And soon at supper-time I '11 visit you. 
And then receive my money for the chain 

Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now, 
For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more. 

Ang. You are a merry man, sir. Fare you well. 

]Exit. 

Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot tell ; 
But this I think, there 's no man is so vain, 
That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain. 
I see, a man here needs not live by shifts. 
When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. 
I '11 to the mart, and there for Dromio stay : 
If any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— The Same. 
Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer. 

Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due. 
And since I have not much importun'd you ■ 
Nor now I had not, but that I am bound 
To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage : 
Therefore, make present satisfaction. 
Or I '11 attach you by this officer. 

Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you. 
Is growing' to me by Antipholus ; 
And, in the instant that I met with you, 
He had of me a chain : at five o'clock, 
I shall receive the money for the same. 
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, 
I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. 
Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, and Dromio of Ephesus, 
from the Courtezan's.' 

Off. That labour may you save : see where he comes. 

Anf. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou 
And buy a rope's end, that will I bestow 
Among my wife and these^ confederates. 
For locking me out of my doors by day. — 
But soft, I see the goldsmith. — Get thee gone; 
Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. 

Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a-year? I 
rope? 

Ant. E. A man is well holp up that trusts to you 
I promis'd me your presence, and the chain, 
But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me. 
Belike, you thought our love would last too long, 
If it were chain'd together 

An. 
How much your chain weighs to the utmost caract. 
The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion, 
Which doth amount to three odd ducats more 
Than I stand debted to this gentleman : 
I pray you, see him presently discharg'd. 
For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. 

Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present money ; 
Besides, I have some business in the town. 
Good signior, take the stranger to my house. 
And with you take the chain, and bid my wife 
Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof : 
Perchance, I will be there as soon as you. 

Ang. Then, you will bring the chain to her yourself? 

Ant. E. No ; bear it with you, lest I come not time 
enough. 



buy a 
[Exit. 



, and therefore came not. 
Saving your merry humour, here 's the note 



Ang. Well, sir. I will. Have you the chain about you ? 

Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have, 
Or else you may return without your money. 

Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir. give me the chain: 
Both wind and tide stay for this gentleman, 
And I, to blame, have held him here too long. 

Ant. E. Good lord ! you use this dalliance, to excuse 
Your breach of promise to the Porcupine. 
I should have chid you for not bringing it, 
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. 

Mer. The hour steals on : I pray you, sir, dispatch. 

Ang. You hear, how he importunes me : the chain — 

Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your 
money. 

Ang. Come, come ; you know, I gave it you even now. 
Either send the chain, or send by me* some token. 

Ajit. E. Fie ! now you rvxn this humour out of breath. 
Come, where 's the chain ? 1 pray you, let me see it. 

3Ier. My business cannot brook this dalliance. 
Good sir, say, whe'r you '11 answer me, or no ? 
If not, I '11 leave him to the officer. 

Afit. E. I answer you ! what should I answer you ? 

Ang. The money that you owe me for the chain. 

Ant. E. I owe you none, till I receive the chain. 

Aiig. You know, I gave it you half an hour since. 

Ant. E. You gave me none : you wrong me much 
to say so. 

Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it : 
Consider how it stands upon my credit. 

Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. 

Off. I do, and charge you in the duke's name to 
obey me. 

Ang. This touches me in reputation. — 
Either consent to pay this sum for me. 
Or I attach you by this officer. 

Ant. E. Consent to pay for^ that I never had ? 
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. 

Ang. Here is thy fee : arrest him, officer. — 
I would not spare my brother in this case. 
If he should scorn me i'o apparently. 

Off. I do arrest you, sir. You hear the suit. 

Ant. E. I do obey thee, till I give thee bail. — 
But, sirrah, j'ou shall buy this sport as dear. 
As all the metal in your shop will answer. 

Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, 
To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. 
Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 

Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, 



1 Accruing. = Knight omits the last three words, a their : in f. e. * me by : in f. e. * thee : in f. e. 



SCENE ni. 



THE COMEDY OF EEROES. 



95 



That stays but till her owner comes aboard, 

And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir, 

I have convey'd aboard, and I have bought 

The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitaj. 

The ship is in her trim : the merry wind 

Blows fair from land ; they stay for nought at all, 

But for their owner, master, and yourself. 

Ant. E. How now ? a madman ! Why. thou peevish^ 
sheep, 
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me ? 

Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. 

Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a 
rope ; 
And told thee to what purpose, and what end. 

Bro. S. You sent me for a rope's end as soon. 
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. 

Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leisure, 
And teach your ears to list me with more heed. 
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight ; 
Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk 
That 's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry. 
There is a purse of ducats : let her send it. 
Tell lier, I am arrested in the street, 
And that shall bail me. Hie thee, slave, be gone. 
On, officer, to pri.son till it come. 

[Exctint Merclmntj Angelo, Officer, mid Ant. E. 

Dro. S. To Adriana ? that is where we din'd, 
Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband : 
She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. 
Thither I must, although against my will. 
For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. [Exit. 

SCENE n.— The Same. 
Enter Adriana and Luciana. 

A/Ir. Ah ! Luciana, did he tempt thee so ? 

Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye 
That he did plead in earnest ? yea or no ? 

Look'd he or red, or pale ? or sad, or merry ? 
What observation mad'st thou in this case, 
Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face? 

Ltic. First he denied you had in him no right. 

Adr. He meant, he did me none : the more my spite. 

Liic. Then sw^ore he, that he was a stranger here. 

Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he 
were. 

Luc. Then pleaded I for you. 

Adr. And what said he ? 

Lt(C. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me. 

Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love ? 

Luc. WiHi words, that in an honest suit might move. 
First, he did praise my beauty; then, my speech. 

Adr. Didst speak him fair ? 

Luc. Have patience, I beseech. 

Adr. I cannot, nor I will not hold me still : 
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will. 
He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, 
Ill-fac'd, worse bodied, shapeless every^vhere ; 
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blvmt, unkind, 
Stigmatical' in making, worse in mind. 

Luc. Who woukl be jealous, then, of such a one? 
No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. 

Adr. Ah ! but I think him better than I say, 

And yet would herein others' eyes were worse. 
Far from her nest the lapwing cries away : 

My heart prays for him, though my tongue do 
curse. 



Enter Dromio of Syracuse, running. 
Dro. S. Here, go : the desk ! the purse ! swift^, now 

make haste. 
Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath ? 
Dro. S. By running fast. 

Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well? 
Dro. S. No, he 's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell : 
A devil in an everlasting garment* hath him felP, 
One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel ; 
Who knows no touch of mercy, cannot feeP ; 
A fiend, a iury^, pitiless and rough ; 
A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff"; 
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that counter- 
mands 
The passages and alleys, creeks and narrow lands : 
A hound that runs counter,* and yet draws dry-foot 

well;' 
One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to 
helP". 
Adr. Why, man, what is the matter ? 
Dro. S. I do not know the matter : he is 'rested on 

the case. 
Adr. What, is he arrested ? tell me, at w^hose suit. 
Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested well ; 
But he 's in a suit of buff which 'rested him, that can I tell. 
Will you send him, mistress, redemption ? the money 
in his desk ? 
Adr. Go fetch it, sister. — This I wonder at ; 

[Exit Luciana. 
That he, unknown to me, should be in debt : — 
Tell me, was he arrested on a band"? 



Dro. S. Not on a band. 



but on a stronger thing ; 



A chain, a chain : do you not hear it ring ! 

Adr. What, the chain ? 

Dro. S. No, no, the bell. 'T is time that I were gone : 
It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one. 

Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never hear. 

Dro. S. O yes ; if any hour meet a serjeant, "a turns 
back for very fear. 

Adr. As if time were in debt ! how fondly dost thou 
reason ! 

Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more 
than he 's worth, to season. 
Nay, he 's a thief too : have you not heard men say, 
That time comes stealing on by night and day? 
If he be in debt and theft, and a serjeant in the way, 
Hath he not reason to turn back any hour in a day ? 
Re-enter Luciana. 

Adr. Go, Dromio : there 's the money, bear it straight, 

And bring thy master home immediately. — 
Come, sister ; I am pre?s'd down with conceit, 

Conceit, my comfort, and my injury. [Exeunt, 

SCENE III.— The Same. 

Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, loearing the chain. 

Ant. S. There 's not a man I meet but doth salute me, 
As if I were their well acquainted friend ; 
And every one doth call me by my name. 
Some tender money to me, some invite me; 
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses; 
Some offer me conunodities to bviy : 
Even now a tailor calTd me in his shop. 
And show'd me silks that he had bought for me, 
And, therewithal, took measure of my body. 
Sure, these are but imaginary wiles, 
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. 



1 Silh/. 2 Disfigurerf. ' swRct : in f. e. ♦ Serjeants wore huff, 
fairy ; Theobald suggested the change made by the MS. eniendator. 
' A hunting plirase, meaning to hunt hy the scent of the animaVs foot. 
chequer chamber, for the debtors of the crown, i' Bond. 



5 Not in f. e. « This line is not in f. e. ' The old copies have 

8 An allusion to his taking persons arrested to tl:e Counter prison. 

1" Tills was the name of a place of confinement under the Ex- 



96 



THE COMEDY OF ERROKS. 



ACT rv. 



Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 

Dro. S. Master, here 's the gold you sent me for. 
What have you got' the picture of old Adam new 
apparell'd= ? 

Ant. S. What gold is this? What Adam dost thou 
mean? 

Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the paradise, but 
that Adam that keeps the prison : he that goes in the 
calf s-skin that was kill'd for the prodigal : he that 
came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you 
forsake your liberty. 

Ant. S. I understand thee not. 

Dro. S. No ? why, 't is a plain case : he that went, 
like a base-viol, in a case of leather : the man, sir, that, 
when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob, and 'rests 
them : he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, and 
gives them suits of durance ; he that sets up his rest to 
do more exploits with his mace, than a morris-pike.^ 

Ant. S. What, thou mean'st an officer? 

Dro. S. Ay, sir, the serjeant of the band ; he that 
brings any man to answer it, that breaks his band ; one 
that thinks a man always going to bed, and says, 
'• God give you good rest !" 

Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is 
there any ship puts forth to-night ? may we be 
gone ? 

Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since, 
that the bark Expedition put forth to-night ; and then 
were you hindered by the serjeant to tarry for the hoy 
Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver 
you. 

Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I, 
And here we wander in illusions. 
Some blessed power deliver us from hence ! 
Enter a Courtezan. 

Cour. Well met, well met, master Antipholus. 
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now : 
Is that the chain, you promis'd me to-day ? 

Ant. S. Satan, avoid ! I charge thee, tempt me not ! 

Dro. S. Master, is this mistress Satan ? 

Ant. S,. It is the devil. 

Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the de^-il's dam: 
and here she comes in the habit of a light wench : and 
thereof comes that the wenches say, "God damn me," 
that "s as much as to say, " God make me a light wench." 
It is written, they appear to men like angels of light : 
light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn : ergo, light 
wenches will burn. Come not near her. 

Cour. Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir. 
Will you go with me ? we '11 mend our dinner here. 

Dro. S. Master, if you do expect spoon-meat, be- 
speak a long spoon. 

Ant. S. Why, Dromio? 

Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon that must 
eat with the devil. 

Ant. S. Avoid, thou* fiend ! what tell'st thou me of 
supping ? 
Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress : 
I conjure thee to leave me, and be gone. 

Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner. 
Or for my diamond the chain you promised. 
And I '11 be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 

Dro. S. Some devils ask but the parings of one's 
nail, 
A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, a nut, a cherry- 
stone ; 
But she, more covetous, would have a chain. 
Master, be wise : an if you give it her, 
The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it. 



Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain. 
I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. 

Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch ! Come, Dromio, let 
us go. 

Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock: mistress, that 
you know. [Exeunt Ant. and Dro. 

Cotir. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad, 
Else would he never so demean himself. 
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats. 
And for the same he promis'd me a chain : 
Both one and other he denies me now. 
The reason that I gather he is mad. 
Besides this present instance of his rage, 
Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner 
Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. 
Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits. 
On purpose shut the doors against his way. 
My way is now, to hie home to his house. 
And tell his wife, that, being lunatic. 
He rush'd into my house, and took perforce 
My ring away. This course I fittest choose. 
For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. 
Enter Antipholus of Ephesiis, and a Jailor. 

Ant. E. Fear me not, man ; I will not break away : 
I '11 give thee, ere 1 leave thee, so much money, 
To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. 
My wife is in a wayward mood to-day. 
And Avill not lightly trust the messenger : 
That I should be attach'd in Ephesus, 
I tell you, 't will sound harshly in her ears. 

Enter Dromio of Ephesu.s with a rope's-end. 
Here comes my man : I think he brings the money. — 
How now, sir ? have you that I sent yovi for ? 

Dro. E. Here 's that. I warrant you, will pay them all. 

Ant. E. But where 's the money ? 

Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope. 

Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope ? 

Dro. E. I '11 serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. 

Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee 
home ? 

Dro. E. To a rope's end, sir : and to that end am I 
return' d. 

Ant. E. And to that end. sir, I will welcome you. 

[Beating him. 

Jail. Good sir, be patient. 

Dro. E. Nay, 't is for me to be patient ] I am in 
adversity. 

Jail. Good now, hold thy tongue. 

Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands. 

Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain ! 

Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir ; that I might 
not feel your blows. 

Ant. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, 
and so is an ass. 

Dro. E. I am an ass, indeed : you may prove it by 
my long cars. I have serv'd him from the hour of 
my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his 
hands for my service, but blows. When I am cold, he 
heats me with beating ; when I am warm, he cools me 
with beating : I am wak'd wth it, when I sleep ; rais'd 
with it, when I sit j driven out of doors with it, when 
I go from home; welcomed home with it, when I 
return : nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as a beggar 
wont her brat : and, I think, when he hath lamed me, 
I shall beg v.'ith it from door to door. 

Ant. E. Come, go along : my wife is coming 
vonder. 



J What have you done with. 2 A reference to the Serjeant's suit of buff. ^ A Moorish pike. * then : in f. e. 



SCENE IV. 



THE COMEDY OF ERROES. 



97 



Enter Adriana, Luciana, the Courtezan, and a 
Schoolmaster called Pinch. 

Dro. E. Mistress, respite Jinem,^ respect your end : 
or rather the prophecy, like the parrot. " beware the 
rope's end."' 

Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk ? [Beats him.. 

Cour. How say you now? is not your husband mad ? 

Adr. His incivility confirms no less. — 
Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer; 
Establish him in his true sense again, 
And I will please you what you will demand. 

Ltic. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks ! 

Conr. Mark, how he trembles in his ecstasy ! 

Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me feel your 
pulse. 

Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. 

Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this man. 
To yield possession to my holy prayers. 
And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight : 
I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven. 

Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace ! I am not mad. 

Adr. 0, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul ! 

Ant. E. You minion, you ; are these your customers? 
Did this companion with the saffron face 
Revel and feast it at my house to-day, 
WJiilst upon me the guilty doors were shut, 
And I denied to enter in my house ? 

Adr. 0, husband, God doth know, you din'd at home ; 
Where 'would you had remain'd until this time, 
Free from these slanders, and this open shame ! 

Ant. E. Diu'd at home ? Thou, villain, what say'st 
thou ? 

Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home. 

Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up, and I shut 
out? 

Dro. E. Perdy, your doors were lock'd, and you 
shut out. 

Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there ? 

Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself revil'd you there. 

Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and 
scorn me ? 

Dro. E. Certes, she did • the kitchen-vestal scorn'd 
you. 

A7it. E. And did not I in rage depart from thence ? 

Dro. E. In verity, you did : — my bones bear witness, 
That since have felt the rigour* of his rage. 

Adr. Is "t good to soothe him. in these contraries? 

Pinch. It is no shame : the fellow finds his vein, 
And. yielding to him, humours well his frenzy. 

Ant. E. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to arrest me. 

Adr. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you. 
By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. 

Dro. E. Money by me ! heart and good- will you 
might ; 
But, surely, master, not a rag of money. 

Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse of ducats ! 

Adr. He came to me, and I deliver'd it. 

Luc. And I am witness with her that she did. 

Dro. E. God and the rope-maker now' bear me 
witness, 
That I was sent for nothing but a rope ! 

Pinch. INIistress, both man and master is possessed : 
I know it by their pale and deadly looks. 
They must be bound, and laid in some dark room. 

A7it. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth 
to-day ? 
And why dost thou deny the bag of gold ? 

Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. 



Dro. E. And, gentle master, I rcceiv'd no gold ; 
But I confess, sir, tliat we were lock'd out. 

Adr. Dissembling villain ! thou speak'st false in both. 

Ant. E. Dissembling harlot ! thou art false in all, 
And art confederate with a damned pack 
To make a loathsome, abject scorn of me ; 
But with these nails 1 '11 pluck out those false eyes, 
That would behold in me tliis shameful sport. 

Enter three or four, and bind Antipholus and 
Dromio. 

Adr. O bind him, bind liim ! let him not come near 
me. 

Pinch. More company ! — the fiend is strong within 
him. 

Luc. Ah me ! poor man, how pale and wan he looks. 

Ant. E. What, will you murder me ? Thou jailor, 
thou, 
I am thy prisoner : w^ilt thou suffer them 
To make a rescue ? 

Jail. Masters, let him go . 

He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. 

Pinch. Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too. 

Adr. What wilt thou do, (hou peevish officer? 
Hast thou delight to see a wi-etched man 
Do outrage and displeasure to himself? 

Jail. He is my pn,«oner : if I let him go, 
The debt he owes will be rcquir'd of me. 

Adr. I will discharge thee, ere I go from thee. 
Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, 
And. knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. 
Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd 
Home to my house. — O, most unhappy day ! 

Ant. E. 0, most unhappy strumpet ! 

Dro. E. Master, I am here enter 'd in bond for 
you. 

Ant. E. Out on thee, villain ! wherefore dost thou 
mad me ? 

Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing ? be mad, 
good master; 
Cry, the devil. — 

Luc. God help, poor souls ! how idly do they talk. 

Adr. Go bear him hence. — SLster, go you with me. — 

[Exeunt Pinch and a.s-sistants with Ant. atid Dro. 
Say now, whose suit is he arrested at ? 

Jail. One Angelo, a goldsmith ; do you know him ? 

Adr. I know the man. What is the sum he owes ? 

Jail. Two hundred ducats. 

Adr. Say, how grows it due ? 

Jail. Due for a chain your husband had of him. 

Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not. 

Cour. When as your husband, all in rage, to-day 
Came to my house, and took away my ring, 
(The ring I saw upon his finger now) 
Straight after did I meet him with a chain. 

Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it. — 
Come, jailor, bring me where the goldsmith is : 
I long to know the truth hereof at large. 
Enter Antipholus of Syracu.^e, icith his rapier drawn, 
and Dromio of Syracuse. 

Lice. God, for thy mercy ! they are loose again. 

Adr. And come with naked swords. Let 's call more 
help, 
To have them bound again. 

Jail. Away ! they '11 kill us. 

[Exeunt Adriana, Luciana, and Jailor. 

Ant. S. I see, these witches are afraid of swords. 

Dro. S. She, that would be your T.dfe. now ran from 
you. 



' In Ulpian Fulwell's First Parte of the Eighth Liberal Science, 1570, these ■words occur, ami are translated in a marsinal note, ' 
well that ends well." Shakespeare may have borrowed both a phrase and a title from this work. ^ vigour : in f. e. ' Not in f. e. 

7 



All's 



98 



THE COMEDY OF EREOKS. 



ACT V. 



Ant. S. Come to the Centaur : fetch our stuff' from 
thence : 
I long that we were safe and sound aboard. 

Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night, they will surely 
do us no harm ; you saw they spake us fair, gave us 
gold. Methinks they are such a gentle nation, that 



hut for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage 
of me, I could find in my heart to stay here still, and 
turn witch. 

Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the town ; 
Therefore away, to get out stuff aboard. [Exexmt. 



ACT V 



SCENE I.— -The Same. Before an Abbey. 
Enter Merchant and Angelo. 

Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd you ; 
But, I protest, he had the chain of me, 
Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. 

3Ier. How is the man esteem'd here in the city ? 

Ang. Of very reverend reputation, sir ; 
Of credit infinite, highly belov'd. 
Second to none that lives here in the city : 
His word might bear my wealth at any time. 

3Ier. Speak softly : yonder, as I think, he walks. 
Enter Antipholus awi Dromio of Syracuse. 

Ang. 'T is so ; and that self chain about his neck, 
Which lie forswore most monstrously to have. 
Good sir, draw near with me, I '11 speak to him. — 
Siguier Antipholus, I wonder much 
That you would put me to this shame and trouble ; 
And not without some scandal to yourself. 
With circumstance and oaths so to deny 
This chain, which now you wear so openly : 
Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment. 
You have done wrong to this my honest friend ; 
Who, but for staying on our controversy. 
Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day. 
This chain, you had of me : can you deny it ? 

Ant. S. I think, I had : I never did deny it. 

Mer. Yes, that you did, sir ; and foiswore it too. 

Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it, or forswear it ? 

3Icr. These ears of mine, thou knowest, did hear 
thee. 
Fie on thee, wretch ! 't is pity that thou liv'st 
To walk where any honest men resort. 

Ant. S. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus. 
I '11 prove mine honour and mine honesty 
Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. 

Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain . [ They draw. 

Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtezan, and Others. 

Adr. Hold ! hurt him not, for God's sake ! he is mad. — 
Some get within him= ; take his sword away. 
Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. 

Dro. S. Run, master, run ; for God's sake take a house ! 
This is some priory : — in, or we are spoil'd. 

[Exeunt Antipholus and Dromio to the Abbey. 
Enter the Lady Abbess. 

Abb. Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you 
hither ? 

Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. 
Let us come in, that we may bind him fast, 
And bear him home for his recovery. 

Ang. I knew, he was not in his perfect wits. 

Mer. I am sorry now, that I did draw on him. 

Abb. How long hath this possession held the man? 

Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad ; 
And much different from the man he was ; 
But, till this afternoon, his passion 
Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. 

Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by ^Tcck of sea ? 

5 Baggage. 2 Close with him. 3 Not in f. e 



Buried some dear friend ? Hath not else his eye 
Stray'd his affection in unlawful love ? 
A sin prevailing much in youthful men. 
Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. 
Which of these sorrows is he subject to ? 

Adr. To none of these, except it be the last ; 
Namely, some love, that drew him oft from home. 

Abb. You should for that have reprehended him. 

Adr. Why, so I did. 

Abb. Ay, but not rough enough. 

Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let me. 

Abb. Haply, in private. 

Adr. And in assemblies too. 

Abb. Ay. but not enough. 

Adr. It was the copy of our conference. 
In bed, he slept not for my urging it ; 
At board, he fed not for my urging it ; 
Alone, it was the subject of my theme ; 
In company, I often glanc'd at^ it : 
Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. 

Abb. And thereof came it that the man was mad: 
The venom clamours of a jealous woman 
Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. 
It seems, his sleeps were hind'rcd by thy railing, 
And thereof comes it, that his head is light. 
Thou say'st, his meat was sauc"d with thy upbraidings : 
Unquiet meals make ill digestions ; 
Thereof the raging fire of fever bred : 
And what 's a fever but a fit of madness ? 
Thou say'st, his sports were hinder'd by thy brawls : 
Sweet I'ecreation barr'd, what doth ensue, 
But moody and dull melancholy. 
Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair, 
And at her heels a huge infectious troop 
Of pale distcmperatures, and foes to life ? 
In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest 
To be disturb'd, would mad or man or beast. 
The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits 
Have scar'd thy husband from the use of wits. 

Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly, 
When he demean'd himself rough, rude, and wildly. — 
Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not ? 

Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. — 
Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. 

Abb. No; not a creature enters in my house. 

Adr. Then, let your servants bring my husband forth. 

Abb. Neither : he took this place for sanctuary, 
And it shall privilege him from your hands, 
Till I have brought him to his wits again, 
Or lose my labour in essaying it. 

Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse, 
Diet his sickness ; for it is my office. 
And will have no attorney but myself, 
And therefore let me have him home with me. 

Abb. Be patient; for I will not let him stir, 
Till I have us'd the approved means I have. 
With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers, 
To make of him a formal man again. 



SCENE I. 



THE COMEDY OF ERKORS. 



99 



It is a tranch and parcel of mine oath, 

A charitable duty of my order ; 

Tlierefore depart, and leave him here with me. 

Adr. I will not hence, and leave my husband here : 
And ill it doth beseem your holiness 
To separate the husband and the wife. 

Abb. Be quiet, and depart : thou shalt not have him. 

[Exit Abbess. 

Luc. Complain unto the duke of this indignity. 

Adr. Come, go : I will fall prostrate at his feet, 
And never rise, until my tears and prayers 
Have won his grace to come in person hither. 
And take perforce my husband from the abbess. 

3Ier. By this, I think, the dial points at five : 
Anon, I "m sure, the duke himself in person 
Comes this way to the melancholy vale, 
The place of death and solemn^ execution, 
Behind the ditches of the abbey here. 

A7ig. Upon what cause? 

3Ier. To see a reverend Syracusian merchant, 
Who put unluckily into this bay 
Against the laws and statutes of this town. 
Beheaded publicly for his offence. 

Ang. See, where they come : we will behold his death. 

Luc. Kneel to the duke before he pass the abbey. 
Enter DvKE attended; iEcEON bare-headed; with the 
Headsman and other Officers. 

Dtike. Yet once again proclaim it publicly, 
If any friend will pay the sum for him. 
He shall not die, so much we tender him. 

Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess ! 

Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady : 
It cannot be, that she hath done thee wrong. 

Adr. May it please your grace, Antipholus, my 
husband. 
Whom I made lord of me, and all I had. 
At your important^ letters, this ill day 
A most outrageous fit of madness took him. 
That desperately he hurried through the street, 
(W^ith him his bondman, all as mad as he) 
Doing displeasure to the citizens 
By rushing in their houses, bearing thence 
R,ings, jewels, any thing his rage did like. 
Once did I get him bound, and sent him home, 
Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went, 
That here and there liis fury had committed. 
Anon, I wot not by what strange^ escape. 
He broke from those that had the guard of him, 
And with his mad attendant and himself. 
Each one with ireful passion, Avith drawn swords. 
Met us again, and, madly bent on us, 
Chas'd us away ; till, raising of more aid. 
We came again to bind them. Then they fled 
Into this abbey, whither we pursued them ; 
And here the abbess shuts the gates on us. 
And ^^■ill not suffer us to fetch him out. 
Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence. 
Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command. 
Let him bo brought forth, and borne hence for help. 

Duke. Long since thy husband serv'd me in my wars. 
And I to thee cngag'd a prince's word. 
When thou didst make him master of thy bed, 
To do him all the grace and good I could. — 
Go, some of you, knock at the abbey gate, 
And bid the lady abbess come to me. 
I will determine this, before I stir. 
Enter a Servant. 

Serv. mistress, mistress ! shift and save yourself. 



My master and his man are both broke loose, 
Beaten the maids a-row,* and bound the doctor. 
Whose beard they have sing'd off with brands of fire ; 
And ever as it blazed they threw on him 
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair. 
My master preaches patience to him, and the while 
His man with scissars nicks him like a fool ;^ 
And, sure, unless you send some present help. 
Between them they will kill the conjurer. 

Adr. Peace, fool ! thy master and his man are here : 
And that is false, thou dost report to us. 

Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true ; 
I have not breath'd almost, since I did see it. 
He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you. 
To scorch your face, and to disfigure you. [Cry ivithin. 
Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress : fly, be gone. 

Duke. Come, stand by me ; fear nothing. Guard 
with halberds ! 

Adr. Ah me, it is my husband ! Witness you, 
That he is borne about invisible : 
Even now we lious'd him in the abbey here. 
And now he 's there, past thought of human reason. 
Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Ephesus. 

Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke ! O ! grant me 
justice. 
Even for the service that long since I did thee. 
When I bestrid thee in the wars and took 
Deep scars to save thy live ; even for the blood 
That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. 

Mge. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, 
I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio ! 

Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman 
there ! , 

She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife. 
That hath abused and dishonour'd me. 
Even in the strength and height of injury. 
Beyond imagination is the wrong. 
That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. 

Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. 

Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors 
upon me. 
While she ■with harlots^ feasted in my house. 

Duke. A grievous fault. Say, woman, didst thou so ? 

Adr. No, my good lord : myself, he. and my sister. 
To-day did dine together. So befal my soul. 
As this is false he burdens me withal. 

Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, 
But she tells to your highness simple truth. 

Ang. perjur'd woman ! They are both forsworn : 
In this the madman justly chargeth them. 

Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say ; 
Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine, 
Nor heady-rash provok'd with raging ire. 
Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. 
This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner : 
That goldsmith there, were he not pack"d with her, 
Could witness it, for he was with me then ; 
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, 
Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, 
Where Balthazar and I did dine together. 
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, 
I went to seek him : in the street I met him. 
And in his company, that gentleman. 
There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down, 
That I this day of him receiv'd the chain. 
Which, God he knows, I saw not ; for the which, 
He did an-est me with an officer. 
I did obey, and sent my peasant home 



1 deplh and sorry : in f. e. 2 Importunate. ^ sfront; : in f. e. * One after the other. 
a peculiar fashion 6 xiiis word originally meant hireling, and was applied to either sex. 



5 It was the custom to cut tke hair of fools in 



-tref^ 



100 



THE COMEDY OF EEEOKS. 



ACT V. 



For certain ducats : he with none returned. 

Then fairly I bespoke the officer, 

To go in person with me to my house. 

By the way we met 

My wife, her sister, and a rabble more 

Of vile confederates : along with them 

They brought one Pinch, a hungry, lean-fac'd villain, 

A mere anatomy, a mountebank, 

A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller, 

A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, 

A living dead man. This pernicious slave, 

Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer, 

And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse. 

And with no face, as 't were, out-facing me, 

Cries out, I was possessed. Then, altogelher 

They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence, 

And in a dark and dankish vault at home 

They' left me and my man, both bound together ; 

Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder. 

I gain'd my freedom, and immediately 

Ran hither to your grace, whom I beseech 

To give me ample satisfaction 

For these deep shames, and great indignities. 

Aug. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him, 
That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. 

Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no ? 

Ang. He had, my lord ; and when he ran in here, 
These people saw the chain about his neck. 

Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine 
Heard you confess you had the chain of him, 
After you first forswore it on the mart. 
And, thereupon, I drew my sword on you ; 
And then you fled into this abbey here. 
From whence, T think, you are come by miracle. 

Aiit. E. I never came within these abbey walls, 
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on mc. 
I never saw the chain, so help me heaven ! 
And° this is false you burden me withal. 

Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this ! 
I think, you all have drunk of Circe's cup. 
If here you hous'd him, here he would have been ; 
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly : — 
You say, he dined at home ; the goldsmith here 
Denies that saying. — Sirrah, what say you ? 

Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her, there, at the Porcupine. 

Cmir. He did, and from my finger snatch'd that ring. 

Ant. E. 'T is true, my liege ; this ring I had of her. 

Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here ? 

Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. 

Duke. Why, this is strange. — Go call the abbess 
hither. — 
I think you are all mated, or stark mad. 

[Exit an Attendant. 

^ge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word. 
Haply, I see a friend \d\\ save my life, 
And pay the sum that may deliver me. 

Duke. Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt. 

JLge. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus, 
And is not that your bondman Dromio ? 

Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir ; 
But he, I tliank liim. gnaw'd in two my cords : 
Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. 

-Mge. I am sure you both of you remember me. 

Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you ; 
For lately we were bound, as you are now. 
You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir ? 

Mge. Why look you strange on me ? you loiow me 
well. 

Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now. 



^ge. O ! grief hath chang'd me, since you saw me 
last ; 
And careful hours, yith time's deformed hand, 
Have vvTitten strange defeatures in my face : 
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice ? 

Ant. E. Neither. 

jEge. Dromio, nor thou ? 

Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. 

jEge. I am sure thou dost. 

Dro. E. Ay, sir ; but 1 am sure I do not ; and what- 
soever a man denies, you are now bound to believe 
him. 

Mge. Not know my voice ? 0, time's extremity ! 
Hast thou so crack'd my voice, split^ my poor tongue 
In seven short years, that here my only son 
Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares ? 
Though now this grained face of mine be hid 
In sap-consuming winters drizzled snov,', 
And all the conduits of my blood froze up, 
Yet hath my night of life some memory. 
My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, 
My dull, deaf ears a little use to hear: 
All these old witnesses (I cannot err) 
Tell me thou art my son Antipholus. 

Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. 

JEge. But seven years since, in SjTaeusa, boy, 
Thovi know'st we parted. But, perhaps, my son. 
Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. 

Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the city, 
Can witness with me that it is not so. 
I ne'er saw SjTacusa in my life. 

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years 
Have I been patron to Antipholus, 
During which time he ne'er saw SjTacuse. 
I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. 

Enter Abbess., with Antipholus of Syracuse and 
Dromio of Syracuse. 

Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd. 

[All gather to see them. 

Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me ! 

Dvke. One of these men is Genius to the other ; 
And so of these : which is the natural man. 
And which the spirit ? Who deciphers them ? 

Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio : command him away. 

Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio : pray let me stay. 

Ant. S. ^geon, art thou not ? or else his ghost ? 

Dro. S. O, my old master ! who bath bound him here? 

Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds. 
And gain a husband by his liberty. — 
Speak, old ^geon, if thou be'st the man 
That had a wife once call'd ^Emilia, 
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons. 
O ! if thou be'st the same iEgeon, speak, 
And speak unto the. same ^Emilia ! 

JEse. If I dream not, thou art ^Emilia. 
If thou art she, tell me, where is that son 
That floated with thee on the fatal raft ? 

Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I, 
And the twin Dromio, all were taken up : 
But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth 
By force took Dromio and my son from them. 
And me they left with those of Epidamnum. 
What then became of them, I cannot tell ; 
I, to this fortune that you see me in. 

Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right. 
These two Antipholus', these two so like. 
And these two Dromios, one in semblance, — 
Besides his urging of his wreck at sea ; — 
These sre the parents to these children, 



1 There : in f. e. 2 Dyce reads, " as," and puts a period after " chain." ' orack'd and splitted : in f. 



SCENE I. 



THE COMEDY OF EKKOKS. 



101 



Which accidentally are met together. 
Aiilipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first. 

Ant. S. No, sir, not I : I came from Syracuse. 

Duke. Stay, stand apart : I know not which is which. 

Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. 

Dro. E. And I with him. 

Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous 
warrior, 
Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. 

Adr. Whicli of you two did dine with me to-day ? 

Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. 

Adr. And are not you my husband ? 

Ant. E. No ; I say nay to that. 

Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so ] 
And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here. 
Did call me brother. — What I told you then, 
I hope, I shall have leisure to make good. 
If this be not a dream I see, and hear. 

Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. 

Ant. S. I think it be, sir : I deny it not. 

for this chain arrested me. 
I think I did, sir : I deny it not. 



Ant. E. And you, sir, 

Ang 

Adr. 



I sent you money, sir, to be your bail 
By Dromio ; but I think, he brought it not. 

Dro. E. No, none by me. 

Ant. S. This purse of ducats I received from you, 
And Dromio, my man, did bring them me. 
I see, we still did meet each other's man, 
And I was ta'cn for him, and he for me. 
And thereu])on these errors alP arose. 

Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. 

Duke. It shall not need : thy father hath his life. 

Coiir. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. 

Ant. E. There, take it ; and much thanlcs for my 
good cheer. 

Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains 
To go with us into the abbey here. 
And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes ; 
And all that are assembled in this place, 

1 are : in f. e. * till : in f. e. 



That by this sympathized one day's error 
Have suffered wrong, go, keep us company. 
And we shall make full satisfaction. 
Twenty-five years have I been gone in travail 
Of you, my sons ; and at^ this present hour 
My heavy burdens are delivered. — 
The duke, my husband, and my children both, 
And you the calendars of their nativity. 
Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me : 
After so long grief such nativity ! 

Duke. With all my heart : I '11 gossip at this feast. 
[Exeunt Duke, Abbess, ^geon. Courtezan, 
Merchant, Angelo, and Attendants. 
Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from ship- 
board ? 
Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou em- 
barked ? 
Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in the 

Centaur. 
Ant. S. He speaks to me. — I am your master, Dromio : 
Come, go with us ; we '11 look to that anon. 
Embrace thy brother there ; rejoice with him. 

[Exeunt Ant. S. and E., Adr., and Luc. 
Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your ma.ster's 
house. 
That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner : 
She now shall be my sister, not my wife. 

Dro. E. Methinks, you are my glass, and not my 
brother : 
I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth. 
Will you walk in to see their gossiping ? 
Dro. S. Not I, sir; you are my elder, 
Dro. E. That 's a question : how shall we try it ? 
Dro. S. We '11 draw cuts for the senior : till then, 
lead thou first. 

Dro. E. Nay, then thus : 
We came into the world, like brother and brother ; 
And now, let 's go hand in hand, not one before another. 

[Exeunt. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



DRAMATIS PEESOK^. 



Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon. 
John, his bastard Brother. 
Claudio, a young Lord of Florence. 
Benedick, a young Lord of Padua. 
Leonato, Governor of Messina. 
Antonio, his Brother. 
Balthazar, Servant to Don Pedro. 

BORACHIO, j f 1, c X \ 

r, ' > lollowers of John. 

Conrade, ) 

Dogberry, ) , ^o, 

IT ' > two Officers. 

VERGES, I 



Friar Francis. 
A Gentleman. 
A Sexton. 
A Boy. 



Hero, Daughter to Leonato. 
Beatrice, Niece to Leonato. 

Ursula 1 G^^^^®"^'omen attending on Hero. 

Watchmen, and attendants, &c. 



SCENE, Messina. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L— Before Leonato's House. 

Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and others^ tvith a 
Gentleman} 

Leon. 1 learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of Ar- 
ragon comes this night to Messina. 

Gent.^ He is very near by this : he was not three 
leagues off when I left him. 

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this 
action ? 

Gent. But few of any sort, and none of name. 

Leon. A victory is twice itself, whei\ the achiever 
brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don 
Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Floren- 
tine, called Claudio. 

Gent. Much deserved on his part, and equally re- 
membered by Don Pedro : he hath borne himself be- 
yond the promise of his age, doing in the figure of a 
lamb the feats of a lion : he hath, indeed, better bet- 
tered expectation, than you must expect of me to tell 
you how. 

Leon. He hath an uncle, here in Messina, will be 
very much glad of it. 

Gent. I have already delivered him letters, and there 
appears mvich joy in him ; even so much, that joy could 
not show itself modest enough without a badge of bit- 
terness. 

Leon. Did he break out into tears ? 

Gent. In great measure. 

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness. There are no 
faces truer than those that are so washed ; how much 
better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at weeping? 

Beat. I pray you, is signior Montanto^ returned from 
the wars, or no ? 

Gent. I know none of that name, lady : there was 
none such in the army of any sort. 



Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece ? 

Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Padua. 

Gent. ! he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he 
was. 

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and chal- 
lenged Cupid at the flight*; and my uncle's fool, read- 
ing the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged 
him at the bird-bolt". — I pray you, how many hath he 
killed and eaten in these wars ? But how many hath he 
killed ? for, indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing. 

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too 
much; but he '11 be meet with you, I doubt it not. 

Gent. He hath done good service, lady, in these 
wars. 

Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to 
eat it : he is a very valiant trencher-man ; he hath an 
excellent stomach. 

Gent. And a good soldier too, lady. 

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he 
to a lord ? 

Gent. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed" 
with all honourable virtues. 

Beat. It is so, indeed : he is no less than a stuffed 
man; but for the stuffing, — ^Well, we are all mortal. 

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There 
is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick and 
her : they never meet, but there 's a skirmish of wit 
between them. , 

Beat. Alas ! he gets nothing by that. In our last 
conflict four of his five wits^ went halting off, and now 
is the whole man governed with one ; so that if he have 
wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for 
a difference* between himself and his horse ; for it is all 
the wealth that he hath left to be known a rea.sonable 
creature. — Who is his companion now? He hath every 
month a new sworn brother. 



1 Messenger: in f. e. " Throughout the Scene : Mess. : in f. e. ^ A term of the fencing-school. * A long and light-feathered arrow, 
used for objects at a distance. = A short and thick arrov. for near aim. * Stored. ' Chaucer uses the five wits for the five senses. 
A similar enumeration, referred to in the text, was made of the intellectual powers. ^ in heraldry, a distinction. 



SCENE I. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



103 



Ge72t. Is 't possible ? 

Beat. Very easily possible : he wears his faith but as 
the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with the next block. 

Gent. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.' 

Beat. No : an he were, I would burn my study. 
But, I pray you, who is his companion ? Is there no 
young squarer' now, that will make a voyage with him 
to the devil? 

Gent. He is most in the company of the right noble 
Claudio. 

Beat. O Lord ! he will hang upon him like a dis- 
ease : he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the 
taker runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio ! 
if he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thou- 
sand pound ere he be cured. 

Gent. I will hold friends with you, lady. 

Beat. Do, good friend. 

Leon. You will never run mad, niece 

Beat. No, not till a hot January. 

Gent. Don Pedro is approached. 
Enter Don Pedro, John, Claudio, Benedick, Bal- 
thazar, and others. 

D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, are you^ come to 
meet your trouble ? the fashion of the world is to avoid 
cost, and you encounter it. 

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the like- 
ness of your grace ; for trouble being gone, comfort 
should remain, but when you depart from me, sorrow 
abides, and happiness takes his leave. 

D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. 
I think, this is your daughter. 

Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. 

Be7ie. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her ? 

Leon. Signior Benedick, no ; for then were you a child. 

D.Pedro. You have it full. Benedick : we may guess 
by this what you are, being a man. — Truly, the lady 
fathers herself. — Be happy, lady, for you are like an 
honourable father. 

Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would 
not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as 
like him as she is. 

Beat. 1 wonder that you will still be talking, signior 
Benedick : no body marks you. 

Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain ! are you yet 
living ? 

Beat. Is it possible disdain should die, while she 
hath such meet food to feed it, as signior Benedick ? 
Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in 
her presence. 

Bene. Then is courtesy a turn-coat. But it is cer- 
tain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted ; and 
I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard 



heart, 



for, truly. 



I love none. 



grace would constrain me 



to 



Beat. A dear happiness to women : they would else 
have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank 
God, and my cold blood, I am of your humour for 
that : I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a 
man swear he loves me. 

Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind : 
so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate 
scratched face. 

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 't were 
such a face as yours. 

Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. 

Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of 
yours. 

Bene. I would, my horse had the speed of your 
tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way 
o' God's name ; I have done. 

1 Tliis phrase is derived, says Knight, from books of credit. ' Quarreler. ^ The old copies read : you are. * Old cop. : This. * Join. 



Beat. You always end with a jade's trick : I know 
you of old. 

D. Pedro. That* is the sum of all. — Leonato, — sis- 
nior Claudio, and signior Benedick. — my dear friend 
Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him we shall stay 
here at the least a month, and he heartily prays some 
occasion may detain us longer : I dare swear he is no 
hypocrite, but prays from his heart. 

Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be for- 
sworn. — Let me bid you welcome, my lord : being 
reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe you all duty. 

John. 1 thank you : I am not of many words, but I 
thank you. 

Leon. Please it your grace, lead on? 

D. Pedro. Your hand. Leonato : we will go together. 
[Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio. 

Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of 
signior Leonato ? 

Bene. I noted her not ; but I looked on her. 

Claud. Is she not a modest young lady ? 

Beiie. Do you question me, as an honest man should 
do, for my simple true judgment ; or would you have 
me speak after my custom, as being a professed tyrant 
to their sex ? 

Claud. No ; I pray thee, speak in sober judgment. 

Bene. Why, 'i faith, methinks she 's too low for a 
high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little 
for a great praise : only this commendation I can afford 
lier ; that were she other than she is, she were unliand- 
some, and being no other but as she is. I do not like 
her. 

Claud. Thou thinkcsf, I am in sport : I pray thee, 
tell me truly how thou lik'st her. 

Be7ie. Would you buy her, that you inquire after her? 

Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel ? 

Bene. Yea, and a case to jrat it into. But speak you 
this with a sad brow, or do you play the flouting Jack, 
to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder, and Vulcan a 
rare carpenter ? Come, in what key shall a man take 
you, to go^ in the song ? 

Claud. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that 
ever I looked on. 

Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no 
such matter ; there 's her cousin, an she were not pos- 
sessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty, as 
the first of May doth the last of December. But I 
hope, you have no intent to turn husband, have you ? 

Claud. I would scarce tru.st myself, though I had 
sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. 

Bene. Is 't come to this, i' faith? Hath not the world 
one man, but he will wear his cap with suspicion ?■ 
Shall I never see a bachelor of threescore again ? Go 
to, i' faith ; an thou wilt needs thrust thy neck into a 
yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh away Sundays. 
Look ; Don Pedro is returned to seek you. 
Re-enter Don Pedro. 

D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that 
you followed not to Leonato's ? 

Bene. I would your 
tell. 

D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. 

Bene. You hear, count Claudio : I can be secret as 
a dumb man. I would have you think so ; but on my 
allegiance. — mark you this, on my allegiance. — He is 
in love. With whom ? — now that is your grace's part. 
— Mark, how short the answer is : — with Hero, Leo- 
nato's short daughter. 

Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 



Bene. Like the old tale, my lord : it is not so, nor 



104 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



ACT I. 



'twas not so;' but, indeed, God forbid it should 
be so. 

Claud. If my passion cliange not shortly, God for- 
bid it should be otherwise. 

D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her; for the lady is 
very well worthy. 

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. 

Claud. And in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 

Bene. And by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I 
spoke mine. 

Claud. That I love her, I feel. 

D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. 

Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved, 
nor know how she should be worthy, is the opinion 
that fire cannot melt out of me : I will die in it at the 
stiJke. 

D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an ob.<tinate heretic in 
the despite of beauty. 

Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in 
the force of his will. 

Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her : 
that she brought me up, I likewise give her most luunble 
thanks ; but that I will have a recheat^ winded in my 
forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible baldrick^, 
all women shall pardon ma. Because I will not do 
them the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the 
right to trust none ; and the fine is, (for the which I 
may go the finer) I will live a bachelor. 

D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love. 

Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, 
my lord ; not with love : prove, that ever I lose more 
blood with loA'e, than I will get again vni\\ drinking, 
pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen, and hang 
me up at the door of a brothel-hovise for the sign of 
blind Cupid. 

D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith. 
thou wilt prove a notable argument. 

Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and 
shoot at me ; and he that first* hits me, let him be 
clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam.* 

D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try: 
" In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke."* 

Bene. The savage bull may, but if ever the sensible 
Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and set them 
in my forehead ; and let me be vilely painted, and in 
such great letters as they WTite 
to hire," let them signify under my sign, 
may see Benedick the married man" 

Claud. If this should ever happen, thou "ivouldst be 
horn-mad. 

D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver 
in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. 

Beiw. I look for an earthquake too, then. 

D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. 
In the mean time, good signior Benedick, repair to 
Leonato's : commend me to him, and tell him, I will 
not fail him at supper; for, indeed, he hath made great 
preparation. 

Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such 
an embassage ; and so I commit you — 

Claud. To the tuition of God : from my house, if I 
had it. — 

D. Pedro. The sixth of July : your loving friend. 
Benedick. 



, ': Here is good horse 



■ Here you 



Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your 
discourse is sometime guarded' with fragments, and the 
guards are but slightly basted on neither : ere you flout 
old ends* any farther, examine your conscience, and so 
I leave you. [Exit Benedick. 

Claud. My liege, yovu" highness now may do me good. 

D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach : teach it but 
how, 
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn 
Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 

Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord ? 

D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she 's his only heir. 
Dost thou affect her, Claudio ? 

Claud. ! my lord, 

When you went onward on this ended action, 
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye. 
That lik"d, but had a rougher ta?k in hand. 
Than to drive liking to the name of love; 
But now I am return'd, and tliat war-thoughts 
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
Come thronging soft and delicate desires, 
All prompting me how fair young Hero is, 
Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars — ' 

D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently, 
And tire the hearer with a book of words. 
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it, 
And I will break with her, and with her father. 
And thou shalt have her.'" Was 't not to this end, 
That thou began'st to twist so fine a story ? 

Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love. 
That know love's grief by his complexion ! 
But lest my liking might too sudden seem, 
I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. 

D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader than 
the flood ? 
The fairest ground' ' is the necessity. 
Look, what will serve is fit : 't is once, thou lovest, 
And I will fit thee with the remedy. 
I know we shall have revelling to-night : 
I will assume thy part in some disguise. 
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio ; 
And in her bosom I '11 unclasp my heart. 
And take her hearing prisoner with the force, 
And strong encounter of my amorous tale : 
Then, after, to her father will I break ; 
And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine. 
In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
Enter Leonato and Antonio. 

Leon. How now, brother? Where is my cousin, 
your son? Hath he provided this music? 

Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can 
tell you strange'^ news that you yet dreamt not of. 

Leon. Are they good ? 

Ant. As the event stamps them; but they have a 
good cover ; they show well outward. The prince and 
co\int Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley in 
my orchard, were thus'^ much overheard by a man of 
mine: the prince discovered to Claudio that he loved 
my niece, your daughter, and meant to acknoviledge it 
this night in a dance ; and, if he found her accordant, 
he meant to take the present time by the top, and 
instantly break with you of it. 

Leon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this ? 



' An old tale, resembling in its horrors and incidents that of Blue Beard, and containing a frequent repetition of the passage in the 
text, is given in Boswell's ed. of Malone, and in Knight. = A recall. 3 Belt. * The word " first " : not in f. e. * Shooting at a cat in 
a bottle was an old popular sport ; Adam, probably, alludes to Adam Bell, the famous archer of the Robin Hood fraternity. 'Quoted 
from Act II. of Kyd's Spanish Tragedy ; the play is in Dod?lev's Col. ' Trimmed. 8 The formal conclusions of old letters.often ending 
in the words used' by Don Pedro. ' The dash, implying the interruption of a narrative, in an addition by Collier. "• This passage, from 
" with her," is from the quarto ed. 16U0 n grant': in f. e. 12 i^ Ouly in the quarto, KiOO. 



SCEInTE I. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



10^ 



Ant. A good sharp fellow : I will send for him, and 
question him yourself. 

Leon. No, no : we will hold it as a dream, till it 
appear itself ■ but I will acquaint my daughter withal, 
that she may be the better prepared for an answer, if 
peradventure this be true. Go you, and tell her of it. 
[Several persons cross the stage.\ Cousins, you know 
what you have to do. — O ! I cry you mercy, friend ; 
go you with me, and I will use your skill. — Good 
cousin, have a care this busy time. \Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 
Enter John and Conrade. 

Con. What the good year, my lord ! why are you 
thus out of measure sad ? 

John. There is no measure in the occasion that 
breeds it,' therefore the sadness is without limit. 

Con. You should hear reason. 

John. And when I have heard it, what blessing 
brings it? 

Con. If not a present remedy, at least a patient 
sufferance. 

John. I wonder, that thou being (as thou say'st thou 
art) born under Saturn, goest about to apply a moral 
medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot hide what 
I am : I must be sad when I have cause, and smile at 
no man's jests ; eat when I have stomach, and wait for 
no man's leisure ; sleep when I am drowsy, and tend 
on no man's business ; laugh when I am merry, and 
claw no man in his huinour. 

Con. Yea ; but you must not make the full show 
of this, till you may do it without controlment. You 
have, tilP of late, stood out against your brother, and he 
hath ta'en you newly into his grace ; where it is impos- 
sible you should take true^ root, but by the fair weather 
that you make yourself: it is needful that you frame 
the season for your ov^ai harvest. 

John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge, than a 
rose in his grace ; and it better fits my blood to be 
disdained of all, than to fashion a carriage to rob love 
from any : in this, though I cannot be said to be a 
flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am 



a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle, 
and enfranchised with a clog ; tlierefore I have decreed 
not to sing in my cage. If I had my mouth, I would 
bite ; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking : in 
the mean time, let me be that I am. and seek not to 
alter me. 

Con. Can you make no use of your discontent? 

John. I make all use of it, for I use it only. Who 
comes here ? What news, Borachio ? 
Enter Borachio. 

Bora. I came yonder from a gi-eat supper : the 
prince, your brother, is royally entertained by Leo- 
nato, and I can give you intelligence of an intended 
marriage. 

John. Will it serve for any model to build mischief 
on ? What is he, for a fool, that betroths himself to 
unquietness ? 

Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. 

John. Who ? the most exquisite Claudio ? 

Bora. Even he. 

John. A proper squire ! And who, and who ? which 
way looks he? 

Bora. ]\Iarry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of 
Leonato. 

John. A very forward March-chick ! How came 
you to this ? 

Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was 
smoking a musty-room, comes me the prince and 
Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference : I whipt 
me behind tlie arras, and there heard it agreed upon, 
that the prince should woo Hero for himself, and 
having obtained her, give her to count Claudio. 

John. Come, come ; let us thither : this may prove 
food to my displeasure. That young start-up hath all 
the glory of my overthrow ; if I can cross him any 
way, I bless myself every way. You are both sure, 
and will assist me ? 

Con. To the death, my lord. 

John. Let us to the great supper : their cheer is the 
greater, that I am subdued. 'Would the cook were of 
my mind ! — Shall we go prove what 's to be done ? 

Bora. We '11 wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. 



ACT II 



SCENE I.— A Hall in Leonato's House. 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and 
others. 

Leon. Was not count John here at supper? 

Ant. I saw him not. 

Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks : I never 
can see him, but I am heart-burned an hour after. 

Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. 

Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made 
just in the mid- way between him and Benedick : the 
one is too like an image, and says nothing ; and the 
other too like my lady's eldest son, evermore tattling. 

L^mi. Then, half signior Benedick's tongue in count 
John's mouth, and half count John's melancholy in 
signior Benedick's face, — 

Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, and 
money enough in his purse, such a man would win any 
"woman in the world. — if a' could get her good will. 

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a 
husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. 

1 Not in f. e. 2 This -word not in f. e. ' Only in quarto. 



Ant. In faith, she 's too curst. 

Beat. Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen 
God's sending that way, for it is said, " God sends a 
curst cow short horns j" but to a cow too curst he 
sends none. 

Jjeon. So, by being too curst, God will send you no 
horns ? 

Beat. Just, if he send me no husband ; for the 
which blessing, I am at him upon my knees every 
morning and evening. Lord ! I could not endure a 
husband with a beard on his face : I had rather lie in 
the woollen. 

Leon. You may light on a husband that hath no beard. 

Beat. What should I do wth him? dress him in 
my apparel, and make him my waiting gentlewoman ? 
He that hath a beard is more than a yoi;th, and he 
that hath no beard is less than a man ; and he that is 
more than a youth is not for me : and he that is less 
than a man I am not for him : therefore, I will even 
take sixpence in earnest of the bear- ward, and lead his 
apes into hell. 



106 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



ACT n. 



Leon. Well then, go you into hell ? 

Beat. No ; but to the gate ; and there will the devil 
meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, 
and say, '"Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to 
heaven ; here 's no place for you maids :" so, deliver I 
up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens : 
he shows me wliere the bachelors sit, and there live 
we as merry as the day is long. 

Ant. Well, niece, I trust, you will be ruled by your 
father. [To Hero. 

Beat. Yes, faith ; it is my cousin's duty to make 
courtesy, and say, ''Father, as it please you:" but yet 
for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or 
else make another courtesy, and say, " Father, as it 
please me." 

Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see 3'ou one day fitted 
with a husband. 

Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal 
than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be over- 
mastered with a piece of valiant dust? to make an 
account of her life to a clod of wayward marl ? No, 
uncle, I '11 none : Adam's sons are my brethren ; and 
truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. 

Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you : if 
the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your 
answer. 

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you 
be not woo'd in good time : if the prince be too im- 
portant/ tell him, there is measure in every thing, and 
so dance out the answer : for, hear me. Hero : wooing, 
wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, 
and a cinque-pace : the first suit is hot and hasty, like 
a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical ; the wedding, 
mannerly, modest, as a measure, full of state and 
ancientry ; and then comes repentance, and with his 
bad legs falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, 
till he sink a-pacc* into his grave. 

Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. 

Beat. I have a good eye, uncle : I can see a church 
by day-light. 

Leon. The revellers are entering, brother. Make 
good room ! 
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthazar ; 

John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and maskers. 

D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your 
friend ? 

Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say 
nothing, I am yours for the walk ; and, especially, when 
I walk away. 

D. Pedro. With me in your company ? 

Hero. I may say so, when I please. 

1). Pedro. And when please you to say so ? 

Hero. When I like your favour; for God defend, 
the lute should be like the case ! 

D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within the 
liouse is Jove.^ 

Hero. Why. then your visor should be thatched. 

D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. 

[Takes her aside. 

Bene. Well, I would you did like me. 

3Iarg. So would not I, for your own sake; for I 
have many ill qualities. 

Bene. Which is one? 

Marg. I say my prayers aloud. 

Bene. I love you the better; the hearers may cry 
Amen. 

Marg. God match me with a good dancer ! 

Bene. Amen. 



Marg. And God keep him out of my sight, when 
the dance is done ! — Answer, clerk. 

Bene. No more words : the clerk is answered. 

Vrs. I know you well enough : you are signior 
Antonio. 

Ant. At a word, I am not. 

Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head. 

Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. 

Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless you 
were the very man. Here 's his dry hand up and 
down : you are he, you are he. 

Ant. At a word, I am not. 

Urs. Come, come : do you think I do not know you 
by your excellent wit ? Can virtue hide itself? Go 
to, mum, you are he : graces will appear, and there 's 
an end. 

Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so ? 

Bene. No. you shall pardon me. ^ 

Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are ? 

Bene. Not now. 

Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had my 
good wit out of the "Hundred merry Tales."* — Well, 
this was signior Benedick that said so. 

Bene. What 's he ? 

Beat. I am sure, you know him well enough. 

Bene. Not I. believe me. 

Beat. Did he never make you laugh ? 

Bene. I pray you, what is he ? 

Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester : a very dull 
fool, only his gift is in devising impossible slanders : 
none but libertines delight in him ; and the commen- 
dation is not in his wit, but in his villainy, for he both 
pleases men, and angers them, and then they laugh at 
him, and beat him. I am sure, he is in the fleet; I 
would he had boarded me ! 

Bene. When I know the gentleman, I '11 tell him 
what you say. 

Beat. Do, do : he '11 but break a comparison or two 
on me ; which, pcradventure, not marked, or not 
laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; and then 
there 's a partridge' wing saved, for the fool will eat 
no supper that night. [Music within^ We must 
follow the leaders. 

Bene. In every good thing. 

Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them 
at the next turning. 

[Dance. Then., exeunt all hut John, Borachio, 
and Claudio. 

John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, and 
hath withdrawn her father to break \\Tith him about it. 
The ladies follow her, and but one visor remains. 

Bora. And that is Claudio: I know him by his 
bearing. 

John. Are not you signior Benedick ? 

Claud. Yovi know me well : I am he. 

John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his 
love : he is enamoured on Hero. I pray you, dissuade 
him from her ; she is no equal for his birth : you ma; 
do the part of an honest man in it. 

Claud. How know you he loves her ? 

John. I heard him swear his affection. 

Bora. So did I too ; and he swore he would marry 
her to-night. 

John. Come, let us to the banquet. 

[Exeunt John and Borachio. 

Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, 
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. 
'T is certain so : — the prince woos for himself. 



1 Importunate. = This word not in f. e. 3 An allusion to the story of Baucis and Philemon, in Ovid. 
only a fragment is extant. It was reprinted in 1835, after its discovery. 



* A popular jest-book, of which 



SCENE I. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



107 



Friendship is constant in all other things, 
Save in the office and affairs of love : 
Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues ; 
Let every eye negotiate for itself, 
And trust no agent, for beauty is a witch, 
Against whose charms faith raelteth into blood. 
This is an accident of hourly proof, 
Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, then^, Hei'o ! 
Re-enter Benedick. 

Bene. Count Claudio? 

Claud. Yea, the same. 

Bene. Come, will you go with me ? 

Claud. Whither? 

Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own 
business, county. What fashion will you vrear the 
garland of? About your neck, like an usurer's chain,* 
or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You 
must wear it one way, for the prince hath got your 
Hero. 

Claud. I wish him joy of her. 

Bene. Why, tliat 's spoken like an honest drover : so 
they .sell bullocks. But did you tliink, the prince would 
have served you thus ? 

Claud. I pray you, leave me. [Angrily.^ 

Bene. Ho ! now you strike like the blind man : 't was 
the boy that stole your meat, and you '11 beat the post. 

Claiul. Tf it will not be, I '11 leave you. [Exit. 

Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl ! Now will ho creep into 

sedges. But, that my lady Beatrice should know 

me, and not know me ! The prince's fool ! — Ha ! it 
may be, I go under tliat title, because I am merry. — 
Yea ; but so I am apt to do myself wrong : I am not 
so reputed : it is the base, though bitter disposition of 
Beatrice, that puts the world into her person, and so 
gives me out. Well, I '11 be revenged as I may. 
Re-enter Don Pedro. 

D. Pedro. Now, signior. where 's the count ? Did 
you see him ? 

Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of lady 
Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in 
a warren : I told him, and, I think, I told him true, 
that your grace had got the good* will of this yoiing 
lady ; and I offered him my company to a willow tree, 
either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to 
bind him up'^ a rod, as being worthy to be whipped. 

D. Pedro. To be whipped ! What 's his fault ? 

Bene. The flat transgression of a scliool-boy ; who, 
being overjoy'd with finding a bird's nest, shows it his 
companion, and he steals it. 

D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression ? 
The transgression is in the stealer. 

Bene. Yet it had not been amiss. The rod had been 
made, and the garland too ; for the garland he might 
have worn himself, and the rod he might have bestow'd 
on you, who, as I take it, have stolen his bird's nest. 

D. Pedro. I v^ill but teach them to sing, and restore 
them to the owner. 

Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my 
faith, you say honestly. 

1). Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you : 
the gentleman, that danced with her, told her she is 
much wrong'd by you. 

Bene. ! she misused me past the endurance of a 
block : an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would 
have answered her ; my very visor began to assume 
life, and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I 
had been myself, that I was the prince's jester ; tliat I 
was duller than a great thaw ; huddling jest upon jest, 



with such importable^ conveyance, upon me, that I stood 
like a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at 
me. She speaks poignards, and every word stabs : if 
her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there 
were no living near her ; she would infect to the north 
star. I would not marry her though she were endowed 
with all that Adam had lent' him before he transgressed : 
she would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, 
and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, 
talk not of her ; you shall find her the infernal Ate in 
good apparel. I would to God, some scholar would 
conjure her ; for, certainly, while she is here, a man 
may live as quiet in hell, as in a sanctuary ; and people 
sin upon purpose, because they would go thither, so, 
indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation follow her. 
Enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero, and Leonato. 

D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. 

Bene. Will your grace command me any service to 
the world's end ? I will go on the slightest errand 
now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send me 
on : I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the 
farthest inch of Asia ; bring you the length of Prester 
John's foot ; fetch you a hair of* the great Cham's 
beard ; do you any embassage to the Pigmies, rather 
than hold three words' conference with this harpy. 
Have you no employment for me ? 

D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company. 

Bene. God, sir, here 's a dish I love not : I can- 
not endure my lady Tongue. [Exit. 

D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the 
heart of signior Benedick. 

Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile ; and I 
gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one : 
marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, 
therefore your grace may well say I have lost it. 

D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady; you have 
put him down. 

Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest 
I should prove the mother of fools. I have brought 
count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. 

D. Pedro. Why, how now, count ? wherefore are 
you sad ? 

Claud. Not sad, my lord. 

D. Pec/ro. How then ? Sick? 

Claiul. Neitlier, my lord. 

Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, 
nor well ; but civil, count, civil as an orange, and 
something of as jealous a complexion.' 

D. Pedro. V faith, lady, I think your blazon to be 
true ; though, I '11 be SAvorn, if he be so, his conceit is 
false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and 
fair Hero is won ; I have broke with her father, and, 
his good will obtained, name the day of marriage, 
and God give thee joy ! 

Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her 
my fortunes : his grace hath made the match, and all 
grace say Amen to it ! 

Beat. Speak, count, 't is your cue. 

Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy : I 
were but little happy, if I could say how much. — Lady, 
as you are mine, I am yours : I give away myself for 
you, and dote upon the exchange. 

Beat. Speak, cousin ; or, if you cannot, stop his 
mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak neither. 

D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. 

Beat. Yea, my lord ; [ thank it, poor fool, it keeps 
on the windy side of care. — My cousin tells him in his 
ear, that he is in her heart. 



' tlierefore : in f. e. ''A gold chain, a common ornamont of thB wealthy. ^ Not in f. e. 
f. e. '' left : in f. e. 8 The old copies have " off." 9 of that jealous complexion : in f. c. 



♦ 5 From the quarto. * impossible : in 



108 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



ACT n. 



Claud. And so she doth, cousin. 

Beat. Good lord ! for alliance thus goes every one 
to the world' but I, and I am sun-burned : I may sit 
in a corner, and cry, heigh ho ! for a husband. 

D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. 

Beat. I would rather have one of your father's getting. 
Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you ? Your father 
got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them. 

D. Pedro. Will you have me. lady ? 

Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another for 
working-days : your grace is too costly to wear every 
day. — But. I beseech your grace, pardon me ; I was 
born to speak all mirth, and no matter. 

D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be 
merry best becomes you ; for, out of question, you w^ere 
born in a merry hour. 

Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried ; but then 
there was a star danced, and under that was I born. — 
Cousins, God give you joy ! 

Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told 
you of? 

Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. — By your grace's 
pardon. [Exit Beatrice. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. 

Leon. There 's little of the melancholy clement in licr. 
my lord : she is never sad, but when she sleeps ; and 
not ever sad then, for I have heard my daughter say, 
she hath often dreamed of unhappiness, and waked 
herself with laughing. 

D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a 
husband. 

Leon. ! by no means, she mocks all her wooers 
out of suit. 

D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick. 

Leoti. O lord ! my lord, if they were but a week 
married, they would talk themselves mad. 

JJ. Pedro. Covinty Claudio, when mean you to go 
to church? 

Claud. To-morrow, my lord. Time goes on crutches, 
till love have all his rites. 

Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence 
a just seven-night ; and a time too brief, too, to have 
all things answer our^ mind. 

D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a 
breatliing ; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall 
not go dully by us. I will, in the interim, undertake 
one of Hercules' labours, which is, to bring signior 
Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a mountain of 
affection, the one with the other. I woixid fain have it 
a match ; and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three 
will but minister such assistance as I shall give you 
direction. 

Leon. My lord. I am for you, though it cost me ten 
nights' watching. 

Claud. And I, my lord. 

D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero ? 

Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help 
my cousin to a good husband. 

D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest 
husband that I know. Thus far can I praise him : he is 
of a noble strain^, of approved valour, and confirmed 
honesty. I will teach you how to humour your cousin, 
that she shall fall in love with Benedick ; — and I, with 
your two helps, will so practise on Benedick, that, in 
despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he 
shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this, 
Cupid is no longer an archer : his glory shall be ours, 
for we are the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I 
will tell you my drift. [Exeunt. 



SCENE n. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 
Enter John and Borachio. 

John. It is so: the count Claudio shall marry the 
daughter of Leonato. 

Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it. 

John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment wdll be 
medicinable to me : I ani sick in displeasure to him, 
and whatsoever comes athwart his affection ranges 
evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this marriage ? 

Bora. Not honestly, my lord ; but so covertly that 
no dishonesty shall appear in me. 

John. Show me briefly how. 

Bora. I think, I told your lordship, a year since, 
how much I am in the favor of Margaret, the wait- 
ing-gentlewoman to Hero. 

John. I remember. ^ 

Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, 
appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber- window. 

John. What life is in that, to be the death of this 
marriage ? 

Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go 
you to the prince, your brother : spare not to tell him, 
that he hath wronged his honovxr in marrying the re- 
nowned Claudio (whose estimation do you mightily hold 
up) to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero. 

John. What proof shall I make of that? 

Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex 
Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato. Look you 
for any other issue? 

John. Only to despite them I will endeavour any 
thing. 

Bora. Go then ; find me a meet hour to draw Don 
Pedro and the count Claudio, alone : tell them, that 
you know that Hero loves me ; intend a kind of zeal 
both to the prince and Claudio, (as in love of yovir bro- 
ther's honour, who hath made this match, and his friend's 
reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the 
semblance of a maid,) that you have discovered thus. 
They will scarcely believe this without trial : offer them 
instances, which shall bear no less likelihood than to 
see me at her chamber-window, hear me call Margaret 
Hero ; hear Margaret term me Borachio* ; and bring 
them to see this the very night before the intended 
wedding : for in the mean time I will so fashion the 
matter, that Hero shall be absent, and there shall 
appear such seeming proofs* of Hero's disloyalty, that 
jealousy shall be called assurance, and all the prepara- 
tion overthrown. 

Jokn. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will 
put it in practice. Be cunning in the working this, and 
thy fee is a thousand ducats. 

Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my 
cunning shall not shame me. 

John. I will presently go learn their day of marriage. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Leonato's Garden. 
Enter Benedick, a Boy folloiving^ . 

Ben£. Boy ! 

Boy. Signior. 

Bene. In my chamber- window lies a book; bring 
hither to me in the orchard. 

Boy. I am here already, sir. 

Bene. I know that; [Exit Boy.] but I would have 
thee hence, and here again. I do much wonder, that 
one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when 
he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he hath 
laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the 




i.e., gets married. = In f. e. my ; some eds. read " answer mind." 3 Lineage. * Claudio : in f. e. ' truth : in f. e. « with a. Boy : in f.e. 



SCENE in. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



109 



argument of his own scorn by falling in love : and such 
a man is Claudio. I have known, when there was no 
music with him but the drum and the fife ; and now 
had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe : I have 
known, when he would have walked ten mile afoot to 
see a good armour ; and now will he lie ten nights 
awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was 
wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an honest 
man. and a soldier ; and now is he turn'd orthographer : 
his word.s are a very fantastical banquet, just so many 
strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with 
these eyes ? I cannot tell; I think not : I will not be 
sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster ; but 
I '11 take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of 
me, he shall never make me such a fool. One woman 
is fair, yet I am well : another is wise, yet I am well : 
another virtuous, yet I am well : but till all graces be 
in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. 
Rich she shall be, that 's certain ; wise, or I '11 none ; 
virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her; fair, or I'll never 
look on her ; mild, or come not near me ; noble, or 
not I for an angel ; of good discourse, an excellent 
musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it please 
God. Ha ! the prince and monsieur Love ! I will 
hide me in the arbour. [Retires behind the trees^. 

Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio. 

D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music? 

Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is, 
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! 

D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself? 

Claud. 0, very well, my lord : the music ended. 
We '11 fit the hid--fox with a penny-worth. 

Enter Balthazar, with Mu.ncians.^ 

D.Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we '11 hear that song again. 

Balth. O ! good my lord, tax not so bad a voice " 
To slander music any more than once. 

D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency, 
To put a strange face on his own perfection. — 
I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 

Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I w^ill sing; 
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit 
To her he thinks not worthy; yet he woos, 
Yet will he swear, he loves. 

D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come : 

Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, 
Do it in notes. 

Balth. Note this before ray notes ; 

There 's not a note of mine that 's worth the noting. 

D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he 
speaks ; 
Note notes, forsooth, and nothing ! [Music. 

Bene. [Behind-Y Now, divine air ! now is his soul 
ravish'd ! — Is it not strange, that sheeps' guts should 
hale souls out of men's bodies ? — Well, a horn for my 
money, when all 's done. 

THE SONO. 

Balth. Sigh no more, ladies.^ .ngh no more, 
Men were deceivers ever : 
One foot in sea. and one on shore ; 
To one thing con.<<tant never. 
Then .sigh not so. 
But let them go, 
And be you blithe and honny. 
Converting all your sounds of ivoe 
Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 

Sing no more ditties, sing no ino, 
Or^ dumps so dull and heavy ; 




The fratids of men were^ ever so, 
Since summer first was leavy. 
Then sigh not .to, &c. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. 

Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. 

D. Pedro. Ha ? no, no : faith, thou singest well 
enough for a shift. 

Bene. [Behind.y An he had been a dog that should 
have howled tlius, they would have hang'd him ; and, I 
pray God, his bad voice bode no mischief ! I had as 
lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague 
could have come after it. 

D.Pedro. Yea, marry; dost thou hear, BaltUazar? 
I pray thee, get us some excellent music, for to-morrow 
night we would have it at the lady Hero's chamber 
window. 

Balth. The best I can, my lord. 

D.Pedro. Do so: farewell. [Exeunt Balthazar 
and Musicians.\ Come hither, Leonato : what was it you 
told me of to-day? that your niece Beatrice was in 
love with signior Benedick ? 

Claud. [Aside to Pedro \ ! ay : — stalk on, stalk on ; 
the fowl sits. [Aloud ^ I did never think that lady 
would have loved any man. 

Leon. No, nor I neither ; but most wonderful, that 
she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she hath 
in all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor. 

Bene. [Behind.^ Is 't possible ? Sits the wind in that 
corner ? 

Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to 
think of it, but that she loves him with an enraged 
affection : it is past the infinite of thought. 

D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. 

Claud. 'Faith, like enough. 

Leon. God ! counterfeit ? There was never counter- 
feit of passion came so near the life of passion, as she 
discovers it. 

D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she ? 

Claud. [Aside ^ Bait the hook well : this fish will bite. 

Leon. What effects, my lord ? She will sit you, — 
you heard my daughter tell you how. 

Claiul. She did, indeed. 

D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you ! You amaze me : 
I would have thought her spirit had been invincible 
against all assaults of affection. 

Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord, ; especially 
against Benedick. 

Bene. [Behind.y I should think this a gull, but that 
the white-bearded fellow speaks it : knavery cannot, 
sure, hide himself in such reverence. 

Claiul. [Aside \ He hath ta'en the infection : hold it up. 

D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to 
Benedick ? 

Leon. No, and swears she never will : that 's her 
torment. 

Claiul. 'T is true, indeed; so your daughter says: 
'• Shall I," says she, "that have so oft encountered him 
with scorn, write to him that I love him ?" 

Leon. This says she, now, when she is beginning to 
write to him ; for she '11 be up twenty times a night, and 
there will she sit in her smock, till she have writ a 
sheet of paper full.'" — My daughter tells us all. 

Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember 
a pretty je.st your daughter told us of. 

Leon. O ! — wlien she had writ it, and was reading 
it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the 
sheets ? — 

Claud. That. 



' Withdraws : inf. e. 
in f. e. 10 Not in f. e. 



2kiil:inf.e. ^ with Music : in f. e. * Aside : in {. e. * O/; in f. e. ^ fraud of men was : in i.e. "i^^Aside: 



110 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



ACT III. 



Leon. ! she tore the letter into a thousand half- 
pence ; railed at herself, that she should be so immodest 



to write to one that she knew would flout her : — " i 
measure him," says she, '• by my own spirit ; for I 
should flout him, if he writ to me ; yea, though I love 
him, I should." 

Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, 
sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, cries' ; — 
" O sweet Benedick ! God give me patience !" 

Leon. She doth indeed : my daughter says so ; and 
the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that my 
daughter is sometimes afeard she will do a desperate 
outrage to herself. It is very true. 

D. Pedro. It were good, that Benedick knew of it 
by some other, if she will not discover it. 

Claud. To what end ? He would but make a sport 
of it, and torment the poor lady worse 

D. Pedro 
hang him. She 's an excellent sweet lady, and out of 
all suspicion she is virtuous. 

Claud. And she is exceeding wise. 

D. Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. 

Leon. ! my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so 
tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that blood 
hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have just 
cause, being her uncle and her guardian. 

D. Pedro. 1 would, she had bestowed this dotage on 



An he should, it were an alms-deed^ to 



Leon. Nay, that 's impossible : she may wear her 
heart out first. 

D. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your 
daughter : let it cool the while. I love Benedick well, 
and I could wish he would modestly examine himself, 
to see how much he is unworthy s-o good a lady. 

Leon. My lord, will you walk ? dimier is ready. 

Claud. [Aside.] If he do not dote upon her upon this, 
I will never trust my expectation. 

-D. Pedro. [A.nde.] Let there be the same net spread 
for her : and that must your daughter and her gentle- 
women carry. The sport will be, when they hold one 
an opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter : 
that 's the scene that I would see, which will be merely 
a dumb show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner. 
[Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. 

Bene. [Advancing from the Arborir .] This can be no 
trick : the conference was sadly® borne. — They^iave the 
truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady : 

Love me ! 
am censtired : 



me ; I would have daff 'd^ all other respects, and made 
her half myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and 
hear what a' will say. 

Leon. Were it good, think you ? 

Claud. Hero thinks surely, she will die ; for she says, 
she will die if he love her not, and she will die ere she 
make her love known, and she will die if he woo her, 
rather than she will 'bate one breath of her accustomed 
crossness. 

D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make tender 
of her love, 't is very possible he '11 scorn it ; for the 
man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. 

Claud. He is a very proper man. 

Z). Pedro. He hath indeed, a good outward happi- 
ness. 

Claud. Before God, and in my mind, very wise. 

D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks that 
are like wit. 

Leon. And I take him to be valiant. 

D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in the 
managing of quarrels you may say* he is wise : for either 
he avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes 
them with a most^ Christian-like fear. 

Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep 
peace : if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a 
quarrel with fear and trembling. 

D. Pedro. And so will he do ; for the man doth fear 
God, howsoever it seems not in him by some large jesfs 
he will make. Well, I am sorry for your niece. Shall 
we go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love ? 

Claud. Never tell him, my lord : let her wear it out 
with good counsel. 



it seems, her aflections have their full bent 



why, it must be requited. I hear how I 
they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the 
love come from her : they say, too, that she will rather 
die than give any sign of affection. — I did never think 
to marry. — I must not seem proud. Happy are they 
that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. 
They say, the lady is fair ; 't is a truth, I can bear them 
witness : and virtuous ; 't is so, I cannot reprove it : and 
wise, but for loving me ; by my troth, it is no addition 
to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I will 
be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some 
odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because 
I have railed so long against marriage ; but doth not 
the appetite alter ? A man loves the meat in his age, 
that he cannot endure in his youth. Shall quips, and 
sentences, and these paper bullets of the brain, awe a 
man from the career of his humour ? No ; the world 
must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, 
I did not think I should live till I were married. — 
Here comes Beatrice. By this day, she 's a fair lady : 
I do spy some marks of love in her. 
Enter Beatrice. 

Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come 
in to dinner. 

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. 

Beat. I took no more pains for those tlianks, than 
you take pains to thank me : if it had been painful, I 
would not have come. 

Bene. You take pleasure, then, in the message ! 

Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a 
knife's point, and not' choke a daw withal. — You have 
no stomach, signior : fare you well. [Exit. 

Bene. Ha ! " Against my will I am sent to bid you 
come in to dinner" — there 's a double meaning in that. 
" I took no more pains for those thanks, than you took 
pains to thank me " — that 's as much as to say, any 
pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks. — If I 
do not take pity of her, I am a villain : if I do not 
love her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture. [Exit. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— Leonato's Garden.' 
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 
Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour; 
1 curses : in f. e. = alms : in f. e. ^ Doffkl. * Quarto reads 



There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice 
Proposing^ with the prince and Clavidio : 
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula 
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse 

366." 5 From the quarto. « Gravely. ' Not in f. e. 8 Conversing. 



SCENE II. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Ill 



Is all of her : say, that thou overheards't us ; 

And bid her steal into the pleached bower, 

Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun, 

Forbid the sun to enter j like favourites, 

Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 

Against that power that bred it. — There will she hide 

her, 
To listen our purpose. This is thy office ; 
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. 

3Iarg. I "11 make her come. I warrant you, presently. 

[Exit. 

Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come. 
As we do trace this alley up and down. 
Our talk must only be of Benedick : 
When I do name him. let it be thy part 
To praise him more than ever man did merit. 
My talk to thee must be how Benedick 
Is sick in love with Beatrice : of this matter 
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, 
That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin : 
Enter Beatrice, .steaUiis; in behind.^ 
For look where Beatrice, like a lapAving, runs 
Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 

Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to sec the fish 
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, 
And greedily devour the treacherous bait : 
So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now 
Is coached in the woodbine coverture. 
Fear you not my part of the dialogiie. 

Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing 
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. — 
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; [AIoiul.- 

I know, her spirits are as coy and wild 
As haggards^ of the rock. 

Urs. But are you sure 

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? 

Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord. 

Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam ? 

Hero. They did intreat me to acquaint her of it ; 
But I persuaded them if they lov'd Benedick, 
To wish him wrestle witli affection. 
And never to let Beatrice know of it. 

Urs. Why did you so ? Doth not the gentleman 
Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed, 
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon? 

Hero. God of love ! I know, he doth deserve 
As much as may be yielded to a man ; 
But nature never fram'd a woman's heart 
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice : 
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
Misprising what they look on ; and her wit 
Values itself so highly, that to her 
All matter else seems weak. She cannot love, 
Nor take no shape nor project of affection. 
She is so self-endeared. 

Urs. Sure, I think so ; 

And, therefore, certainly, it were not good 
-She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. 

Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw 
man, 
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, 
But she would spell him backward : if fair-fac'd, 
f^li ■ "d swear the gentleman should be her sister : 

I I i I hick, why, nature, drawing of an antiek, 
Made a foul blot : if tall, a lance ill-headed ; 
If low, an agate very vilely cut : 

If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds : 
If silent, why, a block moved with none. 
So turns she every man the wrong side out, 

' Enter Beatrice, behind : iji f. e. 2 Not in f. e. ^ wn^ /taicks. 



And never gives to truth and virtue that 
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. 

Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. 

Hero. No ; not to be so odd, and from all fashions 
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable. 
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, 
She would mock me into air : ! she would laugh me 
Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
Therefore, let Benedick, like cover'd fire, 
Consume away in sighs, wasle inwardly: 
It were a better death than die with mocks. 
Which is as bad as die with tickling. 

Urs. Yet tell her of it : hear what she will say. 

Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick, 
And counsel him to fight against liis passion : 
And, truly, I "11 devise some honest slanders 
To stain my cousin with. One doth not know, 
How much an ill word may empoison liking. 

Urs. ! do not do your cousin such a wrong. 
She cannot be so much without true judgment, 
(Having so swift and excellent a wit, 
As she is priz'd to have) as to refuse 
So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick. 

Hero. He is the only man of Italy, 
Always excepted my dear Claudio. 

Urs. I pray yovi, be not angry with me, madam. 
Speaking my fancy : signior Benedick, 
For shape, for bearing, argument and valour. 
Goes foremost in report, through Italy. 

Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. 

Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. — 
When are you married, madam ? 

Hero. Why, in a day*; — to-morrow. Come, go in 
I '11 shoAv thee some attires, and have thy counsel, 
Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. 

Urs. [Aside.] She 's lim'd, I warrant you : we have 
caught her, madam. 

Hero. [Aside.] If it prove so. then loving goes by 
haps : 
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some ■with traps. 

[Exetnit Hero and Ursula 

Beat. [Advanci7ig.] What fire is in mine ears ? Can 
this be true ? 

Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn, so much ? 
Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu ! 

No glory lives but in the lack* of such. 
And, Benedick, love on : I will requite thee. 

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand. 
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee 

To bind our loves up in a holy band ; 
For others say thou dost deserve, and I 
Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato. 

D. Pedro. 1 do but stay till your marriage be con- 
summate, and then go I toward Arragon. 

Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll 
vouchsafe me. 

D. Pedro. Nay; that would be as great a soil in the 
new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his new 
coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold 
with Benedick for his company ; for from the crown of 
his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth : he hath 
twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string, and the little 
liangman dare not shoot at him. He hath a heart as 
sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper ; for what 
his heart thinks, his tongue speaks. 

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 

* every day : in f. e. ^ bcliink the back : iii f . e 



112 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



ACT rn. 



Leon. So say I : methinks you are sadder. 

Claud. I hope he be in love. 

Z). Pedro. Hang him, truant ! there's no true drop of 
blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love. If he be 
sad he wants money. 

Bene. I have the tooth-ache. 

D. Pedro. Draw it. 

Bene. Hang it ! 

Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it after- 
wards. 

D. Pedro. What ! sigh for the tooth-ache ! 

Leon. Where is but a humour, or a worm ? 

Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but he 
that has it. 

Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. 

D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, 
unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises ; 
as to be a Dutchman to-day, a Frenchman to-mor- 
row,' or in the shape of two countries at once; as a 
German from the waist downward, all slops^. and a 
Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he 
have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is 
no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is. 

Claud. If he be not in loA'e with some woman, there 
is no believing old signs : a' brushes his hat o' morn- 
ings ; what should that bode ? 

D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barbers ? 

Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with 
him, and the old ornament of his cheek hath already 
stuff'd tennis-balls. 

Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by the 
loss of a beard. 

D. Pedro. Nay, a' rubs himself with civet : can you 
smell him out by that? 

Claud. That 's as much as to say, the sweet youth 's 
in love. 

J). Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. 

Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face ? 

D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, 
I hear what they say of him. 

Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit, which is now 
crept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops. 

D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him. 
Conclude, conclude^, he is in love. 

Cloud. Nay, but I know who loves him. 

D. Pedro. That would I know too : I warrant, one 
that knows him not. 

Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions ; and in despite 
of all dies for him. 

D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face up- 
wards. 

Beiie. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ache. — Old 
signior. walk aside with me : I have studied eight or 
nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobby- 
horses must not hear. 

[Exeunt Benedick and Leonato. 

D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about 
Beatrice. 

Claiul. 'T is even so. Hero and Margaret have by 
this played their parts with Beatrice, and then the two 
bears will not bite one another when they meet. 
Enter John. 

John. My lord and brother, God save you. 

D. Pedro. Good den, brother. 

John. If your leisure served, I would speak with you. 

D. Pedro. In private ? 

John. If it please you ; yet count Claudio may hear, 
for what I would speak of concerns him. 

' The remainder of the sentence to the period, is from the quarto. 
read " night." 



D. Pedro. What 's the matter ? 

John. [To Claudio.] Means your lordship to be 
married to-morrow? 

D. Pedro. You know, he does. 

John. I know not that, when he knows what I know. 

Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you, dis- 
cover it. 

John. You may think, I love you not : let that 
appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now 
will manifest. For my brother, I think, he holds you 
well, and in dearness of heart hath holp to efiect your 
ensuing marriage ; surely, suit ill spent, and labour ill 
bestowed ! 

D. Pedro. Why, what 's the matter ? 

John. I came hither to tell you ; and. circumstances 
shortened, (for she has been too long a talking of) the 
lady is disloyal. 

Claud. Who? Hero? 

John. Even she: Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every 
man's Hero. 

Claud. Disloyal? 

John. The word is too good to paint out her wicked- 
ness : I could say, she were worse : think you of a 
worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder not till 
farther warrant ; go but with me to-night, you shall 
see her chamber- window entered, even the night before 
her wedding-day : if you love her then, to-morrow wed 
her; but it would better fit your honour to change 
your mind. 

Claud. May this be so ? 

D. Pedro. I will not thinlc it. 

John. If you dare not trust that you see. confess not 
that you know. If you will follow me. I will show 3"ou 
enough ; and when you have seen more, and heard 
more, proceed accordingly. 

Claud. If I see any thing to-night, why I should not 
marry her to-morrow, in the congregation, where I 
should wed, there will I shame her. 

D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, 
I will join with thee to disgrace her. 

John. I will disparage her no farther, till you are 
my witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight*, and 
let the issue show itself. 

D. Pedro. day untowardly turned ! 

Claud. mischief strangely thwarting ! 

John. plague right well prevented ! So will you 
say, when you have seen the sequel. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— A Street. 
Enter Dogberry and Verges, loith the Watch. 

Dogb. Are you good men and true ? 

Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suf- 
fer salvation, body and soul. 

Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for 
them, if they should have any allegiance in them, 
being chosen for the prince's watch. 

Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dog- 
berry. 

Dogb. First, who think you the most desartless man 
to be constable ? 

1 IVatch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal, for 
they can write and read. 

Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God liatl^^H 
blessed you with a good name : to be a well-favoure^^B 
man is the gift of fortune, but to write and read comes ^^ 
by nature. 

2 Watch. Both which, master constable, 



Dogb. You have : I knew it would bo your answer. 

= loo.'^e breeches. ' from the quarto. * from the quarto : the folios 



SCEJSTE III. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



113 



Well, for your favour, sir, why, givo God thanks, and 
make no boast of it ; and for your writing and reading, 
let that appear When there is no need of such vanity. 
You arc thought here to be the most senseless and fit 
man for the constable of the watch : therefore, bear 
you the lantern. This is your charge. You shall 
comprehend all vagrom men : you are to bid any man 
stand, in the prince's name. 

2 Watch. How, if a' will not stand? 

Dogh. Why then, take no note of him, but let him 
go ; and presently call the rest of the watch together, 
and thank God you arc rid of a knave. 

Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is 
none of the prince's subjects. 

JJogh. True, and they are to meddle with none but 
the prince's subjects. — You shall also make no noise 
in the streets; for, for Ihe watch to babble and talk is 
most tolerable, and not to be endured. 

2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk : we know 
what belongs to a watch. 

Dogb. Why, you speak like an ancient and most 
quiet watchman, for I cannot see how sleeping should 
offend; only, have a care that your bills be not stolen. 

fWell, you are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid 
those that: are drunk get them to bod. 

2 Watch. How, if thoy will not ? 

Dogb. Why then, let them alone till "they are sober; 
if they make you not then the better answer, you may 
saj^they arc not the men you took them for. 
"^"^2 Watch. Well, sir. 

Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by 
virtue of your office, to be no true man ; and, for such 
kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them, 
why, the more is for your honesty. 

2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not 
lay hands on him? 

Dogb. Truly, by your office you may; but. I think, 
they that touch pitch will be defiled. The most peace- 
able way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him 
show himself what he is, and steal out of your com- 
pany. 

Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, 
partner. 

Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will; 
much more a man who hath any honesty in him. 

Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must 
call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 

2 Watch. How. if the nurse be asleep, and will not 
hear it ? 

Dogb. Why then, depart in peace, and let the child 
wake her with crying; for the ewe that will not hear 
her lamb when it bacs, will never answer a calf when 
he bleats. 

Verg. 'Tis very true. 

Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, constable, 
are to present the prince's own person : if you meet 
the prince in the night, you may stay him. 
^mJcrg. Nay, by'r lady, that, I think, a' cannot. 

J'ogb. Five shillings to one on't, with any man that 
knows the statutes, he may stay him : marry, not 
witliout the prince be willing: for, indeed, the watch 
on:;! it to offend no man, and it is an offence to stay a 
man against his will. 

Verg. By 'r lady, I thinlc it be so. 

Dogh. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, ma.sters, good night: an 
there be any matter of weight chances, call up me. 
Keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and good 
night. Come, neighbour. 

2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge : let us 



1 ; o- - - 

« Aside : in f. e. a Smoked, ' From the quarto ; the folios, "thy." 

8 



go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and then 
all to bed. 

Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours. I praj 
you, watch about signior Leonato's door : for the wed- 
ding being there to-morrow, there is a great coil to- 
night. Adieu ; be vigilant, I beseech you. 

[Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. 
Enter Borachio and Conrade. 

Bora. What, Conrade ! 

Watch. [Behind and aside.^] Peace ! stir not. 

Bora. Conrade, I say ! 

Con. Here, man ; I am at thy elbow. 

Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched ; I thought, there 
would a scab follow. , 

Con. I will owe thee an answer for that; and now 
forward with thy tale. 

Bora. Si and thee close, then, under this iienthouse. 
for it drizzles rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, 
utter all to thee. 

IVatch. [Aside.] Some treason, masters ; yet stand 
close. 

Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John 
a thousand ducats. 

Con. Is it possible that any villainy should be so 
dear ? 

Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask, if it were possible 
any villainy should be so rich ; for when rich villains 
have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what 
price they will. 

Con. I wonder at it. 

Bora. That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou 
knowest, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a 
cloak, is nothing to a man. 

Con. Yes, it is apparel. 

Bora. I mean, the fashion. 

Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. 

Bora. Tush ! I tnay as well say, the fool 's the fool. 
But seest thou not what a deformed thief this fashion 
is? 

Watch. [Aside.] I loiow that Deformed ; a' has been 
a vile thief this seven year : a' goes up and down like 
a gentleman. I remember his name. 

Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ? 

Con. No : 't was the vane on the house. 

Bora. Seest thou' not, I say, what a deformed thief 
this fashion is ? how giddily a' turns about all the hot 
bloods between fourteen and five and thirty? some- 
time, fashioning them like Pharaoh's soldiers in the 
recchy^ painting; somxetime, like god Bel's priests in 
the old cliurch window; sometime, like the shaven 
Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where 
his cod-piece seems as massy as his club ? 

Con. All this I see, and I see that the fashion wears 
out more apparel than the man. But art thou not 
thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted 
out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion? 

Bora. Not so, neither ; but know, that I have to-night 
wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentlewoman, by the 
name of Hero : she leans me out at her mistress' 
chamber-window, bids me a thou.sand times good night. 
— I tell this talc vilely : — I should first tell thee, how 
the prince, Claudio, and my master, planted, and 
placed, and possessed by my master Don John, saw 
afar off in the orchard this amiable encounter. 

Can. And thought they^ Margaret was Hero ? 

Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio; but 
the devil, my master, knew slie was Margaret, and 
partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, partly 
by the dark night, which did deceive them, but chiefly 



114 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



ACT III. 



by my villainy, which did confirm any slander that 
Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged; 
swore he would meet her, as he was appointed, next 
morning at the temple, and there, before the whole 
congregation, shame her with what he saw over-night, 
and send her home again without a husband. 

1 Watch. [Coming forward.^] We charge you in the 
prince's name, stand. 

2 Watch. Call up the right master constable. We 
have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lecheiy, 
that ever was kno^^^l in the commonwealth. 

1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them : I know 
him, a' wears a lock. 

Con. Masters, maste«s ! 

2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I 
warrant you. 

Con. Masters, — 

1 Watch. Never speak: we charge you, let us obey 
you to go with us. 

Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, 
being taken up of these men's bills. 

Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, 
we '11 obey you. \Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursui-a. 

Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and 
desire her to rise. 

Vrs. I will, lady. 

Hero. And bid her come hither. 

Urs. Well. [Exit Ursula. 

Marg. Troth, I think, your other rabato were better. 

Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I '11 wear this. 

Marg. By my troth, it's not so good: and I warrant, 
your cousin will say so. 

Hero. My cousin 's a fool, and thou art another. 
I '11 wear none but this. 

Marg. I like the now tire within excellently, if the 
hair were a thought browner; and your gown's a most 
rare fashion, i' faith. I saw the duchess of Milan's 
go\Ani, that they praise so. 

Hero. O ! that exceeds, they say. 

Marg. By my troth, it 's but a night-go-WTi in respect 
of yours : cloth o' gold, and cuts, and laced with sil- 
ver, set with pearls down the sleeves, side sleeves,' 
and skirts round, under-borne with a bluish tinsel ; 
but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent fashion, 
yours is worth ten on 't. 

Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is 
exceeding hea^'y' ,' J-. 

Marg. 'T will be heavier soon by the weight of a 
man. 

Hero. Fie upon thee ! art not ashamed ? 

Marg. Of what, lady ? of speaking honourably ? Is 
not marriage honourable in a beggar ? Is not your 
lord honourable without marriage ? I think, you would 
have me say, saving your reverence, — a husband : an 
bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I '11 offend 
no body. Is there any harm in it — the heavier for a 
husband ? None, I think, an it be the right husband, 
and the right wife : otherwise 't is light, and not heavy : 
ask my lady Beatrice else : here she comes. 
Enter Be.itrice. 

Hero. Good morning, coz. 

Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 

Hero. Why, how now ? do you speak in th« sick 
tune ? 

Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. 

1 Not in f. e. ^ Long, full sleeves. ' A popular old tune, mentioned also in Two Gentlemen of Verona. * A play upon the similarity 
of sound between H and ache. * Blessed thistle : " so worthily named," says Cogan's Haven of Health, 15S9, " for the singular virtue* 
that it hath." 



31arg. Clap us into — "Light o' love ;"^ that goes 
without a burden : do you sing it, and I '11 dance it. 

Beat. Yea, " Light o' love," with your heels ! — then, 
if your husband have stables enough, you '11 see he 
shall lack no barns. 

Marg. 0, illegitimate construction ! I scorn that 
with my heels. 

Beat. 'T is almost five o'clock, cousin : 't is time you 
were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill. — Heigh 
ho! 

Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ? 

Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.* 

Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, there 's no 
more sailing by the star. 

Beat. What means the fool, trow? 

Marg. Nothing I ; but God send every one their 
heart's desire ! 

Hero. These gloves the count sent me, tlie^ are an 
excellent perfume. 

Beat. I am stuiTed, cousin; I cannot smell. 

Marg. A maid, and stuffed ! tlicre "s goodly catching 
of cold. 

Beat. 0, God help me ! God help me ! how long 
have you profcss'd apprehension? 

Marg. Ever since you left it. Doth not my \ni 
become me rarejy ? 

Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear it in 
your cap. — By my troth, I am sick. 

Marg. Get you some of this distilled carduus bene- 
dictus,* and lay it to your heart : it is the only thing 
for a qualm. 

Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. 

Beat. Benedictus ! why benedictus ? you have some 
moral in this benedictus. 

Marg. Moral ? no, by my troth, I have no moral 
meaning ; I meant plain holy-thistle. You may tliink, 
perchance, that I think you arc in love : nay, by 'r lady, 
I am not such a fool to thinlc what I list : nor I list 
not to think what I can : nor, indeed. I cannot think, 
if I would tliink my heart out of thinking, that you are 
in love, or that you will be in love, or that you can be 
in love. Yet Benedick was such another, and now is 
he become a man : he swore he would never many : and 
yet now. in despite of his heart, he cats his meat without 
grudging ; and how you may be converted, I Icnow not, 
but, methinks. you look with your eyes, as other women 
do. 

Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps ? 

Marg. Not a false gallop. 

Re-enter Ursula. 

Urs. Madam, withdraw : the prince, the count, signior 
Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of the town, 
are come to fetch you to church. 

Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good 
Ursula. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 
Enter Leonato, tvith Dogberry and Verges 

Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbo 

Dogh. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence "^^ 
you, that decerns you nearly. 

Leon. Brief, I pray you; for, you see, it is a bui 
time with me. 

Dogb. INIarry, this it is, sir. 

Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir. 

Leon. What is it, my good friends ? 

Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little oil" the 
matter : an old man. sir, and his wits are not so blunt, 




% 



SCENE I. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHE^G. 



115 



as, God help, I would desire they were ) but,' in faith, 
honest as the skin between his brows. 

Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as lionest as any man 
living, that is an old man, and no honester than I. 

Dogb. Comparisons are odorous : palabras, neigh- 
bour Verges. 

Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. 

Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are 
the poor Duke's officers ; but, truly, for mine own part, 
if I were as tedious as a king, I could find in my heart 
to bestow it all of your worship. 

Leon. All thy tediousncss on me ? ha ! 

Dogb. Yea, an 't were a thousand pound more than 
't is ; for I hear as good exclamation on your worship, 
as of any man in the city, and though I be but a poor 
man, I am glad to hear it. 

Verg. And so am I. 

Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. 

Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your 
worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as arrant 
knaves as any in Messina. 

Dogb. A good old man, sir; he will be talking: as 
they say, when Ihe age is in, the wit is out. God help 
us ! it IS a world to see ! — Well said, i' faith, neighbour 
Verges : — well, God 's a good man ; an two men ride of 
a horse, one must ride behind. — An honest soul, i' faith, 
sir : by my troth he is, as ever broke bread ] but, God 



is to be worshipped : all men are not alike ; alas, good 
neighbour ! 

Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you. 
Gifts, that God gives. 
I must leave you. 



Dogb. 
Leon. 
Doprb. 



One word, sir. Our watch, sir, 



have, indeed, 



comprehended two auspicious persons, and we would 

have them this morning examined before your worship. 

Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring it 

me : I am now in great haste, as it may appear unto 



you. 
Dogb. 
Leon. 



It shall be suffigance. 
Drink .some wine ere you go. 
Enter a Messenger. 



Fare you well. 



Dogb. 



Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your 
daughter to her husband. 

Leon. I '11 wait upon them : I am ready. 

[Exeunt Leonato and Messenger. 
Go, good partner, go ; get you to Francis 
Seacoal; bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the 
gaol : we are now to examination these men. 

Verg. And we must do it wisely. 

Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you ; here 'a 
that shall drive some of them to a non com : only get 
the learned writer to set down our excommunication, 
and meet me at the gaol. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— The inside of a Church. 

Enter Don Pedro, John, Leonato, Friar, Claudio, 

Benedick, Hero, Beatrice, &c. 

Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief : only to the 
plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their 
particular duties afterwards. 

Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady? 

Claud. No. 

Leon. To be married to her • friar, you come to 
marry lier. 

Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this 
count ? 

Hero. I do. 

Friar. If either of you know any inward impediment, 
why you should not be conjoined, I charge you on your 
souls to litter it. 

Claud. Know you any. Hero ? 

Hero. None, my lord. 

Friar. Know you any, count ? 

Leon. I dare make his answer ; none. 

Claud. 0, what men dare do ! what men may do ! 
what men daily do,' not knowing what they do ! 
^ Bene. How now ! Interjections ? Why then, some 

fof laughing, as. ha ! ha ! he !^ 
Claud. Stand thee by. Friar. — Father, by your leave : 
ill you with free and unconstrained soul 
ve me this maid, your daughter ? 
Leon. As freely, son, as God did gi^'e her me. 
Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose 
worth 
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? 
D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. 
Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankful 
ness. — 



1 The rest of the speech is from the quarto. 
by Pope. * rage : in f. e. » wide : in t e. 



There, Leonato : take her back again : 

Give not this rotten orange to your friend ) 

She 's but the sign and semblance of her honour. — 

Behold, how like a maid she blushes here : 

0, what authority and show of truth 

Can cunning sin cover itself withal ! 

Comes not that blood, as modest evidence. 

To witness simple virtue ? Would you not swear, 

AH you that see her, that she were a maid. 

By these exterior shows ? But she is none : 

She knows the heat of a luxurious bed ; 

Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. 

Leon. What do you mean, my lord ? 

Claud. Not to be married, 

Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. 

Leon. De^ my lord, if you, in your own proof, 
Have vanqfuish'd the resistance of her youth. 
And made defeat of her virginity, 

Claud. I know what you would say : if I have known 
her. 
You '11 say, she did embrace me as a husband, 
And so extenuate the 'forehand sin : 
No, Leonato, 

I never tempted her with word too large ; 
But, as a brother to his sister, showed 
Bai^hful sincerity, and comely love. 

Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you ? 

Claud. Out on thy* seeming ! I will wTite against it, 
You seem to me as Dian in her orb, 
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown : 
But you are more intemperate in your blood 
Than Venus, or those pamper"d animals 
That range* in savage sensuality. 

Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wild?* 

Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you ? 

2 A quotation from tho Accidence, s thee : in f. e. The change was suggested also 



116 



MUCH ADO ABOUT KOTHING. 



ACT IV, 



D. Pedro. What should I speak ? 

I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about 
To link luy dear friend to a common stale. 

Leon. Are these things spoken, or do I but dream ? 

John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things arc 
true. 

Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. 

Hero. True ? O God ! 

Clavd. Leonato. stand I here ? 
Is this the prince ? Is this the prince's brother ? 
Is this face Hero's ? Are our eyes our. own ? 

Leon. All this is so ; but what of this, my lord ? 

Claud. Let me but move one qxiestion to yoiu- 
daughter, 
And, by that fatherly and kindly power 
That you have in her, bid her answer truly. 

Leon. I charge thee do so\ as thou art my child. 

Hero. God, defend me ! how am I beset ! — 
Wliat kind of catechizing call you this ? 

Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. 

Hero. Is it not Hero ? Who can blot that name 
With any just reproach ? 

Claud. Marry, that can Hero : 

Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. 
What man was he talk'd with you yesternight 
Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one ? 
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. 

Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. 

1). Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. — Leonato, 
I am sorry you must hear : upon mine honoxir, 
Myself, my brother, and this grieved count, 
Did see her, liear her, at that hour last night, 
Talk with a i-uffian at her chamber window; 
Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal villain, 
Confessed the vile encounters they have had 
A thousand times in secret. 

John. Fie, fie ! they are not to be nam'd, my lord, 
Not to be spoke of ; 

There is not chastity enough in language, 
Without oifencc to utter them. Thou pretty lady, 
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. 

Claud. O Hero ! what a Hero hadst thou been. 
If half thy outward graces had been plac'd 
About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart ! 
But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair ! farewell, 
Thou pure impiety, and impious purity ! 
For thee I '11 lock up all the gates of love. 
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang. 
To tui-n all beauty into tiioughts of harm, 
And never shall it more be gracious. 

Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me ? 

[Hero .nvoons. 

Beat. AiAHiy, how now, cousin ! wherefore sink you 
down ? 

John. Come, let us go. These things, come thus to 
light. 
Smother her spirits iip. 

[Exeunt Don Pedro, John, and CL.\t'Dio. 

Bene. How doth the lady? 

Beat. Dead, I think : — help, uncle ! 

Hero ! why. Hero I — ^Uncle ! — Signior Benedick ! — 
friar ! 

Leon. O fate ! take not away thy heav}"" hand : 
Death is the fairest cover for her shame, 
That may be wisli"d for. 

Beat. How now. cousin Hero ? 

Friar. Have comfort, lady. 

Leon. Dost thou look up? 



Friar. Yea ; wherefore should she not ? 

Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly 
thing 
Cry shame upon her ? Could she here deny 
The story that is printed in her blood ? — 
Do not live. Hero ; do not ope thine eyes ; 
For did I think thou wouldst not qiiicldy die. 
Thought I tliy spirits were stronger than thy shames, 
My.«clf would, on the hazard^ of reproaches. 
Strike at thy life. Griev"d I, I had but one ? 
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frown^ ? 
O, one too much by thee ! Why had I one ? 
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes ? 
Why had I not with charitable hand 
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates ; 
Who smirched thus, and mir'd with infamy, 
I might have said, " No part of it is mine, ^ 
This shame derives itself from unknown loins ?" 
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd, 
And mine tliat I was proud on ; mine so much, 
That I myself was to myself not mine, 
Valuing of her ; wliy, she — ! she is fallen 
Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea 
Hath di'ops too few to wash her clean again. 
And salt too little, which may season give 
To her soul-tainted* flesh ! 

Bene. Sir. sir. be patient. 

For nry part, I am so attir'd in wonder, 
I know not what to say. 

Beat. O. on my soul, my cousin is belied ! 

Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night ? 

Beat. No, truly, not ; although, until last night, 
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. 

Leo7i. Conlirnv'd, confirm'd? 0, that is strongei 
made. 
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron ! 
Would the two princes lie ? and Claudio lie. 
Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness, 
Wash'd it \s-ith tears ? Hence ! from her ; let her die. 

Friar. Hear me a little ; 
For I have only been silent so long. 
And given way unto this cross* of fortune, 
By noting of tlie lady : I have mark'd 
A thousand blushing apparitions 
To start into her face ; a thousand innocent shames, 
In angel whiteness, beat away those blushes ; 
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire. 
To burn the errors that these princes hold 
Against her maiden truth. — Call me a foolj 
Trust not my reading, nor my observation, 
"WTiich with experimental seal doth warrant 
The tenour of my book ; trust not my age, 
ISIy reverend calling', nor divinity. 
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
Under some blighting' error. 

Leon. Friar, it cannot be. 

Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left, 
Is, that she will not add to her damnation 
A sin of perjury : she not denies it. 
Why seek'st tliou then to cover with excuse 
That which appears in proper nakedness ? 

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of? 

Hero. They know, that do accuse me : I know none 
If I know more of any man alive. 
Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, 
Let all my sins lack mercy ! — 0, my father ! 
Prove you that any man with me convers'd 
At houi-s umneet, or that I yesternight 




' From the quarto. 
' biting : in f. e. 



2 rearward : in f. e. s frame ; in f. e. * foul-tainted : in f. e. * course : in f. e. • reverence, calling : in f a 



SCENE I. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



117 



Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, 
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death. 

Friar. There is some strange misprision in the 
princes. 

Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour; 
And if their wisdoms be misled in this, 
The practice of it lives in John the bastard, 
Whose spirits toil in fraud and' villainies. 

Leon. I know not. If they speak but truth of her, 
These hands shall tear her ; if they wrong her honour, 
The proudest of them shall well hear of it. 
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, 
Nor age so eat up my invention, 
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means. 
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends. 
But they shall find, avvak'd in such a cause°. 
Both strength ofSimb, arid policy of mind. 
Ability in means, and choice of friends, 
To quit me of them throughly. 

Friar. Pause a while, 

And let my counsel sway you in this case. 
Your daughter, here, the princes^ left for dead ; 
Let her awhile be secretly kept in, 
And publish it, that she is dead indeed : 
Maintain a mourning ostentation; 
And on your family's old monument 
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites 
That appertain unto a burial. 

Leon. What shall become of this ? What will this do ? 

Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf 
Change slander to remorse ; that is some good : 
But not for that dream I on this strange course, 
But on this travail look for greater birth. 
She djang, as it must be" so maintain'd, 
Upon the instant that she was accus'd. 
Shall be lamented, pitied and cxeus'd 
Of every hearer ; for it so falls out, 
That what we have we prize not to the worth, 
Whiles we enjoy it, but being lost and lack'd*, 
Why, then we rack tlie value ; then we find 
The virtue, that possession Avould not show us. 
Whiles it was ours. — So will it fare with Claudio : 
When he .shall hear she died upon his words, 
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
Into his study of imagination. 
And every lovely organ of her life 
Sliall come apparell'd in more precious habit, 
More moving, delicate, and full of life. 
Into the eye and prospect of his soul. 
Than wlien she liv'd indeed : — Uien shall he mourn 
(If ever love had interest in his liver) 
And wish he had not so accus'd her ; 
No, though he thought his accusation true. 
Let this be so, and doubt not but success 
Will fashion the event in better shape 
Than I can lay it downi in likelihood. 
Bat if all aim but this be levell'd false, 
■■The supposition of the lady's death 

Will quench the wonder of her infamy : 
■ And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her 
As best befits her wounded reputation, 
J II some reclusive and religious life. 
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. 

Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you : 
And though you know, my inwardness and love 
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, 
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this 
As secretly and jxTstly, as your soul 
Should with your body. 



Leon. Being that I flow in grief, 

The smallest twine may lead me. 

Friar. 'T is well consented : presently away, 

For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure. — 
Come, lady, die to live : this wedding day. 

Perhaps, is but prolong'd : have patience, and 

endure. [Exeunt Friar, Hero, and Leonato. 
Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while ? 
Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. 
Bene. I will not desire that. 
Beat. You have no reason ; I do it freely. 
Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is 
vsTonged. 

Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me 
that would right her ! 

Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship ? 
Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. 
May a man do it ? 



Bene. 
Beat. 



It is a man's ofiice, but not yours. 



Be7ie. I do love nothing in the world so well as you. 
Is not that strange ? 

Beat. As strange as the thing I know not. It were 
as possible for me to say. I loved nothing so well as 
you ; but believe me not, and yet I lie not : I confess 
nothing, nor I deny nothing. — I am sorry for my cousin. 

Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. 

Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it. 

Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me ; and I 
will make him eat it, that says I love not you. 

Beat. Will you not eat your word ? 

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it. I 
protest, I love thee. 

Beat. Why, then, God forgive m.e ! 

Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice ? 

Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour : I vras 
about to protest, I loved you. 

Bene. And do it with all thy heart. 

Beat. I love you with so much of my heart, that 
none is left to protest. 

Be7ie. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. 
Kill Claudio. 

Ha ! not for the -wide world. 
You kill me to deny it. Farewell. 



Beat. 
Bene. 
Beat. 
Bene. 
Beat. 



Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 
I am gone, though I 



am here : — ^there is vp 
let me go. 



love in y'ou. — Nay, I pray you, 

Bc7ie. Beatrice. — 

In faith, I will go. 
We '11 l»e friends first. 

You dare easier be friends with me, than fight 
with mine enemy. 

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy. 

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that 
hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? — 
0, that I were a man ! — What ! bear her in hand until 
they come to take hands, and then with public accusa- 
tion, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour, — God, 
that I were a man ! I would cat his heart in the 
market-place. 

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice — 

Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ! — a proper 
saving. 



Beat. 
Bene. 

Beat. 



Nay, 



but Beatrice — 
•she is 



■flTonged. she is slan- 



Bene. 

Beat. Sweet Hero !- 
dercd, she is undone. 

Bene. Beat — 

Beat. Princes, and counties ! Surely, a princely testi- 
mony, a goodly count, count eonfect ; a sweet gallant, 
surely ! 0, that I were a man for his sake ! or that I 



1 frame of: in f. e. ' kind : in f. e. ' princess : in quarto * lack'd and lost : in f. e. 



118 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



ACT V. 



had ajiy friend would be a man for my sake ! But 
manhood is melted into courtesy, valour into compli- 
meut, and men arc only turned into tongue, and trim 
ones too : he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only 
tells a lie, and swears it. — I cannot be a man with 
wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving. 

Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love 
thee. 

Beat. Use it for my love some other way than swear- 
ing by it. 

Bene. Think you in your soul the count Claudio 
hath WTonged Hero ? 

Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul. 

Bene. Enough ! I am engaged, I will challenge him. 
I will kiss your hand, and so I leave you. By (his hand. 
Claudio shall render me a dear account. As you hear 
of me, so think of me. Go, comfort yovir cousin : I 
must say she is dead; and so, farewell. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— A Prison. 

Enter Dogbkruy, Verges, and Sc.vton, in gowns ; and 

the Watch, with Conrade and Borachio. 

Dogb. Is our whole disscmbly appeared ? 

Vcrg. ! a stool ami a cushion for the sexton. 

Sexton. Which be the malefactors ? 

Dogb. JNIarry, that am I and my partner. 

Verg. Nay, that 's certain : wc have the exhibition 
to examine. 

Sc.vton. But which are the offenders that are to be 
examined ? let them come before master constable. 

Dos;b. Yea. marrv, let them come before me. — What 
is your name, friend ? 

Bora. Borachio. 

Dogb. Pray wi'ite down Borachio. ^Yours, sirrah? 

Con. I am a gentleman, sir, 
Conrade. 

Dogb. Write down master 
Masters, do you serA'e God ? 

Con. Bo)-n. Yes, sir, we hope.^ 

Dogb. Write dovm — that they hope they sers^e God: 
• — and wTite God first : for God defend but God should 
go before such villains ! — Masters, it is proved already 
that you are little better than false knaves, and it will 
go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you 
for yourselves ? 

Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. 

Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you ; but 
I will go about with him. — Come you hither, sirrah : a 
word in your ear, sir : I say to you, i^ is thought you 
are false knaves. 

Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. 

Dogb. Well, stand aside. — 'Fore God, they are both 
in a tale. Have you wTit down, that they are none? 

Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to 



and my name is 
gentleman Coitrade. — 



examine : you must call forth the watch that are their 
accusers. 

Dogb. Yea, marry, that 's the eftest* way. — Let the 
watch come forth. — Masters, I charge you, in the 
prince's name, accuse these men. 

1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the 
prince's brother, was a villain. 

Dogb. Write down — prince John a villain. — ^Why, 
this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother villain. 

Bora. Master constable, — 

Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy 
look, I promise thee. 

Sexto7i. What heard you him say else ? 

2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand 
ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero wrong- 
fully. 

Dogb. Flat burglary as ever was ^mmitted.^ 
Verg. Yea. by the mass, that it is. 
Se.rton. What else, fellow? 

1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, tipon 
his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, 
and not marry her. 

Dogb. villain ! thou wilt be condemned into ever- 
lasting redemption for this. 
Sexton. What else ? 

2 Watch. This is all. 

Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can 
deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen 
away: Hero was in this manner accused, in this very 
manner refused, and. upon the grief of this, suddenly 
died. Master constable, let these men be bound, and 
brought to Lconato's : I will go before, and show him 
their examination. [Exit. 

Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned. 

Verg. Let them be bound. 

Bora. Hands off, coxcomb !' 

Dogb. God 's my life ! where 's the sexton? let him 
write dowm the prince's ofhcer, coxcomb. — Come, bind 
them. — Thou naughty varlet. 

Con. Away ! you are an ass ; you are an ass. 

Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place ? Dost thou 
not suspect my years ? — 0, that he were here to write 
me down an ass ! — but, masters, remember, that I am 
an ass ; though it be not written down, yet forget not 
that I am an ass. — No, thou A'illain, thou art full of 
piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I 
am a wise fellow ; and. which is more, an officer ; and, 
which is more, a householder ; and, which is more, as 
pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina ; and one 
that knows the law, go to: and a rich fellow enough, 
go to : and a fellow that hath had leases*; and one that 
hath two gowns, and everything handsome about him. 
Bring him away. 0, that I had been writ down an 
ass ! [Exeunt. 



ACT V 



SCENE I. — Before Leonato's House. 
Enter Leonato and Antonio. 

Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; 
And 't is not wisdom thus to second grief 
Against yourself. 

Leon. I pray thee, cease thy coimsel, 

Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
As water in a sieve. Give not me counsel ; 



Nor let no comforter delight mine ear. 

But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine : 

Bring me a father that so lov'd liis child. 

Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, 

And bid him speak to me^ of patience ; 

Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine. 

And let it answer every strain for strain ; 

As thus for thus, and such a grief for such. 

In every lineament, branch, shape, and form : 



I This spoech, and lialf of the one following, to the word " Master.s," is from the quarto. " Readiest : in f. e. 
them be in the hands — Con. Otf I coxcomb ! * losses : in f. e. * The words " to me " : not in f. e. 



3 in f. e : Verg. Let 



SCENE I. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



119 




Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thine, I say. 

D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. 

Leon. My lord, my lord, 

I '11 prove it on his body, if he dare ; 
Despite his nice fence, and his active practice, 
His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood. 

Claud. Away ! I will not have to do with you. 

Leon. Canst thou so daff me*? Thou hast kill'd m;^ 
child : 
If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. 

Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed : 
But that 's no matter ; let him kill one first : — 
Win me and wear me, — let him answer me. — 
Come, follow me, boy ! come, sir boy, come, follow mc. 
Sir boy, I '11 whip you from your foining fence; 
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. 

Leon. Brother — 

A7it. Content yourself. God knows, I lov'd my niece ; 
And she is dead ; slander'd to death by villains, 
That dare as well answer a man, indeed, 
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue. 
Boys, apes, braggarts. Jacks, milksops ! — 

Leon. Brother Antony — • 

Ant. Hold you content. What, man! I know them; 
yea. 
And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple : 
Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys, 
That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander. 
Go antickly, and show an outward hideousness, 
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words. 
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst, 
And this is all ! 

Leon. But, brother Antony- 



Ant. 



Come, 't is no matter; 



If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard ; 
Call sorrow joy;' cry hem, when he .should groan; 
Patch grief with proverbs : make misfortune drunk 
With candle- wasters ;' bring him you to me, 
And I of him will gather patience. 
But there is no such man ; for, brother, men 
Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief 
Which they themselves not feel ; but, tasting it. 
Their counsel turns to passion, which before 
Would give preceptial medicine to rage. 
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread. 
Charm ache with air, and agony with words. 
No, no ; 't is all men's office to speak patience 
To those that WTing under the load of sorrow, 
But no man's A'irtue. nor sufficiency, 
To be so moral when he shall endure 
The like himself. * Therefore give mc no counsel : 
My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 

Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ. 

Leon. I pray thee, peace ! I will be flesh and blood; 
For there was never yet philcsopher, 
That could endure the tooth-ache patiently. 
However they have writ the s!yle of gods. 
And made a push^ at chance and sufferance. 

Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; 
Make those that do offend you suffer too. 

Leon. There thou speak"st reason: nay, I will do 
so. 
My soul doth tell me Hero is belied, 
And that shall Claudio know: so shall the prince, 
And all of them, that thus dishonour her. 
Enter Don Pedro and Claudio. 

Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio hastily. 

D. Pedro. Good den, good den. 

Claud. Good day to both of you. 

Leon. Hear you. my lords, — 

D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. 

Leon. Some haste, my lord ! — well, fare you well, 
my lord. — 
Are you so hasty now? — ^well, all is one. 

D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old 
man. 

Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling. 
Some of us would lie low. 

Claud. Who wrongs him ? 

Leon. Marry, thou dost \ATong me ; thou, dissem- 
bler, thou. — 
Nay, never lay tliy hand upon thy sword, 
I fear thee not. 

Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand. 

If it should give your age such cause of fear. 
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. 

Leon. Tush, tush, man ! never fleer and jes| at me: 
I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool ; 
As, under privilege of age, to brag 
What I have done being young, or what would do. 
Were I not old. Know, Claudio. to thy head, 
-Thou hast so \ATong'd mine innocent child and me 

lat I nm forc'd to lay my reverence by, 

nd with grey hairs, and bruise of many days, 

challenge thee to trial of a man. 

ay, thou hast belied mine innocent child : 
Thy slander hath gone through and through her 

heart. 
And she lies buried with her ancestors, 
O ! in a tomb where never scandal slept. 
Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villainy. 

Claud. My villainy? 

1 And sorrow, wag ! in f. e. ' Bon .Tonson calls a bonlv-worm, a candle- waster. This would make the text mean, pedantic speeches. 
* pish : oflen spelt as in the text. * Put me aside. ^ Draw tkeir instruments from their cases 



Do not you meddle, let me deal in this. 

D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your 
patience. 
My heart is sorry for your daughter's death ; 
But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing 
But what was true, and very full of proof. 

Leon. My lord, my lord ! — 

D. Pedro. I will not hear you. 

Leon. No ? 

Come, brother, away. — I will be heard. — 

Ant. And shall, or some of us will smart for it. 

[E.Tcmit Leonato and Antonio. 
Enter Benedick. 

D. Pedro. See, see ! here comes the man we went 
to seek. • 

Claud. Now, signior, what news? 

Bene. Gosd daj^, my lord. 

D. Pedro. Welcome, signior: you are almost come 
to part almost a fray. 

Claud. We had like to have had our two noses 
snapped off with two old men without teeth. 

D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother. What think'st 
thou ? 
too young for them. 

Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I 
came to seek you both. 

Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee ; 
for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain have 
it beaten away. Wilt thou use thy wit? 

Bene. It is in my scabbard : shall I draw it ? 

D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side? 

Claud. Never any did so, though very many have 
been beside their wit 
the minstrels' ; draw to pleasure us. 



Had we fought, I doubt, we should have been 



I will bid thee draw, as we do 



120 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



ACT V. 



D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale. — 
Art thou sick, or angry ? 

Claud. What ! courage, man ! "What though care 
killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill 
care. 

Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an 
you charge it against me. — ^I pray you. choose another 
subject. 

Claud. Nay then, giA'e him another staff: thie last 
was broke cross. 

D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more. 
I think he be angry indeed. 

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.^ 

Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear ? 

Claud. God bless me from a challenge ! 

Bene. You are a villain. — I jest not : — I will make 
it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when 
you dare. — Do me right, or I will protest your coward- 
ice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death shall 
fall heavy on you. Let me hear from you. 

Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good 
cheer. 

D. Pedro. What, a feast? a feast? 

Claud. I' faith, I thank him ; he hath bid me to a 
calf 's-head and capers,^ the which if I do not carve 
most curiously, say my knife 's naught. — Shall I not 
find a woodcock too ?^ 

Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well : it goes easily. 

i). Pedro. I '11 tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit 
the other day. I said, thou liadst a fine wit : " True," 
said she, "a fine little one:" '"No," said I, " a great 
wit :" " Right," says she, '• a great gross one :" " Nay," 



body:" "Nay," said I 



"1 ""^i" •='1^; 

" the gentleman is wise :" 
'• Certain," said she, " a wise gentleman :" " Nay," said 
I, "he hath the tongues :" "That I believe," said she, 
" for he swore a thing to me on Monday night, which 
he forswore on Tuesday morning : there 's a double 
tongue ; there 's two tongues." Thus did she, an hour 
together, trans-shape thy particular virtues ; yet at last 
she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the propcrcst man 
in Italy. 

Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said 
she cared not. 

D. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet, for all that, 
an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him 
dearly. The old man's daughter told us all. 

Claud. All, all ; and moreover, who*saw him when 
he was hid in the garden. * 

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's 
horns on the sensible Benedick's head ? 

Claud. Yea, and text underneath, " Here dwells 
Benedick the married man !" 

Bene. Fare you well, boy: j'ou know my mind. I 
will leave you now to your gossip-like humour : • you 
break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, God be 
thanked, hurt not. — My lord, for your many courtesies 
I thank you : I must discontinue your company. Your 
brother, the bastard, is fled from Messina : you have, 
among you, killed a sweet and innocent lady. For my 
lord Lack-beard, there, he and I shall meet; and till 
then, peace be with him. [Exit Benedick. 

D. Pedro. He is in earnest. 

Claud. In most profound earnest ; and, I '11 warrant 
you, for the love of Beatrice. 

D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee ? 

Claud. Most sincerely. 



D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when he goes 
in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit ! 

Claud. He is then a giant to an ape ; but then is an 
ape a doctor to such a man. 

D. Pedro. But, soft you ; let me be : pluck up, my 
heart, and be sad. Did he not say, my brother was 
fled? 

'Enter Dogberry. Verges, and the Watch, with 
CoxRADE and Borachio. 

Bogh. Come, you, sir : if justice cannot tame you, 
she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance. 
Nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be 
looked to. 

D. Pedro. How now ! two of my brother's men 
bound ? Borachio, one ? 

Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord. 

D. Pedro. OtFicers, what offence have the^e men 
done ? 

Dogh. Marry, sir, they have committed false report ; 
moreover, they have spoken untruths ; secondarily, 
they are slanders ; sixth and lastly, they have belied 
a lady ; thirdly, they have verified unjust things : and, 
to conclude, they are lying kiiaves. 

D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they haA^e done? 
thirdly, I ask thee, what 's their offence ? sixth and 
lastly, why they are committed ? and, to conclude, what 
you lay to their charge ? 

Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own di\ision ; 
and, by my troth, tlicre 's one meaning well suited. 

D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, that 
you are thus bound to your answer ? this learned 
constable is too cunning to be understood. What 's 
your offence ? 

j Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no farther to mine 
answer : do you hear me, and let this count kill me. I 
have deceived even your very eyes : what your wis- 
doms could not discover, these shallow fools have 
brought to light ; who, in the night, overheard me con- 
fessing to this man, how Don John your brother, 
incensed me to slander the lady Hero ,• hoAv you were 
brought into the orchard, and saw me court Margaret 
in Hero's garments ; how you disgraced her, when 
you should marry her. My villainy they have upon 
record, which I had rather seal with my death, than 
repeat over to my shame. The lady is dead upon mine 
and my master's false accusation ; and, briefl)', I de- 
sire nothing but the reward of a villain. 

D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through 
your blood ? 

Claud. I have drunk poison whiles he vitter'd it. 

D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this ? 

Bora. Yea; and paid me richly for the practice of it. 

D. P«dro. He is compos'd and fram'dof treachery. — 
And fled he is upon this villainy. 

Claud. Sweet Hero ! now thine image doth appear 
In the* rare semblance that I loved it first. 

Dogh. Come ; bring away the plaintiffs : by this time 
our sexton hath reformed signior Leonato of the m 
ter. And masters, do not forget to specify, when ti 
and place shall serve, that I am an ass. 

Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato, an' 
the sexton too. 

Re-enter Leonato, Antonio, and the Sexton. 

Leon. Which is the villain ? Let me see his eycSj 
That when I note another man like him, 
I may avoid him. Which of these is he? 
I Bora. If you would know your wronger, look on me. 




1 "Largre belts were worn witli the girdle before, but for wrestling, the buckle was turned behind, to give the adversary n fairer grasp 
nt the girdle. The action was therefore a challenge." — Holt White. ^ a capon : in f. e. ^ An allusion to a popular belief tliat a wood- 
cock had no brains. '' God — with a period at the end of the speech : in f. e. 



SCENE n. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



121 



P 



Leon. Art thou the slave, that with thy breath hast 
kill'd 
Mine innocent child ? 

Bora. Yea, even I alone. 

Leon. No, not so, villain ; thou beliest thyself : 
Here stand a pair of honourable men, 
A third is fled, that had a hand in it. — 
I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death : 
Record it with your high and worthy deeds. 
'T was bravely done, if you bethink you of it. 

Claud. I know not how to pray your patience. 
Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself; 
Impose me to what penance your invention 
Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn'd I not, 
But in mistaking. 

D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I ; 

And yet, to satisfy this good old man, 
I would bend under any heavy weight 
That he '11 enjoin me to. 

Leon. I cannot bid you cause^ my daughter live ; 
That were impossible ; but, I pray you both, 
Possess the people in Messina, here, 
How innocent she died : and, if your love 
Can labour aught in sad invention. 
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb. 
And sing it to her bones : sing it to-night. — 
To-morrow morning come you to my house, 
And since you could not be my son-in-law. 
Be yet my nephew. My brother hath a daughter, 
Almost the copy of my child that 's dead. 
And she alone is heir to both of us : 
Give her the right you should have given her cousin. 
And so dies my revenge. 

Claud. noble sir ! 

Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me. 
I do embrace your offer, and dispose 
For henceforth of poor Ciaudio. 

Leon. To-morrow, then, I will expect your coming : 
To-night I take my leave. — Tliis naughty man 
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, 
Who, I believe, was pacf in all this wrong, 
Hir'd to it by your brother. 

Bora. No, by my soul, she was not ; 

Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me ; 
But always hath been just and virtuous, 
In any thing that I do know by her. 

Dogb. Moreover, sir, which, indeed, is not under 
white and black, this plaintiff here, the offender, did 
call me ass : I beseech you. let it be remembered in his 
punishment. And also, the watch heard them talk of 
one Deformed : they say, he wears a key in his ear, and 
a lock hanging by it, and borrows money in God's 
name ; the which he hath used so long, and never paid, 
that now men grow hard-hearted, and Avill lend nothing 
for God's sake. Pray you, examine him upon that 
point. 

Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. 

Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thankful 
^and reverend youth, and I praise God for you. 

Leon. There 's for thy pains. 

Dogb. God save the foundation ! 

Leon. Go : I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I 
than.k thee. 

Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your worship; 
which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself for 
the example of others. God keep your worship ; I vkish 
your worship well : God restore you to health. I humbly 
give you leave to depart, and if a merry meeting may 



be wished, God prohibit it. — Come, neighbour. 

[Exeunt Dogberry, Verges, and Watch, 
Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. 
Ant. Farev/ell, my lords : we look fur you to-mor- 



row. 
D. Pedro. 
Clavxl. 



We will not fail. 

To-night I '11 mourn with Hero. 
[Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio. 
Leon. Bring you these fellows on. We '11 talk with 
Margaret, 
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd^ fellow. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Leonato's Garden. 
Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting. 

Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve 
well at my hands by helping me to the speech of 
Beatrice. 

Marg. Will you, then, write me a sonnet in praise 
of my beauty ? 

Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man 
living shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, 
thou deservest it. 

Marg. To have no man come over me ? why shall I 
always keep below stairs ? 

Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth ; 
it catches. 

Marg. And your 's as blunt as the fencei''s foils, 
which hit, but hurt not. 

Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret ; it will not hurt 
a woman : and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice. I give 
thee the bucklers. 



Marg. 



Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our 



I mean, m singing; 



own. 

Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in 
the pikes with a vice ; and they are dangerous weapons 
for maids. 

Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, wlio, I think, 
hath legs. [Exit Margaret. 

Bene. And therefore will come. 

Tlie god of love, [Singing.] 

That sits above., 
And knows me, and knows me, 
How pitiful I deserve., — * 

but in loving, Leander the good 
swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a 
whole book full of these quondam carpet-mongers, 
whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a 
blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned over 
and over, as my poor self, in love. Marry, I cannot 
show it in rhyme ; I have tried : I can find out no 
rhyme to " lady" but " baby," an innocent rhyme; for 
"scorn," '-horn," a hard rhyme; for "school," "fool," 
a babbling rhyme — ^A'ery ominous endings. No, I was 
not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in 
festival terms. — 

Enter Beatrice. 
Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee? 

Beat. Yea, signior ; and depart when you bid me. 

Bene. ! stay but till then. 

Beat. " Then " is spoken ; fare you well now : — and 
yet. ere I go, let me go with that I came for ; which is, 
with knowing what hath passed between you and 
Claudio. 

Bene. Only foul words ; and thereupon I vrill kiss thee. 

Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul \Aind is 
but foul breath, 
I will depart unkissed 



and foul breath is noisome ; therefore 



J bid : in f. e. ^ Knight adheres to tlio old reading pacVd, an old form of the word in the text. 
Bong by William Elderton. 



3 Wicked. ♦ The beginning of a 



122 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHmG. 



ACT V. 



Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right 
sense, so forcible is thy wit. But, I must tell thee 
plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge, and either I 
must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him a 
coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which of 
my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me ? 

Beat. For them all together ; which maintained so 
politic a state of evil, that they will not admit any good 
part to intermingle with them. But for which of my 
good parts did you first suffer love for me ? 

Bene. Sufier love ! a good epithet. I do suffer love, 
indeed, for I love thee against my will. 

Beat. In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor 
heart ! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for 
yours : for I will never love that which my friend hates. 

Be7ie. Thou and I are too A^ase to woo peaceably. 

Beat. It appears not in this confession : there 's not 
one wise man among twenty that will praise liimself. 

Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived 
in the time of good nciglibours. If a man do not 
erect, in this age, his own tomb ere he dies, he shall 
live no longer in monument, than the bell rings, and 
the widow weeps. 

Beat. And how long is that, think you ? 

Bene. Question : — why an hour in clamour, and a 
quarter in rheum : therefore is it most expedient for 
the wise, (if Don Worm, his conscience, find no impe- 
diment to the contrary,) to be the trumpet of his own 
virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising 
myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy. 
And now tell me, how doth your cousin ? 

Beat. Very ill. 

Bene. And how do you ? 

Beat. Very ill too. 

Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend. There will 
I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. 
Enter Ursula. 

U7-S. Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder 's 
old^ coil at home : it is proved, my lady Hero hath been 
falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily 
abused ; and Don John is the author of all, who is 
fled and gone. Will you come presently ? 

Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior ? 

Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and 
be buried in thy eyes : and, moreover, I will go with 
thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Inside of a Church. 
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with 

music and tapers. 
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato ? 
Atten. It is, my lord. 
Claud. [Reads.] 

EPITAPH. 

Done to death by sla7ulerous tongues 

Was the Hero that here lies : 
Death., in guerdon of her wrongs, 

Gives her fame which never dies. 
So the life, that died with shame, 
Lives in death with glorious fame. 
Hang thou there wpon the tomb. 
Praising her when I am dumb. — 
Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. 

SONG. 

Pardon, goddess of the night. 
Those that slew thy virgin bright''^ ; 
For the which, with songs of woe, 
Round about her tomb we go. 



Midnight^ assist our moan ; 
Help us to sigh and groan, 

Heavily, heavily: 

Graves, yawn, and yield your dead. 

Till death be uttered,^ 

Heavily., heavily. 

Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night ! 

Yearly will I do this rite. 
D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters : put your torches 
out. 
The wolves have prey'd ; and look, the gentle day. 
Before the wheels of PhcEbus, round about 

Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey. 
Thanks to you all, and leave us : fare you well. 

Claud. Good morrow, masters : each his way can 
tell.* [Exeunt Torch-bearers.^ 

D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on otherjn^eed ; 
And then to Leonato's we will go. 

Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue speed, 
Than this, for whom we render' d up this woe ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A Room in Leonato's House. 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, 
Ursula, Friar, and Hero. 

Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent ? 

Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus'd 
her 
Upon the error that you heard debated : 
But Margaret was in some fault for this, 
Although against her will, as it appears 
In the true course of all the question. 

Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. 

Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforced 
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 

Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all. 
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves. 
And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd. 
The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour 
To visit me. — You know your office, brother ; 
You must be father to your brother's daughter, 
And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies. 

Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance. 

Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. 

Friar. To do what, signior ? 

Bc7ie. To bind me, or undo me ; one of them. — 
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior. 
Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. 

Leon. That eye my daughter lent her : 't is most true. 

Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. 

Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had from me, 
From Claudio, and the prince. But what 's your will ? 

Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical : 
But, for my will, my will is, your good will 
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd 
In the state of honourable marriage : — 
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. 

Leon. My heart is with your liking. 

Friar. And my help. 

Here come the prince, and Claudio^. 

Filter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants. 

D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. 

Leon. Good morrow, prince ; good morrow, Claudio : 
We here attend you. Are you yet determin'd 
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter ? 

Claud. I '11 hold my mind were she an Ethiop. 

Leon. Call her forth, brother : here 's the friar ready. 

[Exit Antonio. 



1 Used in the colloquial emphatic sense, for "great." * knight: in f. e. 
in f. e. * This line is from the quarto. 



* Bone away with. * each his several way : in f. e. » Not 



SCENE IV. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



123 



D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what's 
the matter, 
That you have such a February face, 
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness ? 

Child. I tliink, he thinks upon the savage bull. — 
Tush ! fear not, man, we '11 tip thy horns with gold, 
And all Europa shall rejoice at thee. 
As once Europa did at lusty Jove, 
When he would play the noble beast in love. 

Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low ; 
And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow, 
And got a calf in that same noble feat, 
Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. 

Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies masked. 

Claud. For this I owe you : here come other reckon- 
ings. 
Which is the lady I must seize upon ? 

Leon. This same is she. and I do give you her. 

Claud. Why. then she ^s mine. — Sweet, let me see 
your face. 

Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand 
Before this friar, and swear to marry her. 

Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar : 
I am your husband, if you like of me. 

Hero. And when I liv'd, I was yoiir other wife : 

[Unmasking. 
And when you lov'd, you were my other husband. 

Claud. Another Hero ? 

Hero. Nothing cci'tainer. 

One Hero died belied* ; but I do live, 
And. surely as I live, I am a maid. 

D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead ! 

Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv'd. 

Friar. All this amazement can I qualify j 
When after that the holy rites are ended, 
I '11 tell you largely of fair Hero's death : 
Mean time, let wonder seem familiar, 
And to the chapel let us presently. 

Bene. Soft and fair, friar. — ^Which is Beatrice ? 

Beat. I answer to thatname. [Unmasking.] What 
is your will ? 

Bene. Do not you love me ? 

Beat. Why,' 

Bene. Why, then, your uncle 



Claudio, 



no more than reason, 
and the prince, and 



Have been deceived, for' they swore you did. 
Beat. Do not you love me ? 



Bene. 



Troth, no* more than reason. 



Beat. Why, then, my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, 
Are much deceived ; for they swore^, you did. 

Bene. They_swore tliat you were almost sick for me. 
Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. 



Bene. It is no' matter, — Then, you do not love me ? 

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 

Leo7i. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentle- 
man. 

Claud. And I '11 be sworn upon 't, that he loves her; 
For here 's a paper, written in his hand, 
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
Fashion'd to Beatrice. 

Hero. And here 's another. 

Writ in my cousin's hand, stol'n from her pocket, 
Containing her affection unto Benedick. 

Bene. A miracle ! here 's our owai hands against our 
hearts. — Come, I will have thee • but, by this light, I 
take thee for pity. 

Beat. I would not deny you ; — but, by this good day, 
I yield upon great persuasion, and, partly, to save your 
life, for 1 was told you were in a consumption. 

Bene. Peace ! I will stop your mouth. 

D. Pedro. How dost thou. Benedick, the married 
man ? 

Bene. I '11 tell thee what, prince ; a college of wit- 
crackers cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost 
thou think I care for a satire, or an epigram ? No : if 
a man will be beaten with brains, a' shall wear nothing 
handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to 
marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the 
world can say against it ; and therefore never flout at 
me for what I have said against it, for man is a giddy 
thing, and this is my conclusion. — For thy part, 
Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee : but, in that 
thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruiscd, and 
love my cousin. 

Claud. I had well hoped, thou wouldst have denied 
Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy 
single life, to make thee a double dealer • which, out 
of question"; thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look 
exceeding narrowly to thee. 

Bene. Come, come, we are friends. — Let 's have a 
dance ere we are married, that we may lighten om: 
own hearts, and our wives' heels. 

Jjeon. We '11 have dancing afterward. 

Bene. First, of my word ; therefore, play, music ! — 
Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a wife : 
there is no stafi" more reverend than one tipped with, 
horn. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, 
And brought with armed men back to Messina. 

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow ; I '11 debase 
tliree brave punishments for him.— Strike up, pipers. 

[Dance of all the actors.'' 



1 defiled : in "f e. 
' Dance, : f. e. 



a No, no : in f. e. 3 Not in f. e. * f. e. have : Troth no, no. » did swear : in f. e. « 'x is no such : in f. e. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



f 



DEAMATIS PEESONJE. 



Ferdinand, King of Navarre. 

BiRON, ) 

LoNGAViLLE, > Lords, attending on the King. 

DUMAINE, } 

BoYET, i Lords, attending on the Princess 

Mercade, I of France. 

Don Adriano de Armado, a Spaniard. 

Sir Nathaniel, a Curate. 

Holofernes, a Schoolmaster. 



Dull, a Constable. 



Costard, a Clown. 
Moth, Page to Armado. 
A Forester. 

P^rincess of France. -' 

Rosaline, ) 

Maria, > Ladies, attending on the Princess. 

Katharine, ) 

Jaquenetta, a country wench. 



Officers and others, attendants on the King and Princess. 
SCENE, Navarre. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L — Navarre. A Park, with a Palace in it. 
Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumaine. 

King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, 
Live rcgister'd upon our brazen tombs. 
And then grace us in the disgrace of death ; 
When, spite of cormorant devouring time. 
Th' endeavour of thi.s present breath may buy 
That honour, which shall ba.te his scythe's keen edge. 
And make us heirs of all eternity. 
Therefore, brave conquerors ! — for so you are, 
That war against your own affections. 
And the huge army of the world's desires, — 
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force. 
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world : 
Our court shall be a little Academe, 
Still and contemplative in living art. 
You three, Biron, Dumaine, and Longaville, 
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me. 
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes. 
That are recorded in this schedule here: [Showing it} 
Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names, 
That his own hand may strike his honour dowai, 
That violates the smallest branch herein. 
If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do, 
Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep them too. 

Long. I am resolv'd : 't is but a three years' fast. 
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine : 
Fat paunches have lean pates ; and dainty bits 
Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite" the wits. 

Ihim. My loving lord, Dumaine is mortified. 
The grosser manner of this world's delights 
He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves : 
To love, to wealth, to pomp. I pine and die. 
With all these living in philo.^ophy. 

Biron. I can biit say their protestation over; 
So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, 
That is, to live and study here three years. 

' I Not in f. e. 2 From the quarto^ 1598. 



But there are other strict observances ; 
As, not to see a woman in that term. 
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there : 
And, one day in a week to touch no food, 
And but one meal on every day beside, 
The which, I hope, is not enrolled there : 
And then, to sleep but three hours in the night, 
And not be seen to wink of all the day, 
When I was wont to think no harm all night, 
And make a dark night, too, of half the day, 
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there. 

! these are barren tasks, too hard to keep, 
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. 

King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. 
Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please. 

1 only swore to study with your grace, 

And stay here in your court for three years' space. 

Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest. 

Biron. By yea, and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. 
What is the end of study, let me know ? 

King. Why, that to know which else we should not 
know. 

Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from 
common sense ? 

King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. 

Biron. Come on, then : I will swear to study so. 
To know the thing I am forbid to know ; 
As thus, — to study where I well may dine, . 

When I to feast expressly am forbid ; 
Or study where to meet some mistress fine. 

When mistresses from common sense are hid ; 
Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath. 
Study to break it, and not break my troth. 
If study's gain be this, and this be so. 
Study knows that which yet it doth not know. 
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no. 

King. These be the stops that hinder study quite, 
And train our intellects to vain delight. 



SCENE I. 



LOVE'S LABbUK'S LOST. 



125 



Biron. Why, all delights are vain ; but' that most vain, 
Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain : 
As painfully to pore upon a book, 
To seek the light of truth ; while truth the while 
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look : 

Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile. 
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies. 
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. 
Study me how to please the eye indeed, 

By fixing it upon a fairer eye ; 
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed. 
And give him light that it was blinded by. 
Study is like the heaven's glorious sun. 

That will not be dcep-search'd with saucy looks : 
Small have continual plodders ever won. 
Save base authority from others' books. 
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights. 

That give a name to every fixed star. 
Have no more profits of their shining nights. 

Than those that walk, and wot not what they are. 
Too much to Icnow is to know nought but fame • 
And every godfather can give a name. 

King. How well he 's read, to reason against reading ! 
Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding ! 
Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the 

weeding. 
Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are a 

breeding. 
Dum. How follows that ? 

Biron. Fit in his place and time. 

Dum. In reason nothing. 

Biron. Something, then, in rhyme. 

King. Biron is like an envious sneaping- frost, 

Tiiat bites the first-born infants of the spring. 
Biron. Well, say I am : why should proud summer 
boast, 
Before the birds have any cause to sing ? 
Wliy should I joy in any abortive birth ? 
At Christmas I no more desire a rose, 
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows ; 
But like of each thing that in season grows. 
So you, by study now it is too late. 
Climb o'er the house-top to unlock the gate.' 



King. 
Biron 



Well, set you out : go home, Biron : adieu ! 
No, my good lord ; I have sworn to stay 
with you : 
And, though I have for barbarism spoke more, 
Than for that angel knowledge you can say. 
Yet confident I '11 keep to what I swore,* 

And bide the penance of each three years' day. 
Give me the paper : let me read the same ; 
A.nd to the strict'st decrees I '11 wTite my name. 
King. How well this yielding rescues thee from 

shame ! 
Biron. [Reads.] Item, " That no woman shall come 
within a mile of my court." — Hath this been pro- 
claim' d ':' 

Long. Four days ago. 

Biron. Let's see the penalty. [Reads.] "On pain 
of losing her tongue." — Who devis'd this penalty? 



Sweet lord, and why ? 
hence with that dread 



Long. Marry, tha* did L 

Biron. 

Long. To fright them 

penalty. 
Biron. A dangerous law against garrulity.' 
[Reads.] Item, " If any man bo seen to talk with a 
woman within the term of three years, he shall endure 



such public shame as the rest of the court can possibly 

devise." 

This article, my liege, yourself must break : 

For, well you know, here conres in embassy 
The French king's daughter with yourself to speak, — 

A maid of grace, and complete majesty, — 
About surrender up of Aquitain 

To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father : 
Therefore, this article is made in vain. 

Or vainly comes th' admired princess rather. 

King. What say you, lords ? why, this was quite 
forgot. 

Biron. So study evermore is overshot : 
While it doth study to have what it would. 
It doth forget to do the thing it should ; 
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 
'T is won, as towns with fire ; so won, so lost. 

Ki7ig. We must of force dispense with this decree : 
She must lie here on mere necessity. 

Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn 

Three thousand times within this three years' space ; 
For every man with his affect* is born. 

Not by might master'd, but by special grace. 
If I break faith, this word shall plead^ for me, 
I am forsworn on mere necessity. — 
So to the laws at large I write my name ; [Subscribes. 

And he, that breaks them in the least degree, 
Stands in attainder of eternal shame. 

Suggestions'' are to others, as to me j 
But. I believe, although I seem so loth, 
I am the last that will last keep his oath. 
But is there no quick recreation granted ? 



King. 



Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is 



haunted 

With a refined traveller of Spain ; 
A man in all the world-new fashions flaunted,^ 

That hath a mint of phrases in his brain : 
One, whom the music of his o^ai vain tongue 

Doth ravish like enchanting harmony ; 
A man of complements, whom right and wrong 

Have chose as umpire of their mutiny : 
This child of fancy, that Arraado hight, 

For interim to our studies, shall relate 
In higli-born words the worth of many a knight 

From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate. 
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I, 
But; I protest, I love to hear him lie. 
And I will use him for my minstrelsy.' 

Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, 
A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. 

Long. Costard, the swain, and he shall be our sport; 
And so to study three years is biit short. 

Enter Dull, tcith a letter, and Costard. 

Dull. Which is the duke's own person? 

Biron. This, fellow. Whatwouldst? 

DuU. I myself reprehend his ovn\ person, for I am 
his grace's tharborough^"; but I would see his own 
person in flesh and blood. 

Biron. This is he. 

Dull. SigniorArm — Arm — commends j-ou. There's 
villainy abroad: this letter will tell yovr more. 

Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me. 

King. A letter from the magnificent Armado. 

Biron. How low soever the matter. I hope in God 
for high words. 

Long. A high hope for a low hearing" : God grant 
U8 patience ! 



I From the quarto ; the folio reads : and. = Snipping, or nipping, s Climb o'er the house to unlock the little Rate : in f. e. * I 'II keep 
what I have sworo : in f. e. ' gentility : in f. o. 6 spoak : in f. o. i Temptations. 8 world's new fashions plant'?d : in f. e. * As a min- 
strel to tell tne stories, i" Third borough, a peace officer, n having : in f. e. 



126 



LOYE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



ACT I. 



Biron. To hear, or forbear hearing. 
Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; 
or to forbear both. 

Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause 
to chime in in' the merrincss. 

as concerning Jaque- 
was taken with the 



Cost. The matter is to me, sir. 



netta. The manner of it 
manner.^ 

Biron. In what manner ? 

Cost. In manner and form 



I 



following, 



sir : all those 



ment, by thy sweet grace's officer, Antony Dull, a man 
of good repute, carriage, bearing, and estimation." 
Dull. Me, an 't shall please you : I am Antony Dull 
King. "For Jaquenetta, (so is the weaker vessel 
called) which I apprehended with the aforesaid swain, 



shall, 
trial. 



three: I was seen with her in the manor house, silting 
with her upon the form, and taken following her into 
the jiark ; wliicli, put together, is, in manner and form 
following. Now, sir, for the manner, — it is the man- 
ner of a man to speak to a woman ; for the form, — in 
some form. 

Biron. For the following, sir? 

Cost. As it shall follow in my correction; and God 
defend the riglit ! 

King. Will you hear this letter with attention? 

Biron. As we would hear an oracle. 

Cost. Such is the simnlicity of man to hearken after 
the flesh. 

King. \Reads.\ "Great deputy, the welkin's 
gerent, and sole dominator of Navarre 



I keep her as a vessel of thy law's fury; and 
at the least of thy sweet notice, bring her to 
Thine, in all complements of devoted and heart-bura 
ing heat of duty, 

" Don Adriano de Armado." 



Biron. This is not so well 
best that ever I heard. 



as I looked for, but the 



King. 



Ay, the best for the worst. — But, 



sirrah, what 



, my 



vice- 
soul's 



irtli's God, and body's fostering patron,- 
Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. 
King. '-So it is, — " 
Cost. It may be so ; but if he say it is so, he is, in 



telling true, but so, — 
King. ~ 



Peace ! 
Cost. — be to me, and every man that dares not 
fight. 

No words. 



King. 



-of other men's, secrets, I beseech you. 



Cost. 

King. " So it is, bei^icged with sable-coloured melan- 
choly, I did commend the black-oppressing humour to 
the most wholesome physic of thy health-giving air ; 
and, as I am a gentleman, betook myself to walk. 
The time when ? About the si.xth hour ; when beasts 
most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that 
nourishment which is called supper. So much for the 
time when. Now for the ground which; which, I 
mean, I walked upon : it is ycleped thy park. Then 
for the place wliere ; where, I mean, I did encounter 
that obscene and most preposterous event, that draweth 
from my snow-white pen the ebon-coloured ink, which 
here thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest. But 
to the place, where : — it standcth north-north-east and 
by east from the west corner of thy curious-knotted 
garden' : there did I see that low-spirited swain, that 
base minnow of thy mirth," — 

Cost. Me. 

" — that unletter'd small-knowing soul," 
Me. ' 

" — that shallow vessel*," 
Still me. 



King. 

Co.st. 

King. 

Cost. 

King. 

Cost. 



-which, as I remember, 



hight Costard," 



contrary to thy 
continent canon. 



O! me. 

King. " — sorted and consorted, 
established proclaimed edict and 
with — with, — ! with — but with this I passion to say 
wherewith." 

Cost. With a wench. 

" — ^with a child of our grandmother Eve 



King. 



female; or, for thy more sweet 



understanding. 



woman. Him I (as my ever-esteemed duty pricks me 
on) have sent to thee, to receive the meed of punish- 



say you to this ? 

Cost. Sir, I confess the wench. 

King. Did you hear the proclamation ? 

Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little 
of the marking of it. 

King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment to 
be taken with a wench. 

Cost. I 
a damsel. 



King. 
Cost. 



was taken with none, sir : I was tajjen with 

Well, it was proclaimed damsel. 
This was no damsel neither, sir : slie was a 



It is so varied, too, for it was proclaimed virgin. 



virgm. 

Kii}g 

Co.'it. If it were, I deny her virginity : I was taken 
with a maid. 

King. This maid will not serA'^e your turn, sir. 

Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. 

Sir, I will pronounce your sentence : 



you 



King, fcjir, 1 wUl pronounce your 
shall fast a week with bran and water 

Co.'it. 1 had rather pray a month with mutton and 
porridge. 

King._ And Don Armado shall be your keeper.-^ 
My lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er : 
And go we, lords, to put in practice that 
Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. 

[Exeitnt King, Longaville, and Dumaine. 

Biron. I '11 lay my head to any good man's hat, 
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. 

Bull. Sirrah, come on.' 

Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir : for true it is, I was 
taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; 
and therefore, welcome the sour cup of prosperity ! 
Affliction may one day smile again, and till then, set 
thee down, sorrow ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Armado's House in the Park. 
E7itcr Armado and Moth, h 
Arm. Boy, what sign is it 
spirit grows melancholy? 

Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. 
Arm. AVhy ? sadness is one and the self-same thing, 
dear imp. 

Moth. No, no; lord! sir, no. 
Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, 
my tender juvenal ? 

3Ioth. By a familiar demonstration of the working, 
my tough senior. 

Arm. Why tough senior? why tough senior? 
Moth. Why tender juvenal ? why tender juvenal ? 

as a congruent 
days, whicli we 



, .as page. 
when a man of great 



tender juvenal, 
thy young 



Arm. I spoke it, 
cpitheton appertaining to 
may nominate tender. 

Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title 
to your old time, which we may name tough. 

Arm. Pretty, and apt. 



1 climb in : in f. e.. a The la-w French phrase, mainour, -with the thing stolen in hand, 
formal gardens of the period. * vassal : in f. e. * f. e. give this speech to Bieo.v. 



3 The fantastic Jigrtres in the beds of the 



SCENE n. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



127 



Moth. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my say- 
ing apt ; or I apt. and my saying pretty ? 

Arm. Thou pretty, because little. 

Moth. Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt? 

Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. 

Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master ? 

Arm. In thy condign praise. 

il/of/i. I will praise an eel with the same praise. 

Arm. What, that an eel is ingenious? 

]\Ioth. That an eel is quick. 

Arm. I do say, thou art quick 
heatest my blood. 

I am answered, sir. 



in answers. Thou 



the mere contrary : 
^' love not him ? 

I have promised to study three years with the 



Moth. 

Arm. I love not to be crossed 

Moth. \Aside^^ He speaks 
cro.^ses' 

Arm. 
duke. 

Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. 

Arm. Impossible. 

Moih. How many is one thrice told? 

Arm. I am ill at reckoning: it fitteth the spirit of 
a tapster. 

3Ioth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. 

Arm. I confess both : they are both the varnish of 
a complete man. 

Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the 
gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. 

Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. 

3Ioth. Which the base vulgar do call three. 

Arm. True. 

Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? 
Now, here is three studied ere you'll thrice wink: 
and how easy it is to put years to the word three, and 
study three years in two words, the dancing horse* will 
tell you. 

Arm. A most fine figure ! 

3Ioth. [Aside.] To prove you a cypher. 

Arm. I will hereupon confess I am in love ; and, as 
it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a 
base wench. If drawing my sword against the hmnour 
of affection would deliver me from the reprobate 
thought of it, I would take desire prisoner, and ransom 
him to any French courtier for a new devised courtesy. 

should out-swear 
men have 



methinks, I 
boy. What 



great 



I think scorn to sigh 
Cupid. Comfort me, 
been in love ? 

Moth. Hercules, master. 

Arm. Most sweet Hercules ! — More authority, dear 
boy, name more ; and, sweet my child, let them be 
men of good repute and carriage. 

Moth. Samson, master : he was 



a man of good 



carriage, great carriage ; for he carried the town-gates 
on his back, like a porter, and he was in love. 

Arm. well-knit Samson ! strong-jointed Samson ! 
I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst 
me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was 
Samson's love, my dear Moth ? 

Moth. A woman, master. 

Arm. Of what complexion ? 

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or 
one of the four. 

Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion. 

Moth. Of the sea-water gi-een, sir. 

Arm. Is that one of the four complexions? 

Moth. As I have read, sir, and the best of them too. 

Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but 



to have a love of that colour, metMnks, Samson had 
small reason for it. He, surely, atfected her for her wit. 

Moth. It was so, sir, for she had a green wit. 

Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. 

Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked 
under such colours. 

Ami. Define, define, well-educated infant. 

3Ioth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, 
assist me ! 

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child ; most pretty, and 
poeticaP ! 

Moth. If she be made of white and red, 
Her faults will ne'er be known ; 
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred. 

And fears by pale white shown : 
Then, if she fear, or be to blame, 

By this you shall not know; 
For still her cheeks possess the same, 
Which native she doth owe*. 
A dangerovis rhyme, master, against the reason of 
white and red. 

Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and 
the Beggar?* 

Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad 
some three ages since, but, I think, now 't is not to be 
found ; or, if it were, it would neither serve for the 
writing, nor the tune. 

Arm. I will have that subject newly WTit o'er, that I 
may example my digression by some mighty precedent. 
Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park 
with the rational liind Costard : she deserves well. 

Moth. [Aside.] To be whipped ; and yet a better 
love than my master. 

Arm. Sing, boy : my spirit grows heavy in love. 

Moth. And that 's great marvel, loving a light 
wench. 

Arm. I say, sing. 

Moth. Forbear, till this company be past. 
[Enter Dull, Costard, and Jaquenetta. 

Didl. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep Cos- 
tard safe : and you must let him take no delight, nor 
no penance ; but a' must fast three days a week. For 
this damsel, I must keep her at the park; she is 
allowed for the day^-woman. Fare you well. 

Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. — Maid. 

Jaq. Man. 

Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge. 

Jaq. That 's hereby. 

Arm. I know where it is situate. 

Jaq. Lord, how wise you are ! 

Arm. I will tell thee wonders. 

Jaq. With that face ? 
. Arm. I love thee. 

Jaq. So I heard you say. 

Arm. And so farewell. 

Jaq. Fair weather after you. 

Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away. 

[Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta. 

Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, ere 
thou be pardoned. 

Co.st. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it 
on a full stomach. 

Arm. Thou slialt be heavily punished. 

Cost. I am more bound to you than your fellows, 
for they are but lightly rewarded. 

Arm. Take away this villain: shut him up. 



Moth. Come, you transgressing slave : away 



' Coins ; so called from the crosses on them. ^ Bankcs' horse, Marocco, exhibited in London about the close of the sixteenth cen- 
tury, and repeatedly alluded to in the writinKS of the time. Ho is said to have ascended St. Paul's stepp[e. Bankes took his horse to 
the continent, and both are said to have been burnt, at Rome, for witchcraft. ' pathetical : in f. e. 
I., of Percy's Reliques. ' Z)ey, or dairy. 



Possess. * It is printed in Vol. 



128 



LOYE'S LABOUE'S LOST. 



ACT n. 



Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir : I will fast, being 
loose. 

3Ioth. No, sirj that were fast and loose: thou shalt 
to prison. 

Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of deso- 
lation tliat I have seen, some shall see — 

3Ioth. What shall some see ? 

Cost. Nay nothing, master Moth, but what they look 
upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent in their 
words; and therefore I will say nothing: I thank God 
I have as little patience as another man, and therefore 
I can be quiet. [Exeunt Moth and Costard. 

Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is base, 
where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, 
which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn, (which 



is a great argument of falsehood) if I love ; and how 
can that be true love, which is falsely attempted ? Love 
is a familiar ; love is a devil : there is no evil angel but 
love. "Vet was Samson so tempted, and he had an 
excellent strength : yet was Solomon so seduced, and 
he had a very good wit. Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard 
for Hercules' club, and therefore too much odds for a 
Spaniard's rapier. The first and second cause will not 
serve my turn ; the passado he respects not, the duello 
he regards not : liis disgrace is to be called boy, but 
his glory is, to subdue men. Adieu, valour ! rust, rapier ! 
be still, drum ! for your armiger' is in love ; yea, he 
loveth. Assist me some extemporal god of rhyme, for, 
I am sure, I shall turn sonnet-maker.- Devise wit, write 
pen, for I am for whole volumes in folio. [Exit. 



ACT II 



SCENE L— Another part of the Park. A Pavilion 
and Tents at a distance. 

Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Maria, 
Katharine, Botet, Lords, and other Attendants. 

Boyct. Now, madam, summon up your clearest' 
spirits. 
Consider whom the king your father sends, 
To whom he sends, and what 's his embassy : 
Yourself, held precious in the woiid's esteem. 
To parley with the sole inheritor 
Of all perfections that a man may owe. 
Matchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight 
Than Aquitain, a do\^Ty for a queen. 
Be noAV as prodigal of ail dear grace. 
As nature was in making graces dear. 
When she did starve the general world be.?ide. 
And prodigallj' gave them all to you. 

Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean. 
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise : 
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, 
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues. 
I am less proud to hear you tell my worth. 
Than you much willing to be counted wise 
In spending your wit in the praise of mine. 
But novr to task the tasker. — Good Boyet, 
Yoa are not ignorant, all-telling fame 
Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow. 
Till painful study shall out- wear three years. 
No woman may approach his silent court : 
Therefore to us seem'th it a needful course. 
Before we enter his forbidden gates. 
To know his pleas^ure ; and in that behalf, 
Bold of your worthinesg, we single you 
As cur best moving fair solicitor. 
Tell him, the daughter of the king of France, 
On serious business, cra^^ng quick despatch. 
Importunes personal conference with his grace. 
Haste, signify so much ; while we attend. 
Like humble-visag'd suitors, his high will. 

Boyet. Proud of employment, wiflingly I go. [Exit. 

Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. — 
Who are the votaries, my loving lords, 
That are vow- fellows with this virtuous duke ? 

1 Lord. Longaville is one. 

Prin . Know you the man ? 

Mar. I know him, madam : at a marriage feast, 
Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir 



Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized 

In Normandy, saw I this Longaville. 

A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd ; 

Well fitted in the arts ; glorious in arms : 

Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well. 

The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, 

If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil. 

Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will ; 

Whose edge hath power to cvit, whose will still wills 

It should none spare that come within his power. 

Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is 't so? 

3Iar. They say so most that most his humours know. 

Prin. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow. 
Who are the rest ? 

Kath. The young Dumaine, a well-accomplished 
youth, 
Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd : 
Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill, 
For he hath wit to make an ill shape good. 
And shape to win grace though he had no wit. 
I saw him at the Duke Alen^on s once ; 
And much too little of that good I saw 
Is my report to his great wortliiness. 

Ros. Another of these students at that time 
Was there with him : if I have heard a truth, 
Biron they call him ; but a merrier man. 
Within the limit of becoming mirth, 
I never spent an hour's talk withal. 
His eye begets occasion for his wit ; 
For every object that the one doth catch. 
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest. 
Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor) 
Delivers in such apt and gracious words, 
That aged ears play truant at his tales, 
And younger hearings are quite ravished. 
So sweet and voluble is his discourse. 

Prin. God bless my ladies ! are they all in love, 
That every one her own hath garnished 
With such bedecking ornaments of praise ? 

Lord. Here comes Boyet. 

Re-enter BoteT. 

Prin. Now, what admittance, lord? 

Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach ; 
And he, and his competitors in oath. 
Were all address"d to meet you, gentle lady. 
Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt, 
He rather means to lodge you in the field. 
Like one that comes here to besiege his court, 



I manager : in f. e. » sonneteer : in f. e. The folio has : sonnet. ' dearest : in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



LOYE'S LABOUE'S LOST. 



129 



Than seek a dispensation for his oath, 
To let you enter his unpeopled house. 
Here comes Navarre. [The ladies mask. 

Enter King, Longaville, Dumaine, Biron, and 

Attendants. 
King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of Na- 
varre. 
Prin. Fair, 



I 



back a°fain ; and welcome I 



., . give you ^^ — , 

have not yet : the roof of this court is too high to be 
yours, and welcome to the wide' fields too base to be 
mine. 



King 
Prin. 



You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. 



Than Aquitain, so gelded as it is. 

Dear princess, were not his requests so far 

From reason's yielding, your fair self should make 

A yielding, 'gainst some reason in my breast, 

And go well satisfied to France again. 

Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong, 
And wrong the reputation of your name, 
In so unseeming to confess receipt 
Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. 

King. I do protest I never heard of it ; 
And, if you prove it, I '11 repay it back, 
Or yield up Aquitain. 

Prin. We arrest your word. 

Boyet, you can produce acquittances 
For such a sum from special officers 
Of Charles his father. 

King. Satisfy me so. 

Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is not come, 
Where that and other specialties are bound : 
To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. 

King. It shall suffice me : at which interview, 
All liberal reason I will yield unto. 
Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand, 
As honour, without breach of honour, may 
Make tender of to thy true worthiness. 
You may not come, fair princess, within* my gates; 
But here without you shall be so receiv'd, 
As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart, 
Though so denied free* harbour in my house. 
Your owni good thoughts excuse me, and farewell : 
To-morrow shall we visit you again. 

Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your 
grace! 

King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every plaoe !! 

[Exeunt King and hist train. 

Biron. Lady, I will commend you to mine ovm heart. 

jRo5. Pray you, do my commendations ; X weuld be 
glad to see it. 

Biron. I would, you heard it groan. 

Ros. Is the fool sick ? 

Biron. Sick at the heart. 

Ros. Alack ! let it blood. 

Biron. Would that do it good ?■ 

Ros. My physic says, ay. 

Biron. Will you prick 't with your eye ? 

Ros. No 'point, ^ with my knife: 

Biron. Now, God save thy life. 

Ros. And yours from long living. 

Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Stands back.'' 

Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word. What lady is that 
same? [Coming forward.^ 

Boyet. The heir of Alenpon, Rosaline her name. 

Dum. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well. 

[Exit. 

Long. I beseech you- a- word. What is she in the 
white ? [ Coming forward.^ 

Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the 
light. 

Long. Perchance,. light in the light. I desire her 
name. 

Boyet. She hatli but one for herself; to desire that, 
were a shame. 

Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter? 

Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. 

Long. God's blessing on your beard ! 

Boyet. Good sir, be not offended. 
She is an heir of Falconbridge. 

Long. Nay, my choler is ended. 

1 Some mod. eds. read : wild. = Not in f. e. ^ Part and depait were used indifferently. ♦ So the quarto : the folio : io. * feirviu 
. e. ' Non point : Fr. ' Retiring: in f. e. » ' Not in f. e. 



I will be welcome then. Conduct me thither. 

King. Hear me, dear lady : I have sworn an oath. 

Prin. Our lady help my lord ! he '11 be forsworn. 

King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my wall. 

Prin. Why, will shall break it ; will, and nothing else. 

King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. 

Prin. Were my lord so. his ignorance were wise. 
Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. 
I hear your grace hath sworn out house-keeping : 
'T is deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord. 
And sin to break it. 
But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold : 
To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. 
Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming. 
And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Gives a paper. 

King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. [Reads.^ 

Prin. You will the sooner that I were away. 
For you '11 prove perjur'd, if you make me stay. 

Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once ? 

Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once ? 

Biron. I know you did. 

Ros. How needless was it, then, 

To ask the question ? 

Biron. You must not be so quick. 

Ros. 'T is 'long of you, that spur me with such 
questions. 

Biron. Your wit 's too hot, it speeds too fast, 't will 
tire. 

Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. 

Biron. What time o' day? 

Ros. The hour that fools should ask. 

Biron. Now fair befal your mask ! 

Ros. Fair fall the face it covers ! 

Biron. And send you many lovers ! 

Ros. Amen, so you be none. 

Biron. Nay, then will I begone. 

King. Madam, your father here doth intimate 
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns ; 
Being but the one half of an entire sum. 
Disbursed by my father in his wars. 
But say, that he, or we, (as neither have) 
Receiv'd that sum, yet there remains unpaid 
A hundred thousand more ; in surety of the which. 
One part of Aquitain is bound to us, 
Although not valued to the money's worth. 
If, then, the king your father will restore 
But that one half which is unsatisfied. 
We will give up our right in Aquitain, 
And hold fair friendship with his majesty. 
But that, it seems, he little purposeth, 
For here he doth demand to have repaid 
An hundred thousand crowns ; and not demands, 
On payment of a hundred thousand crowns. 
To have his title live in Aquitain ; 
Which we much rather had depart^ vrithal, 
And have the money by our father lent. 



130 



LOVE'S LxiBOUR'S LOST. 



ACT in. 



She is a most sweet lady. 

Boyet. Not unlike, sir : that may he. [Exit Long. 
Biron. What 's her name, in the cap ? 

{Coming forward} 

Boyet. Katharine, hy good hap. 

Biron. Is she wedded, or no? 

Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. 

Biron. ! you are welcome, sir. Adieu. 

Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. 

[Exit Biron. — Ladies unmask. 

Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord : 
Not a word with him but a jest. 

Boyet. And cA'ery jest but a word. 

Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word. 

Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board. 

Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry ! 

Boyet. And wherefore not ships ? 

No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. 

Mar. You sheep, and I pasture: shall that finish 
the jest ? 

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. 

[Offering to kiss her. 

Mar. Not so, gentle beast. 

My lips are no common, though severaP they be. 

Boyet. Belonging to whom ? 

Mar. To my fortunes and me. 

Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, 
agree. 
This civil war of wits were much better used 
On Navarre and his book-men, for here 't is abused. 

Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,) 
By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes, 
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. 

Prin. With what ? 

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected. 



Prin. Your reason ? 

Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire 
To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire : 
His heart, like an agate, with your prinl^ impressed. 
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed : 
His tongue, all impatient to sjieak and not see, 
Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be : 
All senses to that sense did make their repair. 
To feel only looking on fairest of fair. 
Methought, all his senses were loek'd in his eye. 
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy ; 
Who, tond'ring their own worth, from where' they were 

glass'd. 
Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. 
His face's own margin did quote such amazes. 
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes. 
I '11 give you Aquitain, and all that is his. 
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. 

Prin. Come to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos'd — 

Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye 
hath disclos'd. 
I only have made a mouth of his eye, 
By adding a tongue, which I know will not lie. 

Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and spealc'st 
skilfully. 

Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of 
lam. 

Ros. Then was Venus like her mother, for her father 
is but grim. 

Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches ? 

Mar. No. 

Boyet. What then, do you see ? 

Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. 

Boyet. You are too hard for me. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— Another part of the Same. 

Enter ARMADOant? Moth. 

Song. See, my iove,* 

Arm.. Warble, child : make passionate my sense of 
hearing. 

3Ioth. Concolinel [Amato 'bene.y [Singing. 

Arm. Sweet air ! — Go, tenderness of years : take this 
key, give enlargement to the swain, .bring him festi- 
nately liither ; I must employ him in a letter to my 
love. 

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French 
brawP ? 

Arm. How meanest thou ? brawling in French ? 

Moth. No, my complete master ; but to jig off a 
tune at the tongue's end, canary' to it with your f«et, 
humour it with turning up your eyelids ; sigh a note, 
and sing a note ; sometime through the throat, as if you 
swallowed love with singing love : sometime throiigh 
±he nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love ; 
with your hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your 
eyes; with your arms crossed on yoixr thin belly's dovxb- 
let, like a, rabbit on a spit ; or your hands in your pocket, 
like a man after the old painting ; and keep not too 
tofig ill .eiie tuue, but a snip and away. These are 



complements, these are humours ; these betray nice 
wenches, that would be betrayed without these, and 
make them men of note, (do you note, men ?) that most 
are affected to these. 

Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience ? 

Moth. By my pain* of observation. 

Arm. But 0,— but 0,— 

Moth. The hobby-horse is forgot. 

Arm. Callest thou my love hobby-horse ? 

Moth. No. master ; the hobby-horse is but a colt, 
and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you for- 
got your love ? 

Arm. Almost I had. 

Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart. 

Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy. 

Moth. And out of heart, master : all those three I 
will prove. 

Arm. What wilt thou prove ? 

Moth. A man, if I live: and this, by, in, and with- 
out, upon the instant : by heart you love her, because 
your heart cannot come by her ; in heart you love her, 
because your heart is in love with her : and out of heart 
you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy 
her. 

Arm. I am all these three. 



1 Not in f. e, -2 A pUvy upon the legal meaning of the words common, unenclosed land ; and several, that which Is private property. 
Severell, is said by Dr. James, to have in Warwickshire, the local meaning of belonging to a few proprietors in common. 3 go the quarto; 
the folio has : whence. * ^ jfot in f. e. ^ pr. Branle ; a dance in which the parties joined hands and danced around a couple, who 
•kissed in tur« all cf the opposite sex to themselves, then took their places in the circle, and were succeeded by a second couple, and so 
on, till all had had their" share. '' The name of a lively, grotesque dance, e f. e. : penny. Th-e original word of the folio is penne. 



SCENE I. 



LOYE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



131 



Moth. And three times as much more, and yet 

nothing at all. 

Arm. Fetch hither the swain : he must carry me a 
letter. 

Moth. A messenger' well sympathised : a horse to 
be ambas.sador for an ass. 

Arm. Ha, ha ! what saycst thou ? 
Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the 
horse, for he is very slow-gaited : but I go. 
Arm. The way is but short. Away ! 
Moth. As swift as lead, sir. 
Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ? 
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow ? 

Moth. 3Iinime, honest master ; or rather, master, no. 
Arm. I say, lead is slow. 

Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so : 

Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun ? 

Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric ! 
He reputes me a cannon ; and the bullet, that 's he : — 
I shoot thee at the swain. 

Moth. Thump then, and I flee. [Exit. 

Arm. A most acute juvenal ; voluble and fair^ of 
grace ! 
By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face : 
Moist-eyed^ melancholy, valour gives thee place. 
My herald is return'd. 

Re-enter Moth with Costard. 
Moth. A wonder, master ! here 's a Costard* broken 

in a shin. 
Arm. Some enigma, some riddle : come, — thy Venvoy; 

— begin. 
Cost. No egma. no riddle, no renvoi/ ! no salve in 
them all,* sir : O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain ! no 
V envoy .1 no Venvoy : no salve, sir, but a plantain. 

Arm. By virtue, thou enforeest laughter ; thy silly 
thought, my spleen ; the heaving of my lungs provokes 
me to ridiculous smiling. O, pardon me, my stars ! 
Doth the inconsiderate take salve for Venvoy., and the 
word Venvoy for a salve ? 

Moth. Do the wise think them other ? is not Venvoy 
a salve ?^ 

Arm. No, page : it is an epilogue, or discoixrse, to 
make plain 
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. 
I will example it : 

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
Were still at odds, being but three. 
There 's the moral : now the Venvoy. 

Moth. I will add the Venvoy. Say the moral again. 
Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee. 

Were still at odds, being but three. 
Moth. Until the goose came out of door, 

And stay'd the odds by making' four. 
Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with 
my Venvoy. 

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
Were still at odds, being but three. 
Arm. Until the goose came out of door. 
Staying the odds by making foiu-. 
A good Venvoy.** 

Moth. Ending in the goose ; would you desire more? 
Co.'it. The boy hath sold him a bargain," a goo.'^e, 
that 's flat. — 
Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat. — 



To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose }" 
Let me see, a fat Venvoy ; ay, that 's a fat goose. 

Arm. Come hither, come hither. How did this ar- 
gument begin ? 

Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin. 
Then call'd you for the Venvoy. 

Cost. True, and I for a plantain : thus came your 
argument in ; 
Then the boy's fat Venvoy^ the goose that you bought, 
And he ended the market." 

Arm. But tell me ; how was there a Costard broken 
in a shin ? 

Moth. I will tell you sensibly. 

Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it. Moth : I will speak 
that Venvoy. 

I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, 
Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. 

Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. 

Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. 

Arm. Sirrah Costard, marry,'^ I will enfranchise 
thee. 

Cost. ! marry me to one Frances ? — I smell some 
Venvoy., some goose, in this. 

Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at 
liberty, enfrecdoming thy person : thou wert immured, 
restrained, captivated, bound. 

Cost. True, true ; and now you Avill be my purgation, 
and let me be loose. 

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee free" from 
durance ; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing 
but this : bear this significant [Giving a letter. Y* to the 
country maid Jaquenctta. Tl»ere is remuneration ; for 
the best ward of mine honour is rewarding my depen- 
dents. Moth, follow. [Exit. 

Moth. Like the sequel, I. — Siguier Costard, adieu. 

[Exit. 

Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh ! my incony'* 
Jew'* !— 
Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration ! 
! that 's tlie Latin word for three farthings : three 
farthings, remuneration. — " AVhat 's the price of this 
inkle" ? A penny. — No, I '11 give you a remuneration :" 
why, it carries it. — Remuneration ! — why, it is a fairer 
name than French crown. I Mill never buy and sell 
out of this word. 

Enter Biron. 

Biron. 0, my good knave Costard ! exceedingly 
well met. 

Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may 
a man buy for a remuneration ? 

Biron. What is a remuneration ? 

Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing. [Shoiving it.'^'^ 

Biron. ! why then, three-farthing- worth of silk. 

Cost. I thank your worship. God be wi' you. 

Biron. O, stay, slave ! I must employ thee : 
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, 
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. 

Cost. When would you have it done, sir? 

Biron. ! this afternoon. 

Cost. Well, I Avill do it, sir. Fare you well. 

Biron. ! thou knowest not what it is. 

Cost. I sliall know, sir, when I liave done it. 

Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. 

Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow morning. 



1 message : in f. o. 2 free : in f. e. ^ most rude : in f. e. * Head. * the male : in f. e. Tyrwhitt, also sugsc^teil ••'c word in the 
text. 6 A play on the Latin salutation, salve. ' adding : in f. e. 8 f. e. give this line as well as the next to Molh. s 8oUini{ a bar- 
gain, says Capell. consisted in dr;i wing a person in, by some stratagrni, to proclaim himself a fool by liis own lips. — Knight. i" .l 
cheating game, played with a slick and a belt or string, so arranged that a spectator would think he could make the latter fast by placing 
a slick through its intricate folds, whereas the operator could detach it at once. — Ilalliwell's Glossary, 'i An allusion to a proverb — 
" Three women an. 1 a goose make a market."" '= '^ '* .\ot in f. c. ^^ Siaeet, pretty, i^ Used as a term of 
Nts. Dream, wlierc TkhOe calls Pyramus, " most lovely Jew." "vl .':peci'es of tape. '8 ;s'ot in f. e. 



of endearment ; also in Mid. Sum. 



132 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



ACT IV. 



Hark, slave, 



Biron. It must be done this afternoon 
It is but this. — 
The princess comes to hunt here in the park, 
And in her train there is a gentle lady ; 
"When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name, 
And Rosaline they call her : ask for her, 
And to her white hand see thou do commend 
This seal'd-up counsel. There 's thy guerdon : go. 

[Gives him money. 

Cost. Guerdon. — O, sweet guerdon ! better than 
remuneration ; eleven-pence farthing better.' Most 
sweet guerdon ! — I will do it, sir, in print^. — Guerdon 
— remuneration ! [Exit. 

Biron. O ! — And I, forsooth, in love ! I, that have 
been love's whip ; 
A very beadle to a humorous sigh : 
A critic, nay, a night-watch constable, 
A domineering pedant o'er the boy, 
Than whom no mortal so magnificent ! 
This whimpled^, whining, purblind, wayward boy; 
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid- 
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, 
Th' anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, 



Liege of all loiterers and malcontent.s, 

Dread prince of plackets, king of cod-pieces, 

Sole imperator, and great general 

Of trotting paritors,* (O my little heart !) 

And I to be a corporal of his field. 

And wear his colour.s like a tumbler's hoop ! 

What ? I love ! I sue ! I seek a wife ! 

A woman, that is like a German clock, 

Still a repairing, ever out of frame. 

And never going aright ; being a watch, 

But being watch'd that it may still go right? 

Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of' all ; 

And, among three, to love the worst of all ; 

A Avitty' wanton with a velvet brow. 

With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes ; 

Ay, and, by heaA-en, one that will do tlie deed, 

Though Argus were her eunuch and her guiyd : 

And I to sigh for her ! to watch for her ! 

To pray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague 

That Cupid will impose for my neglect 

Of his almighty dreadful little might. 

Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan: 

Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I. — Another part of the Same. 

EiUer the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, 
BoYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester. 

Prin. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so hard 
Against the steep uprising of the hill ? 

Boyet. I know not ; but, I think, it was not he. 

Pri7i. Whoe'er a' was, a' show'd a mounting mind. 
Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch ; 
On Saturday we will return to France. — 
Then forester, my friend, wiiere is the bush. 
That we must stand and play the murderer in ?* 

For. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice ; 
A stand where you may make the fairest shoot. 

Prin. I thank my beauty. I am fair that shoot. 
And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot. 

For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. 

Prin. What, what ? first praise me, and again say, no ? 
0; short-liv'd pride ! Not fair? alack for woe ! 

For. Yes, madam, fair. 

Prin. Nay, never paint me now : 

Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. 
Here, good my gla.«s, take this for telling true. 

[Giving him money. 
Fair payment for foul words is more than due. 

For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. 

Prin. See, see ! my beauty will be sav'd by merit. 
O heresy in faith,' fit for these days ! 
A giving hand, tliough foul, shall have fair praise. — 
But come, the bow : — now mercy goes to kill, 
And shooting well is then accounted ill. 
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot: 
Not wounding, pity would not let me do 't ; 
If wounding, then it was to show my skill, 
That more for praise than purpose meant to kill. 
And, out of question, so it is sometimes : 
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes. 



When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part, 

We bend to that the working of the heart ; 

As I for praise alone now seek to spill 

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. 

Boyet. Do not curst wIa'cs hold that self-sovereignty 
Only for praise' sake, when they-strive to be 
Lords o'er their lords ? 

Prin. Only for praise ; and praise we may afibrd 
To any lady that subdues a lord. 
Enter Costard. 

Prin. Here comes a member of the commonwealth. 

Co.<it. God dig-you-den® all. Pray you, which is the 
head lady? 

Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that 
have no heads. 

Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? 

Prin. The thickest, and the tallest. 

Cost. The thickest, and the tallest ? it is so : truth 
is truth. 
An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit. 
One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit. 
Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest liere. 

Prin. What 's your will, sir ? what "s your will ? 

Cost. I have a letter, from monsieur Biron to one 
lady Rosaline. [Giving it.^ 

Prin. 0. thy letter, thy letter ! he 's a good friend 
of mine. 
Stand aside, good bearer. — Boyet, you can carve ; 
Break up'" this capon. [Handing it to him." 

Boyet. I am bound to serve. — 

This letter is mistook ; it importeth none here : 
It is writ to Jaquenetta. 

Prin. We will read it, I swear. 

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. 

Boyet. [Reails.] '-By heaven, that thou art fair, is 
most infallible ; true, that thou art beauteous ; truth 
itself, that thou art loA'cly. More fairer than fair. 



1 A tract published in 1598, " A Health to the gentlemanly profession of Serving-Men," has a story of a servant who got a remvnera- 
tion of three farthings from one of his master's guests, and a guerdon of a shilling from another. ^ Exactly. ^ Veiled. ^Apparitors; 
officers of the ecclesiastical court, who carried out citations, often, of course, for offences instigated by " Dan Cupid." ^ whitely : in f. e. 
6 Shooting deer, with the cross-bow, was a favourite amusement of ladies of rank, in Shakespeare's time. ' fair : in f. e. 8 Qive you 
good even, s Not in f. e. "» Carve. " Not in f. e. 



SCENE n. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



133 



beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have 
commiseration on thy heroical vassal ! The magnani- 
mous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon 
the pernicious and indubitate beggar Penelophon : 
and he it was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici ; 
•which to anatomize in the vulgar, (0 base and ob- 
scure vulgar !) videlicet^ he came, saw, and overcame: 
he came, one ; saw, two ; overcame, three. Who 
came ? the king ; Why did he come ? to see ; Why did 
he see ? to overcome ; To whom came he ? to the 
beggar ; What saw he ? the beggar : Whom overcame 
he? the beggar. Tlie conclusion is victory : on whose 
side? the kings: the captive is enriched: on whose 
side? the beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial : on 
whose side ? the king's ? — no, on both in one, or one 
in both. I am the king, for so stands the comparison ; 
thou the beggar, for so witnc-seth tliy lowline.es. Shall 
I command thy love ? I may. Shall I enforce thy 
love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. 
What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes; for tittles? 
titles; for thyself ? me. Thus, expecting thy reply, I 
profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, 
and my heart on thy every part. 

" Thine, in the dearest design of industry, 

" Don Adriano de Armado." 
" Thus dost thou hear the Nemcan lion roar 

'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey : 

Submissive fall his princely feet before. 
And he from forage will incline to play : 

But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then? 

Food for his rage, rcpasture for his den.'" 

Prin. What plume of feathers is he that indited 
this letter ? 
What vane ? what weather-cock ? did you ever hear 
better ? 

Boyet. I am much deceiv'd, but I remember the style. 

Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile. 

Boyd. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here 
in court ; 
A phantasm, a Monarcho,^ and one that makes sport 
To the prince, and his book-mates. 

Prin. Thou, fellow, a word. 

Who gave thee this letter? 

Cost. T told you : my lord. 

Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it ? 

Cost. From my lord to my lady. 

Prin. From which lord, to which lady? 

Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine, 
To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline. 

Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. — Come, lords, 
away. — 
Here, sweet, put up this: 'twill be thine another day. 

\Exeunt Princess and Train. 

Boyet. W^ho is the suitor ? who is the suitor?' 

Ros. Shall I teach you to know ? 

Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. 

Ros. Why. she that bears the bow. 

Finely put off ! 

Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns ; but if thou marry. 
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. 
Finely put on ! 

Ros. Well then, I am the shooter. 

Boyet. And who is your deer ? 

Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself: come 
not near. 



Finely put on, indeed ! — 

Mar. You still -wTangle with her, Boyet, and she 

strikes at the brow. 
Boyet. But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit 

her now? 
Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, 
that was a man when king Pepin of France was a 
little boy, as touching the hit it ? 

Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that 
was a woman when queen Guinever of Britain was a 
little wench, as touching the hit it. 

Ros. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, 

Thou canst not hit it, my good man. 
Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, 

An I cannot, another can. 

[Exeunt Ros. and Kath. 
Cost. By mv troth, most pleasant : how both did 

fit it ! 
3Iar. A mark marvellous well shot, for they both 

did hit it. 
Boyet. A mark ! ! mark but that mark : a mark, 
says ray lady. 
Let the mark have a prick in 't, to mete at, if it 
may be. 
3Iar. Wide o' the bow hand : i' faith, your hand is out. 
Co.st. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he '11 ne'er 

hit the clout. 
Boyet. An if my hand be out, then belike your 

hand is in. 
Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving the pin.* 
Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips 

grow foul. 
Cost. She 's too hard for you at pricks, sir : chal- 
lenge her to bowl. 
Boyet. I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my 
good owl. [Exeunt Boyet a7id Maria. 

Cost. By my soul, a swain ! a most simple clowni ! 
Lord, lord ! how the ladies and I have put him dowTi ! 
0' my troth, most sweet jests ! most incony vulgar wit ! 
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it 

were, so fit. 
Armado o' the one side, — 0, a most dainty man ! 
To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan ! 
To see him kiss his hand ! and how most sweetly a' 

will swear ; 
Looking babies in her eyes, his passion to declare.' 
And his page o' t' other side, that handful of small* wit ! 
Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit ! 
Sola, sola ! [SJiouti7ig within. 

[Exit Costard. 

SCENE II.— The Same. 
Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 

Nath. Very reverend sport, truly ; and done in the 
testimony of a good conscience. 

Hoi. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, — in 
blood ; ripe as the pomewater,^ who now hangeth like 
a jewel in the ear of ccc/o, — the sky, the welkin, the 
heaven ; and anon falleth like a crab, on the face of 
terra, — the soil, the land, the earth. 

Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are 
sweetly varied, like a scholar at tlie least : but, sir, 
I as.sure ye, it was a buck of the first head.' 

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, hand credo. 

Didl. 'T was not a haud credo, 't was a pricket.' 



I These verses are usually given to Boyet, as his own, instead of being an appendage to Armado^s epistle. 2 An Englishman, who, 
aoenriling to X.ish. (Have witli you to SafTion "Wnldon, LjOfi.) "quite renoiuist liis natiirall Knglish accents and gestures, and wrested 
himself wholly to tlie Italian puiitilios.'' He asserted himself to lie sovereign of the world, and from this '■ phantastick humor" obtain- 
ed the title of Monarcho. ^ ^ play upon shooter and suitor, showing that the pronunciation of the two was similar. * Clout and pin, 
terms in archery : the dotit or pin, held up the mark aimed at. 5 This line is not in f. e. ' Not in f. e. ''A kind of apple. * A stag Jive 
years old. ' A stng tii'o years old. 



134 



LOVE'S LABOUK'S LOST. 



ACT IV. 



intimation ! yet a kind of 
, in way of explication • 



Hoi. Most barbarous 
insinuation, as it -were, rn via 

facere, as it were, replication, or, rather, ostentare, to 
show, as it were, his inclination, — after his undressed, 
unpolislied, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather 
unlettered, or, rathercst, unconfirmed fashion. — to in- 
sert again my haud credo for a deer. 

I>uU. I said, tlie deer was not a haud credo : 't was 
a pricket. 

Hoi. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctiis ! — 

0, thou monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou 
look ! 

JVath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are 
bred in a book ; 
He hath not eat paper, as it were ; he hath not drunk ink : 
His intellect is not replenished ; he is only an animal 

not to think,' 
Only sensible in the duller parts^: and such barren 

plants 
Are set before us, that we thankful should be 



Which we, having^ taste and 



feeling. 



are for those 



For 



parts that do fructify in us more tFian he : 



man Dull; Dict>-nna, good 



as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, 
or a fool, 
So, Avere there a patch set on learning, to set him in a 

school : 
But, omne bene, say I ; being of an old father's mind. 
Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind. 

Dtdl. You two are book men : can you tell by your wit. 
What was a month old at Cain's birth, that 's not five 
weeks old as yet? 

Hoi. Doctissimh* good 
man Dull. 

Dull. What is Dictynna ? 

Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. 

Hoi. The moon was a month old when Adam was 
no more ; 
And raught* not to five weeks, when he came to five- 
score. 
The allusion holds in the exchange. 

Dnll. 'T is true indeed : the collusion holds in the 
exchange. 

Hoi. God comfort thy capacity ! I say, the allusion 
holds in the exchange. 

Ikdl. And I say the pollusion holds in the exchange, 
for the moon is never but a month old ; and I say be- 
side, that 'twas a pricket that the princess kill'd. 

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal 
epitaph on the death of the deer ? and, to humour the 
ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess kill'd, a 
pricket. 

Nath. 
shall please you to abrogate scurrility. 

Hoi. I will something affect the letter, for it argues 
facility. [Read.'^. 

The prcyful princess pierced and prick' d a pretty pleasitig 
pricket ; 

Some say, a sore ; bid not a sore, till now made sore 
iinth .shooting. 
The dogs did yell; put I to sore, then sorel jumps from 
thicket ; 

Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a hooting. 
If sore be sore, then I to sore makes fifty .sores ; O sore I ! 
Of one sore Ian hundred make, by adding but one more I. 

Nath. A rare talent ! 

Dull. If a talent be a claw,' look how he claws him 
with a talent. [Aside."" 



Pcrge, good master Holofernes, perge ; so it 



Hoi. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple ; a 
foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, 
objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions : 
these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished 
in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the 
mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in those 
in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it. 

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my 
parishioners; for their sons are well tutored by you, 
and their daughters profit very greatly under you : you 
are a good member of the commonwealth. 

Hoi. Mchercle ! if their sons be ingenious, they shall 
want no instruction: if their daughters be capable, I 
will put it to them ; but, vir sapit, qui pauca loquitur. 
A soul feminine saluteth us. 

Enter Jaqubnetta and Costard. 

Jaq. God give you good morrow, master person.* 

Hoi. Master person, — qua.si pers-on. A-n if one 
should be pierced, which is the one ? 

Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest 
to a hogshead. 

Hoi. Of piercing a hogshead ! a good lustre of con- 
ceit in a turf of earth ; fire enough for a flint, pearl 
enough for a swine : 'tis pretty ; it is well. 

Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me 
this letter : it was given me by Costard, and sent me 
from Don Armado : I beseech you, read it. 

Hoi. Faiiste, precor gelidd quando pecus omne sub 
umbrd 
Ruminat, — and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan !' I 
may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice : 
— Venegia, Venegia, 
Chi non te vede, non te pregia.^" 
Old Mantuan ! old Mantuan ! Who understandeth 
thee not, loves thee not. — Ut, re, sol. la, mi, fa. — 
Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? 
as Horace says 



in his — What, 



Nath. Ay, sir. 



and very learned. 



soul, verses ? 



mi, 
or, rather, 



Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse : lege, 
domine. 

Nath. If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to 
love 7 
Ah. never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed! 
Though to myself for.sworn, to thee III faithful prove ; 
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers 
bowed. 
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, 
Where all those plea.wres live, that art would com- 
prehend : 
If knowledge be the mark, to knmv thee .shall suffice. 
Well learned is that tongue, tliat well can thee com- 
mend ; 
All ignorant that soul, that sees thee u'ithout wonder ; 
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire. 
Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful 
thunder, 
Which, not to anger bent, is music, and .sweet fire. 
Celestial, as thou art. 0! pardon, love, this wrong, 
That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly 

tongue ! 
Hoi. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss the 
accent : let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only 
numbers ratified : but, for the elegancy, facility, and 
golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the 
man : and why, indeed, Naso, but for smelling out the 
odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? 
Imitating'^ is nothing: so doth the hound his master, 

» "."°f *° think" : not in f. e. * The whole of this passage, commencinar with '• 0. thou monster," &c., is printed as prose in f. o. 

ii?i ■ •" ■ *'• * ^'''•jTina : in f- e. ^Reached. ^ Talon v;ns often writti^n talent. iNotinf. e. 8 Par,«07i was sometimes called peMon. 

He 19 called parson, persona, because by his person the church, which is an invisible body, is represented." — Black-stone. 9 John Baptist 

Mantuanus ; his eclogues were translated by George Turberville, 1567. '" A proverb : quoted in Howell's Letters, n imitari : in f. e. 



SCENE III. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



135 



the ape liis keeper, the trained' horse his rider. But 
damoseUa, virgin, was this directed to you? 

Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of the 
strange queens lords. 

Hoi. I will overglance the superscript. " To the 
snow-white hand of the most heauleous Lady llosaline." 
I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the 
nomination of the party writing to the person written 
unto : '■ Your lady.sliip's. in all desired employment, 
Biron." Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries 
with the king; and here he hath framed a letter to a 
sequent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally, or 
by the way of progression, hath miscarried. — Trip and 
go, my sweet : deliver this paper into the royal hand 
of the king; it may concern much. Stay not thy com- 
pliment ; I forgive thy duty : adieu. 

Jaq. Good Costard, go with mc. — Sir, God save your 
life ! 

Cost. Have with thee, my girl. 

[Exeunt Cost, and Jaq. 

Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, 
very religiously ; and. as a certain father saith 

Hoi. Sir, tell me not of the father ; I do fear colour- 
able colours. But. to return to the verses: did they 
please you, sir Nathaniel? 

Nath. Marvellous well for the pen. 

Hoi. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain 
pupil of mine; whore, if before repast it shall please 
you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my 
privilege I have with the parents of the aforesaid child 
or pupil, undertake your ben venuto ; where I will 
prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savour- 
ing of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your 
society. 

Nath. And thank you too ; for society (saith the 
text) is the happi)iess of life. 

Hoi. And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes 
it. — Sir, \To Dull,] I do invite you too : you shall not 
say me nay : pauca verba. Away ! the gentles are at 
their game, and we will to our recreation. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Another part of the Same. 
Enter Biron, with a paper. 

Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am cours- 
ing myself: they have pitch'd a toiP; I am toiling in 
a pitch — pitch that defiles. Defile ? a foul word. 
Well, set thee down, sorrow ! for so, they say, the fool 
said, and so say I, and I the fool. Well proved, wit ! 
By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax : it kills sheep ; 
it kills me, I a sheep. Well proved again o' my side ! 
I will not love ; if I do, hang me : i' faith, I will not. 
0! but her eye, — ^by this light, but for her eye, I 
would not love her ! yes, for her two eyes. Well, I 
do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. 
By heaven, I do love, and it hath taught me to rhyme, 
and to be melancholy ; and hci-o is part of my rhyme, 
and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my 
sonnets already: the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and 
the lady hath it : sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest 
lady ! By the world, I would not care a pin, if the 
other tliree were in. Here comes one with a paper: 
God give him grace to groan ! [Gets up into a tree. 

Enter the King, with a paper. 

A7))g. Ay me ! 

Biron. [A.mle.\ Shot, by heaven ! — Proceed, sweet 
Cupid : thou hast thump"d him with thy bird-bolt under 
the left pap. — In faith, secrets ! — 



King. [Reads.\ So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not 
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose^ 
As thine eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote 
The dew of night^ that on my cheeks down flows : 
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 
Through the tran-tparent bosom of the deep. 
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light ; 

Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep : 
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee ; 
So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. 
Do but behold the tears that sv)ell in me, 

And they thy glory through my grief will show : 
But do not love thyself; then thou tvilt keep 
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. 
O queen of queens, how far thou dost* excel., 
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. 
How shall she know my griefs ? I '11 drop the paper. 
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here ? 

Enter Longaville, with a paper. 
What, Longaville ! and reading ? listen, ear. 

[Steps aside. 
Biron. [Aside in the trce.y Now, in thy likeness, one 

more fool appear ! 
Long. Ay me ! I am forsworn. 
Biron. [Aside.'] Why, he comes in like a perjure, 

wearing papers.** 
King. [Aside ^ In love, I hope. Sweet fellowship 

in shame ! 
Biron. [Asidel] One drunkard loves another of the 

name. 
Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so? 
Biron. [Aside^ I could put thee in comfort : not by 
two that I know. 
Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society, 
The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity. 
Long. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move. 
sweet Maria, empress of my love ! 
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose. 

Biron. [Aside.] ! rhymes are guards^ on wanton 
Cupid's hose : 
Disfigure not his slop.* 

Long. This same shall go. — [He reads the sonnet. 
Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 

^Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument.. 
Persuade my heart to this false perjury 1 

Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment 
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove. 

Thou being a goddess, I for.swore not thee. 
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 

Thy grace, being gaiu'd, cures all disgrace in me. 
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is : 

Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, 
Exhal'st this vapour-vow j in thee it is : 
If broken, then, it is no fault of mine. 
If by mc broke, what fool is not so wise, 
To lose an oath, to win a paradise ? 
Biron. [Aside^ This is the liver vein', which makes 
flesh a deity ; 
A green goose, a goddess : pure, pure idolatiy. 
God amend us ! God amend us ! we are much out o' 
the way. 

Enter Dumaine, with a paper. 
Long. By whom shall I send this ? — Company ! stay. 

[Steps aside. 
Biron. [Aside\ All hid, all hid'": an old infant play. 
Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky. 
And WTctched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. 



1 'tirod : in f. e. 3 .4» enrloxure. intn which game were driven. ^ night of dew : in f. e. * dost thou : in f. e. * Aside : in f. e. ' Papers 
statins their offence, were afTixeil to perjurers at the time of Ihelr punishment. — IJoUnshed. ' Trimmings. 8 shape : in f. e. ' The liver 
was siippo.sej to be the seat of the affections. "> An old name for hide and go seek. 



136 



LOYE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



ACT IV. 



More sacks to the mill ! heavens ! I have my wish : 
Dumaine transform'd? four woodcocks in a dish. 
Dum. most divine Kate ! 
Biron. \Aside.\ most profane coxcomb ! 
Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye ! 
Biron. \Aside.\ By earth, she is most' corporal; there 

yon lie. 
Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber quoted. 
Biron. [Aside^ An amber-colour' d raven was well 

noted. 
Dum. As upright as the cedar. 
Biron. \Aside^ Stoops^. I say : 

Her shoulder is with child. 

Dum. As fair as day. 

Biron. {Aside.^ Ay, as some days ; but then no sun 

must shine. 
Dum. 0, that I had my wish ! 
Long. \Aside^ And I had mine ! 

King. \Aside^ And I mine too, good lord ! 
Biron. [Aside.l Amen, so I had mine. Is not that 

a good word ? 
Dum. I would forget her ; but a fever she 
Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. 

Biron. [Aside ^ A fever in your blood? why, then 
incision 
Would let her out in saucers : sweet misprision ! 
Dum. Once more I '11 read the ode that I have writ. 
Biron. [Aside^ Once more I '11 mark how love can 

vary wit. 
Dum. On a day., alack the day! 

LovCy zvho.se month is ever May., 
Spied a blossom^ passing fair, 
Playing in the wanton air : 
Through the velvet leaves the wind. 
All unseen, ^ gan pas.mge find ; 
That the lover, sick to death. 
Wished himself the heaven's breath. 
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow, 
Air, woidd I might triumph so ! 
But alack ! my hand is sivorn, 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
Voiv, alack ! for youth unmeet. 
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 
Do not call it sin in me, 
That I am forsworn for thee ; 
Thou for whom great' Jove would swear 
Juno but an Ethiop were ; 
And deny himself for Jove^ 
Turning mortal for thy love. 
This will I send, and something else more plain, 
That shall express my true love's lasting* pain. 
0, would the King, Biron, and Longaville, 
Were lovers too ! Ill, to example ill, 
Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note ; 
For none offend, where all alike do dote. 

Long. \Advancingl\ Dumaine, thy love is far from 
charity. 
That in love's grief desir'st society: 
You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, 
To be o'erheard, and taken napping so. 

King. {Advancing^ Come, sir, blush you : as his 
your case is such ; 
You chide at him, offending twice as much : 
You do not love Maria ; Longaville 
Did never sonnet for her sake compile, 
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart 
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart. 
I have been closelv slu-ouded in this bush, 



And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush. 
I heard your guilty rhymes, obscrv'd your fashion, 
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion : 
Ay me ! says one ; O Jove ! the other cries ; 
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes : 
You would for paradise break faith and troth : 

[To Long. 
And Jove for your love would infringe an oath. 

[To Dumaine. 
What will Biron say, when that he shall hear 
Faith infringed, with such zeal did swear ? 
How will he scorn ! liow will he spend his wit ! 
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it ! 
For all the wealth that ever I did see, 
I would not have him know so much by me. 
Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. — 

[Coming doum from the tree. 
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me. " 
Good heart ! what grace hast thou, thus to reprove 
These worms for loving, that art most in love ? 
Your eyes do make no coaches ; in your tears 
There is no certain prince.^s that appears : 
You '11 not be perjur'd, 't is a hateful thing : 
Tush ! none but minstrels like of sonneting. 
But are you not asham'd ? nay, are you not, 
All three of yoii, to be thiis much o'ershot? 
You found his mote ; the king your mote did see ; 
But I a beam do find in each of three. 
! what a scene of foolery haA'c I seen. 
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen ! 

me ! with what strict patience have I sat, 
To see a king transformed to a gnat ! 

To see great Hercules whipping a gig," 

And profound Solomon to tune a jig, 

And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, 

And critic Timon laugh at idle toys ! 

Where lies thy grief? ! tell me, good Dumaine: 

And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain ? 

And where my liege's ? all about the breast : — 

A caudle, ho ! 

King. Too bitter is thy jest. 

Are we bctray'd thus to Ihy over-view? 

Biron. Not you by me. but I betray'd to you : 
I, that am honest ; I, that hold it sin 
To break the vow I am engaged in ; 

1 am betray'd, by keeping company 

With men. like men of strange'' inconstancy. 

When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme ? 

Or groan for love ? or spend a minute's time 

In pruning me ? When shall you hear that I 

Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, 

A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, 

A leg, a limb? — [Going.'' 

King. Soft ! Wliither away so fast ? 

A true man, or a thief, tliat gallops so ? 

Biron. I post from love ; good lover, let me go. 
Enter Jaquenett.y and Costard. 

Jaq. God bless the king ! 

King. What, peasant®, hast thou there ? 

Cost. Some certain treason. 

King. What makes treason here ? 

Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. 

King. If it mar nothing neither, 

The treason and you go in peace away together. 

Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read : 
Our parson misdoubts it ; 't was treason, he said. 

King. Biron, read it over. [Biron reads the letter. 
Where hadst thou it? 



1 not : in f. c. 2 Stoop ; 
f. e. * present : in f. e. 



1 f. e. 3 This word is not in f. e. * fasting : in f e. * X hind of top. « Tieck, suggests such. ' Not in 



SCENE III. 



LOYE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



137 



Jtiq. Of Costard. 

King. Where hadst thou it ? 

Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adraraadio. 

King. How now ! what is in you ? why dost thou 
tear it ? 

Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy : your grace needs 
not fear it ? {Tearing it.^ 

Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore 
let 's hear it. 

Dum. It is Birous WTiting. and here is hi.s name. 

[Picking up the pieces. 

Biron. Ah, ycu whoreson loggerhead ! [To Costard.] 
you were born to do me shame. — 
Guilty, my lord, guilty ! I confess, I confess. 

King. What? 

Biron. That you three fools lack'd me, fool, to make 
up the mess. 
He, he, and you, and you my liege, and I, 
Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. 
! dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. 

Dum. Now the number is even. 

Biron. True, true ; wo are four. — 

Will these turtles be gone ? 

King. Hence, sirs ; away ! 

Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors 



stay. 



[Exeunt Costard and Jaquenetta. 



Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, ! let us embrace. 
As true we are, as flesh and blood can be : 
The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face ; 

Young blood doth yet obey an old decree : 
We cannot cross the cause why we were born ; 
Therefore, of all hands must we be forsworn. 

King. What, did these rent lines show some love of 

thine ? 
Biron. Did they? quoth you. Who sees the hea- 
venly Rosaline, 
That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, 

At the first opening of the gorgeous east, 
Bows not his vassal head ; and, stricken blind. 

Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? 
What peremptory, eagle-sighted eye 

Dares look upon the heaven of her brow. 
That is not blinded by her majesty ? 

King. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd thee now? 
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon. 

She, an attending star, scarce seen a light. 
Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron. 
O ! but for my love, day would turn to night. 
Of all complexions the cuU'd sovereignty 

Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek ; 
Where several worthies make one dignity, 

Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek. 
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues, — 

Fie, painted rhetoric ! O ! she needs it not : 
To things of sale a seller's praise belongs ; 

She passes praise ; tlien praise too short dotli blot. 
A vrither'd hermit, five-score winters worn. 

Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye : 
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born. 

And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. 
! 't is the sun, that maketh all things shine ! 
King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. 
Biron. Is ebony like her ? O wood divine ! 
A wife of such wood were felicity. 
! who can give an oath ? where is a book ? 

That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack, 
If that she learn not of her eye to look : 

No face is fair, that is not full so black. 
King. O paradox ! Black is the badge of hell. 



The hue of dungeons, and the shade^ of night; 
And beautys best becomes the heavens well. 

Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of 
light. 
! if in black my lady's brows be deck'd. 

It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair, 
Should ravish doters with a false aspect ; 

And therefore is she born to make black fair. 
Her favour turns the fashion of these days ; 

For native blood is counted painting now. 
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise. 
Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. 
Dum. To look like her are chimney-sweepers black. 
Long. And since her time are colliers counted bright. 
King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack. 
Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. 
Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain. 
For fear their colours should be v.^ash'd away. 
King. "T were good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you 
plain, 
I '11 find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. 
Biron. I '11 prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here. 
Kin"-. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. 
Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. 
Long. Look, here 's thy love : my foot and her face 

see. 
Biron. ! if the streets were paved with thine eyes, 

Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. 
Dum. O vile ! then, as she goes, what upward lies 
The street should see, as she walk'd over head. 



Are we not all in love? 
nothing so sure: and thereby all for- 



King. But what of this ? 



Biron. ! 
sworn. 
Kins;. Then leave this chat : and. 



good 



Biron, now 



prove 
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. 
Dian. Ay, marry, there ; some flattery for this evil. 
Long. ! some authority how to proceed ; 
me tricks, some quillets^, how to cheat the devil. 
Dum. Some salve for perjury. 
Biron. O ! 't is more than need. — 



Have at you, then, affection's men at arms. — 

Consider, what you first did swear unto ; — 

To fast, — to study, — and to see no woman : 

Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. 

Say, can you fast ? your stomachs are too young, 

And abstinence engenders maladies. 

And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, 

In that each of you hath forsworn his book, 

Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look? 

For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, 

Have found the ground of study's excellence, 

Without the beauty of a woman's face ? 

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : 

They are the ground, the books, the Academes, 

From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. 

Why, universal plodding prisons up 

The nimble spirits in the arteries. 

As motion, and long-during action, tires 

The sinewy vigour of the traveller. 

Now, for not looking on a woman's face, 

You have in that forsworn the use of eyes, 

And study, too, the causer of your vow ; 

For where is any author in the world, 

Teaches such learning* as a woman's eye ? 

Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, 

And where we are, our learning likewise is: 

Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes,* 

Do we not likewise see our learning there ? 



1 Not in f. e. 2 scowl : in f. e. ^ From quodlibets. * teauty : in f. e. * Between this and the next line, f. e. insert : With ourselves. 



138 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



ACT V. 



O ! we have made a row to study, lords, 

And ill that vow we have forsworn o ir books : 

For when would you, my liege, or you, or you. 

In leaden contemplation have found out 

Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes 

Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with ? 

Other slow arts entirely keep tJie brain, 

And therefore, finding barren practisers. 

Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil ; 

But love, first learned in a lady's eyes. 

Lives not alone immured in the brain, 

But with the motion of all elements 

Courses as swift as thought in every power, 

And gives to every power a double power, 

Above their functions and their offices. 

It adds a precious seeing to the eye : 

A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; 

A lovers ear will hear the lowest sound. 

When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd : 

Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, 

Than are the tender horns of cockled snails : 

Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste. 

For valour is not love a Hercules, 

Still climbing trees in the Hesperides ? 

Subtle as sphinx ; as sweet, and musical. 

As bright Apollo's lute, strimg with his hair; 

And, when love .speaks, the voice of all the gods 

Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. 

Never durst poet toiieh a pen to write. 

Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs ; 

! then his lines would ravish savage ears, 

And plant in tyrants mild humanity.' 

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : 

They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; 

They are the books, the arts, the Academes, 

That show, contain, and nourish all the world, 



Else none at all in aught proves excellent. 
Then, fools you were these women to forswear, 
Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools 
For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love, 
Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men, 
Or for men's sake, the authors of these women, 
Or women's sake, by whom we men are men, 
Let us onee lose our oaths, to find ourselves, 
Or else we lo:-e ourselves to keep our oaths. 
It is religion to be thus forsworn; 
For charity itself fulfils the law. 
And who can sever love from charity ? 

King. Saint Cupid, then ! and, soldiers, to the field ! 

Biron. Advance your standards, and upon them, 
loi'ds ! 
Pell-mell, down with them ! but be first advis'd, 
In conflict that you get the sun of them. 

Long. Now to plain-dealing . lay these glozes by. 
Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France ? 

King. And win them too : therefore, let us devise 
Some entertainment for them in their tents. 

Biron. First, from the park let us conduct them 
thither ; 
Then, homeward, every man attach the hand 
Of his fair mistress. In the afternoon 
We will with some strange pastime solace them, 
Such as the shortness of the time can shape ; 
For revels, dances, masks, and merry hoiirs. 
Fore-run fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. 

King. Away, away ! no time shall be omitted, 
That will be time, and may by us be fitted. 

Biron. Allans I allons ! — Sow'd cockle reap'd no 
corn ; 
And justice always whirls in equal measure : 
Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn 
If so, our copper buys no better treasure. [Exeunt. 



ACT V 



SCENE I.— Another part of the Same. 

Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 

Hal. Satis quod svfficit. 

Nath. I praise God for you, sir : your reasons at 
dinner have been sharp and sententious ; pleasant 
without scurrility, witty without affection^, audacious 
without impudency, learned without opinion, and 
strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam 
day with a companion of the king's, who is intituled, 
nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado. 

Hoi. Novi hominem tanqitam te : his humour is lofty, 
his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye am- 
bitious, his gait majestieal, and his general behaviour 
vain, ridiculous, and thrasonicaP. He is too picked, 
too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it were, too pere- 
grinate, as I may call it. 

Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. 

[Draws out his table-book. 

Hal. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity 
finer than the staple of his argviment. I abhor such 
fanatical phantasms, such insociable and point-devise* 
companions : such rackers of orthography, as to speak 
dout, fine, when he should say, doubt; det, when he 
should pronounce, debt — d, e, b, t, not d, e, t : he 
clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf; neighbour vocatur 



nebour: neigh abbreviated ne. This is abhominable, 
(which he would call abominable,) it insinuateth one of 
insania^: ne intellims, domine ? to make frantic, lunatic, 



Nath. Laus Deo., bone intelUgo. 

Hoi. Bone ? — bo7ie, for bene : Priscian a 



little 



scratch'd ; 't will serve. 

Enter Armado, Moth, and Costard. 

Nath. Videsne qitis venit ? 

Hoi. Video, et gaudeo. 

Arm. Chirrah ! [To Moth. 

Hoi. Quare Chirrah, not sirrah ? 

Arm. Men of peace, well encounter'd. 

Hoi. Most military sir, salutation. 

Moth. They have been at a great feast of languages, 
and stolen the scraps. 

Cost. ! they have lived long on the alms-basket 
of words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee 
for a word ; for thou art not so long by the head as 
honorificabilitudinitatibus^ : thou art easier swallowed 
than a flap-dragon'. 

Moth. Peace ! the peal begins. 

Ar7n. Monsieur, [7b Hol.] are you not letter'd? 

3Ioth. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the horn-book. — 
"What is a, b, spelt backward with the horn on his 
head. 

Hol. Ba, piieritia, with a horn added. 



1 humility : in f. e. 2 Affectation. ^ On the stvle of Terence's Thraso. * Nice to excess. » It insinateth one of insanie : in f. e. 
fi Taylor, the Water Poet, says Knight, used this word with still another syllable, honorijicica, &c. ■> A small substance, floating on a glass 
of liquor, which it was a feat for a toper to swallow ignited. 



SCENE 11. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



139 



Moth. Ba ! most silly sheep, with a horn. — You 
hear his learning. 

Hoi. Quis, quis, thou consonant? 

3Ioth. The third of the five A'owels, if you repeat 
them : or the fifth, if I. 

Hoi. I will repeat them, a, e, i. — 

3Ioth. The sheep : the other two concludes it : o, u. 

Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterranean, 
a sweet touch, a quick venew^ of wit ! snip, snap, quick 
and home : it rejoiceth my intellect ; true wit ! 

Moth. OfFer'd by a-child to an old man; which is 
wit-old. 

Hoi. What is the figure ? what is the figure ? 

Moth. Horns. 

Hoi. Thou disputest like an infant : go, whip thy gig. 

Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will 
whip about your infamy circum circa. A gig of a 
cuckold's horn ! 

Cost. An I had but one penny in the world, thou 
should.-^t have it to buy gingerbread : liold, there is 
the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou half- 
penny pur.se of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion. ! 
an the heavens were so pleased, that thou wert but my 
bastard, what a joyful father wouldst thou make me. 
Go to ; thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' ends, as 
they say. 

Hoi. ! I smell false Latin ; dunghill for iinguem. 

Arm. Arts-man, prceambula : we will be singled from 
the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the large 
house^ on the top of the mountain ? 

Hoi. Or mons, the hill. 

Arm. At your sweet pleasure for the mountain. 

Hoi. I do, sans question. 

Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and 
affection, to congratulate the princess at her pavilion 
in the posteriors of this day, which the rude mviltitude 
call the afternoon. 

Hoi. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is 
liable, congruent, and measurable for the afternoon : 
the word is well cull'd, chose) sweet and apt, I do 
assure you, sir; I do assure. 

Arm. Sir. the king is a noble gentleman, and my 
familiar, I do assure you, my very good friend. — For 
what is inw^ard between us, let it pass. — I do beseech 
thee, remember thy courtesy ; — I beseech thee, apparel 
thy head : — and among other important and most serious 
designs, — and of great import indeed, too. — but let that 
pass : — for I must tell thee, it will please his grace (by 
the world) sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder, 
and with his royal finger, thus dally with my excre- 
ment, with my mustachio : but, sweet heart, let that 
pass. By the world, I recount no fable : some certain 
special honours it plcaseth his greatness to impart to 
Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the 
world ; but let that pass. — The very all of all is, — but, 
sweet heart, I do implore secrecy, — that the king would 
have me present the princess, sweet chuck, with some 
delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antick, 
or fire- work. Now, vinderstanding that the curate and 
your sweet self are good at such eruptions, and sudden 
breaking out of mirth, as it were. I have acquainted 
you withal, to the end to crave your assistance. 

Hoi. Sir, you shall present before her the nine Wor- 
thies. — Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some entertain- 
ment of time, some show in the posterior of this day, 
to be rendered by our assistance, — the king's command, 
and this most gallant, illustrate, and learned gentle- 
man, — before the princess, I say, none so fit as to 
present the nine Worthies. 



Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough to 
present them? 

Hoi. Joshua, yourself; myself, or this gallant gen- 
tleman, Judas Maccabeus; this swain, (because of his 
great limb or joint,) shall pass for Pompey the great ; 
the page, Hercules. 

Arm. Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity enough 
for that worthy's thumb : he is not so big as the end 
of his club. 

Hoi. Shall I have audience ? he shall present Her- 
cules in minority : his enter and exit shall be strangling 
a snake; and I will have an apology for that purpose. 

Moth. An excellent device ! so, if any of the au- 
dience his.s, you may cry, •' Well done, Hercules ! now 
thou crushest the snake !"' that is the way to make an 
offence gracious, though few have the grace to do it. 

Arm. For the rest of the Worthies ? — 

Hoi. I will play three myself. 

Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman. 

Arm. Shall I tell you a thing ? 

Hoi. We attend. 

Arm. We will have, if this fadge^ not, an antick 
I beseech you, to follow. 

Hoi. Via ! — Goodman Dull, thou hast spoken no 
word all this while. 

DiiU. Nor understood none neither, sir. 

Hoi. Allons ! we will employ thee. 

Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so; or I will 
play on the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance 
the hay. 

Hoi. Most dull, honest Dull. To our sport, aw^ay ! 

\Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Another part of the Same. Before 

the Princess's Pavilion. 
Enter the Princess, Katharine, Rosaline, and 

Maria, with presents .* 
Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart. 
If fairings come thus plentifully in : 
A lady wall'd about with diamonds ! — 
Look you, what I have from the loving king. 

Ros. Madam, came notliing else along with that ? 
Prin. Nothing but this ? yes ; as much love in rhpiie, 
As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, 
Writ on both sides the leaf, ma\gin and all, 
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. 



Ros. 



That was the way to inake liis god-head wax;' 



For he hath been five thousand years a boy. 

Kat.k. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. 

Ros. You '11 ne'er be friends with him: a' kill'd your 
sister. 

Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; 
And so she died : had she been light, like you, 
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, 
Slie might a' been a grandam ere she died ; 
And so may you, for a light heart lives long. 

Ros. What 's your dark meaning, mouse*, of this 
light word ? 

Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. 

Ros. We need more light to find your meaning out. 

Kath. You '11 mar the light by taking it in snuff; 
Therefore, I '11 darkly end the argvunent. 

Ros. Look, what you do, you do it still i' the dark. 

Kath. So do not you, for you are a liglit wench. 

Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you. and therefore light. 

Kath. You weigh me not ? — ! that 's you care not 
for me. 

Ros. Great reason ; for, past cure is still past care. 

Prill. Well bandied both ; a set of wit well play'd. 



1 A kit in fencing. 2 charge-house : in f. e. ^ Fit, agree. * These two words not in f. e. * Grow. ^ A term of endearment . 



140 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



ACT V. 



But Rosaline, you have a favour too : 
Who sent it ? and what is it ? 

Ros. I would you knew : 

An if my face were but as fair as yours, 
My favour were as great : be witness this. 
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron. 
The numbers true : and, were the numb'ring too, 
I were the fairest goddess on the ground : 
I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. 
O ! he hath drawn my picture in his letter. 

Prin. Any thing like ? 

Ros. Much, in the letters, nothing in the praise. 

Prin. Beauteoixs as ink : a good conclusion. 

Kath. Fair as a text R^ in a copy-book. 

Ros. 'Ware pencils ! How? let me not die your 
debtor, 
My red dominical, my golden letter : 
0, that your face were not so full of 0"s ! 

Prin. A pox of that jest ! and I beshrew all shrows ! 
But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Du- 
maine ? 

Kath. Madam, this glove. 

Prin. Did he not send you twain? 

Kath. Yes, madam ; and, moreover. 
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover : 
A huge translation of hypocrisy, 
Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. 

3Iar. Tliis, and these pearls to me sent Longaville : 
The letter is too long by half a mile. 

Prin. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart. 
The chain were longer and the letter short ? 

Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. 

Pri7i. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. 

Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. 
That same Biron 1 '11 torture ere I go. 
O ! that I knew he were but in by the week !^ 
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek, 
And wait the season, and observe the times, 
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes, 
And shape his service wholly to my behests. 
And make him proud to make me proud that jests ! 
So potently^ would I o'ersway his state, 
That he should be my fool, and I his fate. 

Prin . None are so surely caught, when they are catch'd. 
As wit turn'd fool : folly, in wisdom hatch'd. 
Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school, 
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. 

Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such excess, 
As gravity's revolt to wantonness. 

Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note, 
As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote ; 
Since all the power thereof it doth apply, 
To prove by wit wortli in simplicity. 
Enter Bo yet. 

Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. 

Boyct. O ! I am stabb'd with laughter. Where 's 
her grace? 

Prin. Thy news, Boyet? 

Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare ! 

Arm, wenches, arm ! encounterers* mounted are 
Against your peace. Love doth approach disguis'd, 
Armed in arguments : you '11 be surprised. 
Muster your wits ; stand in your own defence, 
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. 

Prin. Saint Dennis to saint Cvipid ! What are they, 
That charge the breach* against us ? say, scout, say. 

Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore, 
I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour, 



When, lo ! to interrupt my purpos'd rest, 

Toward that shade I might behold addrest 

The king and his companions : warily 

I stole into a neighbour thicket by, 

And overheard what you shall overhear ; 

That by and by disguis'd they will be here. 

Their herald is a pretty knavish page. 

That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage : 

Action, and accent, did they teach him there ; 

" Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear :" 

And ever and anon they made a doubt 

Presence majestical would put him out ; 

'• For," quoth the king, " an angel shalt thou seej 

Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously." 

The boy replied, " An angel is not evil ; 

I should have feared her, had she been a devil." 

With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoulder, 

Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.-- 

One rubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd and swore 

A better speech was never spoke before : 

Another, with his finger and his thumb, 

Cry'd " Via ! we will do't, come what will come :" 

The third he caper'd, and cried, "All goes well :" 

The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. 

With that, they all did tumble on the ground, 

With such a zealous laughter, so profound, 

That in this spleen ridiculous appears, 

To check their folly, passion's sudden' tears. 

Prin. But what, but what, come they to visit us? 

Boyct. They do, they do ; and are apparcl'd thus, — 
Like Muscovites, or Russians : as I guess. 
Their purpose is, to parte, to court, and dance ; 
And every one his love-suit' will advance 
Unto his several mistress ; which they '11 know 
By favours several which they did bestow. 

Prin. And will they so ? the gallants shall be task'd ; 
For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd. 
And not a man of them shall have the grace, 
Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. — 
Hold Rosaline ; this favour thou shalt wear. 
And then the king will court thee for his dear : 
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine. 
So shall Biron take me for Rosaline. — 
And change you* favours, too ; so shall your loves 
Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. 

Ros. Come on then : wear the favours most in sight. 

Kath. But in this changing what is your intent ' 

Prin. The effect of my intent is, to cross theirs : 
They do it but in mockery, merriment ; 
And mock for mock is ojily my intent. 
Their several counsels they unbosom shall 
To loves mistook ; and so be mock'd withal, 
Upon the next occasion that we meet. 
With visages display'd, to talk, and greet. 

Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to 't ? 

Pri7i. No ; to the death, we will not move a foot: 
Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace ; 
But, while 't is spoke, each turn away her face. 

Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's 
heart. 
And quite divorce his memory from his part. 

Prin. Therefore I do it ; and, I make no doubt, 
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. 
There 's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown ; 
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own : 
So shall we stay, mocking intended game ; 
And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. 

[Trumpets sound within. 



1 B : in f. e. 2 Por a certainty. 3 portent-like 
feat. 8 So the quarto ; the folio : your. 



in f. e. * encounters : in f. e. * their treath : in f. e « solemn : in f. e. ' Love- 



SCENE n. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



141 



Boyet. The trumpet sounds : be mask'd, the maskers 

come. [The ladies mask. 

Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumaine, 

in Russian habits, and masked ; Moth, Musicians, 

and Attendants. 

Moth. ''All hail, the richest beauties on the earth !" 

Biron. ^ Beauties no richer than rich taffata. 

Moth. "A holy parcel of the fairest dames, 

[The Ladies turn their backs to him. 
That ever tuni'd their backs to mortal views !" 

Biron. " Their eyes," villain, " their eyes." 

Moth. " That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views ! 
Out—" 

Boyet. True: ''out," indeed. 

Moth. '" Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, 
vouchsafe 
Not to behold"— 

Biron. '• Once to behold," rogue. 

Moth. '"Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes, 
-with your sun-beamed eyes'" 



Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet j 
You were best call it daughter-beamed eyes. 

Moth. They do not mark me. and that brings me 
out. 

Biron. Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue. 

Ros. What would these strangers ? know their minds, 
Boyet. 
If they do speak our language, 't is our will 
That some plain man recount their purposes. 
Know what they would. 

Boyet. What would you with the princess ? 

Biron. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. 

Ros. What would they, say they ? 

Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. 

Ros. Why, that they have ; and bid them so be gone. 

Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone. 

King. Say to her, we have mcasur'd many miles, 
To tread a measure with her on this grass. 

Boyet. They say. that they have measur'd many a 
mile, 
To tread a measure" with you on this grass. 

Ros. It is not so : ask them how many inches 
Is in one mile ? if they have measur'd many, 
The measure then of one is easily told. 

Boyet. If, to come hither you have measur'd miles, 
And many miles, the princess bids you tell, 
How many inches do fill up one mile. 

Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps. 

Boyet. She hears herself. 

Ros. How many weary steps, 

Of many wear>' miles you have o'ergone. 
Arc number'd in the travel of one mile ? 

Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you : 
Our duty is so rich, so infinite. 
That we may do it still without accompt. 
Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of yovir face, 
That we like savages, may worship it. 

Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. 

Kins;. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do ! 
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine 
(Those clouds removed) upon our watery eyne. 

Ros. O, vain petitioner ! beg a greater matter ; 
Thou now rcquest'st but moonshine in the water. 

King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one 
change. 
Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange. 

Ros. Play, music, then ! nay, you must do it soon. 

[Music plays. 
Not yet : — no dance : — thus change I like the moon. 



King. Will you not dance ? How come you thus 
estranged ? 

Ros. You took the moon at full, but now she 's changed. 

King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. 
The music plays : vouchsafe some motion to it. 

Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. 

King. But your legs should do it. 

Ros. Since you are strangers, and come here by 
chance. 
We '11 not be nice. Take hands : — we will not dance. 

King. Why take we hands then ? 

Ros. Only to part friends. — 

Court'sy, sweet hearts ; and so the measure ends. 

King. More measure of this measure : be not nice. 

Ros. We can atford no more at such a price. 

King. Prize you yourselves ? What buys your com- 
pany ? 

Ros. Your absence only. 

King. That can never be.' 

Ros. Then cannot we be bought ; and so adieu. 
Twice to your visor, and half once to you ! 

King. If you deny to dance, let 's hold more chat. 

Ros. In private, then. 

King. I am best pleas'd with that. [ They converse apart. 

Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with 
thee. 

Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar : there are three. 

Biron. Nay, then, two treys, (an if you grow so nice) 
Metheglin. wort, and malmsey. — Well run, dice ! 
There 's half a dozen sweets. 

Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu. 

Since you can cog', I '11 play no more with you. 

Biron. One word in secret. 

Prin. Let it not be sweet. 

Biron. Thou griev'st my gall. 

Prin. Gall ? bitter. 

Biron. Therefore meet. [They ccmverse apart. 

Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word ? 

Mar. Name it. 

Dum. Fair lady, — 

Mar. Say you so ? Fair lord. — 

Take that for your fair lady. 

Du7n. Please it you, 

As much in private, and I 'II bid adieu. 

[They converse apart. 

Kath. What, was your visor made without a tongue ? 

Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. 

Kath. O, for your reason ! quickly, sir ; I long. 

Long. You have a double tongue within your mask, 
And would afford my speechless visor half. 

Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman. — Is not veal a 
calf? 

Long. A calf, fair lady? 

Kath. No, a fair lord calf. 

Long. Let 's part the word. 

Kath. No ; I '11 not be your half : 

Take all, and wean it : it may prove an ox. 

Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp 
mocks. 
Will you give horns, chaste lady ? do not so. 

Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. 

Long. One word in private with you, ere I die. 

Kath. Bleat softly then : the butcher hears you cry. 

[They converse apart. 

Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen 
As is the razor's edge invisible, 
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen ; 
Above the sense of sense, so sensible 
Seemeth their conference ; their conceits have wings, 



' Dyce, gives this speech to Boyet, as do most mod. cds. 3 A formal, slow dance. ' To cog, was to load dice, to cheat, to deceive. 



142 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



ACT V. 



arrows, bullets, 



Fleeter than 
things 
Ros. Not one "word more 



wind, thought, swifter 



my maids : break off, 



break off. 

Biron. By heaven, all dry -beaten with pure seoff ! 

King Farewell, mad weiiclies : you liave simple wits. 

[Exeunt King, Lords, INIoth, Music, and Attendants. 

Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen jNluscovites. — 
Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at ? 

Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths 
putfd out. 

Ros. Well-liking wits they have ; gross, gross ; fat, 
fat. 

Prin. 0, poverty in wit, kill'd by pure flout' ! 
"Will they not, think you, hang theni^^elves to-night, 

Or ever, but in vi.-ors, show their faces ? 
This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. 

Ros. ! they were all in lamentable cases ! 
The king was woeping-ripe for a good word. 

Prill. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. 

Mar. Duniaine was at my service, and his sword : 
No point, quoth I : my servant straight was mute. 

Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart ; 
And trow you, what he ealFd me ? 

Prin. Qualm, perhaps. 

Kath. Yes, in good faith. 

Prin. Go, sickness as thou art ! 

Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps'. 
But will you liear ? the king is my love sworn. 

Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me. 

Kath. And Longaville was for my service born. 

Mar. Dumaine is mine, as sure as bark on tree. 

Boyet. ]\Iadani, and pretty mistresses, give ear. 
Immediately they will again be here 
In their own shapes ; for it can never be, 
They will digest this harsh indignity. 

Prin. Will they return ? 

Boyet. They will, they will, God knows ; 

And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows : 
Therefore, change favours : and, when they repair, 
Blow like sweet roses in this sunnner air. 

Prin. How blow ? how blow ? speak to be understood. 

Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud : 
Dismask"d, their damask sweet conunixture shown, 
Are angels A'ailing clouds', or roses blown. 

Prin. Avaunt, perplexity ! What shall we do, 
If they return in their own shapes to woo ? 

Ros. Good madam, if by me you "11 be advised. 
Let "s mock them still, as well, known, as disguis'd. 
Let us complain to them what fools were here, 
Disguis d like ^luscovites, in shapeless gear : 
And wonder, wluxt they were, and to what end 
Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely peim'd, 
And their rough carriage so ridiculous, 
Should be presented at our tent to us. 

Boyet. Ladies, withdraw : the gallants are at hand. 

Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land. 

[E.xciint Princess, Ros. Kath. and Maria. 
Enter the King. Bikox. Longaville. and Dimaine, 
in their proper habits. 

King. Fair sir, God save you ! Where is the princess? 

Boyet. Gone to her tent : please it your majesty. 
Command me any service to her thither ? 

King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word. 

Boyet. I will ; and so will she, I know, mv lord. 

[Exit. 

Biron. This fellow peeks up wit, as pigeons peas, 



And utters it again when God* doth please. 
He is wit's pedlcr, and retails his wares 
At wakes, and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs ; 
And wc that sell by gross, the Lord doth know. 
Have not the grace to grace it with such show. 
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve : 
Had he been Adam, Jie had tempted Eve. 
A' can carve too, and lisp : why, this is he, 
That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy : 
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice. 
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice 
In honourable terms : nay, he can sing 
A mean most meanly ; and, in ushering, 
IMend him who can : the ladies call him, sweet; 
The stairs, as lie treads on them, kiss his feet. 
This is the flower that smiles on every one, 
To show his teeth as white as whales bone'^ 
And consciences, that will not die in debt, 
Pay him the due of honey-tongucd Boyet. 

King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart, 
That put Armado"s page out of his part ! 

Enter the Puincess. ushered by Boyet ; Rosaline, 
jMaria, Katharine, and Attendants. 

Biron . See A\here he comes ! — Behaviour, what wert 
thou. 
Till this man'^ show'd thee ? and what art thou now ? 

King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of 
day ! 

Prin. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive. 

King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. 

Prin. Then wish me better : I will give you leave. 

King. We come to visit you, and purpose now 
To lead you to our coiu't : vouchsafe it, then. 

Prin. This Held shall hold me, and so hold your vow : 
Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur"d men. 

King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke ; 
The virtue of your eye must break my oath. 

Prin. You nick-name virtue: vice you should have 
spoke, 
For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. 
Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure 

As the unsullied lily, I protest, 
A world of torments though I should endure, 

I would not yield to be your house's guest ; 
So much I hate a breaking cause to be 
Of heavenly oaths, vow"d with integrity. 

King. O ! you have liv'd in desolation here, 
L^nseen, unvisited ; much to our shame. 

Prin. Not so. my lord : it is not so, I swear: 
We have had pa.stimes here, and pleasant game. 
A mess of Russians left us but of late. 

King. How, madam ! Russians ? 

Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord ; 

Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. 

Ros. ISIadam, speak true. — It is not so, my lord : 
My lady (to the manner of these days) 
In courtesy gives undeserving praise. 
We four, indeed, confronted were with four 
In Russian habit : here they stay"d an hour. 
And talkd apace ; and in that hour, my lord, 
Tliey did not bless us with one happy Avord. 
I dare not call them fools ; but this I think. 
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. 

Biron. This jest is dry to me. — Fair, gentle sweet. 
Your wit makes wise things foolish : when we greet, 
With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye, 
By light we lose light : your capacity 



1 kinslv — poor flout : in f. e. 2 By act of rarliament of 1571, all persons not noWp. were orderod to -wear -n-oollencaps. ' Lowering tht 
clouds itkich hid them. * So the quarto ; the folio : Jove. * The tooth of the tcairus, formerly called the -nrliale. « The old eds have : 
niadma.n ; which Dyce woutd retain. 



SCENE II. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



143 



Is of that nature, that to your hngc store 
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor. 
Kos. This proves you wise and rich, for in my 

eye, — 
Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. 
Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong, 
It were a fault to snateh words from my tongue. 
Biron. ! I am yours, and all that I possess. 
Ros. All the fool mine ? 

Biron. I eannot give you less. 

Ros. Which of the visors was it, that you wore? 
Biron. Where? when? what vLsor? why demand 

you this ? 
Ros. There, then, that visor ; that superfluous case, 
That hid the worse, and show'd the better face. 

King. We are descried : they '11 mock us now down- 
right. 
Dum. Let us confes.^, and turn it to a jest. 
Priti. Amaz'd. my lord? Why looks your high- 
ness sad? 
Ros. Help ! hold his brows ! he "11 swoon. Why 
look you pale ? — 
Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. 

Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for per- 
jury. 
Can any face of brass hold longer out? — 
Here stand I, lady ; dart thy skill at me ; 

Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout ; 
Thrust thy sharp wit quite througli my ignorance ; 

Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit j 
And I will wish thee never more to dance, 
Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 
! never will I trust to speeches penn'd, 

Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue ; 
Nor never come in visor to my friend ; 

Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song; 
Taflata phrases, silken terms precise, 

Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, 
Figures pedantical ; these summer flies 

Have blown me full of maggot ostentation. 
I do forswear them : and I here protest 

By this white glove, (how white the hand, God 
knows.) 
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd 

In rui-set yeas, and honest kersey noes : 
And, to begin, — wench, so God help me, la ! 
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. 
Ros. Sans sans, I pray you. 
Biron. Yet I have a trick 

Of the old rage : — bear with me, I am sick ; 
I '11 leave it by degrees. Soft ! let us see : — 
Write '• Lord have mercy on us"^ on those three ; 
They are infected, in their hearts it lies; 
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyea : 
These lords are visited ; you are not free, 
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. 

Prin. No, they are free that gave these tokens to us. 
Biron. Our states are forfeit : seek not to undo us. 
Ros. It is not so ; for how can this be true, 
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue ? 

Biron. Peace ! for I will not have to do with you. 
Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. 
Biron. Speak for yourselves: my wit is at an end. 
King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude trans- 
gression 
Some fair excuse. 

Prin. The fairest is confession. 

Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd ? 

' The inscription, -written on houses infected with the plague, 
custody of us as lunatics. 



King. Madam, I was. 

Pri7i. And were you well advis'd ? 

King. I was, fair madam. 

Prin. When you then were here. 

What did you whisper in your lady's ear ? 

King. That more than all the world I did respect her. 
Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will reject 

her. 
Kinp:. Upon mine honour, no. 



Prin. 



Peace ! peace ! fcrbear 



Your oath once broke, you force^ not to forswear. 

King. Despise me. when I break this oath of mine. 

Prin. I will ; and therefore keep it. — Rosaline, 
What did tlie Russian whisper in your ear ? 

Ros. Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear 
As precious eye-sight, and did value me 
Above this world ; adding thereto, moreover. 
That he would wed me, or else die my lover. 

Prill. God give thee joy of him ! the noble lord 
Mo.st honourably doth uphold his word. 

King. What mean you, madam ? by my life, my troth, 
I never swore this lady such an oath. 

Ros. By heaven, you did ; and to confirm it plain, 
You gave me this : but take it, sir, again. 

King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give : 
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. 

Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear ; 
And lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear. — 
What ! will you have me, or your pearl again ? 

Biron. Neither of either ; I remit both twain. — 
I see the trick on 't : — here was a consent, 
Knowing aforehand of our merriment. 
To dash it like a Christmas comedy. 
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany, 
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick, 
That smiles his cheek in years, and knows the trick 
To make my lady laugh when she 's dispos'd, 
Told our intents before ; which once disclos'd, 
The ladies did change favours, and then we. 
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. 
Now, to our perjury to add more terror. 
We are again forsworn — in will, and error. 
Much upon this it is : — and might not you [ToBoyet. 
Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue ? 
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire'. 

And laugh upon the apple of her eye ? 
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, 

Holding a trencher, jesting merrily ? 
You put our page out : go, you are allow'd. 
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. 
You leer upon me, do you? there 's an eye. 
Wounds like a leaden sword, 

Boyct. Full merrily 

Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. 

Biron. Lo ! he is tilting straight. Peace ! I have 
done. 

Enter Costard, 
Welcome, pure wit ! tliou partest a fair fray. 

Cost. Lord, sir, they would know, 
Whether the three Worthies shall come in, or no. 



Biron. 
Cost. 



What, are there but three ? 



No, sir ; but it is vara fine, 



For every one pursents three. 

Biron. ' And three times thrice is nine. 

Cost. Not so, sir ; under correction, sir, I hope, it 
is not so. 
cannot beg* 



You 



us, sir, I 
know what we know 



can assure you, sir; we 



a Hesitate; an old use of the word. ' Square. * Beg to have the 



144 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



ACT V. 



Is not nine, 
know wliereuntil 



it 



I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,. 

Biron. 

Cost. Under correction, sir, we 
doth amount. 

Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. 

Cost. Lord ! sir, it were pity you should get your 
living by reckoning, sir. 

Biron. How much is it ? 

Cost. Lord ! sir, the parties themselves, the actors. 



Cost. '-'I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big, — " 
Diim. The great. 

Cost. It is great, sir ; — '' Pompey surnam'd the great ; 
That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my 



this coast I here am come by 



foe to sweat : 
And travelling along 

chance, 
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of 

France.'' 



sir, will show wliereuntil it doth amount : for mine own If 



part, I am, as they say, but to pursent one man, — e'en 
one poor man — Pompion the great, sir. 

Biron. Art thou one of the Worthies? 

Cost. It pleased them, to think me worthy of Pom- 
pion the great : for mine o\\ii part, I know not the 
degree of the Worthy, but I am to stand for him. 

Biron. Go, bid them prepare. 

Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir : we will take 
some care. [Exit Costard. 

King. Biron, they will shame us; let them not ap- 
proach. 

Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord ; and 't is some 
policy 
To have one show worse than the king's and his com- 
pany. 

King. I say, they shall not come. 

Prill. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now. 
That sport best pleases, that doth least know how : 
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents 
Die in the zeal of them which it presents, 
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth ; 
When great things labouring perish in their birth. 

Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord. 
Enter Armado. 

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy 
royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. 

[Armado converses with the King, and delivers 
a paper to him. 

Pria. Dofh this man serve God? 

Biron. Why ask you? 

Prin. A' speaks not like a man of God's making. 

Arm. That 's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch ; 
for, I protest, the school-master is exceeding fantasti- 
cal ; too, too vain ; too, too vain : but we will put it, 
as they say, to fortuna delta guerra. I wish you the 
peace of mind, most royal couplement ! [Exit Armado. 

King. Here is like to be a good presence of Wor- 
thies. He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pom- 
pey the great ; the parish curate, Alexander ; Armado's 
page, Hercules : the pedant, Judas Maccabeus. 
And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive. 
These four will change habits, and present the other five. 

Biron. There is five in the first show. 

King. You are deceived ; 't is not so. 

Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, 
the fool, and the boy : — 

Abate throw at novum^, and the whole world again 
Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein. 

King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes 
amain. 

Enter Costard armed., for Pompey. 

Cost. " I Pompey am, — " 

Boyct. You lie, you are not he. 

Cost. " I Pompey am, — " 

Boyct. With libbard's" head on knee. 

Biron. Well said, old mocker: I must needs be 
friends ^nth thee. 



your ladyship would say, " Thanks, Pompey," I 

had done. 
Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. 
Cost. 'T is not so much worth ; but, I hope, I was 
perfect. I made a little fault in, " great." 

Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the 
best Worthy. 

Enter Sir Nathaniel armed, for Alexander. 
Nath. "When in the world I liv'd. I was the world's 
commander ; 
By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering 

might : 
My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander." 
Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it 

stands too right. 
Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender- 
smelling knight.^ 
Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd. — Proceed, good 

Alexander. 
Nath. " When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's 

commander;' — 
Boyet. Most true; 'tis right; you were so, Alisander. 
Biron. Pompey the great, — 
Cost. Your servant, and Costard. 
Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Ali- 
sander. 
Cost. O ! sir, [lb Nath.] you have overthrowni Ali- 
sander the conqueror. You will be scraped out of the 
painted cloth* for this : your lion, that holds his poll- 
axe sitting on a close-stool, will he give to Ajax' : he 
will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to 
speak ? run away for shame, Alisander. [Nath. retires.\ 
There, an 't shall please you ; a foolish mild man ; an 
honest man, look you, and soon dash'd. He is a mar- 
vellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler ; 
but, for Alisander, alas ! you see how 't is : — a little 
o'erparted. — But there are Worthies a coming will 
speak their mind in some other sort. 

King. Stand aside, good Pompey. [Exit Costard." 
Enter Holofernes armed, for Judas, and Moth 
armed, for Herctdes. 
Hoi. "Great Hercules is presented by this imp. 
Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed 
canis ; 
And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, 

Thus did he strangle serpents in his mamts. 
Quoniam, he seemeth in minority. 
Ergo, I come with this apology. — 
Keep some state in thv exit, and vanish. [Exit Moth. 
Hoi. " Judas I am,''— 
Dum. A Judas ! 
Hoi. Not Iscariot, sir. — 
" Judas I am, yclep'd Maccabeus." 

Ikim. Judas Maccabeus dipt is plain Judas. 
Biron. A Idssing traitor. — How art thou prov'd 
Judas ? 

Hoi. " Judas I am," — 

Du7n. The more shame for you. Judas. 



I A game at dice, of which five and nine -n-cre the cliief throws. 2 Panther^ s. ^ Alexander was wry-necked, and his body, says Plutarch, 
had a sw(>.^t odour. * Used for walls in place of tapestry, s xhe arms given to Alexander in the old history of the Nine Worthies, were 
" a lion sitting in a chait. holding a battle-axe." * Not in f. e. 



SCENE n. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



145 



Hoi. What mean you, sir ? 

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. 

Hoi. Begin, sir : you are my elder. 

Biron. Well foUow'd : Judas was hang'd on^n elder.' 

Hoi. I will not be put out of countenance. 

Biron. Because thou hast no face. 

Hoi. What is this ? 

Boyet. A cittern" head. 

Dum. The head of a bodkin. 

Biron. A death's face in a ring. 

Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. 

Boyet. The pummel of Csesars faulchion. 

Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask^. 

Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch. 

Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. 

Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. 
And now forward, for we have put thee in countenance. 

Hoi. You have put me out of countenance. 

Biron. False: we have given thee faces. 

Hoi. But you have out-fac'd them all. 

Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. 

Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. 
And so adieu, sweet Jude ! nay, why dost thou stay ? 

Dum. For the latter end of his name. 

Biron. For the ass to the Jude ? give it him : — 
Jud-as, awav. 

Hoi. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. 

Boyet. A light for monsieur Judas ! it grows dark, 
he may stumble. 

Prin. Alas, poor Maccabeus, how hath he been 
baited ! 

Enter Armado 

Biron. Hide thy head, 
in arms. 

Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will 
now be merry. 

King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. 

Boyet. But is this Hector? 

I think Hector was not so clean-timber'd. 
His leg is too big for Hector's. 
More calf, certain. 

Boyet. No ; he is best indued in the small. 

Biron. This cannot be Hector. 

Dum. He 's a god or a painter; for he makes faces. 

Arm. '•' The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty. 
Gave Hector a gift, — " 

Dum. A gift* nutmeg. 

Biron. A lemon. 

Long. Stuck with cloves.* 

Dum. No, cloven. 

Arm. Peace ! 

" The armipotent Mars of lances the almighty, 
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion ; 
A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea, 
From morn till night, out of his pavilion. 
I am that flower, — " 



armed., for Hector. 
Achilles : here comes Hector 



Bin<^^ 

Long. 

Dum. 



Dum. 
Long. 
Arm. 



That mint. 

That columbine. 
Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. 
Long. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs 
against Hector. 

Du7n. Ay, and Hector 's a greyhound. 
Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten: sweet 
chucks, beat not the bones of the buried : when he 
breathed, he was a man. — But I will forward with my 
device. Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of 
hearing.' 



Prin. Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted. 

Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. 

Boyet. Loves her by the foot. 

Dum. He may not by the yard. 

Arm. " This Hector far surmounted Hannibal," — 
Re-enter Costard, in haste, unarmed.'' 

Cost. The party is gone: fellow Hector, she is gone; 
she is two months on her way. 

Arm. What meanest thou ? 

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the 
poor wench is cast away: she 's quick; the child brags 
in her belly already : 't is yours. 

Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates ? 
Thou shalt die. 

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd for Jaqucnetta 
that is quick by him, and hang'd for Pompey that is 
dead by him. 

Dum. Most rare Pompey ! 

Boyet. Renowned Pompey ! 

Biron. Greater than great, 



greatj great, 



great Pom- 



pey ! Pompey the huge ! 

Dum. Hector trembles. 

Biron. Pompey is moved. — More Ates, more Ates ! 
stir them on ! stir them on ! 

Dum. Hector will challenge him. 

Biron. Ay, if a' have no more man's blood in 's 
belly than will sup a flea. 

Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. 

Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern 
man': I '11 slash; I'll do it by the sword. — I pray you, 
let me borrow my arms again. 

Dum. Room for the incensed Worthies ! 

Cost. I '11 do it in my shirt. 

Dum. Most resolute Pompey ! 

Moth. Master, let me take you a biitton-hole lower. 
Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? 
What mean you ? you will lose your reputation. 

Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will 
not combat in my shirt. 

Dum. You may not deny it : Pompey hath made the 
challenge. 

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. 

Biron. What reason have you for 't ? 

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt. I 
go woolward' for penance. 

Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for 
want 
none, 



of linen ; since when, I '11 be sworn, he wore 



but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's, and that a' 
wears next his heart for a favour. 

Enter Monsieur Mercade, a Messenger. 
Mer. God save you, madam. 
Prin. Welcome, Mercade, 
But that thou interrupt'st our merriment. 

Mer. I am sorry, madam, for the news I bring 
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father — 
Prin. Dead, for my life ! 
Mer. Even so : my tale is told. 
Biron. Worthies, away ! The scene begins to cloud. 
Arm. For mine owni part, I breathe free breath. I 
have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of 
discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. 

[Exeunt Worthies. 
How fares your majesty ? 
Boyet, prepare : I will away to-night. 
Madam, not so ; I do beseech you, stay. 



King. 
Prin. 
King. 
Prin. 



Prepare, I say. — I thank you, gracious lords, 



For all your fair endeavours ; and entreat, 



1 Such -vras an old popular belief often referred to. » Guitar-heads often had a face carved on them. ' Potoder-flask. * Folio : a 
gilt. It is spoken of as a sort of charm, in Ben Jonson's "Gipsies Metamorphosed." ' A common practice. * f. e. have the direction : 
BiRON whispers Costard. ' Not in f. e. * Tho (luarter-statT was most in use in the North. ' With the woollen outer garment next the 
Ekin. 

10 



146 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



ACT V. 



Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe 
In your rich wisdom to excuse, or hide, 
The liberal opposition of our spirits : 
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves 
In the converse of breath, your gentleness 
Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord ! 
A heaA^ heart bears not a nimble^ tongue. 
Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks 
For my great suit so easily obtain'd. 

King. The extreme parting time expressly forms* 
All causes to the purpose of his speed j 
And often, at his very loose', decides 
That which long process could not arbitrate : 
And though the mourning brow of progeny 
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love 
The holy suit which fain it would convince ; 
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, 
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it 
From what it purpos'd ; since, to wail friends lost 
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable, 
As to rejoice at friends but newly found. 

Prin. I understand you not : my griefs are dull.* 

Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief ; 
And by these badges understand the king. 
For your fair sakes have we neglected time, 
Play'd foul play with our oaths : your beauty, ladies, 
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours 
Even to the opposed ends of our intents ; 
And what in us hath seem'd ridicvilous, — 
As love is full of unbefitting strangeness :' 
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain : 
Formed by the eye, and, therefore^ like the eye, 
Full of strange' shapes, of habits, and of forms, 
Varying in subjects, as the eye doth roll 
To every varied object in his glance : 
Which party-coated presence of loose love 
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes. 
Have misbecome our oaths and gravities. 
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults, 
Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies. 
Our love being yours, the error that love makes 
Is likewise yours : we to ourselves prove false, 
By being once false for ever to be true 
To those that make us both, — fair ladies, you : 
And even that falsehood, in itself so base,^ 
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace. 

Prin. We have received your letters full of love; 
Your favours, the ambassadors of love ; 
And, in our maiden council, rated them 
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, 
As bombasf^, and as lining to the time. 
But more devout than this, in our respects 
Have we not been ; and therefore met your loves 
In their own fashion, like a merriment. 

Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than 
jest. 

Long. So did our looks. 

Ros. We did not quote them so. 

King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, 
Grant us your loves. 

Prin. A time, methinks, too short 

To make a world-without-end bargain in. 
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much. 
Full of dear guiltiness ] and therefore this. — 
If for my love (as there is no such cause) 
You will do aught, this shall you do for me : 
Your oath I will not trust ; but go with speed 



To some forlorn and naked hermitage, 

Remote from all the pleasures of the world ; 

There stay, until the twelve celestial signs 

Have bought about their annual reckoning. 

If this austere insociable life 

Change not your offer made in heat of blood ; 

If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds, 

Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, 

But that it bear this trial, and last love; 

Then, at the expiration of the year. 

Come challenge me, challenge' by these deserts, 

And by this virgin palm, now kissing thine, 

I will be thine ; and, till that instant^", shut 

My woful self up in a mourning house. 

Raining the tears of lamentation. 

For the remembrance of my father's death. 

If this thou do deny, let our hands part. 

Neither intitled in the other's heart. 

King. If this, or more than this, I would deny. 
To flatter vip these powers of mine with rest, 
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye. 
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. 

Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to me? 

Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank :" 
You are attaint with faults and perjury; 
Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, 
A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, 
But seek the weary beds of people sick. 

Dum. But what to me, my love ? but what to me? 

Kath. A wife ! — A beard, fair health, and honesty; 
With three-fold love I wish you all these three. 

Dum. O ! shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? 

Kath. Not so, my lord. A twelvemonth and a day 
I '11 mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say: 
Come when the king doth to my lady come, 
Then, if I have much love, I '11 give you some. 

Dum. I '11 serve thee trvie and faithfully till then. 

Kaih. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. 

Lon^. What says Maria ? 



Mar. 



At the twelvemonth's end. 



I '11 change my black gown for a faithful friend. 

Long. I '11 stay with patience ; but the time is long. 

Mar. The liker you : few taller are so young. 

Biron. Studies my lady? mistress look on me: 
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, 
What humble suit attends thy answer there ; 
Impose some service on me for thy love. 

Ros. Oft had I heard of you, my lord Biron, 
Before I saw you, and the world's large tongue 
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks ; 
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, 
Which you on all estates will exercise,'* 
That lie within the mercy of your wit : 
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, 
And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, 
Without the which I am not to be won, 
You shall this twelvemonth term, from day to day. 
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse 
With groaning wretches ; and your task shall be, 
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit. 
To enforce the pained impotent to smile. 

Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death ? 
It cannot be ; it is impossible : 
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. 

Ros. Why, that 's the way to choke a gibing spirit, 
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, 
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools. 



1 humble : in f. e. » parts of time extremely form : in f. e. ^ The technical term for the loosing of an arrow. ♦ double : in f. e. 
* Strains : in f. e. « straying : in f. e. 'a sin : in f. e. 8 Coltoh Wool, used for stuffing dresses. ' has me : in f. e. i" instances : in 
f. e. 11 Knight and Coleridge think that this speech of Rosaline^s should be omitted. It is found in all the old eds. i' execute : in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



LOYE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



147 



A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 

Of him that hears it, never in the tongue 

Of him that makes it : then, if sickly ears, 

Deaf 'd with the clamours of their own dire' groans, 

Will hear your idle scorns, continue them,^ 

And I will have yo\x, and that fault withal ; 

But, if they will not, throw away that spirit, 

And 1 shall find you empty of that fault, 

Right joyful of your reformation. 

Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befalwhat will befal, 
I '11 jest a twelvemonth in an hos^pital. 

Prin. Ay, sweet my lord ; and so I take my leave. 

[To the King. 

King. No, madam ; we will bring you on your way. 

Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play; 
Jack hath not Jill : thes-e ladies' courtesy 
Might well have made our sport a comedy. 

King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, 
And then 't will end. 

Biron. That 's too long for a play. 

Enter Armado. 

Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me. — 

Prin. Was not that Hector ? 

Dwn. The worthy knight of Troy. 

Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. 
I am a votary: I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold 
the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most 
esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the 
two learned men have compiled in praise of the owl 
and the cuckoo ? it sliould have followed in the end of 
our show. 

King. Call them forth quickly; we will do so. 

Arm. Holla ! approach. 
Filter HoLOFERNEs, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard, and 

others. 
This side is Hiems, winter ; this Ver, the spring ; the 
one maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. 
Ver, begin. 

SONG. 

Spring. When daisies pied, and violets hluCj 
And lady-smocks all silver-white^ 



And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue 

Do paint the meadows with delight, 

The cuckoo then, on every tree, 

Mocks married men, for thus sings he ; 
Cuckoo J 

Cuckoo, cuckoo, — word of fear ! 

Unpleasing to a married car. 



II. 



When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, 
And merry larks are ploughmen^ s clocks, 

When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, 
And maidens bleach their summer smocks, 

The cuckoo then, on every tree, 

Mocks married men, for thus si)igs he j 
Cuckoo, 

Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear ! 

Unpleasing to a married ear. 



III. 
Winter. When icicles hang by the wall. 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
And Tom bears logs into the hall, 

And milk coines frozen home in pail. 
When blood is nipphl, and ways be foul, 
Then nightly sings the staring awl, 
To-who, 
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

IV. 

When all aloud the wind doth blow, 

And coughing drowns the parson'^s saw, 
And birds sit brooding in the snow. 

And Marianas nose looks red and raw ; 
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl. 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 

To-u'ho, 
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note. 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs 
of Apollo. You, that way : we, this way. 

[Exeunt. 



1 dear : in f. e. 2 then : in f. e. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



in love with Hermia. 



Theseus, Duke of Athens. 

Egeus, Father to Hermia. 

Lysander, ) 

Demetrius, j 

Philostrate, Master of the Revels to Theseus. 

Quince, a Carpenter. 

Snug, a Joiner. 

Bottom, a Weaver. 

Flute, a Bellows-mender. 

Snout, a Tinker. 

Starveling, a Tailor. 

HiPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons. 

Hermia, in love with Lysander. 

Helena, in love with Demetrius. 



Oberon, King of the Fairies. 

TiTANiA, Queen of the Fairies. 

Puck, or Robin-Goodfellow. 

Peas-Blossom, 

Cobweb, 

Moth, 

Mustard-Seed, 

Pyramus, 

Thisbe, 



Wall, 

Moonshine, 

Lion, 



Fairies. 



Characters in the Interlude. 



Other Fairies attending their King and Queen. 
Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. 

SCENE : Athens, and a Wood not far from it. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — Athens. A Room in the Palace of 
Theseus. 
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, and Attend- 
ants. 
The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 
Draws on apace : four happy days bring in 
Another moon ; but, oh, methinks, how slow 
This old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires. 
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager, 
Long withering out a young man's revenue. 

Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in 
nights ; 
Four nights will quickly dream away the time ; 
And then the moon, like to a silver bow 
New^ bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
Of our solemnities. 

The. Go, Philostrate, 

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ; 
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth : 
Turn melancholy forth to funerals, 
The pale companion is not for our pomp. — 

[Exit Philostrate. 
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword. 
And won thy love doing thee injuries • 
But I will wed thee in another key. 
With pomp, with triumph, and with revelry.' 
Enter Egeus, with his daughter Hermia, Lysander, 
and Demetrius. 
Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! 
The. Thanks, good Egeus : what 's the news with 

thee? 
Ege. Full of vexation come T ; with complaint 
Against my child, my daughter Hermia. — 



Stand forth, Demetrius. — My noble lord, 

This man hath my consent to marry her. — 

Stand forth, Lysander ; — and, my gracious duke. 

This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child : 

Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, 

And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : 

Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung. 

With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; 

And stol'n the impression of her fantasy 

With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits. 

Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats (messengers 

Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth,) 

With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart; 

Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me. 

To stubborn hardness. — And, my gracious duke. 

Be it so, she will not here, before your grace. 

Consent to marry with Demetrius, 

I beg the ancient privilege of Athens, 

As she is mine, I may dispose of her. 

Which shall be either to this gentleman. 

Or to her death, according to our law 

Immediately provided in that case. 

The. What say you, Hermia? be advis'd, fair maid. 
To you your father should be as a god ; 
One that compos'd your beauties ; yea, and one 
To whom you are but as a form in wax, 
By him imprinted, and within his power 
To leave the figure, or disfigure it. 
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 

Her. So is Lysander. 

The. In himself he is ; 

But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice. 
The other must be held the worthier. 

Her. I would, my father look'd but with my eyes ! 



now : in f. e. The change was aJBO suggested by Rowe, and adopted generally. ' revelling : in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DEEAM. 



149 



The. Rather, your eyes must with his judgment look. 
Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. 
I know not by what power I am made bold, 
Nor how it may concern my modesty. 
In such a presence here, to plead my thoughts ; 
But I beseech your grace, that I may know 
The worst that may befal me in this case, 
If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 

The. Either to die the death, or to abjure 
For ever the society of men. 
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires ; 
Know of your youth, examine well your blood, 
Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, 
You can endure the livery of a nun, 
For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd. 
To live a barren sister all your life. 
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 
Thrice blessed they, that m.aster so their blood. 
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage ; 
But earthly^ happier is the rose distill'd. 
Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, 
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness. 

Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, 
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up 
Unto his lordship, to" whose unwish'd yoke 
My soul consents not to give sovereignty. 

The. Take time to pause : and by the next new 
moon. 
The sealing-day betwixt my love and me 
For everlasting bond of fellowship. 
Upon that day either prepare to die 
For disobedience to your father's will. 
Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would ; 
Or on Diana's altar to protest, 
For aye. austerity and single life. 

Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia ; — and, Lysander, yield 
Thy crazed title to my certain right. 

Ly.';. You have her father's love, Demetrius ; 
Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him. 

Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true, he hath my love, 
And what is mine my love shall render him ; 
And she is mine, and all my right of her 
I do estate unto Demetrius. 

Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, 

As well possess'd : my love is more than his j 

My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, 

(If not with vantage,) as Demetrius' ; 

And, which is more than all these boasts can be, 

I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia. 

Why should not I then prosecute my right ? 

Demetrius, I '11 avouch it to his head. 

Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, 

And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes, 

Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry. 

Upon this spotted and inconstant man. 

The. I must confess, that I have heard so much. 

And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; 

But, being over-full of self-affairs. 

My mind did lose it. — But, Demetrius, come ; 

And come, Egeus : you shall go with me, 

I have some private schooling for you both. — 

For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 

To fit your fancies to your father's will. 

Or else the law of Athens yields you up 

(Which by no means we may extenuate) 

To death, or to a vow of single life. — 

Come, my Hippolyta : what cheer, my love? — 



Demetrius, and Egeus, go along : 
I must employ you in some business 
Against our nuptial, and confer with you 
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 
Ege. With duty, and desire, we follow you. 

[Exeiint Thes. Hip. Ege. Dem. and train. 
Lys. How now, my love ? Why is your cheek so 
pale? 
How chance the roses there do fade so fast ? 

Her. Belike, for want of rain, which I could well 
Beteem^ them from the tempest of mine eyes. 

Lys. Ah me ! for aught that I could ever read, 
Could ever hear by tale or history, 
The course of true love never did run smooth ; 
But, either it was different in blood, — 

Her. O cross ! too high to be cnthrall'd to low* ! 
Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years ; — 
Her. O spite ! too old to be engag'd to young ! 
Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of men* : — 
Her. hell ! to choose love by another's eyes ! 
Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice. 
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, 
Making it momentany* as a sound. 
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 
Brief as the lightning in the collied' night. 
That, in a spleen*, unfolds both heaven and earth, 
And ere a man hath power to say, — behold ! 
The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 
So quick bright things come to confusion. 

Her. If, then, true lovers have been ever cross'd,] 
It stands as an edict in destiny : 
Then, let us teach our trial patience. 
Because it is a customary cross, 
As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs. 
Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. 

Lys. A good persuasion : therefore, hear me, Hermia. 
I have a widow aunt, a dowager 
Of great revenue, and she hath no child : 
From Athens is her house remote' seven leagues ; 
And she respects me as her only son. 
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee, 
And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
Cannot pursue us. If thou lov'st me, then, 
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night. 
And in the wood, a league without the town, 
(Where I did meet thee once with Helena 
To do observance to a morn of May) 
There will I stay for thee. 

Her. My good Lysander ! 

I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow. 
By his best arrow with the golden head. 
By the simplicity of Venus' doves. 
By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves. 
And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen. 
When the false Trojan under sail was seen ; 
By all the vows that ever men have broke, 
In number more than ever women spoke ; 
In that same place thou ha.st appointed me. 
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. 

Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena. 

Enter Helena. 
Her. God speed fair Helena ! Whither away ? 
Hel. Call you me fair ? that fair again unsay. 
Demetrius loves your fair*" : happy fair ! 
Your eyes are lode-stars, and your tongue's sweet air 
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear. 
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 



1 earthlier : in f. e. Capel also suggested the change. ' to is added in the second folio ; Knight and others, omit it. ' Bestow. * love : 
in f. e. Theobald suggested the change. » Folio, 1623 : merit. Other eds. : friends ; from the quartos. ^ So the quartos ; the folio : mo- 
mentary. ' Black. 8 Pit of passion. » So the quartos ; the folio : remov'd. lo Features. 



150 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



ACT I. 



Sickness is catching ; 0, were favour' so ! 
Your words I 'd catch, fair Hermia; ere I go, 
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, 
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, 
The rest I 'U give to be to you translated. 

! teach me how you look, and with what art 
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 

Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. 

Hel. 0, that your frowns would teach my smiles 
such skill ! 

Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 

Hel. 0, that my prayers could such affection move ! 

Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. 

Hel. The more I love, the more he liateth me. 

Her. His fault, fair^ Helena, is none of mine, [mine ! 

Hel. None, but your beauty : would that fault were 

Her. Take comfort : he no more shall see my face : 
Lysander and myself will fly this place. — 
Before the time I did Lysander see, 
Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me : 
then, what graces in my love must dwell, 
That he hath turn'd a heaven into hell ! 

Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold. 
To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold 
Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass. 
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
(A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,) 
Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. 

Her. And in the wood, where often you and I- 
Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie. 
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, 
There my Lysander and myself shall meet ; 
And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes, 
To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
Farewell, sweet playfellow ; pray thou for us, 
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! — 
Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our sight 
From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. 

[Exit Herm. 

Lys. I will, my Hermia. — Helena, adieu : 
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! [Exit Lys. 

Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be ! 
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she ; 
But what of that ? Demetrius thinks not so ; 
He will not know what all but he do know : 
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, 
So I, admiring of his qualities. 
Things base and vile, holding no quantity. 
Love can transpose to form and dignity. 
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, 
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind : 
Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste ; 
Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste : 
And therefore is love said to be a child. 
Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. 
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear. 
So the boy love is perjur'd every where ; 
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne. 
He hail'd do^^^l oaths that he was only mine ; 
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt. 
So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt. 

1 will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight ; 
Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night. 
Pursue her ; and for this intelligence 

If I have thanks, it is^ dear recompense : 

But herein mean I to enrich my pain, 

To have his sight thither, and back again. [Exit. 



SCENE H.— The Same. A Room in a Cottage. 

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and 
Starveling. 

Qiiin. Is all our company here ? 

Bot. You were best to call them generally, man by 
man, according to the scrip. 

Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which 
is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our inter- 
lude before the duke and duchess on his wedding-day 
at night. 

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play 
treats on ; then read the names of the actors, and so 
go on to appoint.* 

Quin. Marry, our play is — The most lamentable 
comedy, and most cruel death of PjTamus and Thisby. 

Bot. A veiy good piece of work, I assure you, and 
a merry. — Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your 
actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yoiu-selves. 

Quin. Answer, as I call you. — Nick Bottom, the 
weaver. 

Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed. 

Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus. 

Bot. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a tyrant ? 

Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love. 

Bot. That will ask some tears in the true performing 
of it : if I do it, let the audience look to their eyes ; I 
will move stones;* I will condole in some measure. 
To the rest : — yet my chief humour is for a t>Tant : I 
could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to 
make all split. 

" The raging rocks, 

" And shivering shocks, 

" Shall break the locks 

" Of prison-gates : 
" And Phibbus' car 
" Shall shine from far 
" And make and mar 
" The foolish fates." 
This was lofty ! — Now name the rest of the players. — 
This is Ercles' vein,' a tyrants vein ] a lover is more 
condoling. 

Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. 

Flu. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. You must take Thisby on you. 

Flu. What is Thisby ? a wandering knight ? 

Qvin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. 

Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman : I have 
a beard coming. 

Quin. That 's all one. You shall play it in a mask, 
and you may speak as small as you will. 

Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby 
too. I '11 speak in a monstrous little voice : — '• Thisby, 
Thisb}' — Ah, P>Tamus, my lover dear ! thy Thisby 
dear, and lady dear !" 

Quin. No, no; you must play Pyramus, and. Flute, 
you Thisby. 

Bot. Well, proceed. 

Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. 

Star. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's 
mother. — Tom Snout, the tinker. 

Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. You, Pyramus's father ; myself, Thisby's 
father. — Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part ; — and, I 
hope, here is a play fitted. 

Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray you, 
if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. 



1 Beauty. = folly, in place of, fault, fair : in f. e. 3 a dear expense : in f. e. * so go on to a point : in f. e. * storms : 
Greene's Groat 's-worth of wit, a player says, "The twelve labours of Hercules have I terribly thundered on the stage." 



in f. e. 6 111 



SCENE I. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



151 



Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing 
but roaring. 

Bot. Let me play the lion too. I will roar, that I 
will do any man's heart good to hear me : I will roar, 
that 1 will make the dulie say, " Let him roar again : 
let him roar again." 

Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would 
fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would 
shriek ; and that were enough to hang us all. 

All. That would hang us, every mother's son. 

Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright 
the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more 
discretion but to hang us, but I will aggravate my voice 
so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove : 
I will roar you an 't were any niglitingale. 

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus ; for Pyra- 
mus is a sweet-faced man • a proper man, as one shall 
see in a summer's day, a most lovely, gentlemanlike 
man ; therefore, you must needs play Pyramus. 

Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I 
best to play it in ? 



Quin. Why, what you will. 

Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw-colour 
beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain 
beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your perfect 
yellow. 

Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair at 
all, and then you will play bare-faced. — But masters, 
here are your parts ; and I am to entreat you, request 
you, and desire you, to con them by to-morrow night, 
and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the 
town, by moon-light : there will we rehearse ; for if 
we meet in the city, we shall be dog'd with company, 
and our devices known. Li the meantime I will draw 
a bill of properties, such as our play wants. I pray 
you, fail me not. 

Bot. We will meet ; and there we may rehearse 
more obscenely, and courageously. 

Quin. Take pains ; be perfect ; adieu.' At the duke's 
oak we meet. 

Bot. Enough, hold, or cut bow-strings.^ [Exeu7it. 



ACT II. 



SCENE L— A Wood near Athens. 

Enter a Fairy and Puck at opposite doors. 
Puck. How now, spirit ! whither wander you ? 
Fai. Over hill, over dale, 

Thorough bvish, thorough brier, 

Over park, over pale. 

Thorough flood, thorough fire, 

I do wander every where. 

Swifter than the moon's sphere ; 

And I serve the fairy queen. 

To dew her orbs^ upon the green : 

The cowslips all* her pensioners be : 

In their gold cups^ spots you see. 

Those be rubies, fairy favours, 

In those freckles live their savours : 
I must go seek some dew-drops here. 
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
Farewell, thou lob^ of spirits : I '11 be gone. 
Our queen and all her elves come here anon. 

Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-mght. 
Take heed, the queen come not within his sight • 
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath. 
Because that she, as her attendant, hath 
A lovely boy, stol'n from an Indian king : 
She never had so sweet a changeling ; 
And jealous Oberon would have the child 
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild ; 
But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy. 
Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy : 
And now they never meet in grove, or green. 
By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen. 
But they do square^ ; that all their elves, for fear. 
Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. 

Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quite. 
Or else you arc that shrewd and knavish sprite, 
Call'd Robin Good-fellow. Are you not he, 
That frights the maidens of the villagery ; 
Skims milk, and sometimes labours in the quern^. 
And bootless makes the breathless housewife churn; 
And sometimes makes the drink to bear no barm' ; 



Misleads night- wanderers, laughing at their harm ? 
Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, 
You do their work, and they shall have good luck. 
Are not you he ? 

Puck. Fairy'", thou speak'st aright ; 

I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile. 
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal : 
And sometimes lurk I in a gossip's bowl, 
In viery likeness of a roasted crab ; 
And. when she drinks, against her lips I bob, 
And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. 
The wisest aunt telling the saddest tale. 
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ; 
Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, 
And " tailor" cries, and falls into a cough ; 
And then the whole quire hold their hips, and laugh, 
And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear 
A merrier hour was never wasted there. — 
But room. Fairy : here comes Oberon. 

Fai. And here my mistress. — Would that he were 
gone ! 

Enter Oberon, from one side., with his train, and 
TiTANiA, from the other, with hers. 

Obe. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania. 

Tita. What, jealous Oberon ! Fairies^', skip hence: 
I have forsworn his bed and company. 

Obe. Tarry, rash wanton. Am not I thy lord ? 

Tita. Then, I must be thy lady ; but I know 
Wlien thou hast stol'n away from fairy land, 
And in the shape of Corin sat all day. 
Playing on pipes of corn, and A'crsing love 
To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, 
Come from the farthest steep of India, 
But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 
Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love. 
To Theseus must be wedded ? and you come 
To give their bed joy and prosperity. 

Obe. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania, 
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, 



' In f. e. this half of the speech is given to Bottom. ^ A popular proverbial phrase. 3 "phe green circles kiiown ais fairy-rings. * tall : in 
f. e. 5 coats : in f. e. « Lubber. "> Quarrel, s Hand-mill. ' Yeast, lo Not in, f. e. " Fairy : in f. e. 



152 



MIDSUMMEK-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



ACT n. 



Knowing I know thy love to Theseus ? 

Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night 

From Perigenia, whom he ravished ? 

And make him with fair JEg\e break his faith, 

With Ariadne, and Antiopa ? 

Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy : 
And never, since the middle summer's spring,' 
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, 
By paved fountain'', or by rushy brook, 
Or on the beached margin of the sea. 
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind. 
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. 
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, 
As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
Contagious fogs ; which falling in the land, 
Have every pelting^ river made so proud. 
That they have overborne their continents : 
The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain. 
The ploughman lost his sweat : and the green corn 
Hath rotted, ere his youth attain'd a beard : 
The fold stands empty in the drowned field. 
And crows are fatted with the murrain flock : 
The nine men's morris is fiU'd up with mud ;* 
And the quaint mazes on the wanton green, 
For lack of tread are undistinguishable. 
The human mortals want their winter here : 
No night is now with hymn or carol blest ; 
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods. 
Pale in her anger, washes all the air, 
That rheumatic diseases do abovind : 
And thorough this distemperature, we see 
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts 
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ; 
And on old Hyem's chin^, and icy crown. 
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, 
The childing" autumn, angry winter, change 
Their wonted liveries ; and the 'mazed world. 
By their increase, now knows not which is which. 
And this same progeny of evils comes 
From our debate, from our dissension : 
We are their parents and original. 

Obe. Do you amend it then : it lies in you. 
Why should Titania cross her Oberon ? 
I do but beg a little changeling boy, 
To be my henchman. 

Tita. Set your art' at rest : 

Thy* fairy land buys not the child of me. 
His mother was a votaress of my order : 
And, in the spiced Indian air, by night. 
Full often hath she gossip'd by my side. 
And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, 
Marking th' embarked traders on the flood ; 
When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive. 
And grow big-bellied, with the wanton wind ; 
Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait 
Following, (her womb, then ripe' with my young squire) 
Would imitate, and sail lapon the land. 
To fetch me trifles, and return again. 
As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. 
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die; 
And for her sake I do rear up her boy. 
And for her sake I will not part with him. 

Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay? 

Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. 
If you will patiently dance in our round. 
And see our moonlight revels, go with us ; 



If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 

Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. 

Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. — Fairies, away ! 
We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. 

[Exit Titania, with her train. 

Obe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from this 
grove. 
Till I torment thee for this injury. — 
My gentle Puck, come hither : thou remember'st 
Since once I sat upon a promontory. 
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song. 
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
To hear the sea-maid's music. - 

Puck. I remember. 

Obe. That very time I saw (but thou couldst not), 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, -' 
Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took 
At a fair ve.staP" throned by the west. 
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : 
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, 
And the imperial votaress pa.'sed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
It fell upon a little western flower. 
Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, 
And maidens call it love-iuridleness. 
Fetch me that flower ; the herb I show'd thee once : 
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, 
Will make or man or woman madly dote 
Upon the next live creature that is seen^'. 
Fetch me this herb ; and be thou here again. 
Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 

Puck. I 'd'" put a girdle round about the earth 
In forty minutes. [Exit Puck. 

Obe. Having once this juice, 

I '11 watch Titania when she is asleep. 
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes : 
Tne next thing then she waking looks upon, 
(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull. 
On meddling monkey, or on busy ape.) 
She shall pursue it with the soul of love ; 
And ere I take this charm off from her sight, 
(As I can take it with another herb) 
I '11 make her render up her page to me. 
But who comes here ? I am invisible. 
And I will over-hear their conference. [Retiring. 

Enter Demetrius, Helena following him. 

Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. 
Where is Lysander, and fair Hermia ? 
The one I '11 slay, the other slayeth me. 
Thou told'st me they were stol'n into this wood, 
And here am I, and wood" within this wood, 
Because I camiot meet my Hermia. 
Hence ! get thee gone, and follow me no more. 

Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant ; 
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart 
Is true as steel : leave you your power to draw, 
And I shall have no power to follow you. 

Dem. Do I entice you ? Do I speak you fair ? 
Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth 
Tell you I do not, nor I cannot love you ? 

Hel. And even for that do I love you the more. 
I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius, 



1 Beginnins; of midsummer. ^ Stream running over pebbles. ^ Petty. * A sort of table of cross lines cut in the turf, on Trhich a g^| 
■was played with eighteen stones divided between two players, who moved these stones after the manner of chequers. Wet weather would of 
course p'roduce the effect in the text. ' Tyrwhitt reads : thin. « Teeming. '' heart : in f. e. 8 The : in f. e. ' rich : in f. e. i" This 
passage is supposed to refer to Queen Elizabeth. n it sees : in f. e. " I'll : in f. e. " Mad, crazed. 



SCENE n. 



midsummer-:night's dream. 



153 



The more you beat me. I will fawn on you : 
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, 
Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave, 
Unworthy as I am, to follow you. 
What worser place can I beg in your love, 
(And yet a place of high respect with me,) 
Than to be used as you use your dog ? 

Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit, 
For I am sick when I do look on thee. 

Hel. And I am sick when I look not on you. 
Dem. You do impeach your modesty too much, 
To leave the city, and commit yourself 
Into the hands of one that loves you not ; 
To trust the opportunity of night. 
And the ill counsel of a desert place, 
With the rich worth of your virginity. 

Hel. Your virtue is my privilege for that. 
It is not night, when I do see your face. 
Therefore I think I am not in the night ; 
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company. 
For you, in my respect, are all the world. 
Then how can it be said, I am alone, 
When all the world is here to look on me ? 

Dem. I '11 run from thee, and hide me in the brakes, 
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 

Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 
Run when you will, the story shall be chang'd ; 
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase : 
The dove pursues the griffin ; the mild hind 
Makes speed to catch the tiger. Bootless speed ! 
When cowardice pursues, and valour flies. 

Dem. I will not stay thy questions : let me go ; 
Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 

Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, 
You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius ! 
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex : 
We cannot fight for love, as men may do ; 
We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo, 
I '11 follow thee, and make a heaven of hell. 
To die upon the hand I love so well. 

[Exeunt Dem. ai}d Hel. 
Obe. Fare thee well, nymph : ere he do leave this grove. 
Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. — 

Re-enter Puck. 
Hast thou the flower there ? Welcome, wanderer. 
Pitch. Ay, there it is. 

Obe. I pray thee, give it me. 

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows. 
Where ox-lips, and the nodding violet grows ; 
Quite over-canopied with lush' woodbine, 
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine : 
There sleeps Titania, some time of the night, 
Lull'd in these bowers^ with dances and delight : 
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin. 
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in : 
And with the juice of this I '11 streak her eyes, 
And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove : 
A sweet Athenian lady is in love 
With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes ; 
But do it, when the next thing he espies 
May be the lady. Thou shalt know the man 
By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
Effect it with some care, that he may prove 
More fond on her, than she upon her love. 
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. 

Puck. Fear not, my lord : your servant shall do so. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE II.— Another Part of the Wood. 
Enter Titania, with her train. 
Tita. Come, now a roundel, and a fairy song ; 
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence : 
Some, to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds : 
Some war with rear-mice^ for their leathern wings, 
To make my small elves coats ; and some keep back 
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wonders 
At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep ; 
Then to your offices, and let me rest. 
fairies' song. 

1 Fai. You spotted snakes, with double tongue, 

Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen, 
Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong ; 
Come not near our fairy queen : 

CHORUS. 

Philomel, with melody, 
Sing now your^ sweet lullaby ; 
Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby : 
Never harm. 
Nor spell nor charm, 
Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
So, good night, with lullaby. 
II. 

2 Fai. Weaving spiders, come not here ; 

Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence : 
Beetles black, approach not near ; 
Worm, nor snail, do no offence. 

CHORUS. 

Philomel, with melody, &c. 
2 Fai. Hence, away ! now all is well. 
One, aloof, stand sentinel. 

[Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps. 
Enter Oberon. 
Obe. What thou seest, when thou dost wake, 

[Anointing Titania's eye-lids. 
Do it for thy true love take ; 
Love, and languish for his sake : 
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, 
Pard, or boar with bristled hair. 
In thy eye that shall appear 
When thou wak'st, it is thy dear. 
Wake when some vile thing is near. [Exit. 

Enter Lysander arui Hermia. 
Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood ; 
And, to speak troth, I have forgot our way : 
We '11 rest us, Hermia, if you think it good. 
And tarry for the comfort of the day. 
Her. Be it so, Lysander : find you out a bed, 
For I upon this bank will rest my head. 

Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both : 
One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth. 

Her. Nay, good Lysander ; for my sake, my dear, 
Lie further off yet : do not lie so near. 

Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence ; 
Love takes the meaning in love's confidence.' 
I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit, 
So that but one heart we can make of it : 
Two bosoms interchained with an oath ; 
So then, two bosoms, and a single troth. 
Then, by your side no bed-room me deny, 
For, lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. 

Her. Lysander riddles very prettily. 
Now much beshrew my manners and my pride, 
If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied. 
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy 
Lie further off ; in human modesty 
Such separation as may well be said 



« luscious : in f. e. » flowers : in f. e. ' Bats. ♦ in our : in f. c. » conference : in f. e. 



154 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



ACT in. 



Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid, 

So far be distant ; and good night, sweet friend. 

Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end ! 

Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I ; 
And then end life, when I end loyalty ! 
Here is my bed : sleep give thee all his rest ! 

Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be 
press'd ! [They sleep. 

Enter Puck. 
Puck. Through the forest have I gone, 
But Athenian found I none, 
On whose eyes I might approve 
This flower's force in stirring love. 
Night and silence ! who is here ? 
Weeds of Athens he doth wear : 
This is he, my master said, 
Despised the Athenian maid ; 
And here the maiden, sleeping sound 
On the dank and dirty ground. 
Pretty soul ! she durst not lie 
Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy. 
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
All the power this charm doth owe. 

[Anointing his eyes.'' 
When thou wak'st, let love forbid 
Sleep his seat on thy eyelid. 
So awake when I am gone, 
For I must now to Oberon. [Exit. 

Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. 
Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetritis. 
Dem. T charge thee, hence ; and do not haunt me thus. 
Hel. O ! wilt thou darkling leave me ? do not so. 
Dem. Stay, on thy peril : I alone will go. 

[Exit Demetrius. 
Hel. ! I am out of breath in this fond chase. 
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. 
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies. 
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. 
How came her eyes so bright ? Not with salt tears : 
If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. 
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear. 
For beasts that meet me, run away for fear ; 
Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius 
Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. 
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne ? — 
But who is here ? — Lysander on the ground ? 
Dead, or asleep ? — I see no blood, no wound. — 
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 

Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet 
sake. [Waking. 

Transparent Helena ! Nature here shows art^. 
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 



Where is Demetrius ? 0, how fit a word 
Is that vile name to perish on my sword ! 

Hel. Do not say so, Lysander ; say not so. 
What though he love your Hermia ? Lord ! what though? 
Yet Hermia still loves you : then, be content. 

Lys. Content with Hermia ? No : I do repent 
The tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
Not Hermia, but Helena I love. 
Who will not change a raven for a dove ? 
The will of man is by his reason sway'd, 
And reason says you are the worthier maid. 
Things growing are not ripe until their season ; 
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason ; 
And touching now the point of human skill. 
Reason becomes the marshal to my will, 
And leads me to your eyes ; where I o'erlook 
Love's stories, written in love's richest book. 

Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery- born ? 
When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn ? 
Is 't not enough, is 't not enough, young man. 
That I did never, no, nor never can. 
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, 
But you must flout my insufiiciency ? 
Good troth, you do me wrong ; good sooth, you do, 
In such disdainful manner me to woo. 
But fare you well : perforce I must confess, 
I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
0, that a lady, of one man refus'd, 
Should, of another, therefore, be abus'd ! [Exit. 

Lys. She sees not Hermia. — Hermia, sleep thou there; 
And never may'st thou come Lysander near ; 
For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things 
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings ; 
Or, a* the heresies, that men do leave, 
Are hated most of those they did deceive ; 
So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy. 
Of all be hated, but the most of me ; 
And all my powers address their love and might. 
To honour Helen, and to be her knight. [Exit. 

Her. Help me, Lysander, help me ! do tliy best, 

[ Waking. 
To pluck this crawling serpent from my brea.'t. 
Ah, me, for pity ! — what a dream was here ! 
Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear. 
Methought a serpent ate my heart away, 
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey. — 
Lysander ! what, remov'd ? Lysander ! lord ! 
What, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no word ? 
Alack ! where are you ? speak, an if you hear ; 
Speak, of all loves ! I swoon almost with fear. 
No ? — then I will perceive you are not nigh : 
Either death, or you, I '11 find immediately. [Exit. 



ACT III 



SCENE I.— The Same. Titania lying asleep. 

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and 
Starveling. 

Bot. Are we all met ? 

Quin. Pat, pat ; and here 's a marvellous convenient 
place for our rehearsal. This green plot shall be our 
stage, this hawthorn brake our 'tiring-house : and 
we will do it in action, as we will do it before the 
duke. 



Bot. Peter Quince, — 

Quin. What say"st thou, bully Bottom ? 

Bot. There are things in this comedy of " Pyramus 
and Thisby," that will never please. First, Pyi-amus 
mu.st draw a sword to kill himself, which the ladies 
cannot abide. How answer you that ? 

Snout. By 'rlakin', a parlous fear. 

Star. I believe we must leave the killing out, when 
all is done. 

Bot. Not a whit : I have a device to make all well. 



> This diiection not in f. e. « Malone's reading " Nature shows her art." ^ By our lady kin. 



SCENE I. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



155 



Write me a prologue ; and let the prologue seem to 
say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that 
Pyramus is not killed indeed : and, for the more 
better assurance, tell them, that I, Pyramus, am not 
Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver. This will put them 
out of fear. 

Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue, and it 
shall be written in eight and six.' 

Bot. No, make it two more : let it be written in 
eight and eight. 

Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion ? 

Star. I fear it, I promise you. 

Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves : 
to bring in, God shield us ! a lion among ladies, is a most 
dreadful thing ; for there is not a more fearful wild- 
fowl than your lion living, and we ought to look to it. 

Snout. Therefore, another prologue must tell he is 
not a lion. 

Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his 
face must be seen through the lion's neck ; and he 
himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the 
same defect : — '' Ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish 
you, or, I would request you, or, I would entreat you, 
not to fear, not to tremble : my life for yours. If you 
think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life : 
no, I am no such thing : I am a man as other men 
arc :" and there, indeed, let him name his name, and 
tell them plainly he is Snug, the joiner. 

Quia. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard 
things : that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber ; 
for you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight. 

Snug. Doth the moon shine that night we play our 
play? 

Bot. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the almanack ; 
find out moonshine, find out moonshine. 

Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. 

Bot. Why, then you may leave a casement of the 
great chamber window, where we play, open; and the 
moon may shine in at the casement. 

Quin. Ay ; or else one must come in with a bush of 
thorns and a lantliorn, and say, he comes to disfigure, 
or to present, the pcr.son of moonshine. Then, there 
is another thing : we must have a wall in the great 
chamber ; for Pyramus and Thisby (says the storj\) 
did talk through the chink of a wall. 

Snvg. You can never bring in a wall.— What say 
you, Bottom? 

Bot. Some man or other must present wall ; and let 
him have some plaster, or some lime^, or some rough- 
cast about him, to signify wall : and^ let him hold his 
fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus 
and Tliisby whisper. 

Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit 
down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts. 
Pyramus, you begin. When you have spoken your 
speech, enter into that brake ) and so every one ac- 
cording to his cue. 

Enter Puck behind. 

Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swagger- 
ing here, 
So near the cradle of the fairy queen? 
What, a play toward ? I '11 be an auditor ; 
An actor too. perhaps, if I see cause. 

Quin. Speak, Pyramus. — Thisby, stand forth. 

Pyr. '' Thisby, the flowers have* odious savours 
sweet," — 

Quin. Odours, odours. 

Pyr. '• odours savours sweet : 



So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby, dear. — 
But, hark, a voice ! stay thou but here a while, 

And by and by I will to thee appear." [Exit. 

Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here. 

[Exit. 
This. Must I speak now? 

Quin. Ay. marry, must you ; for you must under- 
stand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is 
to come again. 

This. " Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue, 
Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, 
Most brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew, 

As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire, 
I '11 meet thee, Pyi-amus, at Ninny's tomb." 

Quin. Ninus' tomb, man. Why you must not speak 

that yet ; that you answer to Pyramus. You speak all 

your part at once, cues and all. — Pyramus, enter: your 

cue is past ; it is, '■'■ never tire." 

Re-enter Puck, and Bottom with an ass's head on.^ 

This. O ! — ■' As true as truest horse, that yet would 

never tire." 
Pyr. " If I were, fair Thisby, I were only thine." — 
Quin. monstrous ! O strange ! we are haunted. 
Pray, masters ! fly, masters ! help ! 

[Exeunt Clowns, in confusion.^ 
Puck. I '11 follow you, I '11 lead you about a round, 
Through bog, through bush, tlurough brake, through 
brier : 
Sometime a horse I '11 be, sometime a hound, 

A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ; 
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, 
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. [Exit. 
Bot. Why do they run away ? this is a knavery of 
them, to make me afeard. 

Re-enter Snout. 
Snout. Bottom ! thou art changed : wliat do I see 
on thee ? [Exit, frightened.'' 

Bot. What do you see? you see an ass's head of 
your own, do you ? 

Re-enter'Q.vmcE. 

Quin. Bless thee. Bottom ! bless thee ! thou art 

translated. [Exit, frightened.^ 

Bot. I see their knavery. This is to make an ass 

of me, to fright me, if they could ; but I -s\'ill not stir 

from this place, do what they can. I will walk up and 

do-\\ai here, and I will sing, that they shall hear I am 

not afraid. [Sings. 

The oosel-cock^, so black of hue^ 

With orange-tawny bill, 
The throstle with his note so true, 
TJie wren with little quill. 
Tita. What angel wakes me from my flowery bed ? 

[ Waking. 
Bot. The finch, the sparrow, and the larky 
The plain-song cuckoo gray, 
Whose note full many a man doth mark^ 
And dares not answer, nay ; 
for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? 
who would give a bird the lie, though he cry '■ cuckoo" 
never so ? 

Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again : 
Mine ear is much cuamour'd of thy note, 
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; 
And thy fair virtue's force, perforce, doth move me. 
On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee. 

Bot. Mcthinks, mistress, you should have little 
reason for that : and yet, to say the truth, reason and 
love keep little cojnpany together now-a-days. The 



1 alternate verses of these syllables. 
in f. e. 9 Black-bird. 



2 loam; in f. e. ^ or : in f. e. * or : in f. e. * Not in f. e. * The last two words not in f. e. "> *> Not 



156 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



ACT in. 



more the pity, that some honest neighbours will not 
make them friends. Nay, I can gleek' upon occasion. 

Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 

Sot. Not so, neither ; but if I had wit enough to get 
out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn. 

Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go : 
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. 
I am a spirit of no common rate ; 
The summer still doth tend upon my state, 
And I do love thee : therefore, go with me ; 
I '11 give thee fairies to attend on thee ; 
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep. 
And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep : 
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so, 
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. — 
Peas-blossom ! Cobweb ! Moth ! and Mustard-seed. 
Enter four Fairies. 

1 Fai. Ready. 

2 Fai. And I. 

3 Fai. And I. 

4 Fai. Where shall we go ? 
Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman : 

Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes ; 
Feed him with apricocks, and dewberries. 
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries. 
Their honey bags steal from the humble-bees, 
And for night tapers crop their waxen thighs. 
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, 
To have my love to bed, and to arise ; 
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies. 
To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes. 
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 

1 Fai. Hail, mortal. 

2 Fai. Hail ! 

3 Fai. Hail ! 

4 Fai. Hail ! 

Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily. — I be- 
seech, your worship's name. 

Cob. Cobweb. 

Bot. I shall desire of you more acquaintance, good 
master Cobweb. If I cut my finger, I shall make bold 
with you. — Your name, honest gentleman? 

Peas. Peas-blossom. 

Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, 
your mother, and to master Pcascod, your father. 
Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire of you more 
acquaintance too. — Your name, I beseech you, sir? 

Mus. Musiard-seed. 

Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your pa- 
tience well : that same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef 
hath devoured many a gentleman of your house. I 
promise you, your kindred hath made my eyes water 
ere now. I desire of you more acquaintance, good 
master Mustard-seed. 

Tita. Come, wait upon him : lead him to my bower. 
The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye, 
And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, 
Lamenting some enforced chastity. 
Tie up my lover's tongue, and bring him silently. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE n.— Another Part of the Wood. 
Enter Oberon. 
Obe. I wonder, if Titania be awak'd ; 
Then, what it was that next came in her eye, 
Which she must dote on in extremity. 

Enter Puck. 
Here comes my messenger. — How now, mad spirit ? 
What night-rule' now about this haunted grove ? 



Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. 
Near to her close and consecrated bower, 
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, 
A crew of patches, rude mechanicals. 
That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, 
Were met together to rehearse a play. 
Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day. 
The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort, 
Who Pyramus presented in their sport, 
Forsook his scene, and enter'd in a brake, 
When I did him at this advantage take ; 
An ass's nowP I fixed on his head : 
Anon, his Thisbe must be answered, 
And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy, 
As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, 
Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort. 
Rising and cawing at the gun's report. 
Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky;' 
So, at his sight, away his fellows fly, 
And, at our stajup, here o'er and o'er one falls : 
He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. 
Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus strong, 
Made senseless things begin to do them wrong. 
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch, 
Some, sleeves, some, hats, from yielders all things catch. 
I led them on in this distracted fear. 
And left sweet Pyramus translated there ; 
When in that moment (so it came to pass,) 
Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. 

Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. 
But hast thou yet latch'd* the Athenian's eyes 
With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do ? 

Pitch. I took him sleeping, (that is finish'd too) 
And the Athenian woman by his side. 
That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd, 
E7iter Dkmetrius and Hermia. 

Obe. Stand close : this is the same Athenian. 

Puck. This is the woman ; but not this the man. 

[They stand apart.^ 

Dem. O ! why rebuke you him that loves you so? 
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. 

Her. Now, I but chide ; but I should use thee worse, 
For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. 
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep. 
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, 
And kill me too. 

The sun was not so true unto the day. 
As he to me. Would he have stol'n away 
From sleeping Hermia? I '11 believe as soon, 
This whole earth may be bor'd, and that the moon 
May through the centre creep, and so displease 
Her brother's noon-tide with th' Antipodes. 
It cannot be but thou hast murder'd him ; 
So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim. 

Dem. So should the murder'd look, and so should I, 
Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty ; 
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear. 
As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. 

Her. What 's this to my Lysander? where is he? 
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me? 

Dem. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds. 

Her. Out, dog ! out, cur ! thou driv'st me past the 
bounds 
Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then? 
Henceforth be never mimber'd among men ! 
O ! once tell true, tell true, e'en for my sake ; 
Dur-st thou have look'd upon him, being awake. 
And hast thou kill'd him sleeping ? brave touch ! 
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ? 



1 Joke, scoff. » Revel. » Noll, head. * Fr. Licher : to lick. » This direction not in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



MIDSUMMEE-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



157 



An adder did it : for "with doubler tongue 
Tlian thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 

Dem. You spend your passion in a mispris'd flood:' 
1 am not guilty of Lysander's blood, 
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. 

Her. I pray thee, tell me, then, that he is well. 
Dem. And, if I could, what should I get therefore ? 
Her. A privilege, never to see me more. — 
And from thy hated presence part I so ; 
See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Exit. 

Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein : 
Here, therefore, for a while I will remain. 
So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow 
For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe; 
Which now in some slight measure it will pay, 
If for his tender here I make some stay. [Lies down. 
Obe. What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken 
quite, [Coming forward. 

And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight : 
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 
Some true-love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true. 
Puck. Then fate o'er-rules ; that one man holding 
troth, 
A million fail, confounding oath on oath. 

06c. About the wood go swifter than the wind. 
And Helena of Athens look thou find : 
All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer 
With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear. 
By some illusion see you bring her here : 
I '11 cliarm his eyes against she do appear. 

Puck. I go, I go ; look how I go : 
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [Exit. 

Obe. Flower of this purple die, 
Hit with Cupid's archery, 

Sink in apple of his eye. [Anointing his eyes. 

When his love he doth espy, 
Let her shine as gloriously 
As the Venus of the sky, — 
When thou wak'st, if she be by, 
Beg of her for remedy. 

Re-enter Puck. 
Puck. Captain of our fairy band, 
Helena is here at hand. 
And the youth, mistook by me, 
Pleading for a lover's fee. 
Shall we their fond pageant see ? 
Lord, what fools these mortals be ! 

Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make 
Will cause Demetrius to awake. 

Puck. Then will two at once woo one j 
That must needs be sport alone ; 
And those things do best please me. 
That befal preposterously. [They stand apart. 

Enter Lysander and Helena. 
Lys. Why should you think that I should woo in scorn ? 
Scorn and derision never come in tears : 
Look, when I vow I weep, and vows so born. 

In their nativity all truth appears. 
How can these things in me seem scorn to you, 
Bearing the badge of faith to prove them true ? 

Hel. You do advance your cunning more and more. 
When truth kills truth, 0, deviliish-holy fray ! 
These vows are Hermia's : will you give her o'er? 

Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh: 
Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales, 
Will even weigh, and both as light as tales. 
Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore. 
Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er. 
Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. 



Dem. Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine ! 

[Awaking. 
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne ? 
Crystal is muddy. O ! how ripe in show 
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! 
That pure congealed white, high Taurus snow, 
Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow. 
When thou hold'st up thy hand. 0, let me kiss 
This impress" of pure white, this seal of bliss ! 

Hel. spite ! O hell ! I see you all are bent 
To set against me, for your merriment : 
If you were civil, and knew courtesy. 
You would not do me thus much injury. 
Can you not hate me, as I know you do, 
But you must join in souls to mock me too ? 
If you were men, as men you are in show, 
You would not use a gentle lady so : 
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, 
When, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts. 
You both are rivals, and love Hermia, 
And now both rivals, to mock Helena. 
A trim exploit, a manly enterprise. 
To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes 
With your derision ! none of noble sort 
Would so offend a virgin, and extort 
A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 

Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius ; be not so. 
For you love Hermia ; this, you know, I know : 
And here, with all good will, with all my heart, 
In Hermia's love I yield you up my part ; 
And yours in Helena to me bequeath, 
Whom I do love, and will do till my death. 

Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. 

Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia : I will none : 
If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. 
My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd, 
And now to Helen is it home return'd. 
There to remain. 

Lys. Helen, it is not so. 

De7n. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, 
Lest to thy peril thou aby it dear. — 
Look, where thy love comes : yonder is thy dear. 
Enter Hermia. 

Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes, 
The ear more quick of apprehension makes ; 
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense. 
It pays the hearing double recompense. 
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; 
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. 
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ? 

Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go ? 

Her. What love could press Lysander from my side ? 

Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide. 
Fair Helena, who more engilds the night 
Than all yon fiery oes^ and eyes of light. 
Why seek"st thou me ? could not this make thee know, 
The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so ? 

Her. You speak not as you think : it cannot be. 

Hel. Lo ! she is one of this confederacy. 
Now I perceive they have conjoind, all three, 
To fashion this false sport in spite of me. 
Injurious Hermia ! most ungrateful maid ! 
Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd 
To bait me with this foul derision ? 
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd. 
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, 
When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
For parting us, — ! is all forgot ? 
All school days' friendship, childhood's innocence ? 



on a 



mispris'd mood : in f. e. ' princess : in f. e. ^ Eyes. 



158 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



ACT m. 



We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, 

Have with our needles created both one flower, 

Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion. 

Both warbling of one song, both in one key. 

As if onr hands, our sides, voices, and minds, 

Had been incorporate. So we grew together, 

Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, 

But yet an union in partition ; 

Two loving^ berries moulded on one stem. 

So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart j 

Two of the first, like coats in heraldry. 

Due but to one, and crowned with one crest. 

And will you rend our ancient love asunder. 

To join with men in scorning your poor friend ? 

It is not friendly, 't is not maidenly : 

Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it. 

Though I alone do feel the injury. 

Her. I am amazed at your passionate words. 
I scorn you not : it seems that you scorn me. 

Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn. 
To follow me, and praise my eyes and face. 
And made your other love, Demetrius, 
(Who even but now did spurn me with his foot) 
To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare, 
Precious, celestial ? Wherefore speaks he this 
To her he hates ? and wherefore doth Lysander 
Deny your love, so rich within his soul. 
And tender me, forsooth, affection. 
But by your setting on, by your consent ? 
What though I be not so in grace as you, 
So hung upon with love, so fortunate, 
But miserable most to love unlov'd. 
This you should pity, rather than despise. 

Her. I understand not what you mean by this. 

Hel. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks. 
Make mouths upon me when I turn my back ; 
Wink at each other; hold the sweet jest up : 
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 
If you had any pity, grace, or manners, 
You would not make me such an argument. 
But, fare ye well : 't is partly mine o^ni fault, 
Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy. 

Lys. Stay, gentle Helena : hear my excuse : 
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena ! 

Hel. O excellent ! 



Her. 



Sweet, do not scorn her so. 



Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. 

Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat : 
Thy threats have no more strength than her weak 

prayers. — 
Helen, I love thee ; by my life, I do : 
I swear by that which I will lose for thee, 
To prove him false, that says I love thee not. 

Dem. I say, I love thee more than he can do. 

Ly.s. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. 

Dem. Quick, come, — 

Her. Lysander, whereto tends all tliis ? [Holding him.^ 

Lys. Away, you Ethiop ! 



Dem. 



No, no. he '11- 



Seem to break loose ; take on, as you would follow ; 
But yet come not. You are a tame man, go ! 

Lys. Hang off", thou cat. thou burr ! vile thing, let 
loose. 
Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent. 

Her. Why are you grown so rude ? what change is this, 
Sweet love ? 

Lys. Thy love ? out, tawny Tartar, out ! 

Out, loathed medicine ! hated potion, hence ! 

Her. Do you not jest ? 

1 lovely : in f. e. ' Not in f. e. ^ ne-vra : in f. e. 



Hcl. Yes, 'sooth ; and so do you. 

Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. 

Dem. I would, I had your bond ; for, I perceive, 
A weak bond holds you : I '11 not trust your word. 

Lys. What ! should I hurt her, strike her, kill her 
dead ? 
Although I hate her, I '11 not harm her so. 

Her. What ! can you do me greater harm than hate ? 
Hate me ! wherefore ? O me ! what means^ my love ? 
Am not I Hermia ? Are not you Lysander ? 
I am as fair now, as I was ere while. 
Since niglit, you lov'd me ; yet, since night you left me: 
Why, .then you left me (0, tlie gods forbid !) 
In earnest, shall I say ? 

Lys. Ay, by my life ; 

And never did desire to see thee more. 
Therefore, be out of hope, of question, doubt,- 
Be certain, nothing truer : 't is no jest. 
That I do hate thee, and love Helena. 

Her. O me ! — you juggler ! you canker-blossom ! 
You thief of love ! what, have you come by night, 
And stol'n my love's heart from him ? 



Hel. 



Fine, i' faith ! 



Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, 
No touch of bashfulness ? What, will you tear 
Impatient answers from my gentle tongue ? 
Fie, fie ! you counterfeit, you puppet, you ! 

Her. Puppet ! why so ? Ay, that way goes the game. 
Now I perceive that she hath made compare 
Between our statures : she hath urg'd her height. 
And with her personage, her tall personage. 
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him. — 
And are you grown so high in his esteem. 
Because I am so dwarfish, and so low ? 
How low am I, thou painted maypole ? speak ; 
How low am I ? I am not yet so low. 
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. 

Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen, 
Let her not hurt me : I was never curst ; 
I have no gift at all in shrewishness : 
I am a right maid for my cowardice : 
Let her not strike me. You, perhaps, may thinlc. 
Because she is something lower than myself. 
That I can match her. 

Her. Lower ! hark, again. 

Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. 
I evermore did love you, Hermia, 
Did ever keep your counsels, never WTong'd you; 
Save that, in love unto Demetrius, 
I told him of your stealth unto this wood. 
He follow'd you ; for love, I follow'd him ; 
But he hath chid me hence, and threaten'd me 
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too : 
And now, so you will let me quiet go. 
To Athens will I bear my folly back, 
And follow you no farther. Let me go : 
You see how simple and how fond I am. 

Her. Wliy. get you gone. Who is 't that hinders you? 

Hel. A foolish heart, that I leave here behind. 

Her. What, with Lysander ? 

Hel. With Demetrius. 

Lys. Be not afraid : she shall not harm thee, Helena. 

Dem. No, sir ; she shall not, though you take her part. 

Hel. O ! when she is angry, she is keen and shrewd. 
She was a vixen when she went to school ; 
And, though she be but little, she is fierce. 

Her. Little again ? nothing but low and little ? — 
Why will you suffer her to flout me thus ? 
Let me come to her. 



SCENE n. 



MIDSUMMEE-NIGHT'S DEEAM. 



159 



., you acorn. 

You are too officious 



Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf; 

You minimus, of hindering knot-grass' made : 
You bead 

Dem. 
In her behalf that scorns your services. 
Let her alone ; speak not of Helena ; 
Take not her part, for if thou dost intend 
Never so little show of love lo her, 
Thou shalt aby^ it. 

Lys. Now she holds me not ; 

Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right, 
Or thine or mine, is most in Helena. 

Her. Follow ? nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jowl. 

[Exeunt Lys. and Dem. 

Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you. 
Nay, go not back. 

Hel. I will not trust you, I, 

Nor longer stay in your curst company. 
Your hands, than mine, are quicker for a fray; 
My legs are longer though, to run away. {Exit. 

Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. [Exit. 

Obe. This is thy negligence : still thou mistak'st, 

[ Coming forward. ' 
Or else commit'st thy knaveries wilfully.* 

Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. 
Did you not tell me I should know the man 
By the Athenian garments he had on? 
And so far blameless proves my enterprise, 
That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes ; 
And so far am I glad it so did sort. 
As this their jangling I esteem a sport. 

Obc. Thou seest these lovers seek a place to fight : 



Hie, therefore. 



Robin, overcast the night ; 



The starry welkin cover thou anon 

With drooping fog, as black as Acheron; 

And lead these testy rivals so astray, 

As one come not within another's way. 

Like to Lysandcr sometime frame thy tongue, 

Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong ; 

And sometime rail thou like Demetrius ; 

And from each other look thou lead them thus, 

Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep. 

With leaden legs and batty wings, doth creep. 

Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ) 

Whose liquor hath this virtuous property. 

To take from thence all error with his might. 

And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight. 

When they next wake, all this derision 

Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision ; 

And back to Athens shall tlie lovers wend. 

With league, whose date till death sluall never end. 

Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, 

I '11 to my queen, and beg her Indian boy ; 

And then I will her charmed eye release 

From monster's view, and all things shall be peace. 

Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste, 
For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, 
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger : 
At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there, 
Trooj) liome to churcli-yards : damned spirits all, 
That in cross- wavs and floods have burial, 
Already to their wormy beds arc gone ; 
For fear lest day should look their shames upon, 
They wilfully themselves e.xile from light, 
And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night. 

Obe. But we are spirits of another sort. 
I with the morning's love have oft made sport; 
And, like a forester, the groves may tread, 

1 Formerly supposed to have the property of hindering the growth, 
in^ly. 



Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red. 
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams. 
Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams. 
But, notwithstanding, haste ; make no delay : 
We may effect this business yet ere day. [Exit Oberon. 
Puck. Up and down, up and down ; 
I will lead them up and down : 
I am fear'd in field and town ; 
Goblin, lead them up and down. 
Here comes one. 

Enter Lysander. 
Ly.';. Where art thou, proud Demetrius ? speak thou 
now. [thou ? 

Puck. Here, villain ! drawn and ready. Where art 
Lys. I will be with thee straight. 
Pvck. Follow me then 

To plainer ground. [Exit Lys. as following the voice. 
Enter Demetrius. 
Dem. Lysander ! speak again. 

Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled ? 
Speak ! In some bush ? Where dost thou hide thy head ? 
Puck. Thou coward ! art thou bragging to the stars, 
Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars. 
And wilt not come ? Come, recreant ; come, thou child ; 
I '11 whip thee with a rod : he is defil'd. 
That draws a sword on thee. 

Dem. Yea ; art thou there ? 

Puck. Follow my voice : we '11 try no manhood here. 

[Exeunt. 
Re-enter Lysander. 
Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on : 
When I come where he calls, then he is gone. 
The villain is much lighter heel'd than I : 
I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly ; 
That fallen am I in dark uneven way. 
And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day ! 

[Lies down. 
For if but once thou show me thy grey light, 
I '11 find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps. 
Re-enter Puck and Demetrius. 
Puck. Ho ! ho ! ho ! Coward, why com'st thou not ? 
Ve7n. Abide me, if thou dar'st ; for well I wot, 
Thou run'st before me. shifting every place. 
And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. 
Where art thou now ? 

Puck. Come hither : I am here. 

Dem. Nay, then thou mock'st me. Thou shalt 'by 
this dear, 
If ever I thy face by day-light see : 
Now. go thy way. Faintness constraineth me 
To measure out my length on this cold bed. 
By day's approach look to be visited. 

[Lies doicn and sleeps. 
Enter Helena. 
Hcl. weary night ! 0, long and tedious night ! 
Abate thy hours : shine, comforts, from the east, 
That I may back to Athens, by day-light. 

From these that my poor company detest. 
And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, 
Steal me a while from mine own company. [Sleeps. 
Puck. Yet but three ? Come one more ; 
Two of both kinds make up foiir. 
Here she comes, curst and sad. 
Cupid is a knavish lad. 
Thus to make poor females mad. 
Enter Hermia. 
Her. Never so weary, never so in woe. 

Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers : 

2 Abide, answer for. 3 Not in f. e. * So the quarto : the folio : •will- 



160 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



ACT IV. 



I can no farther crawl, no farther go ; 

My legs can keep no pace with my desires. 
Here will I rest me till the break of day. 
Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray ! 

[Sleeps} 
Puck. On the ground sleep sound : 
I '11 apply to your eye, 



Gentle lover, remedy. 



[Anointing^ Lysander's eyes. 



When thou wak'st, see thou tak'st 



True delight in the eight 

Of thy former lady's eye : 

And the country proverb known. 

That every man should take his own, 

In your waking .shall be shown : 

Jack shall have Jill ; 

Nought shall go ill ; 
The man shall have his mare again, 
And all shall be well. 

[Exit Puck. — Dem. Hel. Ifc. sleep. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— The Same. 

Enter Titania and Bottom : Fairies attending : 

Oberon behind unseen. 
Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, 
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy^, 
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head. 
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 
Bot. Where 's Peas-blossom ? 
Peas. Ready. 
Bot. Scratch my 
monsieur Cobweb ? 
Cob. Ready. 
Bot. Monsieur Cobweb 



head, Peas-blossom. — Where 's 



good monsieur, get your 



weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped hum- 



ble-bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good monsieur^ 
bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too 
much in the action, monsieur ; and, good monsieur, 
have a care the honey-bag break not : I would be loath 
to have you overflown with a honey-bag, signior. — 
Where 's monsieur Mustard-seed ? 

Must. Ready. 

Bot. Give me your neif,* monsieur Mustard-seed. 
Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur. 

Must. What 's your will ? 

Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cavalery 
Cobweb' to scratch. I must to the barber's, monsieur ; 
I am marvellous hairy about the face. 



for, methinks, 



and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle 
me, I must scratch. 

Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet 
love ? 

Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music : let 's 
have the tongs and the bones. 

Tita. Or. say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat. 

Bot. Truly, a peck of provender : I could munch 
your good dry oats. Methinlfs. I have a great desire 
to a bottle of hay : good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow. 

Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 

Bot. I had rather have a handful or two of dried 
peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir 
me : I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. 

Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. 
Fairies, be gone, and be a while* away. 
So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle, 
Gently entwist : the female ivy so 
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
0, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee ! [They sleep. 
Enter Puck. 

Obe. [Advancing.^ Welcome, good Robin. Seest 
thou this sweet sight ? 
Her dotage now I do begin to pity ; 
For meeting her of late behind the wood, 

1 Lies down : in f . e. 3 Squeezing the juice on. s Caress. ♦ Fist, 



Seeking sweet savours for this hateful fool, 

I did upbraid her, and fall out with her ; 

For she his hairy temples then had rounded 

With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 

And that same dew, which sometime on the buds 

Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, 

Stood now within the pretty flow' rets' eyes. 

Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. 

When I had at my pleasure taunted her, 

And she in mild terms begg'd my patience, 

I then did ask of her her changeling child. 

Which straiglit she gave me ; and her fairy sent 

To bear him to my bower in fairy land. 

And now I have the boy, I will undo 

This hateful imperfection of her eyes : 

And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 

From off" the head of this Athenian swain, 

That he. awaking when the other do. 

May all to Athens back again repair. 

And think no more of this night's accidents, 

But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 

But first I will release the fairy queen. 

Be, as thou wast wont to be ; [Anointing her eyes. 
See, as thou wast wont to see ; 
Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
Hath such force and blessed power. 
Now, my Titania ! wake you, my sweet queen. 
Tita. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! 
Methought, I was enamour'd of an ass. 
Obe. There lies your love. 

Tita. How came these things to pass ? 

0, how mine eyes do loath his visage now ! 

Obe. Silence, a while. — Robin, take off" this head. — 
Titania, music call ; and strike more dead 
Than common sleep of all these five the sense. 
Tita. Music, ho ! music ! such as charmeth sleep. 
Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own fool's 

eyes peep. 
Obe. Sound, music ! Come, my queen, take hands 
with me. 
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. 
Now thou and I are new in amity. 
And will to-morrow midnight solemnly 
Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly. 
And bless it to all fair posterity. 
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. 

Puch. Fairy king, attend, and mark : 
I do hear the morning lark. 

Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad, 
Trip we after the night's shade ; 
We the globe can compass soon, 
Swifter than the wandering moon. 

Tita. Come, my lord ; and in our flight, 

5 A probable misprint for Peas-blossom. * all ways : in f. a 



SCENE II. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



161 



Tell me how it came this night, 
That I sleeping here was found 
With these mortals on the ground. [Exeunt. 

[Horns sound within. 
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Kgeus, and train. 

The. Go, one of you, find out the forester; 
For now our observation is performed : 
And since we have the vaward' of the day, 
My love shall hear the music of my hounds. — 
Uncouple in the western valley : let them go ! — 
Despatch, I say, and find the forester. — 
We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, 
And mark the musical confusion 
Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 

Hip. I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once. 
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 
Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves, 
The skies, the fountains, every region near 
Seem'd all one mutual cry. I never heard 
So nuisical a discord, such sweet thunder. 

The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
So flcw'd. so sanded ;^ and their heads are hung 
With ears that sweep away the morning dew : 
Crook-kneed; and dew-lap'd like Thcssalian bulls ; 
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells. 
Each under each. A cry more tuneable 
Was never halloo'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, 
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : 
Judge, when you hear. — But, sol't ! what nymphs are 
these ? 

Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep; 
And this, Lysander ; this Demetrius is ; 
This Helena, old Nedar's Helena : 
I wonder of their being here together. 

The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe 
The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent. 
Came here in grace of our solemnity. — 
But speak, Egeus : is not this the day 
That Hermia should give answer of her choice ? 

Ege. It is, my lord. 

The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their 
horns. 
[Horns^ and shouts within. Demetrius, Lysander, 
Hermia, ami Helena, wake and start up. 

The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past ; 
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now ? 

Lys. Pardon, my lord. [He and the rest kneel. 

The. I pray you all, stand up. 

I know, you two are rival enemies : 
How comes this gentle concord in the world, 
That hatred is so far from jealousy. 
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ? 

Lys. My lord, I sliall reply amazedly, 
Half sleep, half waking : but as yet, I swear. 
I cannot truly say how I came here ; 
But, as I think, (for truly would I speak, — 
And now I do bethink me, so it is) 
I came with Hermia hither : our intent 
Was to be gone from Athens, where we might be 
Without the peril of the Athenian law. 

Ege. Enough, enough ! my lord, you have enough. 
I beg the law, the law, upon his head. 
They would have stol'n away ; they would, Demetrius, 
Thereby to have defeated you and me ; 
You, of your Avife, and me, of my consent, 
Of my consent that she should be your wife. 

Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth, 
Of this their purpose hither, to this wood ; 



I And I in fury hither follow'd them, 
I Fair Helena in fancy following me. 
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, 
(But by some power it is.) my love to Hermia, 
Melted as the snow, seems to me now 
As the remembrance of an idle gawd. 
Which in my childhood I did dote upon ; 
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart. 
The object, and the pleasure of mine eye, 
Is only Helena. To her, my lord, 
Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia : 
But, like in sickness, did I loath this food ; 
But, as in health, come to my natural taste, 
Now do I wish it, love it, long for it. 
And will for evermore be true to it. 

The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met. 
Of this discourse we more will hear anon. — 
Egeus, I will overbear your will. 
For in the temple, by and by with us, 
These couples shall eternally be knit. 
And, for the morning now is something worn. 
Our purposed hunting shall be set aside. 
Away, with us, to Athens : three and three, 
We '11 hold a feast in gi-cat solemnity. — 
Come, Hippolyta. 

[Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta. Egeus, and train. 

DeOT. These things seem small, and undistinguishable. 
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. 

Her. Methinlcs, I see these things with parted eye. 
When every thing seems double. 

Hel. So methinks : 

And I have found Demetrius, like a jewel, 
Mine own, and not mine own. 

Dem. Are you sure 

That we are awake ? It seems to me 
That yet we sleep, we dream. — Do not you think 
The duke was here, and bid us follow him ? 

Her. Yea ; and my father. 

Hel. And Hippolyta. 

Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. 

Dem. Why then, we are awake. Let 's follow him; 
And by the way let us recount our dreams. [Exeunt. 

Bot. [Waking.\ When my cue comes, call me, and 
I will answer : — my next is, " Most fair Pyramus." 
Hey, ho ! — Peter Quince ! Flute, the bellows- 
mender ! Snout, the tinker ! Starveling ! God 's my 
life ! stolen hence, and left me asleep. I have had a 
most rare vision. I have had a dream, — past the vvat 
of man to say what dream it was : man is but an asa, 
if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I 
was — there is no man can tell what. Methought I 
was, and methought I had, — but man is but a patched' 
fool, if he will oiTer to say what methought I had. 
The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath 
not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue 
to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream 
was. I will get Peter Quince to \^Tite a ballad of this 
dream : it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it 
hath no bottom, and I will sing it in the latter end of 
the* play, before the duke : peradventure, to make it 
the more gracious, I shall sing it at Thisby's* death. 

[Exit. 

SCENE II. — Athens. A Room in Quince's House. 
Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. 
Qidn. Have you sent to Bottom's house ? is he come 
home yet ? 

Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he is 
transported. 



1 VanvsiTd, the fore p.irt. a Fiew''d, the large chaps of a hound ; sanded, their hues. 3 Party-coloured fool. * a : in f. e. » her : in f. e. 

11 



162 



MIDSUMMEE-lSriGHT'S DEEAM. 



ACT V. 



Flu. If lie come not, then the play is marred. It 
goes not forward, doth it ? 

Quill. It is not possible : you have not a man in all 
Athens able to discharge Pyramus, hut he. 

Fh(. No ; he hath simply the best wit of any handy- 
craft man in Athens. 

Quin. Yea, and the best person too; and he is a 
very paramour for a sweet voice. 

Flu. You must say, paragon: a paramour is, God 
bless us ! a thing of nought. 

Filter Snug. 

Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, 
and there is two or three lords and ladies more mar- 
ried. If our sport had gone forward, we had all been 
made men. 



Bott 



Flu. 0, sweet bully 
sixpence a-day during his 
'scaped sixpence a-day : 
him sixpence a-day for 



om ! 



hanged ; he would have 
in Pyramus, or nothing. 



Thus hath he lost 
life ; he could not have 
an the duke had not given 
playing Pyramus, I '11 be 
deserved it : sixpence a-day 



Enter Bottom. 

Bot. Where are these lads ? where are these hearts ? 

Quin. Bottom ! — O most courageous day ! O most 
happy hour ! 

Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders ; but ask 
me not what, for, if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. 
I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out. 

Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. 

Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, 
that the duke hath dined. Get your apparel together ; 
good strings to your beards, new ribbons to your 
pumps : meet presently at the palace ; every man look 
O'er his part ; for, the short and the long is, our play 
is preferred. In any ca.se let Thisby have clean linen, 
and let not him that plays the lion pare his nails, for 
they shall hang out for the lion's claws. And, most 
dear actors, eat no onions, nor garlick, for we are to 
utter sweet breath, and I do not doubt bivt to hear 
them say, it is a sweet comedy. No more words : 
away ! go ; away ! [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— The Same. An Apartment in the Palace 

of Theseus. 
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords, and 



Hip. 'T is strange. 



Attendant.';. 
my TheseuSj 



--, i^v iii^ov^uoj that these lovers 
speak of. 

The. More strange than true : I never may believe 
These antic fables, nor these fairy toys. 
Lovers, and madmen, have such seething brains, 
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
Are of imagination all compact : 
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold : 
That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantic. 
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : 
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling. 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven ; 
And, as imagination bodies forth 
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
A local habitation, and a name. 
Such tricks hath strong imagination. 
That, if it would but apprehend some joy, 
It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; 
Or in the night, imagining some fear. 
How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear ? 

Hip. But all the story of the night told over, 
And all their minds transfigur'd so together. 
More witnesseth than fancy's images. 
And grows to something of great constancy. 
But, liowsoever, strange, and admirable. 

The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. 
Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena. 
Joy. gentle friends ; joy, and fresh days of love, 
Accompany your hearts ! 

Lys. More than to us 

Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed ! [have, 

The. Come now ; what masks, what dances shall we 
To wear away this long age of three hours. 
Between our after-supper, and bed-time ? 
Where is our usual manager of mirth? 

> strange .• in f. e. = This is the reading of the quartos. 



What revels are in hand ? Is there no play. 
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour ? 
Call Philostrate. 

Philo-st. Here, mighty Theseus. 

The. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening ? 
What mask ? what music ? How shall we beguile 
The lazy time, if not with some delight ? 

Philost. There is a brief how many sports are ripe ; 
Make choice of which your highness will see first. 

[ Giving a paper. 
The. [Reads.] " The battle with the Centaurs, to be 
sung 
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp." 
We '11 none of that : that have I told my love, 
In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 

" The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage." 
That is an old device ; and it was play'd 
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 

" The thrice three Muses mourning for the death 
Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary." 
That is some satire, keen, and critical. 
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 

" A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, 
And his love Thisbe ; very tragical mirth." 
Merry and tragical ! Tedious and brief ! 
That is, hot ice, and wondrous seething^ snow. 
How shall we find the concord of this discord ?- 

Philost. A play this is, my lord, some ten words long. 
Which is as brief as I have known a play ; 
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long. 
Which makes it tedious ; for in all the play 
There is not one word apt, one player fitted : 
And tragical, my noble lord, it is, 
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. 
Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess. 
Made mine eyes water ; but more merry tears 
The passion of loud laughter never shed. 
The. What are they, that do play it ? 
Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens here, 
Which never labour'd in their minds till now ; 
And now have toil'd their unbreath'd memories 
With this same play, against your nuptial. 

In the folio, Lysander reads the " brief," and Theseus comments. 



SCENE I. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



163 



The. And wc will hear it. 

Philost. No, my noble lord ; 

It is not for you : I have heard it over, 
And it is nothing, nothing in the world, 
Unless you can find sport in their intents, 
Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel pain, 
To do you service. 

The. I will hear that play : 

For never any thing can be amiss. 
When simpleness and duty tender it. 
Go, bring them in ; — and take your places, ladies. 

[Exit Philostr.\te. 

Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd, 
And duty in his service perishing. 

The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. 

Hip. He says they can do nothing in this kind. 

The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing. 
Our sport shall be to take what they mistake : 
And what poor duty cannot do. 
Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. 
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed 
To greet me with premeditated welcomes : 
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, 
Make periods in the midst of sentences. 
Throttle their practised accent in their fears, 
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off, 
Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet. 
Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome ; 
And in the modesty of fearful duty 
I read as much, as from the rattling tongue 
Of saucy and audacious eloquence. 
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity. 
In least speak mo.st, to my capacity. 
Enter Philostrate. 

PhiIo.it. So please your grace, the prologue is addrest.' 

The. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets. 

Enter the Prologue. 

Prol. '• If we offend, it is with our good will. 

That you should think, we come not to offend. 
But with good-will. To show our simple skill. 

That is the true beginning of our end. 
Consider, then, we come but in despite. 

We do not come as minding to content you. 
Our true intent is. All for your delight. 

We are not here. That you should here repent you. 
The actors are at hand ; and, by their show. 
You shall know all, that you are like to know." 

The. This fellow doth not stand upon his points. 

Lys. He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; 
he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord ; it is 
not enough to speak, but to speak true. 

Hip. Indeed, he hath played on this prologue, like a 
child on a recorder^ ; a sound, but not in government. 

Tha His speech was like a tangled chain, 
Nothing impaired, but all disordered. 
Who is next ? 
Enter the Presenter', Pyramus, a)id. Thisbe, Wall., 
3Ioonshine, and Lion, as in dumb show. 

Pres.'^ " Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this show; 

But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. 
This man is Pyramus, if you would know ; 

This beauteous lady Thisby is. certain. 
This man, witli lime and rough-cast, doth present 

Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers siuider; 
And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are content 

To whisper, at the which let no man wonder. 
This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, 

Presenieth moonshine ; for, if you will know. 
By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn 



To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 
This grisly beast, which lion hight by name, 
The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, 
Did scare away, or rather did affright : 
And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall. 

Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain. 
Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall. 

And finds his gentle Thisby's mantle slain : 
Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade, 

He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast; 
And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade. 

His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, 
Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain. 
At large discourse, while here they do remain." 

[Exeunt Pres., Thisbe, Lioh, ami Moonshine. 

The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak. 

Dem. No wonder, my lord : 
One lion may, when many asses do. 

Wall. " In this same interlude, it doth befal. 
That I, one Snout by name, present a wall ; 
And such a wall, as I would have you think, 
Tliat had in it a cranny, hole, or chink, 
Through wliich the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, 
Did whisper often very secretly. 
This lime, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show 
That I am that same wall : the truth is so ; 
And this the cranny is, right and sinister. 
Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper." 

The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better? 

Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard 
discourse, my lord. 

The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence ! 
Enter Pyramus. 

Pyr. " 0, grim-look'd night ! O, night with hue so 
black ! 

night, which ever art, when day is not ! 
O night ! night ! alack, alack, alack ! 

1 fear my Thi,sby's promise is forgot. — 
And thou, O wall ! O sweet, lovely wall ! 

That .stand'st between her father's ground and mine ; 

Thou wall, O wall ! sweet, and lovely wall ! 

Show me thy chink to blink through with mine eyne. 

[Wall holds up his fingers. 

Thanks, courteous wall : Jove shield thee well for this ! 
But what see I ? No Thi.sby do I see. 

wicked wall ! through whom I see no bliss ; 
Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me !" 
The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should 

curse again. 

Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. — " Deceiving 

me," is Thisby's cue : she is to enter now, and I am to 

spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will fall 

pat as I told you. — Yonder she comes. 
Enter Thisbe. 
This. "0 wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, 
For parting my fair Pyramus and me : 

My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones ; 

Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee." 
Pyr. "I see a voice : now will I to the chink, 
To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. 

Thisby !" 

This. '■• My love ! thou art my love, I think." 

Pyr. '•' Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace; 

And like Limander am I trusty still." 

This. <• And I like Helen, till the fates me kill." 
Pyr. " Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true." 
This. '•• As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you." 
Pyr. " ! kiss me through the hole of this vile wall." 
This. " I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all." 



Ready. 2 Flageolet. ' Not in f. e. * This speecli is given in f. e. to the Prologue. 



164 



MIDSUMMEE-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



ACT V. 



Pyr. "Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straight- 
way ?" 

This. " 'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay." 

Wall. "Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so; 
And, being done, thus wall away doth go." 

[Exeunt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe. 

The. Now is the walP down between the two neigh- 
bours. 

Bern. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful 
to hear without warning. 

Hip. This is the silliest stuff that e'er I heard. 

The. The best in this kind are but shadows ; and the 
worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. 

Hip. It must be your imagination, then, and not 
theirs. 

The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they of 
themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here 
come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion. 
Enter Lion and Moonshine. 

Lion. " You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear 

The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor, 
May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, 

When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. 
Then know, that [, one Snug the joiner, am 
A lion's fell,'' nor else no lion's dam : 
For, if I should as lion come in strife 
Into this place, 'twere pity on your life." 

The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. 

Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I 
saw. 

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. 

The. True, and a goose for his discretion. 

Dem. Not so, my lord ; for his valour cannot carry 
his discretion, and the fox carries the goose. 

The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his 
valour, for the goose carries not the fox. It is well : 
leave it to his discretion, and let vis li.sten to the moon. 

Moon. " This lantern doth the horned moon present ;" 

Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. 

The. He is not crescent, and his horns are invisible 
within the circumference. 

Moon. " This lantern doth the horned moon present; 
Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be." 

The. This is the greatest error of all the re.st. The 
man should be put into the lantern : how is it else the 
man i' the moon ? 

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle : for, 
you see, it is already in snufF. 

Hip. I am aweary of this moon : would, he wotdd 
change ! 

The. It appears by his small light of discretion, 
that he is in the wane ; but yet, in courtesy, in all 
reason, we mtist stay the time. 

Lys. Proceed, moon. 

Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that the 
lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this 
thorn-bush, my thorn-bush ; and this dog, my dog. 

Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern ; for all 
these are in the moon. But, silence ! here comes Thisbe. 
Enter Thisbe. 

This. " This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my 
love?" 

Lion. "Oh — ." [The Lion roars. — Thisbe runs off. 

Dem. Well roared, lion. 

The. Well run, Thisbe. 

Hip. Well shone, moon. — Truly, the moon shines 



Well mouthed', lion. 



with a good grace. 



[The Lion tears Thisbe' s mantle, 

[and exit. 



Tfie. 

Dem. And then came Pyramus. 

Lys. And so the lion vanished. 

Enter Pyramus. 
Pyr. " Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny 
beams ; 
I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright, 
For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams, 
I trust to take of truest Thisby sight. 

But stay ; — spite ! [Seeing Thisbe's mantle.* 
But mark, poor knight. 
What dreadful dole is here ! 
Eyes, do you see ? 
How can it be ? 
dainty duck ! O dear ! 
Thy mantle good, 

What! .stain'd with blood? ^ 

Approach, ye furies fell ! 
O fates ! come, come ; 
Cut thread and thrum; 
Quail, crush, conclude, and quell !" 
The. This passion on* the death of a dear friend, 
would go near to make a man look sad. 

Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. 
Pyr. " O, wherefore, nature, did.st thou lions frame, 
Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear ? 
Which is — no, no — which was the fairest dame, 

That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer. 
Come, tears, confound ; 
Out, sword, and wound 
The pap of Pyramus : 
Ay, that left pap. 
Where heart doth hop : — 
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus ! [Stabs himself 
Now am I dead, [as often^. 

Now am I fled ; 
My soul is in the sky : 

Tongue, lose thy light ! 

Moon, take thy flight ! [Exit Moonshine.'' 



Now die, die, die, die, die.' 



[Dies. 



Dem. No die, but an ace, for him ; for he is but one. 
Lys. Less than an ace, man, for he is dead ; he is 
nothing. 

The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet re- 
cover, and yet prove an ass. 

Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe 
comes back and finds her lover ? 

The. She will find him by starlight. — Here she 
comes, and her passion ends the play. 
Enter Thisbe. 
Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one for 
such a Pyramus : I hope she will be brief. 

Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, 
which Thisbe, is the better : be for a man, God war- 
rant us ; she for a woman, God bless us. 

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet 
eyes. 

Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet. 

This. " Asleep, my love ? 
What, dead, my dove ? 
Pyramus ! arise : 

Speak, speak ! Quite dumb ? 
Dead, dead? A tomb 
Must cover thy sweet eyes. 
This lily lip*, 
This cherry tip,' 
These yellow cowslip cheeks, 
Are gone, are gone. 



^ mural : in f. e. ! A lion fell : in f. e. B. Field suggested this correction also. 3 moused : in f. e. * This direction not in f. e. 
in f. e. s This direction not in f. e. ' in f. e. : this direction is given at the next line. ^ These lily lips : in f. e. ' jVo5e. 



5 and : 



SCENE II. 



MIDSUMMEK-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



165 



Lovers, make moan : 
His eyes were green as leeks. 
! sisters three, 
Come, come to me, 
With hands as pale as milk; 
Lay them in gore. 
Since you have shore 
With shears his thread of silk. 
Tongue, not a word : — 
Come, trusty sword; 
Come, blade, my breast imbrue : 
And farewell, friends. — 
Thus Thisby ends : 
Adieu, adieu, adieu." [Dies. 

The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. 
Dem. Ay, and wall too. 

Bot. No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted 
their fathers. Willitpleaseyoutoseethe epilogue, orto 
hear a Bergomask^ dance between two of our company ? 
The. No epilogue, I pray you ; for your play needs 
no excuse. Never excuse, for when the players are 
all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he 
that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and hanged himself 
in Thisbc's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy; 
and so it is, truly, and very notably discharged. But 
come, your Bsrgomask : let your epilogue alone. 

[A dance. 
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve. — 
Lovers, to bed : 't is almost fairy time. 
I fear wo shall outsleep the coming morn, 
As much as we this night have overwatch'd. 
This palpable gro.'^s play hath well beguil'd 
The heavy gait of night. — Sweet friends, to bed. — 
A fortnight hold we this solemnity, 
In nightly revels, and new jollity. [Exeunt. 

SCENE n. 

Enter Puck,^ with a broom on his shoulder. 
Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, 

And the wolf behowls the moon ; 
Whilst the hea\'y ploughman snores. 

All with weary task fordone. 
Now the wasted brands do glow, 

Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud. 
Puts the wretch, that lies in woe, 

In remembrance of a shroud. 
Now it is the time of night, 

That the graves, all gaping wide, 
Every one lets forth his sprite. 

In the church- way paths to glide : 
And we fairies, that do run 

By the triple Hecate's team, 
From the presence of the sun, 

Following darkness like a dream, 
Now are frolic ; not a mouse 



Shall disturb this hallow'd house : 
I am sent with broom before. 
To sweep the dust behind the door. 
Enter Oberon and Titania, with all their train. 
Obe. Through the house give glimmering light, 

By the dead and drowsy fire ; 
Every elf. and fairy sprite. 

Hop as light as bird from brier ; 
And this ditty after me 
Sing, and dance it trippingly. 

Tita. First, rehearse your song by rote. 
To each word a warbling note : 
Hand in hand with fairy grace 
Will we sing, and bless this place. 

THE SONG. 

Now, until the break of day, 

Through this house each fairy stray. 

To the best bride-bed will we, 

Which by us shall blessed be ; 

And the issue there create 

Ever shall be fortunate. 

So shall all the couples three 

Ever true in loving be ; 

And the blots of nature's hand 

Shall not in their issue stand : 

Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, 

Nor mark prodigious, such as are 

Despised in nativity. 

Shall upon their children be,^ 

With this field-dew consecrate. 

Every fairy take his gait. 

And each several chamber bless, 

Through this palace with sweet peace j 

Ever shall it safely* rest. 

And the owner of it blest. 

Trip away; make no stay; 

Meet me all by break of day. 

[Exeunt Oberon, Titania, and train. 
Puck. If we shadows have offended. 

Think but this, and all is mended, 

That you have but slumber'd here. 

While these visions did appear; 

And this weak and idle theme, 

No more yielding but a dream. 

Gentles, do not reprehend : 

If you pardon, we will mend. 

And, as I 'm an honest Puck, 

If we have unearned luck 

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue. 

We will make amends ere long, 

Else the Puck a liar call : 

So, good night unto you all. 

Give me your hands, if we be friends, 

And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit. 



1 So called, from the place in Italy it was derived from. 2 The rest of this direction not in f. e. 
cut. 3 f. e. all have a period instead of a comma. * in safety. 



Puck is thus represented in an old wood- 



THE MERCHANT OF YENICE. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



;} 



Suitors to Portia. 



Duke of Venice. 

Prince of Morocco, 

Prince of Arragon 

Antonio, the Merchant of Venice : 

Bassanio, his Friend. 

Gratiano, ) 

Salanio, > Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. 

Salarino, ) 

Lorenzo, in love wdth Jessica. 

Shylock, a Jew : 

Tubal, a Jew, his Friend. 

Launcelot Gobbo. a Clown. 



Old Gobbo,- Father to Launcelot. 

Salerio, a Messenger. 

Leonardo, Servant to Bassanio. 

Balthazar, ) „ ^ * t> i- 

> Servants to rortia. 



Stephano. 



Portia, a rich Heiress. 
Nerissa, her Waiting-woman. 
Jessica, Daughter to Shylock. 

Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of 
Justice, Jailors, Servants, and other Attendants. 



SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L— Venice. A Street. 
Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. 

Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad. 
It wearies me : you say, it wearies you ; 
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, 
What stuff 't is made of, whereof it is born, 
I am to learn ; 

And such a want- wit sadness makes of me, 
That I have much ado to know myself. 

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean, 
There, where your argosies^ with portly sail. 
Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, 
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea. 
Do overpeer the petty traffickers, 
That curt'sy to them, do them reverence. 
As they fly by them with their woven wings. 

Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, 
The better part of my aifections would 
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind. 
Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads ; 
And every object that might make me fear 
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt. 
Would make me sad. 

Salar. My vrind, cooling my broth. 

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 
What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 
1 should not see the sandy hour-gla.ss run, 
But I should think of shallows and of flats, 
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, 
Vailing her high top lower than her ribs. 
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church. 
And see the holy edifice of stone. 
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, 
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side, 
Would scatter all her spices on the stream, 

> Vessels of about t-wo hundred tons. 



Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks, 

And, in a word, but even now worth this, 

And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought 

To think on this, and shall 1 lack the thought, 

That such a thing bechanc'd would make me sad ? 

But, tell not me : I know, Antonio 

Is sad to think upon his merchandise. 

Ant. Believe me, no. I thank my fortune for it, 
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted. 
Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate 
Upon the fortune of this present year : 
Therefore, my merchandise makes me not sad. 

Salan. Why, then you are in love. 

Ant. Fie, fie ! 

Salan. Not in love neither ? Then let 's say, you 
are sad. 
Because you are not merry ; and 't were as easy 
For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merrj^. 
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, 
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time : 
Some that will CA'crmore peep through their eyes, 
And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper ; 
And other of such vinegar aspect. 
That they '11 not show their teeth in way of smile, 
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 

Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. 

Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kins- 
man, 
Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare you well : 
We leave you now with better company. 

Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, 
If worthier friends had not prevented me. 

A7it. Your worth is A^ery dear in my regard. 
I take it, your own business calls on you, 
And you embrace the occasion to depart. 

Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. [when? 

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ? Say, 



\ - 



SCENE II. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



167 



You grow exceeding strange : must it be so ? 

Salar. We '11 make our leisures to attend on yours. 
[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio. 

Lor. My lord Bassanio. since you have found Antonio, 
We two will leave you ; but at dinner-time, 
I pray you, have in mind where wc mutit meet. 

Bass. I will not fail you. 

Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio ; 
You have too much respect upon the world : 
yiiey lose it, that do buy it with much care.^ 
Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. 

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; 
A stage, where every man must play a part, 
And mine a sad cue. 

Gra. Let me play the fool : 

With mirth and laughter let old wi'inkles come, 
And let my liver rather heat with wine, 
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within. 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? 
Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice 
By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio. — 
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ; — 
There are a sort of men, whose visages 
Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond, 
And do a wilful stillness entertain, 
With purpose to be diess'd in an opinion. 
Of wi.^dom, gravity, profound conceit : 
As who should say, " I am sir Oracle, 
And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!," 

! my Antonio, I do know of these. 
That therefore only are reputed wise, 

For saying nothing ; when^ I am very sure. 

If they should speak, "twoukP almost damn those ears. 

Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools. 

1 '11 tell thee more of this another time : 
But fish not, with this melancholy bait, 
For this fool-gudgeon, this opinion. — 
Come, good Lorenzo. — Fare ye well, awhile : 
I '11 end my exhortation after dinner. 

Lor. Well, we will leave you, then, till dinner-time. 
I must be one of those same dumb wise men. 
For Gratiano never le'.s me speak. 

Gra. Well, keep mo company but two years more. 
Thou slialt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 

Ant. Farewell : I '11 grow a talker for this gear.^ 

Gra. Thanks, i' faith ; for silence is only commendable 
In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. 

[Exeunt Gratiano and Lorekzo. 

Ant. It is that : — any thing now.* 

Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, 
more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are his 
two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you 
shall seek all day ere you find them ; and when you 
have them, they are not worth the search. 

Ant. Well ; tell me now. what lady is the same 
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage. 
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of? 

Bass. 'T is not unknown to you, Antonio, 
How much I have disabled mine estate, 
By something showing a more swelling port 
Thau my faint means would grant continuance : 
Nor do 1 now make moan to be abridg'd 
From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
Is to come fairly olf from the great debts, 
Wherein my time, something too prodigal, 
Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio, 
I owe the most, in money, and in love ; 



And from your love I have a warranty 
To unburthen all my plots and purposes, 
How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it ; 
And if it stand, as you yourself still do, 
Within the eye of honour, be assur'd, 
My purse, my person, my extremest means, 
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 

Ba.'is. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, 
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
The self-same way with more advised watch. 
To find the other forth • and by adventuring both, 
I oft found both. I urge this childhood proof. 
Because what follows is pure innocence. 
I owe you much, and, like a wastefuP youth, 
That which I owe is lost ; but if you please 
To shoot another arrow that self way 
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt. 
As I will watch the aim, or to find both. 
Or bring your latter hazard back again, 
And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 

Ant. You know me well, and herein spend but time, 
To wind about my love with circumstance ; 
And. out of doubt, you do me now more wrong, 
In making question of my uttermost, 
Than if you had made waste of all I have : 
Then, do but say to me what I should do, 
That in your knowledge may by me be done. 
And I am prest^ unto it : therefore, speak. 

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left. 
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, 
Of wondrous virtues : sometimes from her eyes 
I did receive fair speechless messages. 
Her name is Portia ; nothing undervalued 
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. 
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth, 
For the four winds blow in from every coast 
Renowned suitors ; and her sunny locks 
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece ; 
Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand, 
And many Jasons come in quest of her. 
O, my Antonio ! had I but the means 
To hold a rival place with one of them, 
I have a mind presages me such thrift, 
That I should questionless be fortunate. 

Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea ; 
Neither have I money, nor commodity 
To raise a present sum : therefore, go forth ; 
Try what my credit can in Venice do : 
That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost. 
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
Where money is, and I no question make. 
To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Belmont. An Apartment in Portia's 

House. 
Enter Portia ami Nerissa. 
Por. By my troth, Nerissa. my little body is aweary 
of this great world. 

Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries 
were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are. 
And, yet, for aught I see, they are as sick, that surfeit 
with too much, as they that starve with nothing : it is 
no mean' happiness, therefore, to be seated in the 
mean : superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but 
competency lives longer. 

Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. 



1 So all old copies ; mod. eds., following Rowe, reads : "-who." 2 would : in f. e. s For this matter. ♦ So all quartos, and 1st and 
2d folios I mod. eds. read : "'Is that anything, now?" » wishful : in f. e. « Ready. ' So the quartos ; the folios : "small." 



if; 



168 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Acr I. 



Ner. They would be belter, if well followed. 

Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were 
good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's 
cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that fol- 
lows liis own instructions : I can easier teach twenty 
what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty 
to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise 
laws for llic blood ; but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold 
decree : sucli a hare is madness, ihe youth, to skip oer 
the meshes of good counsel, the cripple. But this rea- 
soning* is not in the fa.<hion to choose me a husband. 
— me ! the word choose ! I may neither choose whom 
I Avould, nor refuse whom I dislike : so is the will of 
a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father. 
— Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, 
nor refuse none ? 

Ncr. Your father was ever virtuous, and holy men 
at their deatli have good inspirations : therefore, the 
lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests of 
gold, silver, and lead (whereof who chooses his mean- 
ing, chooses you) will, no doubt, never be chosen by 
any rightly, but one whom you .<hal] rightly love. But 
what warmth is there in your atlection towards any of 
these princely suitors that are already come ? 

Por. I pray thee, over-name them, and as thou 
namest them, I will describe tliem ; and, according to 
my description, level at my atfection. 

Ncr. Urst. there is the Neapolitan prince. 

Por. Ay, that "s a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing 
but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a great appro- 
bation of his o\^^^ good parts, that he can shoe him 
himself. I am nmch afraid, my lady his mother played 
false wiih a smith. 

Kcr. Then, is there the county Palatine. 

Por. He doth nothing but frown, as who should say, 
"An you will not have me, choose."' lie hears merry 
tales, and smiles not : I fear he will prove the weeping 
philosopher when he grows old. being so full of unman- 
nerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married 
to a death's head with a bone in his moutli, than to 
either of tliese. God defend me from those two ! 

Ncr. How say you by the French lord, monsieur le 
Bon ? 

Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass for 
a }nan. In truth, 1 know it is a sin to be a mocker; 
but, he ! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapo- 
litan's ; a better bad habit of frowning than the count 
Palatine : he is every man in no man : if a throstle 
sing, he falls straight a capering : he will fence with 
his own shadow. If I should marry him, I should 
marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me. I 
would forgive him : for if he love me to madness. I 
shall never requite him. 

Ncr. "What say you, then, to Faulconbridge, the 
young baron of England ? 

Por. \ ou know, I say nothing to him. for he under- 
stands not me, nor I him : he hath neither Latin, 
French, nor Italian ; and you will come into the court 
and swear, that I have a poor penny-worth in the Eng- 
lish. He is a proper man's picture ; but. alas ! who 
can converse with a dumb show ? How oddly he is 
suited ! I think, he bought his doublet in Italy, his 
round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his 
behaviour every where. 

Ner. "What think you of the Scottish lord, his 
neighboivr ? 

Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him : 
for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, 



I and swore he would pay him again, when he was able : 
I think, the Frenchman became his svuety, and sealed 
under for another. 

Ner. How like you the young German, the duke of 
Saxony's nephew ? 

Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober, 
and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk : 
when he is best, he is a little worse than a man : and 
when he is worst, he is liltlc better than a beast. An 
the worst fall that cA'cr fell. 1 hope, I shall make shift 
to go withottt him. 

Ncr. If he should oll'er to choose, and choose the 
right casket, you should refuse to perform your father's 
will, if you should refuse to accept him. 

Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, 
set a deep gla.«s of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket ; 
for, if the devil be within, and that temptation with- 
out, I know he will' choose it. I will do an}-thing, 
Neri-ssa, ere I will be married to a spunge. 

Ncr. You need not fear, lady, the having any of 
these lords : they have acquainted me with their de- 
terminations ; which is indeed, to return to their homes, 
and to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may 
be won by some other sort than your father's imposi- 
tion, depending on the caskets. 

Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla. I will die as 
chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of 
my father's will. I am glad this parcel of wooers are 
so reasonable : for there is not one among them but I 
dote on his very absence, and I pray God grant them a 
fair departure. 

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's 
time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came 
I hither in company of the marquis of jMontferrat ? 

Por. Yes, yes ; it was Bassanio : as I think, so was 
he called. 

Ncr. True, madam : he, of all the men that ever 
, my foolish eyes looked \ipon, was the best deserving a 
fair lady. 

j Por. I remember him well, and I remember him 
worthy of thy praise." — How now? what news'? 
Enter a Servant. 

Serv. The four strangers seek for you. madam, to 
take their leave : and there is a forerunner come from 
a fifth, the prince of Morocco, who brings word, the 
prince, his master, will be here to-night. 

Por. If I covrld bid the tifth welcome with so good 
heart, as I can bid the other lour farewell. I should be 
glad of his approach : if he have the condition of a 
saint, and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he 
should shrive me than wive me. Come. Nerissa. — 
Sirrah, go before.^ — AYliilcs we shut the gate tipoii one 
wooer, another knocks at the door. [E.xeunt. 

SCENE lit.— Venice. A public Place. 
Enter Bassanio and Shvlock. 

Shy. Three thousand ducats. — well. 

Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 

Shy. For three months. — well. 

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be 
bound. 

Ski/. Antonio shall become bound. — well. 

Bass. May you stead me ? Will you pleasure me ? 
Shall I know your answer ? 

Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months, and 
Antonio bound. 

Bass. Your answer to that. 

Shy. Antonio is a good man. 



> reason : in f. e. The quartos, as in the text. » The rest of the sentence is from the quartos, 
•words as the first, and the rest of the speech as the last line of a couplet. 



3 Knight and Byoe print these three 



SCENE ni. 



THE MEKCHANT OF VENICE. 



169 



Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary ? 

Shy. Ho ! no, no, no, no : — my meaning, in saying 
he is a good man, is to have you understand me, that 
he is sufficient ; yet his means are in supposition. He 
hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies : 
I understand moreover vipon tlic Rialto, he hath a third 
at Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures 
he hath squandered' abroad ; but ships are but boards, 
sailors but men : there be land-rats, and water-rats, 
land-thieves, and waler-thieves ;° I mean, pirates : and 
then, there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks. 



The man is, 



thou- 



notwitlistanding. sufficient : three 
sand ducats. — I think, I may take his bond. 

Bass. Be assured you may. 

Shy. I will be assured. I may ; and, that I may be 
assured, I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio ? 

Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 

Shy. Yes, to smell ]X)rk ; to eat of the habitation 
which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil 
into. I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with 
you, walk with you, and so following ; but I will not eat 



with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What 
news on the Ilialto ? — Who is he comes here ? 
Enter Antonio. 

Bass. This is signior Antonio. 

Shy. [Aside.] How like a fawning publican he looks ! 
I hate him for he is a Christian ; 
But more, for that, in low simplicity, 
He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
If I can catch liim once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
Even there where merchants mo.st do congregate, 
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift. 
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe, 
If I forgive him ! 

Bass. Shylock, do you hear ? 

Shy. I am debating of my present store. 
And, by the near guess of my memory, 
I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
Of full three thousand ducats. What of that? 
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, 
Will furnish me. But soft ! how many months 
Do you desire ? — Rest you fair, good signior ; 

[To Antonio. 
Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 

Ant. Shylock. albeit I neither lend nor borrow, 
By taking, nor by giving of excess, 
Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 
I '11 break a custom. Are you yet possess'd, 
How much he would? 

Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 

Ant. And for three months. 

Shy. I had forgot : — three months ; you told me so. 
Well then, your bond ; and let me sec — But hear you : 
Met bought, you said, j'ou neither lend nor borrow 
Upon advantage. 

A7i(. I do never use it. 

Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep, 
This Jacob from our holy Abraham was 
(As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,) 
The third possessor; ay, lie was the third. 

Ant. And what of him? did he take interest? 

Shy. No, not take interest ; not, as you would say, 
Directly interest: mark what Jacob did. 
When Laban and himself were compromis'd, 
That all the eanlings which were streak'd, and pied, 

• Used as scattered ; not in a reproachful sense. — Knight. 
here the sense of broux:ht in. * Probably the island so called 
* So the quarto ; the folio : " of." 



Should fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank. 

In end of autumn turned to the rams ; 

And when the work of generation was 

Between these woolly breeders in the act, 

The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands. 

And, in the doing of the deed of kind, 

He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes, 

Who, then conceiving, did in caning time 

Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's. 

This was a way to thrive, and he was blest : 

And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. 

Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for ; 
A thing not in his power to bring to pass, 
But sway'd. and fasliion'd by the hand of heaven. 
Was this inferred^ to make interest good? 
Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rams ? 

Shy. I cannot tell : I make it breed as fast. — 
But note me, signior. 

Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio. 

The devil can cite scripture for his purpose. 
An evil soul, producing holy witness. 
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, 
A goodly apple rotten at the heart. 
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! 

Shy. Thee thousand ducats ; — 't is a good round sum. 
Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate. 

Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you ? 

Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, 
On the Rialto*, you have rated me 
About my monies and my usances : 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; 
For sufferance is a badge of all our tribe. 
You call'd me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, 
And all for use of that which is mine own. 
Well then, it now appears, you need my help : 
Go to, then ; you come to me, and you say, 
" Shylock. we would have monies :" you say so ; 
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard. 
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur 
Over your threshold : monies is your suit. 
What should I say to you ? Should I not say, 
" Hath a dog money? Is it possible, 
A cur can lend three thousand ducats ?" or 
Shall I bend low.' and in a bondman's key, 
With 'bated breath, and whispering luimbleness. 
Say this : — 

" Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last ; 
You spurn'd me such a day ; another time 
You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies 
I '11 lend you thus much monies?" 

Ant. I am as like to call thee so again, 
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
As to thy friend ; for when did friendship take 
A breed for* barren metal of his friend ? 
But lend it rather to thine enemy ; 
Who if he break, thou may'st with better face 
Exact the penalty. 

Shy. Why, look you, how you storm ! 

I would be friends with you, and have your love, 
Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with. 
Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
Of usance for my monies, 
And you '11 not hear me. This is kind I offer. 

Ant. This were kindness. 

Shy. This kindness will I show. 

Go with me to a notary, seal me there 

2 water-thieves and land-thieves : in f. e. » f. e. : inserted ; in/erred has 
on which was the Exchange, and not the bridge, which was built m 1591. 



170 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



ACT n. 



Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport, 

If you repay me not on such a day. 

In such a place, such sum or sums as are 

Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 

Be nominated for an equal pound 

Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 

In what part of your body pleaseth me. 

Ant. Content, in faith : I '11 seal to such a bond. 
And say there is much kindness in thee, Jew. 

Ba.ss. You shall not seal to such a bond for me : 
I '11 rather dwell in my necessity. 

Ant. Why. fear not, man: I will not forfeit it: 
Within those two months, that 's a month before 
This bond expires, I do expect return 
Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 

Shij. 0, father Abraham ! what these Christians are, 
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect 
Tlie thoughts of others ! — Pray you. tell me this ; 
If he should break his day, what should I gain 



By the exaction of the forfeiture ? 

A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, 

Is not so estimable, prolitable neither. 

As flesh of muttons, beeves, or goats. I say, 

To buy his favour I extend this friendship : 

If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 

And, for my love, I pray you, -wTong me not. 

Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 

Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's. 
Give him direction for this merry bond. 
And I will go and purse the ducal s straight; 
See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
Of an unthrifty knave, and presently 
I will be with you. [Exit. 

Ant. Hie tliee, gentle Jew. 

The Hebrew will turn Christian : he grows kind. 

Bas.s. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind. 

Ant. Come on : in this there can be no dismay, 
My ships come home a month before the day. [Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — Belmont. An Apartment in Portia's 

House. 
Enter the Prince of Morocco, and his followers ; Portia, 

Nerissa, and other of her train. Flourish Cornets. 

Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion. 
The shadow'd livery of the burning' sun, 
To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred. 
Bring me the fairest creature northward born. 
Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles. 
And let us make incision for your love. 
To prove whose blood is reddest, his, or mine. 
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine 
Hath fear'd the valiant : by my love, I swear. 
The best regarded virgins of our clime 
Have lov'd it too. I would not change this hue, 
Except to steal your thoughts, ray gentle queen. 

For. In terms of choice I am not solely led 
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes : 
Besides, the lottery of my destiny 
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing ; 
But. if my father had not scanted me. 
And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself 
His wife who wins me by that means I told you, 
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair, 
As any comer I have look'd on yet. 
For my affection. 

Mor. Even for that I thank you : 

Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets, 
To try my fortune. By this scimitar, — 
That slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince. 
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman. — 
I would out-stare* the sternest eyes that look. 
Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth. 
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, 
Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, 
To win thee, lady. But, alas the while ! 
If Hercules and Lichas play at dice. 
Which is the better man ? tlie gi-eater throw 
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand : 
So is Alcides beaten by his page' ; 
And so may I, blind fortune leading me, 
Miss that which one unworthier may attain, 
And die with grieving. 



For. You must take your chance ; 

And either not attempt to choose at all, 
Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong, 
Never to speak to lady afterward 
In way of marriage : therefore, be advis'd. 

Mor. Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance. 

For. First, forward to the temple : after diiuier 
Your hazard shall be made. 

Mor. Good fortune then, [Cornets. 

To make me blest, or cursed' st among men ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II —Venice. A Street. 
Enter Launcelot Gobbo. 
Lavn. Certainly, my conscience will serve me to run 
from this Jew, my master. The fiend is at mine elbow, 
and tempts me, sajang to me. " Gobbo, Launcelot 
Gobbo. good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Laun- 
celot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away :" 
My conscience says, — " No ; take heed, honest Laun- 
celot ; take heed, honest Gobbo ;" or, as aforesaid, 
'• lionest Launcelot Gobbo ; do not run ; scorn running 
with thy heels.'' Well, the most contagious* fiend bids 
me pack ;. " Via !" says the fiend ; " away !" says the 
fiend ; " fore the heavens, rouse up a brave mind," says 
the fiend, " and run." Well, my conscience, hanging 
about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me, — 
" My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest man's 
son," — or rather an honest woman's son; — for, indeed, 
my father did something smack, something grow to, 
he had a kind of taste : — well, my conscience says, 
"Launcelot, budge not." "Budge." says the fiend: 
"budge not," says my conscience. Conscience, say 
I, you counsel well : fiend, say I, you counsel well : 
to be ruled by my conscience, T should stay with the 
Jew my master, who (God bless the mark !) is a kind 
of devil ; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be 
ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the 
devil himself. Certainly, the Jew is the very devil 
incarnation ; and, in my conscience, my conscience is 
but a kind of hard conscience to offer to counsel me to 
stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly 
counsel : I will rvm, fiend ; my heels are at your com- 
mandment ) I will run. [Going out in haste. ^ 



1 burnish'd : in f. e. 2 One of the quartos, and the folio read : " o'er-stare." ^ old ed. : rage. Most have, however, adopted the 
change ; also suggested by Theobald. * courageous : in f. e. 5 This direction not in f. e. 



SCEITE II. 



THE MERCHANT OF YENICE. 



lYl 



Enter Old Gobbo, 7vith a Basket. 

Gob. Master, young man, you ; I pray you, which 
is the way to master Jew's ? 

Laxtn. [Asidel\ heavens ! tliis is my true begotten 
father, who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel 
blind, knows me not 



», high- 
-I will try contusions' with him. 



Gob. Master, young gentleman, I pray you, which 
is the way to master Jew's ? 

Laun. Turn up on your right hand at the next turn- 
ing, but at the next turning of all, on your left ; marry, 
at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn 
down indirectly to the Jew's house. 

Gob. By God's sonties^", 't will be a hard way to hit. 
Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells 
with him. dwell with him, or no ? 

Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot? — [Aside. 
Mark me now ; now will I raise the waters. — \To him." 
Talk you of young master Launcelot ? 

Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son : his father, 
though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man ; and, 
God be thanked, well to live. 

Laun. Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk 
of young master Launcelot. 

Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot. sir. 

Laun. But I pray you, ergo^ old man, ergo, I beseech 
you, talk you of young master Launcelot '? 

Gob. Of Launcelot. an 't please your mastership. 

Laun. Ergo, ma.'^tcr Launcelot. Talk not of master 
Launcelot, father ; for the young gentleman (according 
to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the sisters 
three, and such branches of learjiing), is, indeed, de- 
ceased ; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to 
heaven. 

Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very staff 
of my age, my very prop. 

Laun. [Aside.] Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel- 
post, a staff, or a prop? — [To hitn.] Do you know me, 
father ? 

Gob. Alack the day : I know you not, young gentle- 
man. But, I pray you, tell me, is my boy. (God rest 
his soul !) alive, or dead? 

Laun. Do you not know me, father? 

Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not. 

Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might 
fail of the knowing me : it is a wise father that knows 
his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news 
of your son. [Kneels.] Give me your blessing : truth 
will come to light ; murder cannot be hid long, a man's 
son may, but in the end truth will out. 

Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up. I am sure you are 
not Launcelot; my boy: 

Laun. Pray you, let 's have no more fooling aboiit it, 
but give me your blessing : I am Launcelot, your boy 
that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. 

Gob. I cannot think you are my son. 

Laun. I know not what I shall think of that ; but I 
am Launcelot. the Jew's man, and, I am sure, Margery, 
your wife, is my mother. 

Gob. Her name is jNIargery, indeed : I '11 be sworn, 
if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and 
blood. Lord ! worshipp'd might he be ! what a beard 
hast thou got : thou hast got more hair on thy chin, 
than Dobbin my filP-horse has on his tail. 

Laun. [Rising.*] It should seem, then, that Dobbin's 
tail grows backward : I am sure he had more hair of 
his tail, than I have of my face, when I last saw 
him. 

Gob. 



Lord ! how art thou changed ! How dost thou 



and thy master agree ? I have brought him a present. 
How agree you now ? 

Laun. Well, well ; but, for mine own part, as I have 
set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have 
run some ground. My master's a very Jew : give him 
a present ! give him a halter : I am famish'd in his ser- 
vice : you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. 
Father, I am glad you are come : give me your present 
to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new 
liveries. If I serve not him, I will run as far as God 
has any ground . — rare fortune ! here comes the man : 
— to him, father ; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew 
any longer. ^ 

Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo, and. Followers. 

Bass. You may do so ; — but let it be so hasted, that 
supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. 
See these letters delivered ; put the liveries to making, 
and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. [Exit 

Laun. To him. father. [a Servant. 

Gob. God bless your worship ! 

Bass. Gramercy. Wouldst thou aught with me ! 

Gob. Here 's my son, sir, a poor boy. 

Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man, 
that would, sir, — as my father shall specify. 

Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would 
say, to serve 

Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the 
Jew, and have a desire, — as my father shall specify. 

Gob. His master and he (saving your worship's reve- 
rence), are scarce cater-cousins. 

Laun. To be brief, the A^ery truth is, that the Jew 
having done me ■WTong, doth cau.«e me, — as my father, 
being, I hope, an old man, shall fructify unto you. 

Gob. I have here a dish of doves, ^ that I would bestow 
upon your worship ; and my suit is. 



Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to my- 
self, as your lordship shall know by this honest old 
man ; and, though I say it, though old man, yet, poor 
man, my father. 

Bass. One speak for both. — What would you? 

Laun. Serve you, sir. 

Gob. That is the very defect of the matter, sir. 

Bass. I know thee well : thou hast obtained thy suit. 
Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day, 
And hath preferr'd thee ; if it be preferment, 
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
The follower of so poor a gentleman. 

Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between 
my master Shylock and you, sir : you have the grace 
of God, sir, and he hath enough. [son. — 

Bass. Thou speak'st it well. — Go, father, with thy 
Take leave of thy old master, and inquire 
My lodging out. — Give him a livery [To his followers. 
More guarded' than his fellows' : see it done. 



Laun. Fatlier, in. — I cannot get a service,' 



-no : 



I 



have ne'er a tongue in my head. — Well; [Looking on 
his palm ;] if any man in Italy have a fairer table, 
which doth offer to swear upon a book. — I shall have 
good fortune. — Go to ; here 's a simple line of life ! 
here 's a small trifle of wives : alas ! fifteen wives is 
nothing : eleven widows, and nine maids, is a simple 
coming in for one man ; and then, to 'scape drowning 
thrice, and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a 
feather-bed : here are simple 'scapes ! Well, if for- 
tune be a woman, she 's a good "wench for this gear. — 
Father, come ; I '11 take my leave of the Jew in the 
twinkling of an eye. [Exeu7it Launcelot and Old Gobbo, 
Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this. 



1 One of the quartos read.s : " conflusioiis." 2 Saints. ' f. e. : phill, same as thill, or shaft-horse. ♦Not in f. e. * A common Italian 
present. Some argue from this and other similar references, that Shakespeare vieited Italy. ' Laced, or ornamented. 



172 



THE MERCHANT OF YENICE. 



ACT n. 



These things being bought, and orderly bestow' d, 

Return in haste, for I do feast to-night 

My best-esteem'd acquaintance : hie thee, go. 

Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. 
Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. Where is your master ? 

Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit Leonardo. 

Gra. Siguier Bassanio ! 

Bass. Gratiano. 

Gra. I have a suit to you. 

Bass. You have obtain'd it. 

Gra. You must not deny me. I must go with you 
to Belmont. 

Bass. Why, then you must ; but hear thee, Gratiano. 
Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice ; — 
Parts, that become thee happily enough, 
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults : 
But wliere thou art not known, why, there they show 
Something too liberal. — Pray thee, take pain 
To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behaviour, 
I be misconstrued in the place I go to, 
And lose my hopes. 

Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me : 

If I do not put on a sober habit, 
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, 
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely ; 
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes 
Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say amenj 
Use all the observance of civility. 
Like one well studied in a sad ostent 
To please his grandam, never trust me more. 

Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. 

Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night : you shall not gage me 
By what we do to-night. 

Bass. No, that were pity. 

I would entreat you rather to put on 
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
That purpose merriment. But fare you well, 
I have some business. 

Gra. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest ; 
But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exeimt. 

SCENE in. — The Same. A Room in Shylock's House. 
Enter Jessica and Launcelot. 

Jes. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so : 
Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil. 
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness 
But fare thee well ; there is a ducat for thee. 
And. Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest j 
Give him this letter : do it secretly. 
And so farewell. I would not have my father 
See me in talk with thee. 

Latin. Adieu ! — tears exhibit my tongue. — Most 
beautiful pagan, — most sweet Jew ! If a Christian did 
not play the knave, and get thee, I am much deceived ; 
but, adieu ! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my 
manly spirit : adieu ! [Exit. 

Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. — 
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me, 
To be asham'd to be my father's child ! 
But though I am a daughter to his blood, 
I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo ! 
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife. 
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. A Street. 
Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio. 
Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time. 



Disguise us at my lodging, and return 
All in an hour. 

Gra. We have not made good preparation. 

Salar. We have not spoke as yet of torch-bearers. 

Salan. 'T is vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd, 
And better, in my mind, not undertook. 

Lor. 'T is now but four o'clock : we have two hours 
To furnish us. — 

Enter Launcelot, with a letter. 

Friend Launcelot, what 's the news ? 

Laim. An it shall please you to break up this, it 
shall seem to signify. [Giving a letter 

Lor. I know the hand : in faith, 't is a fair hand , 
And whiter than the paper it vn-it on 
Is the fair hand that writ. 

Gra. Love-news, in faiili. 

Laiin. By your leave, sir. 

Lor. Whither goest thou ? 

Lavn. Marry, sir, to bid my old master, the Jew, to 
sup to-night with my new master, the Christian. 

Lor. Hold here, take this. — Tell gentle Jessica, 
I will not fail her ; — speak it privately ; 
Go. — Gentlemen, [Exit Launcelot. 

Will you prepare you for this masque to-night ? 
I am provided of a torch-bearer. 

Salar. Ay, marry, I '11 be gone about it straight. 

Salan. And so will I. 

Lor. Meet me, and Gratiano, 

At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 

Salar. 'T is good we do so. [Exeunt Salar. and Salan. 

Gra. Was not that .letter from fair Jessica? 

Lor. I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed, 
How I shall take her from her father's house ; 
What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with ; 
What page's suit she hath in readiness. 
If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven. 
It will be for his gentle daughter's sake ; 
And never dare misfortune cross her foot, 
Unless she do it under this excuse. 
That she is issue to a faithless Jew. 
Come, go with me : peri^se this, as thou goest. 
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — The Same. Before Shylock's House, 
Enter Shylock and Launcelot. 

Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, 
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio. — 
What, Jessica ! — Thou shalt not gormandize. 
As thou hast done with me ! — What, Jessica ! — 
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out. — 
Why, Jessica. I say ! 

Lavn. Why, Jessica ! 

Shy. Who bids tliee call ? I do not bid thee call. 

Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, that I 
could do nothing without bidding. 
Enter Jessica. 

Jes. Call you? What is your will ? 

Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica : 
There are my keys. — But wherefore should I go ? 
I am not bid for love ; they flatter me : 
But yet I '11 go in hate, to feed upon 
The prodigal Christian. — Jessica, my girl, 
Look to my house : — I am right loath to go. 
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest, 
For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go: my young master 
doth expect your reproach. 

Shy. So do I his. 

iMun. And they have conspired together : — I will 
1 not say, you shall see a masque ; but if you do, then 



SCENE vn. 



THE MERCHANT OF YENICE. 



173 



it was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on 
black Monday' last, at six o'clock i' the morning, falling 
out that year on Ash- Wednesday was four year in the 
afternoon. [Jessica: 

Shy. What ! are there masques ? — Hear you me, 
Lock up my doors ; and when you licar the drum, 
And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife, 
Clamber not you up to the casements then, 
Nor thrust your head into the public street 
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces, 
But stcJp my house's ears, I mean my casements ; 
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
My sober house. — By Jacob's staff, 1 swear, 
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night ; 
But I will go. — Go you before me, sirrah ; 
Say, I will come. 

Laiin. I will go before, sir. — Mistress, look out at 
window, for all this : 
There will come a Christian by, 
Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit Laun. 

Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring ? ha ! 

Jcs. His words were, farewell, mistress ; nothing else. 

Shy. The patch is kind enough ; but a huge feeder, 
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
More than the wild-cat : drones* hive not with me ; 
Therefore I part with him, and part with him 
To one that I would have him help to waste 
His borrow'd purse. — Well, Jessica, go in: 
Perhaps I will return immediately. 
Do, as I bid you ; shut doors after you : 
Safe bind, safe^ find, 
A proverb never stale in thrii'ty mind. [Exit. 

Jcs. Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crost. 



I have a father, you a daughter, lost. 



[Exit. 



SCENE VI.— The Same. 
Enter GR.\Ti.iNO and S.\larino, masqued. 

Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo 
Desir'd us to make stand. 

Salar. His liour is almost past. 

Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
For lovers ever run before the clock. 

Salur. O ! ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont 
To keep obliged faith unforfeited ! 

Gra. That ever holds : who riseth from a feast, 
With that keen appetite that lie sits down? 
Where is the horse that doth untread again 
His tedious measures, with the unbated fire 
That he did pace them first? All things that are. 
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. 
How like a younker, or a prodigal, 
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 
Hugg"d and embraced by the strumpet wind ! 
How like a prodigal doth she return, 
With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails, 
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! 
Enter Lorenzo. 

Salar. Here comes Lorenzo : — more of this hereafter. 

Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode ; 
Not I, but my affairs have made you wait : 
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, 
I '11 watch as long for you then. — Approach ; 
Here dwells my father Jew. — Ho ! who 's within? 
Enter Jessica above., as a boy. 

Jes. Who are you? Tell me for more certainty. 
Albeit I '11 swear that I do know your tongue. 



Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 

Jes. Lorenzo, certain ; and my love, indeed. 
For whom love I so much ? And now who knows, 
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours ? 

Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts are witness that 
thou art. 

Jes. Here, catch this casket : it is worth the pains. 
I am glad 't is night, you do not look on me, 
For I am much asham'd of my exchange ; 
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see 
The pretty follies that themselves commit; 
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 
To see me thus transformed to a boy. 

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. 

Je.'i. What ! must I liold a candle to my shames ? 
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. 
Why, 't is an office of discovery, love, 
And I should be obscur'd. 

Lor. So are you, sweet, 

Even in the garnish of a lovely boy. 
But come at once ; 

For the close night doth play the run-away, 
And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast. 

Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself 
With some more ducats, and be with you straight. 

[Exit., from above. 

Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew. 

Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily j 
For she is wise, if I can judge of her. 
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true. 
And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself; 
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true, 
Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 
E^iter Jessica, to them beloic. 
What, art thou come? — On, gentlemen; away! 
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. 

[Exit with Jessica and Salarino. 
Enter Antonio. 

Ant. Who 's there ? 

Gra. Signior Antonio ? 

Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano ! where are all the rest ? 
'T is nine o'clock ; our friends all stay for you. 
No masque to-night : the wind is come about, 
Bassanio presently will go aboard : 
I have sent twenty out to seek for you. 

Gra. I am glad on 't : I desire no more delight, 
Than to be under sail, and gone to-night. [Exeunt. 

SCENE vn.— Belmont. An Apartment in 

Portia's House. 

Enter Portia, with the Prince of Morocco^ and both their 

trains. 

For. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover 
The several caskets to this noble prince. — [Curtains 
Now make yoiu- choice. [drawn aside.^ 

Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears ; — 
"Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire." 
The second, silver, which this promise carries ; — 
'' Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves." 
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt ; — 
" Who choo.seth me must give and hazard all he hath." 
How shall I know if I do choose the right ? 

Por. The one of them contains my picture, prince : 
If you choose that, then I am yours withal. 

Mor. Some god direct my judgment ! Let me see, 
I will survey th' inscriptions back again: 
What says this leaden casket? 



' Stow says, Blaek Monday got its name from the following occurrence : On Easter-Monday, April 14, 1300, Edward III., with his host, 
lay before the city of Paris, and the day " was full darli of mist and hail, and so bitter cold that many men died on their horses' backs with 
the cold." ' Fast bind, fast find : in f. e. ^ This direction not in f. e. 



174: 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



AOT n. 



"Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath." 

Must give — For what ? for lead ? hazard for lead ? 

This casket threatens : men. that hazard all. 

Do it in hope of fair advantages : 

A golden mind stoops not to shovs^s of dross j 

I '11 then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead. 

What .says the silver, with her virgin hue ? 

"Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves." 

As much as he deserves ? — Pavise there, Morocco, 

And weigh thy value with an even hand. 

If thou be'st rated by thy estimation, 

Thou dost deserve enough ; and yet enough 

May not extend so far as to the lady; 

And yet to be afeard of my deserving 

Were but a weak disabling of myself. 

As much as I deserve? — Why, that 's the lady: 

I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, 

In graces, and in qualities of breeding : 

But more than these in love I do deserve her. 

What if I stray'd no farther, but chose here ? — 

Let 's see once more this saying grav'd in gold : 

"Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire." 

Why, that 's the lady; all the world desires her : 

From the four corners of the earth they come, 

To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. 

The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds 

Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now, 

For princes to come view fair Portia : 

The wat'ry kingdom, whose ambitious head 

Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 

To stop the foreign spirits, bi;t they come, 

As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia : 

One of these three contains her heavenly picture. 

Is 't like, that load contains her? 'T were damnation, 

To think so base a thought : it were too gross 

To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. 

Or shall I think in silver she 's immur'd. 

Being ten times undervalued to tried gold ? 

sinful thought ! Never so rich a gem 

Was set in worse than gold. They have in England 

A coin, that bears the figure of an angel 

Stamped in gold, but that 's insculp'd upon ; 

But here an angel in a golden bed 

Lies all within. — Deliver me the key: 

Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may ! 

Por. There, take it, prince ; and if my form lie there, 
Then I am yours. [He opens the golden casket. 

Mor. hell ! what have we here ? 

A carrion death, within whose empty eye 
There is a written scroll. I '11 read the "WTiting. 
" All that glisters is not gold ; 
Often have you heard that told : 
Many a man his life hath sold. 
But my outside to behold : 
Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
Had you been as wise as bold, 
Young in limbs, in judgment old, 
Your answer had not been inscroll'd : 
Fare you well ; your suit is cold." 
Cold, indeed, and labour lost : 
Then, farewell, heat ; and, welcome, frost. — 
Portia, adieu. I have too gricv'd a heart 
To take a tedious leave : thus losers part. {Exit. 

Por. A gentle riddance. — Draw the curtains: go. 

{Curtains drawn. 
Let all of his complexion choose me so. {Exeunt. 

SCENE VIII.— Venice. A Street. 
Enter Salarixo and Salanio. 
Sahr. Why man, I saw Bassanio under sail ; 



With him is Gratiano gone along ; 

And in their ship, I 'm sure, Lorenzo is not. 

Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the duke, 
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. 

Solar. He came too late, the ship was under sail : 
But there the duke was given to understand, 
That in a gondola were seen together 
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica. 
Besides, Antonio certified the duke, 
They were not with Bassanio in his ship. 

Salan: I never heard a passion so confus'd, 
So strange, outrageous, and so variable, - 
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
" My daughter ! — my ducats ! — my daughter ! 
Fled with a Christian? — O my Christian ducats! 
Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter ! 
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, 
Of double ducats, stol n from me by my daughter ! 
And jewels too ! two rich and precious stones, 
Stol'n by my daughter ! — Justice ! iind the girl ! 
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats !" 

Salar. Why. all the boys in Venice follow him, 
Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. 

Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day, 
Or he shall pay for this. 



Sala 



r. 



Marrv, well remember'd. 



I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday. 
Who told me, in the narrow seas, that part 
The French and English, there miscarried 
A vessel of our country, richly fraught. 
I thought upon Antonio when he told me. 
And wish'd in silence that it were not his. 

Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear; 
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 

Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. 
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part. 
Bassanio told him, he would make some speed 
Of his return: he answcr'd — "Do not so; 
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio, 
But stay the very riping of the time : 
And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of me, 
Let it not enter in your mind of love. 
Be merry ; and apply your chiefest thoughts 
To courtsliip, and such fair ostents of love 
As shall conveniently become you there." 
And even there, his eye being big with tears, 
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him. 
And with affection wondrous sensible 
He wrung Bassanio's hand ; and so they parted. 

Salan. I think, he only loves the world for him. 
I pray thee, let vis go, and find him out, 
And quicken his embraced heaviness 
With some delight or other. 

Salar. Do we so. {Exeunt. 

SCENE IX. — Belmont. An Apartment in Portia's 

House. 
Enter Nerissa, iiith a Servitor. 
Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee ; draw the curtains 
straight. 
The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath. 
And comes to his election presently. 
Enter the Prince of Arragon, Portia, and their trains. 
Flourish cornets. Curtains withdrawn. 
Por. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince. 
If you choose that wherein I am contain'd. 
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd ; 
But if yoii fail, without more speech, my lord. 
You must be gone from hence immediate!}'. 

Ar. 1 am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things : 



SCENE I. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



175 



First, never to unfold to any one 

Which casket 't was I chcse : next, if I fail 

Of the right casket, never in my life 

To woo a maid in way of marriage : lastly, 

If I do fail in fortune of my choice, 

Immediately to leave you and be gone. 

Por. To these injunctions every one doth swear, 
That comes to hazard for my Avorthless self. 

Ar. And so have I address'd me. Fortune now 
To my heart's hope ! — Gold, silver and base lead. 
" Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath ;" 
You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard. 
What says the golden chest? ha ! let mo see : — 
" Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire." 
What many men desire : — that many may be meant 
By the fool multitude, that choose by show, 
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach ; 
Whicli prize not th'^ interior, but, like the martlet, 
Builds in the weather, on the outward wall, 
Even in the force and road of casualty. 
I will not choose what many men desire. 
Because I will not jump with common spirits. 
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. 
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house ; 
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear : 
" Who chooseth me .shall get as much as he deserves j" 
And well said too : for who shall go about 
To cozen fortune, and be honourable, 
Without the stamp of merit ? Let none presume 
To wear an undeserved dignity. 

! that estates, degrees, and offices. 

Were not deriv'd corruptly ; and that clear honour 
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer ! 
How many then should cover, that stand bare ; 
How many be commanded, that command : 
How much low peasantry would then be glean'd 
From the true seed of honour ; and how much honour 
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times. 
To be new varnish'd ! Well, but to my choice : 
" Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves." 

1 will as.sume desert : — give me a key for this. 
And instantly unlock my fortunes here. 

[He opens the silver casket.^ 
Por. Too long a pause for that which you find there. 
Ar. What 's here ? the portrait of a blinldng idiot, 

Presenting me a schedule ? I will read it. 

How much unlike art thou to Portia ! 

How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings ! 



'• Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves." 
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head ? 
Is that my prize ? are my deserts no better ? 

Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices. 
And of opposed natures. 

Ar. What is here ? 

" The fire seven times tried this : 
Seven times tried that judgment is, 
That did never choose amiss. 
Some there be that shadows kiss ; 
Such have but a shadow's bliss. 
There be fools alive, I wis, 
Silver'd o'er ; and so was this. 
Take what wife you will to bed, 
I will ever be your head : 
So begone : you are sped." 
Still more fool I shall appear 
By the time I linger here : 
With one fool's head I came to woo. 
But I go away with two. — 
Sweet, adieu. I 'U keep my oath. 
Patiently to bear my wroth. 

[Exeunt Arragon, and train. 
Por. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. 
0, these deliberate fools ! when they do choose. 
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. 

Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy : 
Hanging and wiving go by destiny. drawn.^ 

Por. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. [Curtains 

Enter a Messenger.^ 
Mess. Where is my lady ? 

Por. Here ; wliat would my lord ? 

Mess. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
A young Venetian, one that comes before 
To signify the approaching of his lord. 
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets : 
To wit, (besides commends, and courteous breath,) 
Gifts of rich value ; yet I have not seen 
So likely an ambassador of love. 
A day in April never came so sweet. 
To show how costly summer was at hand. 
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 

Por. No more, I pray thee : I am half afeard, 
Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee. 
Thou spend'st such higli-day wit in praising him. — 
Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see 
Cupid's quick post, that comes so mannerly. 

Ner. Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— Venice. A Street. 

Enter Salanio and Salarino. 

Salnn. Now, what news on the Rialto ? 

Salar. Why, yet it lives there unchcck'd, that Anto- 
nio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow 
seas ; the Goodwins, I think they call the place : a 
very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the carcasses of 
many a tall ship lie buried, as thoy say, if my gossip, 
report, be an honest woman of licr word. 

Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, 
as ever knapped^ ginger, or made her neighbours be- 
lieve she wept for the death of a third husband. But 
it is true, without any slips of prolixity, or crossing the 
plain high-way of talk, that the good Antonio, the 



honest Antonio, — 0, that I had a title good enough to 
keep his name company ! — 

Salar. Come, the full stop. 

Salan. Ha! — what say'st thou? — Why the end is. 
he hath lost a ship. 

Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses. 

Salan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil 
cross my prayer ; for here he comes in the likeness of 
a Jew. — 

Enter Shylock. 
How now, Shylock ? what news among the merchants ? 

Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, 
of my d.aughtcr's fliglit. 

SaJar. That 's certain : I, for my part, knew the tailor 
that made the wings she flew withal. 



> Wkioh pries not to th' : in f. e. » ^ This direction not in f. e. * So the old copies ; mod. eds. read : " Servant." * Broke. 



176 



TPIE MERCHANT OF YENICE. 



ACT ni. 



Sahn. And Shylock. for his own part, knew the bird 
was fledg'd ; and then, it is the complexion of Ihcm all 
to leave the dam. 

Shy. She is damned for it. 

Salar. That 's certain, if the devil maybe her judge. 
Shy. My own fle,*h and blood to rebel ! 
Salar. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at these 
years ? 

Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 
Salar. There is more differenee between thy flesh 
and hers, than between jet and ivory ; more between 
your bloods, than there is between red wine and 
rhenish. But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio 
have had any loss at sea or no ? 

Shy. There I have another bad match : a bankrupt, 
a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the 
Rialto ; — a beggar, that was wont* to come so smug 
upon the mart. — Let him look to his bond : he was 
wont to call me usurer ; — ^let him look to his bond : 
he wa.s wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy; 
— let him look to his bond. 

Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not 
take his flesh : what 's that good for ? 

Sht/. To bait fish withal : if it will feed nothing else, 
it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and 
hindered me half a million ; laughed at my losses, 
mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my 
bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies ; and 
what • s his reason ? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew 
eyes ? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, 
affections, passions ? fed with the same food, hurt with 
the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed 
by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same 
winter and summer, as a Christian is ? if you prick us, 
do we not bleed ? if you tickle us, do we not laugh ? if 
you poison vis, do we not die ? and if you wrong us, 
shall we not revenge ? If we are like you in the rest, 
we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wTong a 
Christian, what is his humility ? revenge. If a Chris- 
tian wrong a Jew, what should his sutferance be by 
Christian example ? why, revenge. The villainy you 
teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go hard but I 
will better the instruction. 

Enter a Servant. 
Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house, 
and desires to speak with you both. 

Salar. We have been up and down to seek him. 
Salan. Here comes another of the tribe : a third 
cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew. 
[Exeunt Salan. Salar. and Servant. 
Enter Tubal. 
Shy. How now. Tubal ? what news from Genoa ? 
hast thou found my daughter ? 

Tub. I often came where I did hear of her. but can- 
not find her. 

Shy. Why there, there, there, there ! a diamond 
gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort. The 
ctir.^e never fell upon our nation till now ; I never felt 
it till now : — two thousand ducats in that ; and other 
precious, precious jewels. — I would, my daughter were 
dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear ! would she 
were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin ! 
No news of them ? — Why, so : — and I know not what 's 
spent in the search : Why then — loss upon loss ! the 
thief gone with so much, and so much to find the 
thief, and no satisfaction, no revenge ; nor no ill luck 
stirring, but what lights o' my shoulders ; no sighs, 
but o' my breathing ; no tears, but o' my shedding. 



Tvh. Yes, other men have ill luck too. Antonio, 
as I heard in Genoa, — 

Shy. What, what, what ? ill luck, ill luck ? 

Tub. — hath an argosy cast away, coming from 
Tripolis. 

Shy. I thank God ! I thank God ! Is it true ? is it true ? 

Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped 
the wreck. 

Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal. — Good news, good 
news ! ha ! ha ! — Where ? in Genoa ? 

Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one 
night, four.score ducats. 

Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me. I shall never 
see my gold again. Fourscore ducats at a sitting ? 
fourscore ducats ! 

Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in 
my company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose 
but break. 

Shy. I am very glad of it. I '11 plague him ; I '11 
torture him : I am gla.d of it. 

Tub. One of them showed me a ring, that he had of 
your daughter for a monkey. 

Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me. Tubal : it 
was my torquoise^ ; I had it of Leah, when I was a 
bachelor : I would not have given it for a wilderness 
of monkeys. 

Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 

Shy. Nay, that 's true, that 's very true. Go, Tubal, 
fee me an officer: bespeak him a fortnight before. I 
will have the heart of him, if he forfeit ; for, were he 
out of Venice, I can make what merchandise I will. 
Go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue: go, good 
Tubal ; at our synagogue, Tubal. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Belmont. An Apartment in Portia's 

House. 

Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, and 
their Attendants. 

For. I pray you tarry : pause a day or two. 
Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong. 
I lose your company : therefore, forbear a while. 
There's something tells me, (but it is not love.) 
I would not lose you. and you know yourself. 
Hate counsels not in such a quality. 
But le.?t you should not understand me well. 
And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought, 
I would detain you here some month or two, 
Before you venture for me. I could teach you, 
How to choose riglit, but then I am forsworn ; 
So will I never be : so may you miss me ; 
But if you do, you '11 make me wish a sin. 
That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, 
They have o'er-look'd^ me, and divided me ; 
One half of me is yours, tlie other half yours, — 
Mine o^vn, I would say ; but if mine, then yours, 
And so all yours ! ! these naughty times 
Put bars between the owners and their rights ; 
And so, though yours, not yours. — Prove it so, 
Let fortune go to hell for it, — not I. 
I speak too long ; but 't is to pause* the time. 
To eke it, and to draw it out in length. 
To stay you from election. 

Bas. Let me choose ; 

For, as I am, I live upon the rack. 

For. Upon the rack, Bassanio ? then eonfes/ 
What treason there is mingled with your love. 

Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust, 
Which makes me fear th' enjoying of my love. 



1 that used : in f. e. 2 It -was a popular superstition, that this stone " doth moTe -vrhen there is any peril prepared to him who weareth it." 
-Fcnto)i''s Secret Wonders of Nature,'^ loGSt ^ Charmed. * peize : in f. e. 



SCENE ir. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



177 



There may as well be amity and life 

'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 

Por. Ay, bvit, I fear, you speak upon the rack, 
Where men enforced do speak any thing. 

Bass. Promise me life, and I '11 confc.'^s the truth. 

Por. Well then, confess, and live. 

Bass. Confess, and love, 

Had been the very sum of my confef^sion. 
O. happy torment, when my torturer 
Doth teach me an.swers for deliverance ! [dmnm aside .^ 
But let me to my fortune and the caskets. [Curtains 

Por. Away then. I am lock'd in one of them : 
If you do love me, you will find me out. — 
Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof. — 
Let music sound while he doth make his choice ; 
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end. 
Fading in music : that the comparison 
May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream. 
And watery death-bed for him. He may win, 
And what is music tlien ? then music is 
Even as the flourish wlien true subjects bow 
To a new-crowned monarch : such it is, 
As are those dulcet sounds in break of day, 
That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear. 
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes. 
With no less presence, but with much more love. 
Than young Alcides, when he did redeem 
The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 
To the sea-monster : I stand for sacrifice, 
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, 
With bleared visages, come forth to view 
The issue of th' exploit. Go, Hercules ! 
Live thou, I live : — with much, much more dismay 
I view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray. 

A Song, the whilst Bassanio comments on tJie caskets 
to himself. 
Tell me. where is fancy bred, 
Or in the heart, or in the head ? 
Hoiv begot, how nourished ? 
Reply, reply. 

It is engendered in the eyes, 
With gazing fed ; and fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies. 
Let us all ring fancy's knell ; 

I'll begin it, Di7ig, dong, bell. 

All. Ding, dong, bell. 

Ba.'!s. So may the outward shows be least themselves : 
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. 
In law. what plea so tainted and corrupt, 
But, being season'd with a gracious voice. 
Obscures the show of evil ? In religion, 
What damned error, but some sober brow 
Will bless it, and approve it -sAith a text, 
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? 
There is no vice so simple, but assumes 
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. 
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 
As stairs of sand, wear yet iipon their chins 
The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars, 
Who, inward search'd. have livers white as milk; 
And these assume but valour's excrement. 
To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, 
And you shall see 't is purchased by the weight ; 
Which therein works a miracle in nature, 
Making them lightest that wear most of it : 
Bo are those crisped snaky golden locks. 
Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, 



Upon supposed fairness, often known 
To be the dowry of a second head, 
The scull that bred them, in the sepulchre. 
Thus ornament is but the gulling^ shore 
To a most dangerous s-ea, the beauteous scarf 
Veiling an Indian' : beauty, in a word. 
The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee. 
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead, 
Which rather threat'nest than dost promise aught, 
Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence, 
And here choose I. Joy be the consequence ! 
Por. How all the other passions fleet to air. 
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair. 
And shuddering fear, and green-ey'd jealousy. 

love ! be moderate; allay thy ecstasy; 
In measure rain thy joy ; scant this excess : 

1 feel too much thy blessing; make it less. 
For fear I surfeit ! 

J5a.5s. What find I here ? \He opens the leaden casket. 
Fair Portia's counterfeit ! What demi-god 
Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ? 
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, 
Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips. 
Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar 
Should sunder such sweet friends. Here, in her hairs, 
The painter plays the spider, and hath woven 
A golden mesh t' entrap the hearts of men, 
Faster than gnats in cobwebs ; but her eyes ! — 
How could he see to do them ; having made one, 
Methinks, it should have power to steal both his, 
And leave itself unfinish'd* : yet look, how far 
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow 
In underprizing it, so far this shadow 
Doth limp behind the substance. — Here 's the scroll, 
The continent and summary of my fortune. 
'' You that choose not by the view. 

Chance as fair, and choose as true ! 

Since this fortune falls to you, 

Be content, and seek no new. 

If you be well pleas'd with this, 

And hold your fortune for your bliss, 

Turn you where your lady is, 

And claim her with a loving kiss." 
A gentle scroll. — Fair lady, by your leave ; 
I come by note, to give, and to receive. [Kissing her. 
Like one of two contending in a prize. 
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, 
Hearing applause, and universal shout. 
Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt 
Whether those peals of praise be his or no ; 
So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so. 
As doubtful whether what I see be true. 
Until confirm'd. sign'd, ratified by you. 

Por. You see me, lord Bassanio,' where I stand, 
Such as I am ; though, for myself alone 
I would not be ambitious in my wish. 
To wish myself mvtch better ; yet for you 
I would be trebled twenty times myself: 
A thousand times more fair.ten thousand times more rich, 
That only to stand high in your account, 
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 
Exceed account : Wt the full sum of me 
Is sum of nothing ; which, to term in gross, 
Is an unlesson'd girl, ixnschool'd, unpractis'd ; 
Happy in this, she is not yet so old 



• This direction not in f. e. ' guiled : in f. e. ' f. o. have : " Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word, 
suggested the same change. * So the quartos ; the folio : "You see, my lord Bassanio." 

12 



« unfurnish'd : in f. e. Steevens 



178 



THE MEECIIANT OF YENICE. 



ACT ni. 



But she may learn ; happier than this, 

She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 

Happiest of all, in' that her gentle spirit 

Commits itself to yours to be direetcd. 

As from her lord, her governor, her king. 

Myself, and what is mine, to you, and yours 

Is now converted : but now I was the lord 

Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 

Queen oer myself; and even now, but now, 

This house, these servants, and-this same myself. 

Are yours, my lord. I give them with this ring, 

Which when you part from, lo.'^e, or give away. 

Let it presage the rviin of your love, 

And be my vantage to exclaim on you. [Giving it.'' 

Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words : 
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins ; 
And there is such confusion in my powers, 
As after some oration, fairly spoke 
By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
Among the buzzing pleased multitude ; 
Where every something, being blent together. 
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, 
Express'd, and not express'd. But when this ring 
Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence : 

! then be bold to say, Bassanio 's dead. 
Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time, 

That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper. 
To cry, good joy. Good joy, my lord, and lady ! 
Gm. My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady ! 

1 wish you all the joy that you can wish, 
For, I am sure, you can wish none from me ; 
And, when your honours mean to solemnize 
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you. 
Even at that time I may be married too. 

Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. 

Gra. I thank your lordship, you have got me one. 
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : 
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; 
You lov'd, I lov'd ; for intermission 
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
Your fortune stood upon the caskets there, 
And so did mine too, as the matter falls ; 
For wooing here, until I sweat again. 
And swearing, till my very tongue^ was dry 
With oaths of love, at last, if promise last, 
I got a promise of this fair one here, 
To liave her love, provided that your fortune 
Achiev'd her mistress. 



Por. 

Bass. 
Gra. 
Bass. 
Gra. 



Is this true, Nerissa ? 



Madam, 
And do 



er. 



and 



it is, so you stand pleas'd withal, 
you, Gratiano, mean good faith ? 
Yes, 'faith, my lord. [marriage. 

Our feast shall be much honoured in your 
We "11 play with them the first boy for a thou- 
sand ducats. 
What, and stake down ? 
Gra. No ; we sliall ne'er win at that sport, 
stake down. — 
But who comes here ? Lorenzo, and his infidel ? 
What ! and my old \'enetian friend, Salerio ? 
Enter Lorenzo, Je?sic.\, and Salerio. 
Bass. Lorenzo, and Salerio, welcome hither. 
If that the youth of my new interest here 
Have power to bid you welcome. — By your leave 
I bid my very friends and countrymen, 
Sweet Portia, welcome. 

Por. So do I, my lord : 

They are entirely welcome. 

Lor. I thank your honour. — For my part, my lord, 



My purpose was not to have seen you here, 
But meeting with Salerio by the way, 
He did entreat me, past all saying nay, 
To come with him along. 

Sale. I did, my lord. 

And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio 
Commends him to you. [Gives Bassanio a letter. 

Ba.ss. Ere I ope this letter, 

I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. 

Sale. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind ; 
Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 
Will show you his estate. [Bassanio reads.'^ 

Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger ; bid her welcome. 
Your hand, Salerio : what 's the news from Venice ? 
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio ? 
I know, lie will be glad of our success ; 
We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. 

Sale I would you had won the fleece that he Imth lost ! 

Por. There are some shrewd contents in yon same 
paper, 
That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek : 
Some dear friend dead, else nothing in the world 
Could turn so much the constitution 
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse ? — 
With leave. Bassanio ; I am lialf yourself. 
And 1 must freely have the half of any thing 
That this same paper brings you. 

Bass. sweet Portia ! 

Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words 
That ever blotted paper. Gentle lady, 
When I did first impart my love to you, 
I freely told you, all the wealth I had 
Ran in my veins — I was a gentleman : 
And then I told you true, and yet, dear lady. 
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 
How much I was a braggart. When I told you 
My state w^as nothing, I should then have told you. 
That I was worse than nothing ; for, indeed, 
I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, 
EngagM my friend to his mere enemy. 
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady; 
The paper as the body of my friend, 
And every word in it a gaping wound. 
Issuing life-blood. — But is it true, Salerio? 
Have all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit? 
From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, 
From Lisbon, Barbary, and India? 
And not one vessel "scap'd the dreadful touch 
Of merchant-marring rocks ? 

Sale. Not one, my lord. 

Besides, it should appear, that if he had 
The present money to discharge tlie Jew, 
He would not take it. Never did I know 
A creature, that did bear the shape of man. 
So keen and greedy to confound a man. 
He plies the duke at morning, and at night. 
And doth impeach the freedom of the state. 
If they deny him justice : twenty merchants. 
The duke himself, and the magnificoes 
Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him. 
But none can drive him from the envious plea 
Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. 

Jes. When I was with him I have heard him swear 
To Tubal and to Chus. his countrymen, 
i That he would rattier have Antonio's flesh, 
Than twenty times the value of the sum 
That he did owe him : and I know, my lord, 
If law, authority, and power deny not, 
It will go hard v/ilh poor Antonio. 



» all is : in f. e. a Not in f. e, 3 roof : in f. e. ; in the folio : rough. * Not in f. e. 



SCENE IV. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



179 



For. Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble ? 

Ba.':.s. The dearest friend to me. the kindest man, 
The best condition'd and unM^earied'st spirit, 
In doing courtesies ; and one in whom 
The ancient Roman honour more appears, 
Than any that draws breath in Italy. 

For. What sum owes he the Jew? 

Bass. For me, three thousand ducats. 

For. What ! no more ? 

Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond : 
Double six thousand, and then treble that, 
Before a friend of this description 
Shall lose a hair through my Bassanio's fault. 
First, go with me to church, and call me wife, 
And then away to Venice to your friend ; 
For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold 
To pay tlie petty debt twenty times over : 
When it is paid, bring your true friend along. 
Rly maid Nerit-sa and myself, mean time, 
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away ! 
For you shall hence upon your wedding-day. 
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer ; 
Since you are'dear bought, I will love you dear. — 
But let me hear the letter of your friend. 

Bass. [Reads.] •'■ Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all 
miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very 
low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit ; and since in 
paying it it is impossible I should live, all debts are 
cleared between you and I, if I might but see you at 
my death. Notwithstanding, use your pleasure : if 
your love do not persuade you to come, let not my 
letter." 

For. O love ! despatch all business, and begone. 

Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away, 
I will make haste ; but till I come again. 
No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, 

Nor rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Venice. A Street. 
Enter Shyi.ock, Salanio, Antonio, and Jailor. 

Shy. Jailor, look to him: tell not me of mercy. — 
This is the fool that lent' out money gratis. — 
Jailor, look to him. 

Ajit. Hear me yet, good Shylock. 

Shij. I 'II have my bond ; speak not against my bond ; 
I liave sworn an oath that I will have my bond. 
Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause, 
But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs. 
The duke shall grant me justice. — I do wonder, 
Thou naughty jailor, that thou art so fond 
To come abroad with liim at his request. 

Ant. I pray thee, hear mo speak. 

Shy. I '11 have my bond; I will not hear thee speak: 
I '11 have my bond, and therefore speak no more. 
I "11 net be made a soft and duU-ey'd fool. 
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
To Christian intercessors. Follow not; 
I '11 have no speaking : I will have my bond. 

[Exit Shylock. 

Salan. It is tlio most impenetrable cur, 
That ever kept with men. 

Ant. Let him alone : 

I "11 follow him no more with bootless prayers. 
He seeks my life ; his reason well I know. 
I oft doliver'd from his forfeitures 
Many that have at times made moan to me ; 
Therefore he hates me. 

Salan. 



I am sure, the duke 



Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 

Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law ; 
For the commodity that strangers have 
With us in Venice, if it be denied. 
Will much impeach the justice of the state ; 
SinoQ that the trade and profit of the city 
Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go : 
These griefs and losses have so 'bated me, 
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh 
To-morrow to my bloody creditor. — 
Well, jailor, on. — Pray God, Bassanio come 
To see me pay his debt, and then I care not. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 

Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and 

Balthazar. 

Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your presence. 
You have a noble and a true conceit 
Of god-like amity ; which appears most strongly 
In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 
But, if you knew to whom you show this honour. 
How true a gentleman you send relief, 
How dear a lover of my lord, your husband, 
I know, you would be prouder of the work. 
Than customary bounty can enforce you. 

For. I never did repent for doing good. 
Nor shall not now : for in companions 
That do converse and waste the time together. 
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love, 
There must be needs a like proportion 
Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit ; 
Which makes me think, that this Antonio, 
Being the bosom lover of my lord. 
Must needs be like my lord. If it be so. 
How little is the cost I have bestow'd. 
In purchasing the semblance of my soul 
From out the state of hellish cruelty ! 
This comes too near the praising of myself. 
Therefore, no more of it : hear other things. — 
Lorenzo, I commit into your hands 
The husbandry and manage of my house, 
Until my lord's return : for mine own part, 
I have toward heaven breath'd a sacred vow 
To live in prayer and contemplation. 
Only attended by Nerissa here. 
Until her husband and my lord's return. 
There is a monastery two miles off, 
And there we will abide. I do desire you 
Not to deny this imposition. 
The which my love, and some necessity. 
Now lays upon you. 

Lor. Madam, with all my heart : 

I shall obey you in all fair commands. 

For. ]\Iy people do already know my mind. 
And will acknowledge you and Jessica 
In place of lord Bassanio and myself. 
So fare you well, till we shall meet again. 

Lor. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend on you ! 

Jcs. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 

For. I thank you for your wish, and am well-pleas'd 
To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. — 

[Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo. 
Now, Balthazar, 

As I have ever found thee honest, true. 
So let me find thee still. Take this same letter, 
And use thou all the endeavour of a man, 
In speed to Padua : see thou render this 
Into my cousin's hand, doctor Bellario ; 
And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee. 



' So the quartos ; the folio : lends. 



180 



THE MEECHANT OF VENICE. 



ACT in. 



Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed 
Unto the Tranect. to the common ferry 
Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words, 
But get thee gone : I shall be there before thee. 

Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed. [Exit. 

For. Come on, Nerissa : I have work in hand. 
That you yet know not of. We '11 see our husbands, 
Before they think of us. 

Ner. Shall they sec us ? 

For. They .shall, Nerissa : but in such a habit, 
That they shall think we are accomplished 
With that we lack. I '11 hold thee any wager, 
When we are both accoutred like young men, 
I '11 prove the prettier fellow of the two, 
And wear my dagger with the braver grace ; 
And speak between the change of man and boy, 
With a reed voice ; and turn two mincing steps 
Into a manly stride ; and speak of frays. 
Like a fine bragging youth ; and tell quaint lies, 
How honourable ladies sought my love. 
Which I denying, they fell sick and died ; 
I could not do withaP : — then, I '11 repent, 
And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them. 
And twenty of these puny lies I '11 tell, 
That men shall swear, I have discontinued school 
Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind 
A thousand raw tricks of these bragging .Jacks, 
Which I will practise. 

Ner. Why, shall we turn to men ? 

For. Fie ! what a question 's that, 
If thou wert near a lewd interpreter. 
But come : I '11 tell thee all my whole device 
When I am in my coach, which stays for us 
At the park gate ; and therefore haste away, 
For we must measure twenty miles to-day. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— The Same. A Garden. 
Enter Launcelot and Jessica. 

Latin. Yes, truly ; for. look you, the sins of the father 
are to be laid upon the children : therefore, I promise 
you, I fear you. I was always plain with you. and so 
now I speak my agitation of the matter : therefore, be 
of good cheer; for, truly, I tliink, you are damned. 
There is but one hope in it that can do you any good, 
and that is but a kind of bastard hope neither. 

Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee ? 

Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that your father 
got you not ; that you are not the Jew's daughter. 

Jcs. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed : 80 
the sins of ray mother should be visited upon me. 

Laun. Truly, then, I fear you are damned both by 
father and mother : thus when I shun Scylla, your 
father. I fall into Charybdis, your mother. Well, you 
are gone both ways. 

Jes. I shall be saved by my husband ; he hath made 
me a Christian. 

Laun. Truly, the more to blame he : we were Chris- 
tians enow before ; e'en as many as could well live 
one by another. This making of Christians will raise 
the price of hogs : if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we 
shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals for money. 
Enter Lorenzo. 

/(?.<?. I '11 tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say : 
here he comes. 



Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, 
if you thus get my wife into corners. 

Jcs. Nay, you need not fear us. Lorenzo : Launcelot 
and I are out. He tells me flatly, there 's no mercy for 
me in heaven, because I am a Jew's daughter ; and he 
says, you are no good member of the commonwealth, 
for in converting Jews to Christians, you raise the price 
of pork. 

Lor. I shall answer that better to the commonwealth, 
than you can the getting up of Ihe negro's belly: the 
Moor is with child by you, Launcelot. 

Latin. It is much, that the Moor should be more 
than reason ; but if she be less than an honest woman, 
she is, indeed, more than I took her for. 

Lor. How every fool can play upon the word ! I 
think, the best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence, 
and discourse grow commendable in none only but par- 
rots. — Go in, sirrah : bid them prepare for diniier. 

Laun. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs. 

Lor. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you ! then, 
bid them prepare dinner. 

Laun. That is done too, sir; only, cover is the 
word. 

Lor. Will you cover then, sir ? 

Laun. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty. 

Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion? Wilt thou 
show the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray 
thee, understand a plain man in his plain meaning : go 
to thy fellows, bid them cover the table, serve in the 
meat, and we will come in to dinner. 

Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in, for 
the meat, sir, it shall be covered ; for your coming in 
to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and conceits 
shall govern. 

[Exit Launcelot. 

Lor. O, dear discretion, how his words are suited ! 
The fool hath planted in his memory 
An army of good words : and I do know 
A many fools, that stand in better place, 
Garnish'd like him. that for a tricksy word 
Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica? 
And now. good sweet, say thy opinion ; 
How do.st thou like the lord Bassanio's wife ? 

.Tc.s. Past all expressing. It is very meet, 
The lord Bassanio live an upright life, 
For, haA-ing such a blessing in his lady, 
He finds the joys of heaven here on earth ; 
And, if on earth he do not mean it, then. 
In' reason he should never come to heaven. 
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match. 
And on the wager lay two earthly women, 
And Portia one, there must be something else 
Pawn'd with the other, for the poor rude world 
Hath not her fellow. 

Lor. Even such a husband 

Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife. 

Je.s. Nay, but a.sk my opinion, too, of that. 

Lor. I will anon : first, let us go to dinner. 

Jes. Nay, let me praise you, while I have a stomach. 

Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table talk ; 
Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things 
I shall digest it. 

Jes. Well, I '11 set you forth. [Exeunt. 



> I could not bfilp it. ' So one of the quartos ; the folio and f. e., read in place of " then, in," " it is." 



SCENE I. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



181 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I. — Venice. A Court of Justice. 

Enter the Dvkk; the Magnificoes ; Antonio, Bassanio, 
Gratiano, Salarino, Salanio, and others. 

Duke. What, is Antonio here ? 

Ant. Ready, so please your grace. 

Duke. I am s^orry for thee : thou art come to answer 
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
From any dram of mercy. 

Ant. I have heard. 

Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate, 
And that no lawful means can carry me 
Out of his envy's' reach, I do oppose 
My patience to his fury, and am arm'd 
To suffer with a quietness of spirit, 
The very tyranny and rage of his. 

Duke. Go one. and call the Jew into the court. 

Salan. He 's ready at the door. He comes, my lord. 
Enter Shylock. 

Dicke. Make room, and let him stand before our 
face. — 
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too. 
That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 
To the la.'^t hour of act ; and then, 't is thought, 
Thou 'It show thy mercy and remorse, more strange 
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty ; 
And where thou now exact' st the penalty, 
Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh. 
Thou wilt not only lose° the forfeiture, 
But, touch'd with human gentleness and love, 
Forgive a moiety of the principal ; 
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses. 
That have of late so huddled on his back, 
Enow to press a royal merchant down. 
And pluck commiseration of his state 
From bra.'-sy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint. 
From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd 
To offices of tender courtesy. 
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 

Shy. I have po.*sess'd your grace of what I purpose; 
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn 
To have tlie due and forfeit of my bond : 
If you deny it, let the danger light 
Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. 
You "11 ask me, why I rather choose to have 
A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive 
Three thousand ducats ? I '11 not answer that : 
But, say. it is my humour : is it answer'd ? 
What if my house be troubled with a rat. 
And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats 
To have it baned ? What, are you answer'd yet ? 
Some men there are love not a gaping pigj 
Some, that are mad if they behold a cat ; 
And others, when the bag-pipe sings i' the nose. 
Cannot contain their urine for affection: 
Masters of passion sway' it to the mood 
Of wliat it likes, or loatlies. Now, for your answer : 
As there is no firm reason to be render'd, 
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 

1 Hatred. ^ The old copies have " loose." ^ The old 



1 ■wo. 'Ie:i : in f. e. Eollen means swollen. 



copies have " sways, 
: for aflVctioH 
Master of passion, sways it,&c. 
* in f. e. : 

You may as well use question with the wolf, 
Why he hath made the ewo bleat for the lamb. 



Why he, a harmless necessary cat; 

Why he, a bollen* bag-pipe ; but of force 

Must yield to such inevitable shame, 

As to offend, himself being offended. 

So can I give no rea.son. nor I will not. 

More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing, 

I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 

A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd ? 

Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 

Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. 

Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love? 

Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill ? 

Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. 

Shy. What ! wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee 
twice ? 

Ant. I pray you, think you question with the Jew, 
You may as well go stand upon the beach. 
And bid the main flood bate his usual height j 
Or e'en as well use question with the wolf, 
When you behold the ewe bleat for the lamb ;' 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise. 
When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven; 
You may as well do any thing most hard. 
As seek to soften that (than which what 's harder ?) 
His Jewish heart. — Therefore. I do beseech you, 
Make no more offers, use no farther means. 
But with all brief and plain conveniency, 
Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. 

Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 

Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats 
Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, 
I would not draw them : I would have my bond. 

Duke. How slialt thou hope for mercy, rendering 
none ? 

Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? 
You have among you many a purchas'd slave. 
Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules, 
You use in abject and in slavish parts. 
Because you bought them : — shall I say to you, 
Let them be free ; marry them to your heirs ? 
Why sweat they under burdens ? let their beds 
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates 
Be season'd with such viands ? You will answer, 
The slaves are ours. — So do I answer you : 
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, 
Ts dearly bought, "t is mine, and I will have it. 
If you deny me, fie upon your law ! 
There is no force in the decrees of Venice. 
I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it? 

Dvke. Upon my power I may dismiss this court, 
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, 
Whom I have sent for to determine this, 
Come here to-day. 

Salar. My lord, here stays without 

A messenger with letters from the doctor, 
New come from Padua. 

Duke. Bring us the letters : call the messenger. 

i?a.s-.s. Good cheer. Antonio ! What man, courage yet ! 
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all, 

Knight reads the passage thus : 



182 



THE MEECITANT OF YENICE. 



ACT IT. 



Ere thou ghalt lose for me one drop of blood. 

Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
Meetest for death : the weakest kind of fruit 
Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me. 
You cannot better be employ'd. Bassanio. 
Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. 

Enter Neripsa, dressed like a Jairyer\s cleric. 

Dtike. Came you from Padua, from Bellario? 

JVer. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace. 

[Presenting a letter. 

Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so carne.'^tly ? 

[Shylock whets his knife.'' 

Shy. To cut the forfeiture from tliat bankrupt there. 

Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, 
Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal jcan. 
No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness 
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayeis pierce thee? 

Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. 

Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexorable^ dog. 
And for thy life let justice be accus'd ! 
Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, 
To hold opinion witli Pythagoras, 
That souls of animals infuse themselves 
Into the trunks of men : thy currisli spirit 
Govcrn'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter, 
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, 
And whilst thou lay'st in thy unliallow'd dam, 
Infus'd itself in thee ; for thy desires 
Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. 

Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, 
Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud. 
Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall 
To cureless ruin. — I stand here for law. 

Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend 
A young and learned doctor to our court. — 
Where is he? 

iVer. He attendeth here hard by. 

To know your answer, whether you '11 admit him. 

Luke. With all my heart : — some three or four of 
you, 
Go give him courteous conduct to this place. — 
Mean time, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. 

[Clerk reads.] "Your grace shall understand, that 
at the receipt of your letter I am very sick; but in 
the instant that your messenger came, in loving Aisita- 
tion was with me a young doctor of Rome ; his name 
is Balthazar. I acquainted him with the cause in con- 
troversy between the Jew and Antonio, the merchant : 
we turned o'er many books together: lie is furnish'd 
with my opinion ; which, better'd with his own learn- 
ing, the greatness whereof I cannot enough commend, 
comes with him, at my importunity, to fill up your 
grace's request in my stead. I beseech you. let his lack 
of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend 
estimation, for I never knew so young a body witli so 
old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance, 
whose trial shall better publish his commendation." 

Di(ke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes : 
And here, I take it, is the doctor come. — 

Enter Portia, dres.ied like a doctor of laws. 
Give me your hand. Came you from old Bellario? 

Por. I did, my lord. 

Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 

Are you acquainted with the difference 
That holds this present question in the court ? 

Por. I am informed throughly of the cause. — 
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ? 

Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 

Por. Is your name Shylock ? 

> Not in f. e 



Shy. Shylock is my name. 

Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; 
Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law 
Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed. — 
You stand within his danger,^ do you not ? [To Antonio. 

A7it. Ay, so he says. 

Por. Do you confess the bond ? 

Ant. I do. 

Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

Shy. On what compulsion must I? tell me that. 

Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd. 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice blcss'd ; 
It blcsseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
The throned inonarcli better than his crown : 
His sceptre sliows the force of temporal power,^ 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ;. 
But mercy is above this sceptred sway : 
It is enthroned in tlie hearts of kings, 
It is an attribute to God himself. 
And earthly power doth then show likcst God's, 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be tliy plea, consider this, — 
That in the cour.^e of justice none of us 
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy. 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, 
To mitigate the justice of thy plea. 
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shy. My deeds upon my head. I crave the law; 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

Por. Is he not able to discharge the money? 

Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court ; 
Yea, twice the sum : if that will not suffice, 
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er. 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart. 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That malice bears down truth : and, I beseech you, 
Wrest once the law to your authority : 
To do a great right, do a little wrong. 
And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

Por. It must not be. There is no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established : 
'T will be recorded for a precedent. 
And many an error, by the same example. 
Will rush into the state. It cannot be. 

Shy. A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel ! — 
0, wise young judge, how I do honour thee ! 

Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 

Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor; here it is. 

[Shoiving it.* 

Por. Shylock, there 's thrice thy money offer'd thee. 

Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? 
No, not for Venice. 

Por. Why, this bond is forfeit, 

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesli, to be by him cut off 
Nearest the merchant's heart. — Be merciful ; 
Take thrice thy money : bid me tear the bond. 

Shy. When it is paid according to the tenour. — 
It doth appear you are a worthy judge ; 
You know the law; your exposition 
Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law, 
Wliereof you are a well-deserving pillar. 
Proceed to judgment. By my soul I swear, 



' {. e., in part : inexerable. ' An old phrase for being in the pou'er of, as well as. indebted to. * Not in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



THE MEECHANT OF VENICE. 



183 



There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me. I stay hero on my bond. 

Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

Por. Why, then, thus it is : — 

You nuist prepare your bosom for liis knife. 

Shy. 0, noble judge ! O, excellent young man ! 

Pur. For the intent and purpose of the law, 
Hath full relation to the penalty, 
Which here appcareth due upon the bond. 

Shy. 'T i.s very true. O, wi?e and upright judge ! 
How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

Por. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 

Shy. Ay, his breast; 

So says the bond : — doth it not, noble judge ? — 
Nearest his heart : those are the very words. 

Por. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh 
The flesh ? 

Shy. I have them ready. [Producing scales.'- 

Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, 
To stop his wounds, lest he do^ bleed to death. 

Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond? 

Por. It is not so express'd ; but what of that? 
'T were good you do so mvich for charity. 

Shy. I cannot find it : "tis not in the bond. 

Por. You^, merchant, have you any thing to say? 

Ant. But little : I am arm'd, and well prepared. — 
Give me your hand, Bassanio : fare you well. 
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you, 
For herein fortune shows herself more kind 
Than is her custom : it is still her use 
To let the wretched man out-live his wealth, 
To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow. 
An age of poverty; from which lingering penance 
Of such misery doth she cut me off. 
Commend me to your honourable wife : 
Tell her the process of Antonio's end ; 
Say, how I lov'd you, speak me fair in death ; 
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge, 
Whether Bassanio had not once a lover. 
Repent not you that you shall lose your friend, 
And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
I '11 pay it instantly with all my heart. 

Bass. Antonio. I am married to a wife. 
Which is as dear to me as life itself; 
But life itself, my wife, and all the world, 
Are not with me e.steem'd above thy life : 
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all, 
Here to this devil, to deliver you. 

Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for 
that, 
If she were by to liear you make the offer. 

Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love : 
I would she were in heaven, so she could 
Entreat-some power to change this currish Jew. 

Ner. 'T is well you offer it behind her back ; 
The wish would make else an unquiet house. 

Shy. These be the Christian husbands ! I have a 
daughter : 
Would any of the stock of Barabbas* 
Had been her liusband, rather than a Christian ! 
We trifle time ; I pray thee, pursue sentence. 

Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine : 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 
Shy. Most rightful judue ! 

Por. And you must cvit this flesh from off his breast : 
The law allows it. and the court awards it. 



Shy. Most learned judge ! — A sentence ! come, pre- 
pare ! [Shoumg the scales again} 

Por. Tarry a little : there is something else. — 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; 
The words expressly are, a pound of flesh : 
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh ; 
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Chri.stian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are by the laws of Venice confiscate 
Unto the state of Venice. 

Gra. O upright judge! — Mark, Jew: — learned 
judge ! 

Shy. Is that the law ? 

Por. Thyself shalt see the act ; 

For, as thou urgest justice, be as&ur'd, 
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. 

Gra. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew : — a learned 
judge ! 

Shy. I take his offer then : pay the bond thrice, 
And let the Christian go. 

Bass. Here is the money. 

Por. Soft ! 
The Jew shall have all justice ; — soft ! — no haste :— 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

Gra. Jew ! an upright judge, a learned judge ! 

Por. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 
Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more, 
But just a pound of flesh : if thou tak'st more, 
Or less, than a just pound, — be it so much 
As makes it light, or heavy, in the balance^. 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple ; nay, if the scale do turn 
But in the estimation of a hair, 
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 

Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 

Por. Why doth the Jew pause ? Take thy forfeiture 

Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 

Bass. I have it ready for thee : here it is. 

Por. He hath refus'd it in the open court : 
He shall have merely justice, and his bond. 

Gra. A Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel ! — 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal ? 

Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, 
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

Shy. Why then the devil give him good of it. 
I '11 stay no longer question. 

Por. Tarry, Jew: 

The law hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, 
If it be prov'd against an alien, 
That by direct, or indirect attempts, 
He seek the life of any citizen. 
The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive, 
Shall seize one half his goods : the other half 
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st ; 
For it appears by manifest proceeding, 
That, indirectly, and directly too, 
Thou hast contriv'd against the very life 
Of the defendant, and thou hast ineurr'd 
The danger formerly by me rehears'd. 
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 

Gra. Beg, that thou" may'st have leave to hang 
thyself : 



1 Not in f. e. = So Iho quartos ; thn folio : "should." 
direction not in f. e. ' substance : in f. e. 



3 The folio reads : " Come." * mod. eds. usually read : " Barrabas." » This 



184 



THE MEECHANT OF VENICE. 



ACT IV. 



And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, 

Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; 

Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. 

Buke. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it. 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's : 
The other half comes to the general state, 
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 

For. Ay, for the state ; not for Antonio. 

Shy. Nay, take my life and all ; pardon not that : 
You take my house, when you do take the prop 
That doth sustain my house ; you take my life, 
When you do take the means whereby I live. 

For. What mercy can you render him, Antonio ? 

Gra. A halter gratis ; nothing else, for God's sake ! 

Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court, 
To quit the fine for one half of his goods, 
I am content, so he will let me have 
The other half in use, to render it. 
Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
That lately stole his daughter : 
Two things provided more, — that, for this favour. 
He presently become a Christian ; 
The other, that he do record a gift. 
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, 
Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter. 

Duke. He shall do this, or else I do recant 
The pardon, that I late pronounced here. 

For. Art thou contented, Jew ? what dost thou say ? 

Shy. I am content. 

For. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 

Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence. 
I am not well. Send the deed after me, 
And I will sign it. 

Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 

Gra. In christening thou shalt have two godfathers : 
Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,' 
To bringthee to the gallows, not the ioni.[Exit Shylock. 

Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 

For. I humbly do desire yovir grace of pardon : 
I must away this night toward Padua, 
And it is meet I presently set forth. 

Duke. I am sorry, that your leisure serves you not. 
Antonio, gratify this gentleman, 
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 

[Exeunt Duke, Magnificoes, and train. 

Bass. Mo.st worthy gentleman, I and my friend 
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof. 
Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
We freely cope your courteous pains withal. 

Ant. And stand indebted, over and above, 
In love and service to you evermore. 

For. He is well paid, that is well-satisfied ; 
And I, delivering you, am satisfied, 
And therein do account myself well paid : 
My mind was never yet more mercenary. 
I pray you, know me, wlien we meet again : 
I wish you well, and so I take my leave. 

Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you farther : 
Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute. 
Not as a fee. Grant me two things, I pray you ; 
Not to deny me, and to pardon me. 



For. You press me far, and therefore I will yield. 
Give me your gloves, I '11 wear them for your sake ; 
And, for your love, I '11 take this ring from you. — 
Do not draw back your hand ; I '11 take no more. 
And you in love shall not deny me this. 

Bass. This ring, good sir ? — alas, it is a trifle ; 
I will not shame myself to give you this. 

For. I will have notliing else l3ut only this ; 
And now, methinks, I have a mind to it. 

Bass. There 's more depends on this, than on the 
value. 
The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, 
And find it out by proclamation ; 
Only for this, I pray you, pardon me. 

For. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers : 
You taught me first to beg, and now, methinks. 
You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. 

Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife ; 
And when she put it on she matle me vow, 
That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it. 

For. That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts. 
An if your wife be not a mad woman, 
And know how well I have deserv'd this ring, 
She would not hold out enemy for ever. 
For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you. 

[Exeunt Portia and Nerissa. 

Ant. My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring. 
Let his deservings, and my love withal. 
Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. 

Bass. Go, Gratiano ; run and overtake him ; 
Give him the ring, and bring him if thou canst, 
Unto Antonio's house. — Away ! make haste. 

[Exit Gratiano. 
Come, you and I will thither presently, 
And in the morning early will we both 



Fly toward Belmont. Come, Antonio. 



[Exeunt. 



SCENE II.— The Same. A Street. 
Enter Portia a^id Nerissa. 

For. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed, 
And let him sign it. We '11 away to-night. 
And be a day before our hu.sbands home. 
This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. 
Enter Gratiano running. 

Gra. Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en. 
My lord Bassanio, upon more advice. 
Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat 
Your company at dinner. 

For. That cannot be. 

His ring I do accept most thankfully. 
And so, I pray you, tell him : furthermore, 
I pray you. show my youtli old Shylock's house. 

Gra. That will I do. 

Wer. Sir, I would speak with you. — 

I '11 see if I can get my husband's ring, [To Portia. 
Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. 

For. Thou may'st. I warrant. We shall have old^ 
swearing, 
That they did give the rings away to men ; 
But we '11 outface them, and outswear them too. 
Away ! make haste : thou know'st where I will tarry. 

Ner. Come, good sir; will you show me to this 
house ? [Exeunt. 



» Ben Jonson calls jurymen " Godfathers-in-la-w."— Knig-At. ' Often used as an augmentative. 



SCENE I. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



185 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— Belmont. The Avenue to Portia's 
House. 

Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. 

Lor. The moon shines briglit. — In such a night as this, 
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, 
And they did make no noi.se ; in such a night, 
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, 
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, 
Where Crcssid lay that night. 

Jes. In such a night, 

Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew ; 
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself. 
And ran dismay'd away. 

Lor. In such a night, 

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 
Upon the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love 
To come again to Carthage. 

Jes. In such a night, 

Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs 
That did renew old ^Eson. 

Lor. In such a night. 

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew, 
And with an uiithrift love did run from Venice, 
As far as Belmont. 

Jes. In such a night. 

Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well, 
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith. 
And ne'er a true one. 

Lor. In such a night. 

Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, 
Slander her love, and he forgave it her. 

Jes. I would out-night you, did no body come : 
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 
Enter Stephano. 

Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night ? 

Steph. A friend. 

Lor. A friend ? what friend ? your name, I pray you, 
friend ? 

Steph. Stephano is my name ; and I bring word. 
My mistress will before the break of day 
Be here at Belmont : she doth stray about 
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
For happy wedlock hours. 

Lor. W^ho comes with her ? 

Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. 
I pray you, is my master yet return'd ? 

Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him. — 
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, 
And ceremoniously let us prepare 
Some welcome for the luistress of the house. 
Enter Lalncelot. 

Laun. Sola, sola ! wo ha, ho ! sola, sola ! 

Lor. Wlio calls ? 

Laun. Sola ! did you see master Lorenzo, and mis- 
tress Lorcnza ? .sola, sola ! 

Lor. Leave hallooing, man ; here. 

Laun. Sola ! where ? where ? 

Lor. Here. 

Laun. Tell him, there 's a post come from my master, 
with his horn full of good news : my master will be 
here ere morning. [Exit. 

Lor. Sweet soul, let 's in, and there expect their 
coming. 
And yet no matter ; — why should we go in ? 



My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you. 
Within the house, your mistress is at hand; 
And bring your music forth into the air. — 

[Exit Stephano. 
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! 
Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music 
Creep in our ears : soft stillness, and the night, 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
Sit, Jessica : look, how the floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patterns' of bright gold ; 
There 's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st. 
But in his motion like an angel sings. 
Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins : 
Sucii harmony is in immortal souls ; 
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
Dotii grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 

Enter Musicians. 
Come, ho ! and wake Diana with a hymn : 
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, 
And draw her home with music. [Music. 

Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. 

Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive : 
For do but note a wild and wanton herd. 
Or race of youthful and luihandled colts, 
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, 
Which is the hot condition of their blood, 
If they but hear, perchance, a trumpet sound, 
Or any air of music touch their ears. 
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze. 
By the sweet power of music : therefore, the poet 
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods, 
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage. 
But music for the time doth change his nature. 
The man that hath no music in himself. 
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds. 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils : 
The motions of his spirit are dull as night. 
And his affections dark as Erebus. 
Let no such man be trusted. — Mark the music. 

[Music again.^ 
Enter Portia and Nerissa, at a distance. 

For. That light we see is burning in my hall. 
How far that little candle throws his beams ! 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 

Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. 

For. So doth the greater glory dim the less : 
A substitute shines brightly as a Iring, 
Until a king be by : and then his state 
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 
Into the main of waters. Music ! hark ! 

Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. 

For. Nothing is good, I see, without respect: 
Methiidcs, it sounds much sweeter than by day. 

Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 

For. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, 
When neither is attended : and, I think. 
The nightingale, if she sliould sing by day. 
When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
No better a musician than the wren. 
How many things by season season'd are 
To their right praise, and true perfection ! — 
Peace ! now' the moon sleeps with Endymion, 
And would not be awak'd ! [Music ceases. 

Lor. That is the voice, 



1 The folio : patens (i. e., plates). » This direction not in f. e, ^ how : in f. e. Knight makes the emendation in the text. 



186 



THE MEECIIANT OF YEl^ICE. 



ACT V. 



Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. 

Par. He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo, 
By the bad voice. 

Lor. Dear lad}', welcome home. 

Por. We have bccii praying for our hu.sbands' welfare. 
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. 
Are they rcturn'd ? 

Lor. Madam, they are not yet ; 

But there is come a messenger before, 
To signify their coming 



Por. 



Go in, Nerissa: 



Never to part with it ; and here he stands : 

I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it, 

Nor pluck it from his finger for the wealth 

That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, 

You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief: 

An 't were to me, I should be mad at it. [off, 

Ba.s.s. [Aside.] Why. I were best to cut my left hand 
And swear I lost the ring defending it. 

Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
Unto the judge that begg'd it. and, indeed, 
Deserv"d it too ; and then the boy, his clerk, 
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine ; 
And neither man, nor master, would take aught 
But the two rings. 

Por. What ring, gave you, my lord ? 

Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me. 

Bass. If I could add a lie iinto a fault. 
I would deny it ; but you see, my finger " 
Hath not the ring upon it : it is gone. 

Por. Even so void is your false heart, of truth. 
By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 
Until I see the ring. 

Ner. Nor I in yours, 

Till I again see mine. 

Bass. Sweet Portia, 

If you did know to whom I gave the ring, 
If you did know for whom I gave the ring. 
And would conceive for what I gave the ring, 
And how unwillingly I left the ring, 
When naught would be accepted but the ring. 
You would abate the strength of your displeasure. 

Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring, 
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, 
Or your owni honour to retain' the ring. 
You would not then have parted with the ring. 
What man is there so much unreasonable, 
If you had pleas'd to have defended it 
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 
To urge the thing held as a ceremony ? 
Nerissa teaches me what to believe : 
I '11 die for 't, but some woman had the ring. 

Bass. No, by mine honovxr, madam, by my soul, 
No woman had it ; but a civil doctor, 
Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me. 
And begg'd the ring, the which I did deny him, 
And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away. 
Even he that had held up the very life 
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? 
I was enforc'd to send it after him : 
I was beset with shame and courtesy j 
My honour would not let ingratitude 
So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady, 
For, by these blessed candles of the night. 
Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd 
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 

Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house. 
Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd. 
And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
I will become as liberal as you : 
I '11 not deny him any thing I have ; 
No, not my body, nor my husband's bed. 
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it : 
Lie not a night from home ; watch me like Argus ; 
If you do not, if I be left alone. 
Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, 
I '11 have that doctor for my bedfellow. 

Ner. And I his clerk ; therefore, be well advis'd 
How you do leave me to mine own protection. 

2 Not in f. e. 3 So the quartos : the folio " the." * So the quartos ; the folio : " but well I know." » con- 



Give order to my servants, that they take 
No note at all of our being absent hence ; — 
Nor you, Lorenzo ; — Jessica, nor you. 

[A tuckeV- sounded. 

Lor. Your husband is at hand : I hear his trumpet. 
We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear you not. 

Por. This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick ; 
It looks a little paler : 't is a day. 
Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 

Enter Bassanio. Antonio. Gratiano, and their 
foUotvers. 

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, 
If you would walk in absence of the sun. 

Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light ; 
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, 
And never be Bassanio so for me : 
But God sort all : — You are welcome home, my lord. 

Bass. I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my 
friend : 
This is the man, this is Antonio, 
To Avhom I am so infinitely bound. 

Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him. 
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 

Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 

Por. Sir, ^-ou are very welcome to our house : 
It must appear in other ways tlian words. 
Therefore, I scant this breatliing courtesy. 

Gra. [To Nerissa.] By yonder moon, I swear, you 
do me wrong J 
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk : 
Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, 
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. 

Por. A quarrel, ho, already ! what 's the matter? 

Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
That she did give to^ me : whose poesy was 
For all the world, like cutlers' poetry 
Upon a knife, " Love me, and leave me jiot." 

Ner. What talk you of the poesy, or the value ? 
You swore to me, when I did give it you. 
That you would wear it till your' hour of death, 
And that it should lie with you in your grave : 
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths. 
You should have been respective, and have kept it. 
Gave it a judge's clerk ! no, God 's my judge,* 
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on 's face, that had it. 

Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. 

Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 

Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, 
A kind of boy; a little scrubbed boy, 
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk; 
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee : 
I could not for my heart deny it him. 

Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you. 
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift ; 
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, 
And so riveted with faith unto your flesh. 
I gave my love a ring, and made him swear 

1 Flourish, of a trumpet. 
tain : in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



187 



Gra. Well, do you so: let not me take him then; 
For, if I do, I '11 mar the young clerk's pen. 

Ant. I am th' unhappy subject of these quarrels. 

For. Sir, grieve not you ; you are welcome notwith- 
standing. 

Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong ; 
And in the hearing of these many friends 
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, 
Wherein I see myself, — 

For. Mark you but that ! 

In both my eyes he doubly sees himself; 
In each cj^e, one : — swear by your dovible self, 
And there 's an oath of credit. 

Bass. Nay, but hear me. 

Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, 
I never more will break an oath with thee. 

Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth, 
Whicli but for him that had your husband's ring, 
Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again. 
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
Will never more break faith advisedly. 

For. Then, you shall be his surety. Give him this, 
And bid him keep it better than the other. 

Ant. Here, lord Bassanio ; swear to keep this ring. 

Bass. By heaven ! it is the same I gave the doctor. 

For. I had it of him : pardon me. Bassanio, 
For by this ring the doctor lay with me. 

Ner. And pardon me. my gentle Gratiano, 
For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk. 
In lieu of this last night did lie with me. 

Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways 
In summer, when' the ways are fair enough. 
What ! are we cuckolds, ere we have desoi-v'd it ? 

For. Speak not so grossly. — You are all amaz'd : 
Here is a letter, read it at your leisure ] 
It comes from Padua, from Bellario : 
Tlicre you shall find, that Portia was the doctor; 
Nerissa there, her clerk. Lorenzo, here, 
Shall witness I set forth as soon as you, * 



And even but now return'd : I have not yet 
Enter'd my house. — Antonio, you are welcome; 
And I have better news in store for you. 
Than you expect: unseal this letter soon; 
There you shall find, three of your argosies 
Are richly come to harbour suddenly. 
You shall not know by what strange accident 
I chanced on this letter. 

Ant. I am dumb. 

Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not ? 

Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me cuckold ? 

Ner. Ay; but the clerk that never means to do it, 
Unless he live vintil he be a man. 

Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow: 
When I am absent, then, lie with my wife. 

Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living, 
For here I read for certain that my ships 
Are safely come to road. 

For. How now, Lorenzo ? 

My clerk hath some good comforts, too, for you. 

Ner. Ay, and I '11 give them him without a fee. — 
There do I give to you and Jessica, 
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift. 
After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. 

Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
Of starved people. 

For. It is almost morning, 

And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied 
Of these events at full. Let us go in ; 
And charge us there upon inter'gatories, 
And we will answer all things faithfully. 

Gra. Let it be so : the first inter' gatory, 
That my Nerissa shall be SM'orn on, is. 
Whether till the next night she had rather stay, 
Or go to bed now, being two hours to day? 
But were the day come, I should wish it dark, 
Till I were couching with the doctor's clerk. 
Well, while I live, I '11 fear no other thing 
So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [Exeunt. 



' 'where : in f. e. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



DEAMATIS PERSONS. 



Duke, Senior, living in exile. 

Frederick, his Brother, usurper of hi.s dominions 

Amiens, ) Lords attending upon the eiiled 

Jaques, I Duke. 

Le Beau, a Courtier. 

Oliver, ) 

Jaques, > Sons of Sir Rowland de Bois. 

Orlando, * 

Adam, 

Denn 



M, j 

NIS, j 



Servants to Oliver. 



Charles, a Wrestler. 



Touchstone, a Clown. 

Sir Oliver Mar-Text, a Vicar. 

^^'^^^^ {shepherds. 

SiLVIUS, ) ^ 

William, a Country Fellow, in love with- Audrey. 
Hymen. 



The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's House 



Rosalind, Daughter to the exiled Duke. 
Celia, Daughter to the usurping Duke. 
Phebe, a Shepherdess. 
Audrey, a Country Wench. 

Lords ; Pages, Foresters, and Attendants. 

afterwards in the Usurper's Court, and in the Forest of Arden. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L — An Orchard, near Oliver's House. 

Enter Orlando and Adam. 

Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion : 
he bequeathed me by will^ but a poor thousand crowns ; 
and, as thou say'st, charged my brother on his blessing 
to breed me well : and there begins my sadness. My 
brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks 
goldenly of his profit : for my part, he keeps me rusti- 
cally at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me 
here at home unkept ; for call you that keeping for a 
gentleman of my birth, that dift'crs not from the stall- 
ing of an ox ? His horses are bred better ; for, besides 
that they are fair with their feeding, they arc taught 
their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired : but 
I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth, for 
the which his animals on his dunghills are as much 
bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so 
plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave 
me. his countenance^ seems to take from me : he lets 
me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, 
and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my 
education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the 
spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to 
mutiny against this servitude. I will no longer endure 
it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. 

Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. 

Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he 
will shake me up. [Adam retires.^ 

Enter Oliver. 

OH. Now, sir ! what make you here ? 

Orl. Nothing : I am not taught to make any thing. 

OH. What mar you then, sir ? 

Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which 
God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idle- 
ness. 



OH. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught 
awhile.* 

Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with 
them ? What prodigal portion have I spent that I 
should come to such penury ? 

OH. Know you where you are, sir? 

Orl. O ! sir, very well : here, in your orchard. 

OH. Know you before whom, sir? 

Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. I 
know, you are my eldest brother ; and, in the gentle 
condition of blood, you should so know me. The cour- 
tesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are 
tlie first-born ; but the same tradition takes not away 
my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us. I 
have as much of my father in me, as you, albeit, I con- 
fess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. 

OH. What, boy ! 

Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young 
in this. 

OH. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? 

Orl. I am no villain : I am the youngest son of sir 
Rowland de Bois ; he was my father, and he is thrice 
a villain, that says, such a father begot villains. Wert 
thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from 
thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy tongue for 
saying so. [Shaking him''.] Thou hast railed on thy- 
self. 

Adam. [Coming forward.] Sweet masters, be patient : 
for your father's remembrance, be at accord. 

OH. Let me go, I say. 

Orl. I will not, till I please : you shall hear me. 
My father charged you in his will to give me good 
education : you have trained me like a peasant, ob- 
scuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like quali- 
ties : the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I 
will no longer endure it ; therefore, allow me such ex- 



it was upon this fashion bequeathed, &c. ^ Behavior. ^ Not in f. e. * A petty malediction. * Not in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



189 



erciscs as may become a gentleman, or give me the 
poor allottcry my father left me by testament: with 
that I will go buy my fortunes. 

OH. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is 
spent ? Well, sir, get you in : I will not long be trou- 
bled with you ; you shall have some part of your will. 
I pray you, leave me. 

0/7. I will no further offend you, than becomes me 
for my good. 

OH. Get you with him, you old dog. 

Adam. Is old dog my reward ? Most true. I have 
lost my teeth in your service. — God be with my old 
master ! he would not have .spoke such a word. 

[Exeunt Orlando and Adam. 

OH. Is it even so ? begin you to grow upon me ? I 
will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand 
crowns neither. Hola, Dennis ! 

Enter Dennis. 

Den. Calls your worship? 

OH. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to 
speak with me ? 

Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and im- 
portunes access to you. 

OH. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.] — 'T will be a good 
way ; and to-morrow the wTestling is. 
Enter Charles. 

Cha. Good morrow to your worship. 

OH. Good monsieur Charles, what 's the new news at 
the new court ? 

Cha. There 's no news at the court, sir, but the old 
news ; that is, the old duke is banished by his younger 
brother the new duke, and three or four loving lords 
have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, 
whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke j there- 
fore he gives them good leave to wander. 

OH. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the old' duke's daugh- 
ter, be banished with her father ? 

Cha. O! no: for the new' duke's daughter, her 
cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred 
together, that she would have followed her exile, or 
have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, 
and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daugh- 
ter ; and never two ladies loved as they do. 

OH. Where will the old duke live ? 

Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of Arden, 
and a many merry men with him ,• and there they live 
like the old Robin Hood of England. They say. many 
young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the 
time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. 

OH. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new 
duke ? 

Cha. Marry, do I, sir ; and I came to acquaint you 
with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand, 
that your younger brotlier, Orlando, hath a disposition 
to come in disguised against me, to try a fall. To- 
morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit, and he that escapes 
me without some broken limb shall acquit him well. 
Your brotlier is but young, and tender ; and, for your 
love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must for my 
own honour if he come in : therefore, out of my love 
to you I came hither to acquaint you withal, that 
cither you might stay him from his intendment, or 
brook such di.sgrace well as he shall run into, in that 
it is a thing of his ow^l search, and altogether against 
my will. 

OH. Charles, I thank thee for Ihy love to me, which, 
thou shalt find, I will most kindly requite. I hfi(l 
myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have, 
by underhand means, laboured to dissuade him from 



it ; but he is resolute. I '11 tell thee, Charles : it is 
the stubbornest young fellow of France ; full of ambi- 
tion, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, 
a secret and villainous contriver against me his natural 
brother : therefore, use thy discretion. I had as lief 
thou didst break his neck as his finger : and thou wert 
best look to 't ; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, 
or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will 
practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some 
treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath 
ta'cn thy life by some indirect means or other ; for, I 
assure thee (and almost with tears I speak it) there is 
not one so young and .so villainous this day living. I 
.speak but brotherly of him : but should I anatomize 
him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou 
must look pale and wonder. 

Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If 
he come to-morrow. I '11 give him his payment : if ever 
he go alone again, I '11 never wrestle for prize more. 
And so, God keep your worship ! [Exit. 

OH. Farewell good Charles. — Now will I stir this 
gamester. I hope, I shall see an end of him ; for my 
soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he : 
yet he 's gentle ; never schooled, and yet learned ; full 
of noble device ; of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and, 
indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and espe- 
cially of my own people, who best know him, that I am 
altogether misprised. But it shall not be so long; this 
wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains, but that I kin- 
dle the boy thither, which now I '11 go about. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — A Lawn before the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Rosalind a,nd Celia. 

Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. 

Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mis- 
tress of, and would you yet P were merrier? Unless 
you could teach me to forget a banished father, you 
must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary 
plea.sure. 

Cel. Herein, I see, tliou lovest me not with the full 
weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished 
father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so 
thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught iny 
love to take thy father for mine : so wouldst thou, if 
the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tem- 
pered, as mine is to thee. 

Ros. W^ell, T will forget the condition of my estate, 
to rejoice in yours. 

Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I, nor 
none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies, thou 
shalt be his heir : for what he hath taken away from 
thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affec- 
tion : by mine honour, I will ; and when I break that 
oath let me turn monster. Therefore, my sweet Rose, 
my dear Rose, be merry. 

iZo.f. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. 
Let me see ; what think you of falling in love ? 

Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal: 
but love no man in good earnest ; nor no further in 
sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou 
may'st in honour come off again. 

Ro.<^. What shall be our sport then ? 

Cel. Let us sit, and mock the good housewife, For- 
tune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be 
bestowed equally. 

Ros. I would, we could do so : for her benefits are 
mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman 
doth most mistake in her gifts to women. 

Cel. 'T is true, for those that she makes fair, she 



I This is not in f. e. ' This word is not in f. e. ' I, was added by Pope. 



190 



AS you LIIiE IT. 



ACT I. 



scarce makes honest ; and those that she makes honest, 
she makes very ill-favoured. 

Ros. Nay, now tliou goest from fortune's office to 
nature's : fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in 
the lineaments of nature. 

Enter Touchstone. 

Cel. No : when nature hath made a fair creature, 
may she not by fortune fall into the fire? — Though 
nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, liath not 
fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument ? 

Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature, 
when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of 
nature's wit. 

Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neither, 
but nature's ; who, perceiving our natural wits too dull 
to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for 
our whetstone : for always the dulness of the fool is 
the whetstone of the wits. — How now, wit? whither 
wander you ? 

Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father. 

Cel. Were you made the messenger ? 

Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come 
for you. 

Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool ? 

Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour 
they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour 
the mustard was naught : now, I '11 stand to it, the 
pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good, and 
yet was not the knight forsworn. 

Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your 
knowledge ? 

Ros, Ay, marry : now unmuzzle your wisdom. 

Touch. Stand you both forth now; stroke your chins, 
.and swear by your beards that I am a knave. 

Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. 

Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; 
but if you swear by that that is not, you are not for- 
sworn : no more was this knight, swearing by his honour, 
for he never had any ; or if he had, he had sworn it 
away before ever he saw those pancakes, or that mus- 
tard. 

Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st? 

Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. 

Ros^. My father's love is enough to honour him 
enough. Speak no more of him : you '11 be whipped 
for taxation', one of these days. 

Touch. The more pity, that fools may not .speak 
wisely, what wise men do foolishly. 

Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true; for since the 
little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery 
that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes 
monsieur Le Beau. 

Enter Le Beau. 

Ros. With liis mouth full of news. 

Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their 
young. 

Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. 

Cel. All the better ; we shall be the more marketable. 
Bon jour, monsieur Le Beau : what 's the news? 

Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good 
sport. 

Cel. Spot' ? Of what colour ? 

Le Beau. What colour, madam ? How shall I 
answer you ? 

Ros. As wit and fortune will. 

Touch. Or as the destinies decree. 

Cel. Well said : that was laid on with a trowel. 

Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank, — 

Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. 



Le Beau. You amaze* mc, ladies : I would have 
told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the 
sight of. 

Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. 

Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning ; and, if it 
please your ladyships, you may see the end, for the 
best -is yet to do : and here, where you are, they are 
com<'Iig"to perform it. 

Cel. Well, — the beginning, that is dead and buried. 

Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three 
sons, — 

Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. 

Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent 
growth and presence ; — 

Ros. With bills^ on their necks, — " Be it known unto 
all men by these presents," — 

Le Beau. The ' eldest of the three wrestled with 
Charles, the duke's wrestler ; which Charles in a mo- 
ment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there 
is little hope of life in him : so he served the second, 
and so the third. Yonder they lie, the poor old man, 
their father, making such pitiful dole over them, that 
all the beholders take his part with weeping. 

Ros. Alas ! 

Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the 
ladies have lost ? 

Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. 

Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day ! it is 
the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was 
sport for ladies. 

Cel. Or I, I promise thee. 

Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken 
music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon 
rib-breaking ? — Shall we see this wTCstling, cousin ? 

Le Beau. You must, if you stay here ; for here is 
the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are 
ready to perform it. 

Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming : let us now stay 
and see it. 

Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Orlando, 
Charles, and Attemlants. 

Dtike F. Come on : since the youth will not be 
entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. 

Ros. Is yonder the man ? 

Le Beau. Even he, madam. 

Cel. Alas ! he is too young : yet he looks successfully. 

Duke F. How now. daughter, and cousin ! are you 
crept hither to see the wrestling ? 

Ros. Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. 

Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell 
you, there is such odds in the men^ In pity of the 
challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he 
will not be entreated : speak to him, ladies ; see if you 
can move him. 

Cel. Call him hither, good monsieur Le Beau. 

Duke F. Do so : I "11 not be by. [Duke goes apart. 

Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princess calls 
for you. 

Orl. I attend them with all respect and duty. 

Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles the 
wrestler ? 

Orl. No, fair princess ; he is the general challenger : 
I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength 
of my youth. 

Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for 
your years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's 
strength: if you saw yourself with our' eyes, or knew 
yourself with our^ judgment, the fear of your adventure 
would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We 



> Some eds. give tUs speech to Crfia. 'i Scandal. 3 sport : in f. e. * Confuse. ^ A 'kinio( pike, oi halbert. 6man:inf. e. ' 8 your : inf. e. 



SCENE nr. 



AS YOU LIKE? IT. 



191 



pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own 
safety, and give over this attempt. 

jRo.<r. Do, young sir : your reputation shall not there- 
fore be misprised. We will make it our suit to the 
duke, that the wrestling might not go forward. 

Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard 
thoughts, wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny 
so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your 
fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me to my trial : 
wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that 
was never gracious ; if killed, but one dead that is 
A^^lling to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong, for 
I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in 
it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, 
which may be better supplied when I have made it 
empty. 

Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it 
were with you. 

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. 

Ros. Fare you well. Pi-ay heaven, I be deceived 
in you ! 

Cel. Your heart's desires be with you. 

Cha. Come; where is this young gallant, that is so 
desirous to lie with his mother earth ? 

Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more 
modest working. 

Duke F. You shall try but one fall. 

Cha. No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat 
him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him 
from a first. 

Orl. You mean to mock me after : you should not 
have mocked me before ; but come your ways. 

Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man ! 

Cel. I would I were invi.'iible, to catch the strong 
fellow by the leg. [Charles and Orlando wrestle. 

Ros. 0, excellent young man ! 

Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell 
who should down. [Charles is thrown. Shout. 

Duke F. No more, no jnore. 

Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace : I am not yet well 
breathed. 

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ? 

Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. 

Duke F. Bear him away. [Charles is borne out. 
What is thy name, young man? 

Orl. Orlando, my liege: the youngest son of sir 
Rowland de Bois. 

Duke F. I would, thou hadst been son to some man 
else. 
The world esteem'd thy father honourable, 
But I did find him still mine enemy: 
Thou sliouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed, 
Hadst tliou descended from another house. 
But fare thee well ; thou art a gallant youth. 
I would tliou hadst told me of another father. 

{Exeunt Duke Fred. Train., and Le Beau. 

Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this ? 

Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son, 
His youngest son, and would not change that calling, 
To be adopted heir to Frederick. 

Ros. jNTy father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul, 
And all the world was of my father's mind. 
Had I before known tiiis young man his son, 
I should have given him tears unto entreaties, 
Ere he should thus have ventur'd. 

Cel. Gentle cousin. 

Let us go thank him, and encourage him : 
My father's rougli and envious disposition 
Sticks me at heart. — Sir, you have well deserv'd : 



If you do keep your promises in love 

But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, 

Your mistress shall be happy. 

Ros. Gentleman, 

{Giving him a chain. 
Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune. 
That could give more, but that her hand lacks means. — 
Shall we go, coz ? 

Cel. Ay. — Fare you well, fair gentleman. 

Orl. Can I not say, I thank you ? Aly better parts 
Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up 
Is but a quintaine^ a mere lifeless block. 

Ros. He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes ; 
I '11 ask him what he would. — Did you call, sir? — 
Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown 
More than your enemies. 

Cel. Will you go. coz ? 

Ros. Have with you. — Fare you well. 

{Exeunt Rosalind and Celia. 
Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my 
tongue ? 
I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. 

Re-enter Le Beau. 
O, poor Orlando ! thou art overthrown. 
Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. 

Le Beau. Good sir. I do in friendship counsel you 
To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv'd 
High commendation, true applause, and love. 
Yet such is now the duke s condition, 
That he misconstrues all that you have done. 
The duke is humorous : what he is, indeed, 
More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of. 

Orl. I thank you, sir; and, pray you, tell me this: 
Which of the two was daughter of the duke, 
That here was at the wrestling ? 

Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by 
manners ; 
But yet, indeed, the shorter^ is his daughter : 
The other is daughter to the banish'd duke. 
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle. 
To keep his daughter company ; whose loves 
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. 
But I can tell you, that of late this duke 
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece, 
Grounded upon no other argument. 
But that the people praise her for her virtues. 
And pity her for her good father's sake ; 
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady 
Will suddenly break forth. — Sir, fare you well : 
Hereafter, in a better world than this, 
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. 
Orl. I rest much boundeu to you : fare you well. 

{Exit Le Beau. 
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother ; 
From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother. — 
But heavenly Rosalind ! {E.nt. 

SCENE III.— A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Celia and Rosalind. 

Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind. — Cupid have 
mercy ! — Not a word ? 

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. 

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away 
upon curs ; throw some of them at me : come, lame me 
with reasons. 

Ros. Then there were two cou.«ins laid up, when the 
one should be lamed with reasons, and the other mad 
without any. 

Cel. But is all this for your father ? 



' A shield fastened to a pole, or a puppot, used as a mark in tilting. ' smaller : in f. e. Pope also made the correction. 



192 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



ACT I. 



Ros. No, some of it for my father's child." 0, how 
full of briars is this working-day world ! 

Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee 
in holiday foolery : if we walk not in the trodden 
paths, our very petticoats will catch them. 

Ros. I could shake them off my coat : these burs 
are in my heart. 

Ccl. Hem them away. 

Ro.s. I would try, if I could cry hem, and have him. 
Ccl. Come, come ; wrestle with thy affections. 
Ro.'i. ! they take the part of a better wrestler than 
my.'^elf. 

Cel. O, a good wish upon you ! you will try in time, 
in despite of a fall. — But, turning these jests out of 
service, let us talk in good earnest. Is it possible, on 
such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking 
with old sir Rowland's youngest son ? 

Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. 
Ccl. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love 
his son dearly ? By this kind of chase. I should hate 
.him, for my father hated his father dearly ; yet I hate 
not Orlando. 

Ros. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake. 
Ccl. Wliy should I not ? doth he not deserve well ? 
Ros. Let me love him for that ; and do you love 
him, because 1 do. — 

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. 
Look, here comes the duke. 

Ccl. With his eyes full of anger, 
Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your fastest^ 
haste, 
And get you from our court. 
Ros. Me, uncle? 

Duke F. You, cousin : 

Within these ten days if that thou be'st found 
So near our public court as twenty miles. 
Thou diest for it. 

jRo5. I do beseech your grace, 

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me. 
If with myself I hold intelligence. 
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires. 
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, 
(As I do trust I am not) then, dear uncle. 
Never so much as in a thought unborn 
Did I offend your highness. 

Duke F. Thus do all traitors : 

If their purgation did consist in words. 
They are as innocent as grace itself. 
Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not. 

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor. 
Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends. 

Dtike F. Thou art thy father's daughter ; there 's 

enough. 
Ros. So was I when your highness took his dukedom ; 
So was I when your highness banish'd him. 
Treason is not inherited, my lord ; 
Or if we did derive it from our friends, 
What 's that to me ? my father was no traitor. 
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much. 
To think my poverty is treacherous. 
Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 
Duke F. Ay, Celia : we stay'd her for your sake : 
Else had she with her father rang'd along. 

Ccl. I did not then entreat to have her stay : 
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse. 
I was too young that time to value her. 
But now I know her. If she be a traitor, 
Why so am I ; we still have slept together, 
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together ; 

1 child's father : in f. e. ^ safest : in f. e. ' inseparable : in f. 



And whercsoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, 
Still we went coupled, and inseparate.^ [ness, 

Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and her smooth- 
Her vei-y silence, and her patience, 
Speak to the people, and they pity her. 
Thou art a fool ; she robs thee of thy name ; [ous. 
And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtu- 
When she is gone. Then, open not thy lips : 
Firm and irrevocable is my doom 
Which I have pass'd upon her. She is banish'd. 

Cel. Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, my liege : 
I cannot live out of her company. [self : 

Duke F. You are a fool. — You, niece, provide your- 
If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, 
And in the greatness of my word, you die. 

[Exc^int Duke Frederick and Lords. 
Cel. 0, my poor Rosalind ! whither wilt tjiou go ? 
Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee mine. 
I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am. 
Ros. I have more cause. 

Cel. Thou hast not, cousin. 

Pr'ythee, be cheerful : know'st thou not, the duke 
Hath banish'd me, his daughter? 

Ros. That he hath not. 

Cel. No ? hath not ? Rosalind lacks, then, the love^ 
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one. 
Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet girl ? 
No : let my father seek another heir. 
Therefore, devise with me how we may fly. 
Whither to go, and what to bear with us : 
And do not seek to take your change upon you, 
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out; 
For, by this heaven, now at our sorroAvs pale. 
Say what thou canst, I '11 go along with thee. 
Ros. Why, whither shall we go ? 
Cel. To seek my uncle 

In the forest of Arden. 

Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us. 
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far ! 
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 

Cel. I '11 put myself in poor and mean attire. 
And with a kind of umber smirch my face. 
The like do you : so shall we pass along. 
And never stir assailants. 

Ros. Were it hot better. 

Because that I am more than common tall. 
That I did suit me all points like a man ? 
A gallant curtle-ax* upon my thigh, 
A boar-spear in my hand ; and, in my heart 
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will, 
We '11 have a swashing and a martial outside, 
As many other mannish cowards have, 
That do outface it with their semblances. 

Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man ? 
Ros. I '11 have no worscr' name than Jove's own page, 
And therefore look you call me Ganymede. 
But what will you be call'd? 

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state : 
No longer Celia, but Aliena. 

Ros. But, cousin, what if we essay'd to steal 
The clowni.sh fool out of your father's court ? 
Would he not be a comfort to our travel ? 

Cel. He '11 go along o'er the wide world with me ; 
Leave me alone to woo him. Let 's away. 
And get ovir jewels and our wealth together, 
Devise the fittest time, and safest way 
To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
After my flight. Now go we in content 
To liberty, ^ 

* Cutlass. 8 worse a 



and not to banishment. 

in f. e. 



[Exeunt. 



SCENE in. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



193 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— The Forest of Arden. 

Enter Duke, Senior, Amiens, and other Lords, like 
Foresters. 

Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile. 
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet, 
Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods 
More free from peril than the envious court ? 
Here feel we not the penalty of Adam, 
The seasons' difference, or' the icy fang, 
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, 
Which when it bites, and blows upon my body, 
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, 
This is no flattery : these are coimsellors 
That feelingly persuade me what I am. 
Sweet are the uses of adversity. 
Which, like the toad,^ ugly and venomous. 
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; 
And this our life, exempt from public haunt. 
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. 
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. 

Ami. I would not change it. Happy is your grace, 
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune 
Into so quiet and so sweet a style. 

Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? 
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, 
Being native burghers of this desert city. 
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads' 
Have their round haunches gor'd. 

1 Lord. Indeed, my lord. 

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that : 
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp 
Than doth j-our brother that hath banish'd you. 
To-day, my lord of Amiens and myself 
Did steal behind him, as he lay along 
Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out 
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood ; 
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag. 
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, 
Did come to languish : and. indeed, my lord, 
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, 
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
Almost to bursting ; and the big round tears 
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose 
In piteous chase : and thus the hairy fool, 
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, 
Augmenting it with tears. 

Duke S. . But what said Jaques ? 

Did he not moralize this spectacle ? 

1 Lord. ! yes, into a thousand similes. 
First, for his weeping in the needless stream ; 
" Poor deer," quoth he, " thou mak'st a testament 
As worldling.s do, giving thy sum of more 
To that which hath* too much." 

alone. 

Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends ; 
" 'T is right," quoth he : " thus misery doth part 
The flux of company." Anon, a careless herd. 
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, 
And never stays to greet him : " Ay," quoth Jaques, 
'• Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ; 
'T is just the fashion : wherefore do you look 



Then, being there 



Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?" 

Thus most invectively he picrceth through 

The body of the country, city, court. 

Yea, and of this our life, swearing, that we 

Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and wliat 's worse, 

To fright the animals, and kill them up 

In their assign'd and native dwelling place. 

Duke S. And did you leave him in this contemplation ? 

2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting 
Upon the sobbing deer. 

Duke S. Show me the place. 

I love to cope him in these sullen fits. 
For then he 's full of matter. 

2 Lord. I '11 bring you to him straight. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Attendants. 
Duke F. Can it be possible that no man saw them? 
It cannot be : some villains of my court 
Are of consent and sufferance in this. 

1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. 
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber. 
Saw her a-bed ; and in the morning early 

They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress. 

2 Lord. My lord, the roynish' clown, at whom so oft 
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. 
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman. 

Confesses that she secretly o'er-heard 

Your daughter and her cousin much commend 

The parts and graces of the wrestler, 

That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles ] 

And she believes, wherever they are gone, 

That youth is surely in their company. 

Duke F. Send to his brother : fetch that gallant 
hither ; 
If he be absent bring his brother to me, 
I '11 make him find him. Do this suddenly. 
And let not search and inquisition quail 



To bring again these foolish runaways. 



[Exetint. 



SCENE III.— Before Oliver's House. 
Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting. 

Or}. Who 's there ? 

Adam. Wiiat, my young master ? — 0, my gentle 
master ! 
0, my sweet master ! O, you memory 
Of old Sir Rowland ! why, what make you here ? 
Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love you ? 
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant ? 
Why would you be so fond* to overcome 
The bony priser of the humorous duke ? 
Yovir praise is come too swiftly home before you. 
Know you not. master, to some kind of men 
Their graces serve them but as enemies ? 
No more do yours : your virtues, gentle master. 
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
0, what a world is this, when what is comely 
Envenoms him that bears it ! 

Orl. Why, what 's the matter ? 

Adam. O, unhappy youth ! 

Come not within these doors : beneath' this roof 
The enemy of all your graces lives. 
Your brother — (no, no brother; yet the son — 



* as : in f. e. ^ Fenton, in liieO, tells us " there is found in heads of old and great toads, a stone which they call borax or steton : it is moit 
commonly found in the iiead of a he-toad." — Knight. ' Barbed arrows. ♦ had : in f. e. ' Scurvy. ^ Foolish. "> within : in f. e. 

13 



194 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



ACT n. 



Yet not the son — I will not call him son — 

Of him I was about to call his father,) — 

Hath heard your praises, and this night he means 

To burn the lodging where you use to lie, 

And you within it : if he fail of that, 

He will have otlier means to cut you off: 

I overheard him, and his practices. 

This is no place ; this house is but a butchery : 

Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. 

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? 

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. 

0/7. Wliat ! wouldst thou have me go and beg my 
food, 
Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce 
A thievish living on the common road. 
This I must do, or know not what to do ; 
Yet this I will not do, do how I can. 
I rather will subject me to the malice 
Of a diverted, proud,' and bloody brother. 

Ada7n. But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, 
The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, 
Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse 
When service should in my old limbs lie lame. 
And unregarded age in corners thrown. 
Take that ; and He that doth the ravens feed, 
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, 
Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold : 
All this I give you. Let me be your servant : 
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty ; 
For in my youth I never did apply 
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood j 
Nor did not with unbasliful forehead woo 
The means of weakness and debility : 
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
Frosty, but kindly. Let me go with you : 
I '11 do the service of a younger man 
In all your business and necessities. 

Orl. O, good old man ! how well in thee appears 
The constant favour" of the antique world, 
Wlien service sAveat for duty, not for meed ! 
Thou art not for the fashion of these times. 
Where none will sweat but for promotion, 
And having that, do choke their service up 
Even with the having : it is not so with thee. 
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree. 
That cannot so much as a blossom yield, 
In lieu of all thy pains and liusbandry. 
But come thy ways : we '11 go along together, 
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent. 
We '11 light upon some settled Ioav content. 

Adam. Master, go on. and I will follow thee 
To the last gasp with truth and loyalty. 
From seventeen years, till now almost fourscore. 
Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek ; 
But at fourscore it is too late a week : 
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better. 
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Forest of Arden. 
Enter Rosalind for Ganymede, Celia/o/- Aliena, and 
Clown, alias Touchstone. 
Ros. Jupiter ! how weary^ are my spirits ! 
Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not 
weary. 

Ro.s. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's 
apparel, and to cry like a woman ; but I must comfort 
the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show 



' diverted Mood : in f. e. ^ service 
cashing linen. 6 Jove, Jove : in f. e 



itself courageous to petticoat : therefore, courage, good 
Aliena. 

Ccl. I pray you, bear with me : I can go no farther. 

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, 
than bear you : yet I should bear no cross, if I did 
bear you, for, I think, you have no money in your 
purse. 

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I: 
when I was at home I was in a better place, but tra- 
vellers must be content. 

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. — Look you ; who 
comes here ? a young man, and an old, in solemn talk. 
Enter Cor in and Silvius. 

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. 

Sil. Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her ! 

Cor. I partly guess, for I have lov'd ere now. 

Sil. No, Corin ; being old, thou canst not gliess, 
Though in tliy youth thou wast -as true a lover 
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow : 
But if thy love were ever like to mine, 
As sure I tliink did never man love so. 
How many actions most ridiculous 
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ? 

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. 

Sil. ! thou didst then ne'er love so heartily. 
If thou remember' st not the slightest folly 
That ever love did make thee run into. 
Thou hast not lov'd : 
Or if thovi hast not spake*, as I do now. 
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, 
Thovi hast not lov'd : 
Or if thou hast not broke from company. 
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, 
Thou hast not lov'd. 

Phebe. Phebe, Phebe ! [Exit Silvius. 
Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy wound, 

1 have by hard adventure found mine owm. 

Touch. And I mine. I remember, when I was in 
love I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take 
that for coming a-night to Jane Smile : and I remem- 
ber the kissing of her batler^, and the cow's dugs that 
her pretty chapped hands had milked : and I remember 
the wooing of a peascod instead of her : from whom I 
took two cods, and, giving her them again, said with 
weeping tears, " Wear these for my sake." We, that 
are true lovers, run into strange capers ; but as all is 
mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly. 

Ros. Thou speakest wiser than thou art 'ware of. 

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, 
till I break my shins against it. 

Ros. Love, love !' this shepherd's passion 
Is much upon my fashion; 

Touch. And mine ; but , 

It grows something stale with me,' 
And begins to fail with me.* 

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond' man, 
If he for gold will give us any food : 
I faint almost to death. 

Touch. Holla, you clown ! 

Ros. Peace, fool : he 's not thy kinsman. 

Cor. Who calls ? 

Touch. Your betters, sir. 

Cor. Else are they very wretched. 

Ros. Peace, I say. — 

Good even to you, friend. 

Cor. And to you, gentle sir ; and to you all. 

Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold, 

^ sat : in f e. ^ A bat used in 



in f. e. 3 'pi,e q\^ copies have "merry," -which Knight retains. 
' f. e. give these two lines as one. 8 This line not in f. e. 



SCENE vri. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



195 



Can in this desert place buy entertainment, 
Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed. 
Here 's a young maid with travel mueh oppress'd, 
And faints for succour. 

Cor. Fair sir, I pity her, 

And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, 
My fortunes were more able to relieve her ; 
But I am she[»herd to another man, 
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze : 
My niasler i.s of churlish disposition, 
And little recks to find the way to heaven 
By doing deeds of hospitality. 
Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, 
Are now on sale ; and at our slieepcote now, 
By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
That you will feed on ; but what is. come see. 
And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 

Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? 

Cor. That young swain that you saw hei'e but ere- 
while, 
That little cares for buying any thing. 

Ro.t. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, 
Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, 
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. 

Cel. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, 
And willingly could waste my time in it. 

Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold. 
Go with me : if you like, upon report, 
The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, 
I will your very faithful feeder be, 
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— Another Part of the Forest. 
Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others. 

SONG. 

Ami. Under the greenwood tree^ 
Who love.'; to lie with »ie. 
And tune hi.s merry note 
Unto the sweet bird\s throat, 
Come hither^ come hither , come hither: 

Here shall he see no enemy, 
But winter ami rough weather. 



Jaq. More, more ! I pr'ythee, more. 

Ami. 
Jaq. 



It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques 
I thank it. More ! I pr'ythee, more. I can 
suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. 
More ! I pr'ythee, more. 

Ami. My voice is ragged' ; I know I camiot please 
you. 

Jaq. I do not desire you to please me ; I do desire 
you to sing. Come, more- another stanza. Call you 
'em stanzas ? 

Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. 

Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names ; they owe me 
nothing. Will you sing? 

Ami. More at your request, than to please myself. 

Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man^ I '11 thank 
you : but that they call compliment is like the en- 
counter of two dog-apes : and when a man thanks me 
heartily, methinks, I have given him a penny, and he 
renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and 
you that will not. hold your tongues. 



SONG. 

Who doth ambition .shun, 
And loves to live i' the sun. 



[All together here. 



Jaq. 



Seeking the food he eats, 
And pleas\l with what he gets, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither: 
Here shall he see, &c. 
Jaq. I '11 give you a verse to this note, that I made 
yesterday in despite of my invention. 
Ami. And I '11 sing it. 
Thus it goes : — 
If it do come to pa.ss, 
Tliat any man turn ass. 
Leaving his wealth and ease, 
A stubborn will to please, 
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame : 

Here .shall he see, gross fools as Ae, 
■An if he will come to me. 
What 's that ducdame^ ? 

'T is a Greek invocation to call fools into a 
I '11 go sleep if I can : if I cannot, I '11 rail 
against all the first-born of Egypt. 

Ami. And I '11 go seek the duke : his banquet is 
prepared. [Exeunt severally. 

SCENE VI.— The Same. 
Enter Orlando and Adam. 

Adam. Dear master, I can go no farther : ! I die 
for food. Here lie I down, and measure out ray grave. 
Farewell, kind master. 

Orl. Why, how now, Adam ! no greater heart in 
thee? Live a little: comfort a little; cheer thyself a 
little. If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, 
I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee. 
Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my 



Ami 
Jaq. 
circle. 



be comforted^; hold death awhile at the arm's 
I will here be with thee presently, and if I bring 



sake 
end. 

thee not something to eat, I will give thee leave to 
die; but if thou dicst before I come, thou art a mocker 
of my labour. Well said ! thou look'st cheerily ; and 

Yet thou liest in the bleak 
and thou 
live any 



[Exeunt. 



I '11 be with thee quickly .- 
air : come, I will bear thee to some shelter, 
.shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there 
thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam. 

SCENE VII.— The Same. 
A Table set out. Enter Duke. Senior, Amiens, 
Lortls, and others. 
Buke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast, 
For I can no where find him like a man. 

1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence : 
Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 

Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, 
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. — 
Go, seek him : tell him, I would speak with him. 
Enter Jaques. 
1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach. 
Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life is thi.s, 
That your poor friends must woo your company ! 
What, you look merrily. 

Jaq. A fool, a fool ! 1 met a fool i' the forest, 

A motley fool ; (a miserable world !) 



Ami. Well, I 11 end the song. — Sirs, cover the while ; As I do live by food, I met a fool 



the duke will drink under this tree. — He hath been all 
this day to look you. 

Jaq. And 1 have been all this day to avoid him. 
He is too disputable for my company : I think of as 
many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks, and 
make no boast of them. Come, warble : come. j 



Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, 

And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms. 

In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool. 

" Good-mojrow, fool," quoth I: "No, sir," quoth he, 

" Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune." 

And then he drew a dial from his poke, 



> Rough. ' duc-ad-me (come hither) : says Hanmer. ' comfortable : in f. e. 



196 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



ACT n. 



And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 

Says very witiely, " It is ton o'clock : 

Thus may we see." quoth he, '• how the world wags: 

'T is but an hour ago since it was nine, 

And after one hour more 't will be eleven : 

And so from liour to hour we ripe and ripe, 

And then from hour to hour we rot and rot; 

And thereby hangs a tale." When 1 did hear 

Tlie motley fool thus moral on the time, 

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 

Tluit fools should be so deep contemplative; 

And I did laugh, sans intermission. 

An hour by his dial. — 0, noble fool ! 

A worthy i'ool ! INIotley's the only wear. 

Ihike S. What fool is this ? 

/«<;. 0, worthy fool ! — One that hath been a courtier, 
And says, if ladies be but young and fair, 
They iiave the gift to know it ; and in his brain, 
Whicli is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd 
With observation, the which he vents 
In niangUnl fornis. — O, that I were a fool ! 
1 am ambitious for a motley coat. 

Dtike S. Thou shalt have one. 

Jaq. It is my only suit; 

Provided, that you weed your better judgments 
Of all opinion tliat grows rank in them, 
That I am wise. I must have liberty 
Withal, as large a charter as the wind. 
To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have : 
And they that are mo.'^t galled with my folly, 
They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so? 
The why is plain as way to parish church : 
He. that a fool doth very wisely hit, 
Djtli very foolishly, although he smart, 
But' to seem senseless of the bob ; if not, 
The wise man's folly is anatomized, 
Even by the squandering glances of the fool. 
Invest me in my motley : give me leave 
To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world, 
If they will patiently receive my medicine. 

Duke S. Fie on thee ! I can tell what thou wouldst do. 

Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good ? 

Ditke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin : 
For thou thyself hast been a libertine, 
As sensual as the brutish sting itself; 
And all th' embossed sores, and headed evils, 
That thou with license of free foot hast caught, 
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 

Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride. 
That can therein tax any private party ? 
D ith it not flow as hugely as the sea, 
Till that the very means of wear^ do ebb ? 
What woman in the city do I name. 
When that I say, the city-woman bears 
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? 
Who can come in, and say, that I mean her, 
When such a one as she, such is her neighbour ? 
Or what is he of basest function, 
That says, liis bravery is not on my cost, 
Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits 
His folly to the mettle of my speech ? 
There then ; how then ? what then ? Let me see 

wherein 
My tongue hath WTong'd him : if it do him right, 
Then he hath wrong'd himself ; if he be free. 
Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, 
Undaim'd of any man. — But who comes here ? 

1 f. e. : Not. ' tha very, yery means : in f. e. 



Enter Orlando, with his sword drawn. 

Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. 

Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet. 

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. 

Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? 

Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy dis- 
tress, 
Or else a rude despiser of good manners, 
That in civility thou seem'st so empty ? 

0/7. You touch'd my vein at first : the thorny point 
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
Of smooth civility ; yet am I inland bred, 
And know some nurture. But forbear, I say: 
He dies, that touches any of this fruit, 
Till I and my affairs are answered. 

Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, 
I must die. " 

Duke S. What would you have ? Your gentleness 
shall force, 
More than your force move us to gentleness. 

Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. 

Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our 
table. 

Orl. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray you : 
I thought, that all things had been savage here, 
And therefore put I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment. But whate"er you are, 
That, in this desert inaccessible. 
Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time, 
If ever you have look'd on better days, 
If ever been where bells have knoll d to church, 
If ever sat at any good man's feast, 
If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear. 
And know what 't is to pity and be pitied. 
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be. 
In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. 

Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days, 
And have with holy bell been knoU'd to church. 
And sat at good men's feasts, and wip'd our eyes 
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd ; 
And therefore sit you down in gentleness. 
And take, upon command, what help we have. 
That to your wanting may be minister'd. 

0/7. Then, but forbear your food a little while, 
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fa-w-n. 
And give it food. There is an old poor man, 
Who after me hath many a weary step 
Limp'd in pure love : till he be first suflic'd, 
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, 
I will not touch a bit. 

Duke S. Go find him out, 
And we will nothing waste till you return. 

0/7. I thank ye ; and be bless'd for your good com- 
fort ! [Exit. 

Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy : 
This wide and universal theatre 
Presents more woful pageants, than the scene 
Wherein we play in. . 

Jaq. All the world's a stage, fiL 

And all the men and women merely players : ffr 
They have their exits and their entrances. 
And one man in his time plays many parts. 
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. 
Then, the whining school-boy, with his sat<;hcl, 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover. 
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 



SCENE II. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



197 



Made to his mietreKH' eye-brow. Then, a soldier, 
Full of 8trani;e oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
JealouH in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
Seeking; the bubble reputation 

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, tlie justice, 
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd. 
With eye severe, and beard of formal cut. 
Full of wise sawH and modern instances; 
And BO he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, 
With spectacles on n(jse, and jjouch on side : 
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, 
Turnitii:; again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound. Last sec-ne of ail, 
That ends this strange eventful history. 
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion; 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. 
Re-enter Oki.ando, witk Adam. 

Duke S. Welcome. Set down your venerable burden. 
And let him feed. 

Orl. I thank you most for him. 

Adam. So had you need ; 
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 

Duke S. Welcome ; fall to: I will not trouble you 
As yet to question you about your fortunes. 
Give ufi some music: and, good cousin, sing. 

[Confers with Orlando.' 



SONG. 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 
Thou art not so unkind 

As man's ingratitude j 
Thy tooth is not so keen.. 
Because thou art not seen, 

Although thy breath be rwle. 
Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly: 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. 
Then, heigh, Ao .' the holly! 

This life is most jolly. 
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky^ 
That drj.st not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot : 
Though thou the waters warp,* 
Thy .sting is not so sharp, 

yls friend remember'd not. 
Heigh, ho ! sing, &c. 

Duke S. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's 
son, 
As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were, 
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
Most truly limn'cl, and living in your face, 
Be truly welc/>nie hither. I am the duke, 
That lov'd your father. Tiie residue of your fortune, 
Go to my cave and tell me. — (iood old man, 
Thou art right welcome as thy master is. 
Support him by the arm. — Give me your band, 
And let me all your fortunes understand. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Duke Frederick, Omvkr, Lords and Attendants. 

Duke F. Not seen him since ? Sir, sir, that cannot be : 
But were I not the better part made mercy, 
I should not seek an absent argument 
Of my revenge, thou i)rescnt. But look to it : 
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is ; 
Seek him with candle: bring him, dead or living. 
Within this twelvemonth, or (urn thou no more 
To seek a living in our territory. 
Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine, 
Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands. 
Till tliou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth 
Of what we think against thee, 

Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this ! 
I never lov'd )ny brother in my life. 

Duke F. More villain thou. — Well, push him out of 
doors ; 
And let my officers of such a nature 
Make an extent upon his house and lands. 
Do tliis expediently,' and turn him going. [Exeunt 

SCENE II.— The Forest of Ardcn. 
Enter Orlando, hanging a paper on a tree.* 

Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love : 

And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey 
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, 

Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. 

Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books, 

And in their barjcs my thoughts I '11 character, 
That every eye, which in this forest looks. 

Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. 
Run, run, Orlando : carve, on every tree. 
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. 

' Not in f. e. > Weave together. ' Expeditiously. 



money, 
friends : 



Enter Cori.v arul Touchstone. 

Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, master 
Toueh.stone ? 

Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a 
good life ; but in respect that it is a shi^phcrd's life, it 
is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very 
well ; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile 
life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me 
well ; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. 
As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well : 
but as there is no more plenty in it. it goes much 
against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, 
shepherd ? 

Cor. No more, but that I know the more one sick- 
ens, the worse at ease he is ; and that he that wants 
means, and content, is without three good 
, that the property of rain is to wet, and fire 
to burn : that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that 
a great cause of the night, is lack of the sun ; that he, 
that hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may 
complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull 
kindred. 

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast 
ever in court, shepherd ? 

Cor. No, truly. 

Touch. Then thou art damned. 

Cor. Nay, I hope. — 

Touch. Truly, thou art damned, like an ill-roasted 
egg, all on one side. 

Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. 

Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never 
saw'st good manners ; if thou never saw'st good man- 
ners, then thy manners must be wicked ; and wicked- 
ness is sin, and sin is damnation. 



[Exit, i state, shepherd. 

♦ with a paper : in f. e. 



Thou art in a parlous 



198 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



ACT m. 



Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone : these that are good I 
manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country, j 
as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at 
the court. You told me, you salute not at the court, 
but you kiss your hands : that courtesy would be 
uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. 

Touch. Instance, briefly ; come, instance. 

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their 
fells, you know, are greasy. 

Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hflnds sweat ? 
and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the 
sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, 
I say ; come. 

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. 

Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner : shallow 
again. A more sounder instance: come. 

Cor. And they are often tarred over with the surgery 
of our sheep ; and would you have us kiss tar ? The 
courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. 

Touch. Most shallow man ! Thou worms-meat, in 
respect of a good piece of flesh, indeed ! — Learn of the 
wise, and perpend : civet is of a baser birth than tar ; 
the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, 
shepherd. 

Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me : I '11 rest. 

Touch. Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, 
shallow man ! God make incision in thee ! thou art raw. 
a true labourer : I 
owe no man hate. 



Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer : I earn that I eat. 



envy no man's 



get that I wear 

happiness ; glad of other men's good, content with 
my harm ; and the greatest of my pride is, to see my 
ewes graze, and my lambs suck. 

Touch. That is another simple sin in you ; to bring 
the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get 
your living by the copulation of cattle ; to be bawd to 
a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelve- 
month, to a crooked-pated. old, cuckoklly ram, out of 
all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damned for 
this, the devil himself will have no shepherds : I 
cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape. 

Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my 
new mistress's brother. 

Enter R osalind, reading a paper. 
Ro8. From the ead to western Ind, 

No jewel i.s like Rosalind. 

Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 

Tnrovgh all the world bears Rosalind. 

All the pictures, fairest iin'd^^ 

Are but black to Ro.mlind. 

Let no face be kept in mind, 

But the fair of Ro.salind. 
Touch. 1 '11 rhyme you so, eight years together, din- 
ners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted : it is 
the right butter-women's rank' to market. 
Ros. Out, fool ! 
Touch. For a taste : — 

" If a hart do lack a hind. 

Let him seek out Rosalind. 

If the cat will after kind, 

So, be sure, will Rosalind. 

Winter^ garments must be lin'd, 

So must slender Rosalind. 

They that reap must sheaf and bind, 

Then to cart. with Rosalind. 

Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, 

Such a nut is Rosalind. 

He that sweetest rose will find, 

Must find love's prick, and Rosalind." 



This is the very false gallop of verses : why do you 
infect yourself with them ? 

Ros. Peace ! you dull fool : I found them on a tree. 
Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 
Ros. I '11 graff it with you. and then I shall graff it 
with a medlar : then it will be the earliest fruit i' the 
country : for you '11 be rotten e'er you be half ripe, and 
that 's the right virtue of the medlar. 

Touch. You have said ; but whether wisely or no, 
let the forest judge. 

Enter Celia, reading a paper. 
Ros. Peace ! 
Here comes my sister, reading : stand aside. 
Cel. Why shoidd this a* desert be ? 
For it is unpeopled ? No ; 
Tongues lUl hang on every tree. 

That shall civil sayings shoiv : " 

Some, hoiv brief the life of man 

Runs his erring pilgrimage, 
Tliat the ."stretching of a span 
Buckles in his sum of age. 
Some, of violated vows 

'Twixt the .souls of friend and friend: 
But upon the faire.st houghs. 
Or at every sentence^ end, 
Will I Ro.salinda u'rite ; 

Teaching all that read to know 
The quintes.scnce of every sprite 

Heaven would in little show. 
Therefore heaven Nature charged, 

That one body should be fiW d 
With all graces wide enlarged: 

Nature presently distill' d 
Helenas cheek, but not her heart, 

Cleopatra'' s majesty, 
Atalanta\s better part. 

Sad Lucretin's modesty. 
Thus Rosalind of many parts 

By heavenly synod was devis'^d, 
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, 
To have the touches dearest prized. 
Heaven woidd that .she these gifts should have, 
And I to live and die her slave. 
Ros. O, most gentle Jupiter ! — what tedious homily 
of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and 
never cried, '■ Have patience, good people ! " 

Cel. How now? back, friends. — Shepherd, go off" a 
little : — go with him, sirrah. 

Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable 
retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with 
scrip and scrippage. [Exeunt Corin and Touchstone. 
Cel. Didst thou hear these verses? 
Ros. ! yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for 
some of them had in them more feet than the verses 
would bear. 

Cel. That 's no matter : the feet might bear the verses. 
Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear 
themselves without the verse, and therefore stood 
lamely in the verse. 

Cel. But didst thou hear without wondering, how thy 
name should be hanged and carved upon these trees? 

Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder, 
before you came ; for look here what I found on a 
palm-tree : I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' 
time, that I was an Irish rat*, which I can hardly 
remember. • 

Cel. Trow you, who hath done this ? 
Ros. Is it a man? 



' Delineated, 2 Following in jog-trot, one after another, 
is frequently spoken of in old writers. 



3 Wintred : in f. e. * Pope inserted, " a." * Rhyming Irish rats to death, 



SCENE ir. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



199 



Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his 
neck? Change you colour? 

Ros. I pr'ythee, who ? 

Cel. lord, lord ! it is a hard matter for friends to 
meet ; but mountains may be removed with earth- 
quakes, and so encounter. 

jRo.s. Nay, but who is it? 

Cel. Is it possible ? 

Ro.s. Nay, I pr'ythee, now. with most petitionary 
vehemence, tell me who it is. 

Cel. O, wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful 
wonderful ! and yet again wonderful, and after that, 
out of all whooping ! 

Ros. Good my complexion ! dost thou think, though 
I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and 
hose in my di.-^po^ition ? One inch of delay more is a 
Southsca of discovery ; I pr'ythee. tell me, who is it 
quickly ; and speak apace. I would thou couldst stam- 
mer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man out of 
thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd 
bottle ; either too much at once, or none at all. I 
pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may 
drink thy tidings. 

Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. 

Ro.s. Is he of God's making? What manner of 
man ? Is his head worth a hat. or his chin worth a 
beard ? 

Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. 

Ros. Wliy. God will send more, if the man will be 
thankful. Let me stay the growth of his beard, if 
thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. 

Cel. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the \\Tes- 
tler's heels and your heart, both in an instant. 

Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking : speak sad' 
brow, and true maid. 

Cel. I 'faith, coz, 't is he. 

Ros. Orlando? 

Cel. Orlando. 

Ros. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my doublet 

and hose ? — What did he, when thou saw'st him ? 

What said he ? How look'd he? Wherein went he? 

j What makes he here ? Did he ask for me ? Where 

: remains he ? How parted he with thee, and when shalt 

thou see him again? Answer me in one word. 

Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's^ mouth first: 
't is a word too great for any mouth of this age's size. 
To say, ay, and no, to these particulars is more than 
to answer in a catechism. 

Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and 
in man's apparel ? Looks he as freshly as he did the 
day he wrestled ? 

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the 
propositions of a lover : but take a taste of my finding 
him, and relish it with good observance. I found him 
under a tree, like a dropped acorn. 

Ros. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops 
forth such fruit. 

Cel 

Ros. Proceed 

Cel. There lay he strctch'd along, like a wounded 
knight. 

Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it w-ell 
becomes the ground. 

Cel. Cry, holla ! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee ; it curvets 
unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. 

Ros. ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. 

Cel. I would sing my song without a burden : thou 
bring'st^ me out of tune. 



Give me audience, good madam. 



1 Serious. * Rabelais' fri.int, \rho ffwallo-wed five pilgrims in a salad, 
common with pictures on cloth, hung around rooms like tapestry. 



Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, 
I must speak. Sweet, say on. 

Enter Orlando and Jaques. 

Cel. You bring me out. — Soft ! comes he not here? 

Ros. 'T is he : slink by, and note him. 

[Rosalind and Celia retire. 

Jaq. I thank you for your company ; but, good faith, 
I had as lief have been myself alone. 

Orl. And so had I : but yet, for fashion sake, I thank 
you too for your society. 

Jaq. Good bye, you : let 's meet as little as we can. 

Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. 

Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing 
love-songs in their barks. 

Orl. I pray you mar no more of my verses with read- 
ing them ill-favouredly. 

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name ? 

Orl. Yes, just. 

Jaq. I do not like her name. 

Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she 
was christened. 

Jaq. What stature is she of? 

Orl. Just as high as my heart. 

Jaq. You are full of pretty answers. Have you not 
been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and coim'd 
them out of rings ? 

0/7. Not so: but I answer you right painted cloth*, 
from whence you have studied your questions. 

Jaq. You have a nimble wit : I think 't was made of 
Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me ? and we 
two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our 
misery. 

Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but my- 
self against whom I know most faults. 

Jaq. The worst fault you have is to be in love. 

Orl. 'T is a fault I will not change for your best vir- 
tue. I am weary of you. 

Jaq. By my troth, 1 was seeking for a fool when I 
found you. 

0/7. He is drown'd in the brook : look but in, and 
you shall see him. 

Jaq. There I shall see mine own figure. 

Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cj'pher. 

Jaq. I '11 tarry no longer with you. Farewell, good 
signior love. 

Orl. I am glad of your departure. Adieu, good 
monsieur melancholy. 

[Exit J.4.QUES. — Rosalind and Celia come forward. 

Ros. [Aside to Celia.] I will speak to him like a 
saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave 
with him. \To him.^ Do you hear, forester ? 

0/7. Very well : what would you ? 

Ros. I pray you, what is 't o'clock ? 

Orl. You should ask me, what time o' day : there 's 
no clock in the forest. 

Ros. Then, there is no true lover in the forest ; else 
sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would 
detect the lazy foot of time as well as a clock. 

Orl. And why not the swift foot of time ? had not 
that been as proper ? 

Ros. By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces 
with divers persons. I '11 tell you who Time ambles 
withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal^ 
and who he stands still withal. 

Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal ? 

Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, be- 
tween the contract of her marriage, and the day it is 
solemnized : if the interim be but a se'nnight, Time's 

' Puttest me out. ♦ In the style of the moral maxims painted in 



200 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



ACT III. 



pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years. 

Orl. Who ambles Time withal ? 

Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man 
that hath not the gout ; for the one .«leeps easily, 
because he cannot study ; and the other lives merrily, 
because he feels no pain : the one lacking the burden 
of lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no 
burden of heavy tedious penury. These Time ambles 
withal. 

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal ? 

Ros. With a thief to the gallows ; for though he go 
as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon 
there. 

Orl. Who stands he' still withal ? 

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation ; for they sleep 
between term and term, and then they perceive not 
how lime moves. 

Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth ? 

Ros. With this shepherde? s, my sister ; here in the 
skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. 

Orl Are you native of this place ? 

Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where she is 
kindled. 

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could 
purchate in so removed a dwelling. 

Ros. I have been told so of many : but, indeed, an 
old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who 
was in his youth an inland man ; one that knew court- 
ship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard 
him read many lectures against it : and I thank God, 
I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy 
offences, as he hath generally taxed their whole sex 
withal. 

Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils 
that he laid to the charge of women ? 

Ros. There were none principal : they were all like 
one another, as half-pence are ; every one fault seem- 
ing monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it. 

Orl. I pr'yihee, recount some of them. 

Ros. No ; I will not cast away my physic, but on 
those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, 
that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on 
their barks ; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies 
on brambles ; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosa- 
lind : if I could meet that fancy-monger I would give 
him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quo- 
tidian of love upon him. 

Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked. I pray you, 
tell me your remedy. 

Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you : 
he taught me how to know a man in love : in which 
cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner. 

Orl. What were his marks ? 

Ros. A lean cheek, which you have not : a blue eye, 
and sunken, which you have not ; an unquestionable 
spirit, which you have not ; a beard neglected, which 
you have not : — but I pardon you for that, for, simply, 
your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue. 
— Then, your hose should be ungarter'd. your bonnet 
unhanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, 
and every thing about you demonstrating a careless 
desolation. But you are no such man ; you are rather 
point-device^ in your accoutrements ; as loving yourself, 
than seeming the lover of any other. 

Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe 
I love. 

Ros. Me believe it ? you may as soon make her that 
you love believe it ; which, I warrant, she is apter to 
do, than to confess she does : that is one of the points 



in the which women still give the lie to their con- 
sciences. But, in good sooth, are you lie that hangs 
the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so ad- 
mired ? 

Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of 
Rosalmd, I am that he, that unfortunate he. 

Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes 
speak ? 

Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how 
much. 

Ros. Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you. de- 
serves as well a dark house, and a whip, as madmen 
do : and the reason why they are not so punished and 
cured, is. that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the whip- 
pers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel. 

Orl. Did you ever cure any so ? 

Ros. Yes, one ; and in this manner. He was to 
imagine me his love, his mistress, and I set him every 
day to woo me : at which time would I, being but a 
moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, long- 
ing, and liking ; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, in- 
constant, full of tears, full of smiles ; for every passion 
something, and for no passion truly any thing, as boys 
and women are, for the most part, cattle of this colour : 
would now like him, now loathe him ; then entertain 
him, then forswear him ; now weep for him, then spit 
at him : that I drave my suitor from his mad humour 
of love, to a loving humour of madness ; which was, to 
forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a 
nook, merely monastic. And thus I cured him ; and 
this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as 
clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be 
one spot of love in 't. 

Orl. I would not be cured, youth. 

Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me 
Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and woo me. 

Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me 
where it is. 

Ros. Go with me to it, and I '11 show it you ; and, 
by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you 
live. Will you go? 

0/7. With all my heart, good youth. 

Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. — Come, sis- 
ter, will you go ? [Exeunt. 

SCENE m. 

Enter Touchstone and Audrey ; Jaques behind, 
observing them. 

Touch. Come apace, good Audrey : I will fetch up 
your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey ? am I the 
man yet ? Doth my simple featvire content you ? 

Aiid. Your features ? Lord warrant us ! what fea- 
tures ? 

Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the 
most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the 
Goths. 

Jaq. [Aside.] O knowledge ill-inhabited ! worse 
than Jove in a thatch'd house !^ 

Touch. When a man's ver.'^es cannot be understood, 
nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child, 
understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great 
reckoning in a little room. — Truly, I would the gods 
had made thee poetical. 

Aud. I do not know what poetical is. Is it honest 
in deed, and word ? Is it a true thing ? 

Touch. No, truly, for the truest poetry is the most 
feigning ; and lovers are given to poetry, and what 
they swear in poetry, it may be said, as lovers they do 
feign. 



1 stays it : in f. e. « Exact ; derived from a kind of needlework. ' Alluding to Baucis and Philemon, in Ovid. 



SCENE IV. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



201 



Aitd. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me 
poetical ? 

Touch. I do, truly ; for thou swear'st to me, thou art 
honest : now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some 
hope thou didst feign. 

Ji(d. Would you not have me honest? 

Touch. No truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; 
for honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce 
to sugar. 

Jag. [A.sidc] A material fool. 

Ai(d. Well, I am not fair, and therefore, I pray the 
gods, make me honest ! 

Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty tipon a foul 
slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish. 

Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am 
foul.' 

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness : 
sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may 
be, I will marry thee : and to that end, I have been 
with sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village, 
who hath promised to meet me in this place of the 
forest, and to couple us. 

Jaq. [A.side] I would fain see this meeting. 

Aud. Well, the gods give us joy. 

Touch. Amen. A man might, if he were of a fearful 
heart, stagger in this attempt ; for here we have no 
temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. 
But what though ? Courage ! As horns are odious, 
they are nece.'^sary. It is said, — many a man knows 
no end of his goods : right ; many a man has good 
horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the 
dowry of his wife : 't is none of his own getting. Are 
horns given to poor men alone ?^ — No, no ; the noblest 
deer hath them as huge as the rascaP. Is the single 
man therefore blessed ? No : as a wall'd town is more 
worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married 
man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor ; 
and by how much defence is better than no skill, by so 
much is a horn more precious than to want. 

Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text. 
Here comes sir Oliver. — Sir Oliver Mar-text, you are 
well met : will you dispatch us here under this tree, or 
shall wc go with you to your chapel ? 

Sir OH. Is there none here to give the woman? 

Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. 

Sir OH. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage 
is not lawful. 

Jaq. [coming forward.] Proceed, proceed : I '11 give 
her. 

Touch. Good even, good Mr. What-ye-call 't : how 
do you, sir ? You are very well met : God'ild you* for 
your last company. I am very glad to see you : — even 
a toy in hand here, sir. — Nay ; pray, be cover'd. 

Jaq. Will you be married, motley ? 

Touch. As the ox hath his bow,* sir, the horse his 
curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; 
and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. 

Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, 
be married under a busli, like a beggar ? Get you to 
church, and have a good priest that can tell you what 
marri.age is : this fellow will but join you together as 
they join w.iinscot : then, one of you will prove a shrunk 
panncl. and, like green timber, warp, v.arp. 

Touch. 1 am not in the mind, but I were better to 
be married of him than of another : for he is not like 
to marry me well, and not being well married, it will 
be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. 

Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. 



Touch. Come, sweet Audrey : 
We must be married, or we must live in bawdiy. 
Farewell, good master Oliver ! Not 

O sweet Oliver ! O brave Oliver ! 
Leave me not behind thee : 

But wend* away, begone, I say, 
I will not to wedding bind' thee. 
[Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone, and Audrey. 
Sir OH. 'T is no matter : ne'er a fantastical knave 
of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. Before a Cottage. 
Enter Rosalind and Celia. 

Ros. Never talk to me : I will weep. 

Cel. Do, I pr'ythee ; but yet have the grace to con- 
sider, that tears do not become a man. 

Ros. But have I not cause to weep ? 

Cel. As good cause as one would desire : therefore 
weep. 

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. 

Cel. Something browner than Judas's. Marry, his 
kisses are Judas's own children. 

Ros. V faith, his hair is of a good colour. 

Cel. An excellent colour : your chestnut was ever 
the only colour. 

Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the 
touch of holy bread. 

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana : 
a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously ; 
the very ice of chastity is in them. 

Ros. But why did he swear he would come this 
morning, and comes not ? 

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. 

Ros. Do you think so ? 

Cel. Yes : I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a 
horse-stealer ; but for his verity in love, I do think him 
as concave as a covered' goblet, or a worm-eaten nut. 

Ros. Not true in love ? 

Cel. Yes, when he is in ; but, I think he is not in. 

Ros. You have heard him swear downright, he was. 

Cel. Was is not is : besides, the oath of a lover is 
no stronger than the word of a tapster ; they are both 
the confirmers of false reckonings. He attends here 
in the forest on the duke your father. 

Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much ques- 
tion with him. He asked me, of what parentage I 
was ? I told him, of as good as he : so he laughed, 
and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when 
there is such a man as Orlando ? 

Cel. O, that 's a brave man ! he wTites brave verses, 
speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks 
them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his 
lover ; as a puny tilter. that spurs his horse but on one 
side, breaks his staff like a noble goose. But all 's 
brave, that youth mounts, and folly guides. — Who 
comes here ? 

E^iter CoRiN. 

Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft inquir'd 
After the shepherd that complain'd of love, 
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf. 
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess 
That was his mistress. 

Cel. Well ; and what of him ? 

Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, 
Between the pale complexion of true love. 
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain. 
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, 
If you will mark it. 



> Homply. 
f. e. ' with : 



2 in f. e. : Ilnrns ? Even so : — Poor men alone ? 
in f. e. • Empty. 



' I/ean, poor deer. * Yield you. ■ Yoke, shaped like a boir. * wind : in 



202 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



ACT m. 



Ros. O ! come, let us remove : 

The sight of lovers feedeth these in Icve. — 
Bring us to this sight, and you sliall say 
I "11 prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— Another Part of the Forest. 
Enter Sii.vius and Phebe. 

Sil. Sweet Phebc, do not scorn me ; do not, Phehe : 
Say that you love me not : but say not so 
In bitterness. The common executioner, 
Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard. 
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck, 
But first begs pardon: will you sterner be 
Than he Ihat kilLs' and lives by bloody drops ? 
Enter I^osalind, Cei.ia, and Corin, behind. 

Phc. 1 would not be thy executioner : 
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. 
Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eye: 
'Tis prelty, sure, and very probable. 
That eye.«, that are the frail'st and softest things, 
Who sliut their coward gates on atomies, 
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers ! 
Now I do frown on thee wilh all my heart ; 
And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee ; 
Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down; 
Or, if thou can.^t not, O, for shame for shame ! 
Lie not, to i-ay mine eyes are murderers. 
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee : 
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains 
Some scar of it ; lean but upon a rush. 
The cicatrice and palpable' iinprefsure 
Thy palm some moment keeps ; but now mine eyes. 
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, 
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes 
That can do hurt. 

Sil. O ! dear Phebe, 

If ever, (as that ever may be near) 
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, 
Then shall you know the wounds invisible 
That love's keen arrows make. 

Phe. But till that time 

Come not thou near me ; and when that time comes 
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not, 
As till that time I shall not pity thee. 

Ros. [Advancing.] And why, I pray you? Who 
might bo your mother, 
That you insult, exult, and all at once. 
Over the wretched ? What though you have no beauty. 
As, by my faith, I see no more in you 
Than without candle may go dark to bed. 
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ? 
Why, what means this ? Why do you look on me ? 
I see no more in you, than in the ordinary 
Of nature's sale-work : — Od's my little life ! 
I think she means to tangle my eyes too. 
No, 'faith, proud mistress, hope not after it : 
'T is not your inky brows, your black-silk hair, 
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream. 
That can entame my spirits to your worship. — 
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, 
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain ? 
You are a thousand times a properer man, 
Than she a woman : 'tis such fools as you. 
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children. 
'T is not her glass, but you, that flatters her; 
And out of you she sees herself more proper. 
Than any of her lineaments can show her. — 
But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees, 
And thank heaven fasting for a good man's love ; 



For I must tell you friendly in your ear, 
Sell when you can: you are not for all markets. 
Cry the man mercy ; love him ; take his offer : 
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. 
So, take her to thee, shepherd. — Fare you well. 

Phc. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together: 
I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. 



Ro.s. He 's fallen in love with 



foulne.'^s, and 



s laiien m Jove witn your xv^^^,,,..^, 
she '11 fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast 
as she answers thee with frowning looks, I '11 sauce 
her with bitter words. — Why look you so upon me ? 

Phe. For no ill will I bear you. 

Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, 
For I am faher than vows made in wine : 
Besides, I like you not. — If you will know my house, 
'T is at the tuft of olives, here hard by. — 
Will you go, sister? — Shepherd, ply her hard. — 
Come, sister. — Shcphcrdes-s, look on him better, 
And be not proud : though all the world could see, 
None could be so abus'd in sight as he. 
Come, to our flock. 

[Exeunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corin. 

Phe. Dead shepherd ! now I find thy saw of might; 
"Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight ?"^ 

Sil. Sweet Phebe ! 

Phe. Ha ! what say'st thou, Silvius ? 

Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 

Phc. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. 

Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be : 
If you do sorrow at my grief in love, 
By giving love, your sorrow and my grief 
Were both extermin'd. 

Phe. Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly? 

Sil. I would have you. 



Phe. 



Why, that were covetousness. 



Silvius, the time was that I hated thee, 

And yet it is not that I bear thee love ; 

But since that thou can.st talk of love so well, 

Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, 

I will endure, and I '11 employ thee too; 

But do not look for farther recompense. 

Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. 

Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love, 
And I in such a poverty of grace, 
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 
To glean the broken ears after the man 
That the main harvest reaps : loose now and then 
A scatter'd smile, and that I '11 live upon. 

Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere- 
while ? 

Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft ; 
And he hath bouglit the cottage, and the bounds. 
That the old carlot once was master of. 

Phe. Think not I love him. though I ask for him. 
'T is but a peevish boy ; — ^yet he talks well : — 
But what care I for words ? yet words do well, 
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. 
It is a pretty youth : — not very pretty : — 
But, sure, he 's proud ; and yet his pride becomes him. 
He '11 make a proper man : the best thing in him 
Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue 
Did make off"ence, his eye did heal it up. 
He is not very tall ; yet for his years he 's tall. 
His leg is but so so ; and yet 't is well : 
There was a pretty redness in his lip ; 
A little riper, and more lusty red 

Than that mix'd in his cheek : 'twas just the diflferenco 
Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. 
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him 



1 dies : in f. e. 2 capable : in f. e. ^ An allusion to MarloTve and his Hero andLeander, where the quotation is to be found. 



SCENE I. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



203 



In parcels, as I did, would have gone near 

To fall in love with him ; but for my part 

I love him not, nor hate him not, and yet 

I have more cause to hate him than to love him; 

For what had he to do to chide at me ? 

He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black; 

And, now I am rcmemberM, scorn'd at me ; 

I marvel why I answer'd not again : 



But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. 
I '11 write to him a very taunting letter, 
And thou yhalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius? 

Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. 

Pile. I '11 write it straight ; 

The matter 's in my head, and in my heart : 
I will be bitter with him, and passing short. 
Go with me, Silvius. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— The Forest of Arden. 
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques. 

Jaq. [ pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better 
acquainted with thee. 

Kos. They say, you are a melancholy fellow. 

Jaq. I am so : I do love it better than laughing. 

Ros. Those that are in extremity of either are 
abominable fellows, and betray themselves to every 
modern censure worse than drunkards. 

Jaq. Why, 't is good to be sad and say nothing. 

Ro.'!. Why then, 't is good to be a post. 

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which 
is emulation : nor the musician's, which is fantastical ; 
nor the courtier's, which is proud ; nor the soldier's, 
which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; 
nor the lady's, which is nice ; nor the lover's, which is 
all these ; but it is a melancholy of mine own, com- 
pounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, 
and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels ; 
which by^ often rumination wraps me in a most 
luxmorous sadness. 

Ros. A traveller ! By my faith, you have great 
reason to be sad. I fear, you have sold your own 
lands, to see other men's ; then, to have seen much, 
and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor 
hands. 

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. 
Enter Orlando. 

Ros. And your experience makes you sad. I had 
rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience 
to make me sad. And to travel for it too ! 

Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind. 

Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank 
verse. \Exit. 

Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller : look you lisp, 
and wear strange suits; disable all the benetlts of your 
own country; be out of love with your nativity, and 
almost chide God for making you that countenance 
you are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a 
gondola. — Why, how now, Orlando ! where have you 
been all this while? You a lover? An you serve me 
such another trick, never come in my sight more. 

OrJ. My fair Rosalind, [ come within an hour of my 
promise. 

Ros. Break an hour's promise in love ! He that 
will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break 
but a part of tlie thousandth part of a minute in the 
affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath 
clapped him o' the shoulder, but I '11 warrant him 
heart-whole. 

Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my 
sight : I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. 

Orl. Of a snail? 

■ ''In which my" is the reaiiinpc of the 2d folio; adopted by Kn 
* chroniclers : in f. e. Haniiier also suggested the changn. 



Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, 
he carries his house on his head, a better jointure, I 
think, than you make a woman. Besides, .he brings 
his destiny with him. 

Orl. What's that? 

Ros. Why, horns ; which such as you are fain to be 
beholden to your wives for : but he comes armed in his 
fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. 

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker, and my Rosalind is 
virtuous. 

Ros. And I am your Rosalind. 

Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a 
Rosalind of a better leer^ than you. 

Ros. Come, woo me, woo me ; for now I am in a 
holiday humour, and like enough to consent. — ^W'hat 
would you say to me now, an I were your veiy very 
Rosalind ? 

Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. 

Ros. Nay, you were better speak first ; and when 
you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take 
occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are 
out, they will spit ; and for lovers, lacking (God warn 
us !) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. 

Orl. How if the kiss be denied ? 

Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there 
begins new matter. 

Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved 
mistress ? 

Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mis- 
tress, or I should thank my honesty rather than my 
wit.= 

Orl. What, out of my suit ? 

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your 
suit. Am not I your Rosalind ? 

Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would 
be talking of her. 

Ros. Well, in her person I say — I will not have you. 

0/7. Then, in mine own person, I die. 

Ros. No, 'faith, die by attorney. The poor world is 
almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there 
was not any man died in his own person, videlicet., in a 
love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out wth a 
Grecian club ; yet he did what he could to die before, 
and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he 
would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had 
turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer 
night ; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him 
in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, 
was drowned, and the foolish coroners* of that age 
found it was— Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies : 
men have died from time to time, and worms have 
eaten them, but not for love. 

Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this 
mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me. 

Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, 

ight. » Feature. ^ think my honesty ranker than my wit : in f. e. 



204: 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



ACT rv. 



now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on-dis- 
position, and ask me what you will, I will grant it. 

Oil. Then love me. Rosalind. [all. 

Ros. Yes, faith will I; Fridays, and Saturdays, and 

Oil. And wilt thou have me ? 

Ro.<i. Ay, and twenty such. 

Orl. What say'st thou ? 

Ros. Are you not good ? 

Orl. I hope so. 

Ros. Why, then, can one desire too much of a good 
thing? — Come, sister, you .*hall be the priest, and marry 
us. — Give me your hand, Orlando. — What do you say, 
sister ? 

Orl. Pray thee, marry us. 

Cel. I cannot say the words. 

Ros. You must begin, — " Will you, Orlando," — 

Cel. Go to. — Will you, Orlando, have to wife this 
Rosalind ;' 

Orl. I will. 

Ros. Ay, but when ? 

Orl. Why now ; as fast as she can marry us. 

Ros. Then you must say, — " I take thee, Rosalind, 
for wife." 

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 

Ros. I might ask you for your commission ; but, — 
I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband. There 's a 
girl, goes before the priest ; and, certainly, a woman's 
thought runs before her actions. 

Orl. So do all thoughts : they are winged. 

Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, 
after you have possessed her ? 

Orl. For ever, and a day. 

Ros. Say a day, without the ever. No, no, Orlando : 
men are April when they woo, December when they 
wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the 
sky changes when they are wives. I will be more 
jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his 
hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more 
new-fangled than an ape ; more giddy in my desires 
than a monkey : I will weep for nothing, like Diana in 
the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed 
to be merry ; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when 
thou art inclined to sleep. 

Orl. Bat will my Rosalind do so ? 

Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. 

Orl. O ! but she is wise. 

Ros, Or else she could not have the wit to do this : 
the wiser, the waywarder. Make' the doors upon a 
woman's wit, and it will out at the casement ; shut 
that, and 't will out at the key-hole : stop that, 't will 
fly with the smoke out at the chimney. 

Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he 
might say. — "Wit, whither wilt?" 

Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you 
met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. 

Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that ? 

Ros. Marry, to say, — she came to seek you there. 
You shall never take her without her answer, unless 
you take her without her tongue. O ! that woman 
that cannot make her fault her husband's accusing,* 
let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed 
it like a fool. 

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. 

Ros. Alas ! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. 

Oil. I must attend the duke at dinner : by two 
o'clock I will be with thee again. 

Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways. — I knew what 
you would prove ; my friends told me as much, and I 
thought no less : — that flattering tongue of yours won 

' Make fast. * occasion : in f. e. ' Not in f. e. ♦ is gon6 : in f. 



me : — 't is but one cast away, and so, — come, death ! — 
Two o'clock is your hour ? 

Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. 

Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God 
mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not danger- 
ous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one 
minute behind your hour, I will think you the most 
pathetical break-promi^;e, and the most hollow lover, 
and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that 
may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful. 
Therefore, beware my censure, and keep your promise. 

Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed 
my Rosalind : so, adieu. 

Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all 
such offenders, and let time try you^. Adieu ! 

[Exit Orlando. 

Cel. You have simply misused our sex iityour love- 
prate. We must have your doublet and hose plucked 
over your head, and show the world what the bird hath 
done to her own nest. 

Ros. ! coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou 
didst know how many fathom deep I am in love ! But 
it camiot be sounded : my affection hath an unknown 
bottom, like the bay of Portugal. 

Cel. Or rather, bottomless ; that as fast as you pour 
affection in, it runs out. 

Ros. No ; that same wicked bastard of Venus, that 
was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of 
madness ; that blind rascally boy. that abuses every 
one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge 
how deep I am in love. — I '11 tell thee, Aliena, I cannot 
be out of the sight of Orlando. I '11 go find a shadow, 
and sigh till he come. 

Cel. And I '11 sleep. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Another Part of the Forest. 
Enter Jaques and Lords^ like Foresters. 
Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer ? 

1 Lord. Sir, it was I. 

Jaq. Let 's present him to the duke, like a Roman 
conqueror ; and it would do well to set the deer's horns 
upon his head for a branch of victory. — Have you no 
song, forester, for this purpose ? 

2 Lord. Yes, sir. 

Jaq. Sing it : 't is no matter how it be in tune, so it 
make noise enough. 

SONG. 

What shall he have that kilVd the deer ? 
His leather skin., and horns to wear. 
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; 
It was a crest ere thou wast born. 

Thy father'' s father wore it.. 
And thy father bore it: 
The horn.j the horn, the lusty horn, 
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Forest. 
Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
Ros. How say you now ? Is it not past two o'clock ? 
And here much Orlando ! 

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled 
brain, 
He hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and gone* forth — 
To sleep. Look, who comes here. 
Enter Silvius. 
Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth. — 
My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this : 

[Giving a letter.^ Ros. reads it. 

e. * The rest of this stage direction not in f. e. 



[Then sing him 
home : the rest 
shall bear this 
burden.] 



SCENE nr. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



205 



I know not the contents ; but as I guess, 
By the stern brow and waspish action, 
Which she did use as .-he was writing of it, 
It bears an angry tenour. Pardon me, 
I am but as a guiltless messenger. 

Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, 
And play the swaggerer : bear this, bear all. 
She says, I am not fair ; that I lack manners ; 
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, 
Were man as rare as Phoenix. Od's my will ! 
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt : 
Why writes she so to me ? — Well, shepherd, well ; 
This is a letter of your own device. 

Sil. No, I protest ; I know not the contents : 
Phcbe did write it. 

Ros. Come, come, you are a fool, 

And turn'd into the extremity of love. 
I saw her hand : she has a leathern hand, 
A freestone-colour'd hand ; I verily did think 
That her old gloves were on, but 't was her hands : 
She has a housewife's hand : but that 's no matter. 
I say, she never did invent this letter ; 
This is a man's invention, and his hand. 
Sil. Sure, it is hers. 

Ros. Why, 't is a boisterous and a cruel style, 
A style for challengers : why, she defies me, 
Like Turk to Christian. Woman's gentle brain 
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, 
Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect 
Than in their countenance. — Will you hear the letter? 

Sil. So please you ; for I never heard it yet. 
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. 

Ros. She Phebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes. 

" Art thou god to shepherd tvirn'd. 

That a maiden's heart hath burn'd ?" — 
Can a woman rail thus ? 
Sil. Call you this railing ? 
Ros. *■ Why, thy godhead laid apart, 

Warr'st thou with a woman's heart ?" 
Did you ever hear such railing ? — 

" Whiles the eye of man did woo me, 

That could do no vengeance to me." — 
Meaning me, a beast. — 

" If the scorn of your bright eyne 

Have power to raise such love in mine. 

Alack ! in me what strange effect 

Would they work in mild aspect ? 

Whiles you chid me, I did love ; 

How then might your prayers move r 

He that brings this love to thee, 

Little knows this love in me : 

And by him seal up thy mind ; 

Whether that thy youth and kind 

Will the faithful offer take 

Of me, and all that I can make ; 

Or else by him my love deny, 

And then I '11 study how to die." 
Sil. Call you this chiding? 
Ccl. Alas, poor shepherd ! 

Ros. Do you pity him ? no ; he deserves no pity. — 
Wilt thou love such a woman ? — What, to make thee 
an instrument, and play false strains upon thee ? not to 
be endured ! — Well, go your way to her, (for I see, 
love hath made thee a tame snake) and say this to 
her : — that if she love me, I charge her to love thee ; 
if she will not, I will never have her, unless thou 
entreat for her. — If you be a true lover, hence, and not 
a word, for here comes more company. [Exit Silvius. 
Enter Oliver. 
Oli. Good morrow, fair ones. Pray you, if you know, 



S^j 



Where in the purlieus of this forest stands 
A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive-trees ? 

Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour 
bottom : 
The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream. 
Left on your right hand, brings you to the place. 
But at this hour the house doth keep itself; 
There 's none within. 

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue. 
Then should I know you by description ; 
Such garments, and such years : — '' The boy is fair. 
Of female favour, and bestows himself 
Like a ripe sister : the woman low, 
And browner than her brother." Are not you 
The owner of the house I did inquire for ? 

Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. 

Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both ; 
And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, 
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he ? 

Ros. I am. What must we understand by this? 

Oli. Some of my shame ; if you will know of me 
What man I am, and how, and why, and where 
This handkerchief was stain'd. 

Cel. I pray you, tell it. 

Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you, 
He left a promise to return again 
Within an hour ; and, pacing through the forest, 
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
Lo, what befel ! he threw his eye aside. 
And. mark, what object did present itself! 
Under an old oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age 
And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair. 
Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck 
A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself. 
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd 
The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly. 
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself. 
And with indented glides did slip away 
Into a bush ; under which bush's shade 
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, 
Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch. 
When that the sleeping man should stir ; for 't is 
The royal disposition of that beast. 
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. 
This seen, Orlando did approach the man. 
And found it was his brother, his elder brother. 

Cel. ! I have heard him speak of that same brother : 
And he did render him the most unnatural 
That liv'd 'mongst men. 

Oli. And well he might so do. 

For well I know he was unnatural. 

Ros. But, to Orlando. — Did he leave him there. 
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness ? 

Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so ; 
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge. 
And nature, stronger than his just occasion, 
Made him give battle to the lioness. 
Who quickly fell before him : in which hurtling 
From miserable slumber I awak'd. 

Cel. Are you his brother ? 

Ros. Was it you he rescu'd ? 

Cel. Was 't you that did so oft contrive to kill him ? 

Oli. 'T was I ; but 't is not I. I do not shame 
To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 

Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ? 

Oli. By and by. 

When from the first to last, betwixt us two. 
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, 



206 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



ACT V. 



As, how I came into that desert place, 

In brief, lie led me to the gentle duke, 

Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment, 

Committing me unto my brother's love : 

Who led me instantly unto his cave, 

There stripp'd himself; and here, upon his arm. 

The lioness had torn some flesh away. 

Which all this while had bled ; and now he fainted, 

And cried in fainting upon Rosalind. 

Briel", I recover'd him, bound up his wound ; 

And, after some small space, being strong at heart, 

He sent me hither, stranger as I am. 

To tell this story, that you might excuse 

His broken promise ; and to give this napkin, 

Dyed in liis blood, unto the shepherd youth 

That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. 

Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede ? sweet Ganymede ? 

[Rosalind swoons. 

OIL Many will swoon when they do look on blood. 

Cel. There is more in it. — Cousin ! — Ganymede ! 

Oli. Look, he recovers. \Raising her.^ 

Ros. I would I were at home. 



Cel. We '11 lead you thither. — 

I pray you. will you take him by the arm ? 

Oli. Beof good cheer, youth. — You a man? You lack 
A man's heart. 

Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah! a body would 
think this was well counterfeited. I pray you, tell 
your brother how well I counterfeited. — Heigh ho ! — 

Oli. This was not counterfeit : there is too great 
testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of 
earnest. 

Ros. Counterfeit, 

Oli. Well then, 
to be a man. 

Ros. So I do ; but, i' faith, I should have been 
woman by right. 

Cel. Come ; you look paler and paler : pray 
draw homewards, — Good sir, go with us. " 



.., I assure you. 
take a good heart, 



and counterfeit 



you, 



Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back. 
How you excuse my brother, R,osalind. 

Ros. I shall devise something. But, I pray you, 
commend my counterfeiting to him. — Will you go? 

[Exevnt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— The Forest of Arden. 
Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 

Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey : patience, 
gentle Audrey. 

And. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the 
old gentleman's saying. 

Touch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey ; a most 
vile Mar-text. But, Audrey : there is a youth here in 
the forest lays claim to you. 

Aud. Ay, I know who 't is ; he hath no interest in 
me in the world. Here comes the man you mean. 
Enter William. 

Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. 
By my troth, we that have good wits have much to 
answer for : we shall be flouting ; we cannot hold. 

Will. Good even, Audrey. 

And. God ye good even, William. 

Will. And good even to you, sir. 

Touch. Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, 
cover thy head : nay, pr'ythee, be covered. How old 
are you, friend ? 

Will. Five and twenty, sir. 

Touch. A ripe age. Is thy name William ? 

Will. William, sir. 

Touch. A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here ? 

Will. Ay, sir, I thank God. 

Touch. Thank God ; — a good answer. Art rich ? 

Will. 'Faith, sir, so, so. 

Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent 
good ; — and yet it is not ; it is but so so. Art thou wise ? 

Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. 

Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember 
a saying; "The fool doth think he is wise, but the 
wise man knows himself to be a fool." The heathen 
philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would 
open his lips when he put it into his mouth, meaning 
thereby, that grapes were made to eat, and lips to open. 
You do love this maid ? 

Will. I do, sir. 

Touch. Give me your hand. Art thou learned ? 

Will. No, sir. 

» Not in f. e. 



Touch. Then learn this of me. To have, is to have ; 
for it is a figure in rhetoric, that drink^ being poured 
out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one dotli empty 
the other ; for all your writers do consent, that ipse is 
he : now, vou are not ipse, for I am he. 

Will. Which he, sir ? 

Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman. There- 
fore, you clown, abandon. — which is in the vulgar, 
leave, the society, — which in the boorish is, company, 
— of this female, — which in the common is, woman; 
which together is, abandon the society of this female, 
or, clown thou perishest ; or, to thy better understand- 
ing, diest ; or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, 
translate thy life into death, thy lilaerty into bondage. 
I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in 
steel : I will bandy with thee in faction ; I will o'er- 
run thee with policy ; I will kill thee a hundred and 
fifty ways : therefore tremble, and depart. 

Aud. Do, good William. 

Will. God rest you merry, sir. [Exit. 

Enter CoRiN. 

Cor. Our master and mistress seek you : come, away, 
away ! 

Touch. Trip, Audrey; trip, Audrey. — I attend, I 
attend. \Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. 
Enter Orlando and Oliver. 

Orl. Is 't possible, that on so little acquaintance you 
should like her ? that, but seeing, you should love her ; 
and, loving, woo ; and, wooing, she should grant ? and 
will you persever to enjoy her ? 

OH. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the 
poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden woo- 
ing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I 
love Aliena ; say with her. that she loves me ; consent 
with both, that we may enjoy each other : it shall be 
to your good ; for my father's house, and all the revenue 
that was old sir Rowland's, will 1 estate upon you. and 
here live and die a shepherd. 

Orl. You have my consent. 
Let your wedding be to-morrow : thither will I 



SCENE III. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



207 



Invite the duke, and all 's contented followers. 

Enter Rosalind. 
Go you, and prepare Aliena; for, look you, 
Here comes my Rosalind. 
Ros. God save you, brother. 

Oli. And you, fair sister. [Exit. 

Ros. ! my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see 
thee wear thy heart in a scarf. 
Orl. It is my arm. 

Ros. I thought thy heart had been wounded with 
the claws of a lion. 

Oli. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. 
Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited 
to swoon, when he showed me your handkerchief? 
Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 
Ros. ! I know where you are. — Nay, 't is true : 
there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight of 
two rams, and Caesar's thrasonical brag of— "I came, 
saw," and '' overcame :'' for your brother and my sister 
no sooner met, but they looked ; no sooner looked, but 
they loved; no sooner loved, but they sighed; no 
sooner sighed, but they asked one another the reason ; 
no sooner knew the reason, but they sought the re- 
medy : and in these degrees have they made a pair of 
stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, 
or else be incontinent before marriage. They are in 
the very wrath of love, and they will together : clubs 
cannot part them. 

Orl. They shall be married to-morrow, and I will 
bid the duke to ^ the nuptial. But, O ! how bitter a 
thing it is to look into happiness through another man's 
eyes ! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at 
the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall 
think my brother happy in having what he wishes for. 
Ros. Wliy then, to-morrow I caimot serve your turn 
for Rosalind ? 

Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. 
Ros. I will weary you, then, no longer with idle talk- 
ing. Know of me, then, (for now I speak to some pur- 
pose) that I know you are a gentleman of good con- 
ceit. I speak not this, that you should bear a sood 
opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I say, I know you 
are ; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may 
in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do 
yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then, if 
you please, that I can do strange things. 1 have, since 
I wa.s three years old. conversed with a magicianj most 
protbund in his art, and yet not damnable.^ If you do 
love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it 
out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry 
her. I know into what straits of fortune she is driven ; 
and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not incon- 
venient to you, to set her before your eyes to-morrow, 
human as she is, and without any danger. 
Orl. Speak'st thou in sober meanings ? 
Ros. By my life, I do ; which I tender dearly, 
though I say I am a magician. Therefore, put you 
in your best array, bid your friends, for if you will be 
married to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you 
will. 

Enter Silvius and Phebe. 
Look ; here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. 

Phe. Youth, you have done me much imgentleness, 
To show the letter that I writ to you. 

Ros. I care not, if I have ; it is my study 
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you. 
You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd : 
Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. 

Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 't is to love. 



Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And I for no woman. 

Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service ; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And I for no woman. 

Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy, 
All made of passion, and all made of wishes ; 
All adoration, duty, and obedience' ; 
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience; 
All purity, all trial, all observance ; 
And so am 1 for Phebe. 

Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And so am I for no woman. 

Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? 

[To Rosalind. 

Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? 

[To Phebe. 

Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? 

Ros. Who do you speak to, "why blame you me 
to love you ? " 

Orl. To her, that is not here, nor doth not hear. 

Ros. Pray you, no more of this : 't is like the howl- 
ing of Irish wolves against the moon. — I will help you, 
[To Silvius] if I can: — I would love you, [To Phebe] 
if I could. — To-morrow meet me all together.*— I will 
marry you, [To Phebe] if ever I marry woman, and 
I'll be married to-morrow: — I will satisfy you, [To 
Orlando] if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be 
married to-morrow: — I will content you, [To Silvius] 
if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be 
married to-morrow. — As you [To Orlando] love Ro- 
salind, meet; — as you [To Silvius] love Phebe, meet ; 
and as I love no woman, I '11 meet. — So, fare you well ; 
I have left you commands. 



Sil. I '11 not fail, if I live. 

Phe. 

Orl. 



Nor L 



Nor I. [Exeunt. 



1 observance : in f. e. Malone also suggested the change. » To be 



SCENE III.— The Same. 
Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey: to- 
morrow will we be married. 

Avd. I do desire it with all my heart, and I hope 
it is no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of 
the world." 

Touch. Here come two of the banished duke's pages. 
Enter tivo Pages. 

1 Page. Well met, honest gentleman. 
Touch. By my troth, well met. Come, sit ; sit, and 

a song. 

2 Page. We are for you : sit i' the middle. 

1 Page. Shall we clap into 't roundly, without hawk- 
ing, or spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are 
only the prologues to a bad voice ? 

2 Page. V faith, i' faith ; and both in a tune, like two 
gypsies on a horse. 

SONG. 

It was a lover, and his lass, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
Tliat o'er the green corn-field did pass 

In tlie spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do .sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 
married. 



208 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



ACT V. 



Between the acres of the rye, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nomno, 
These pretty country folks would lie, 

In spring time, ^c. 

This carol they began that hour, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonmo, 

How that our life was but a flower, 
In spring lime, ^'c. 

And therefore take the present time. 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nomno, 
For love is crowned with the prime 

In spring time, ifc. 
Touch Truly, young gentlemen, though there was 
no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very 
untimeable' . 

1 Pao-e. You are deceived, sir: we kept time; we 

lost not our time. 

Tcntch. By my troth, yes ; I count it but time lost 



to hear such a foolish song. God be wi' you 



all tongues are called 



and God 
mend your voices.— Come, Audrey. {Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Another Part of the Forest. 
Enter Duke Senicrr, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, 

Oliver, and Celia. 
Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy 
Can do all this that he hath promised ? 

Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not, 
As those that fear to^ hope, and know they fear. 
Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe. 
Ros. Patience, once more, whiles our compact is 

[To the Duke.] You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, 
You will bestow her on Orlando here ? 

Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. 

' Ros. [To Orlando.]' And you say, you will have 

her, when I bring her ? 

Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. 



to take that that no man else will. Rich 



miser, sir, 



Ros. [To Phebe.] You say, you '11 marry me, if I 

be willing ? 
Phe. That will 1, should I die the hour after. 
Ros. But if you do refuse to marry me. 
You 'II give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? 
Phe. So is the bargain. 
Ros. [To SiLVius.] You say, that you'll have Phebe, 

if she will ? 
Sil. Though to have her and death were both one 

thing. 
Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. 
Keep you your word, duke ! to give your daughter ; — 
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter : — 
Keep you your word. Phebe, that you '11 marry me ; 
Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd : — 
Keep your word, Silvius, that you '11 marry her, 
If she refuse me : — and from hence I go, 
To make these doubts all even — even so*. 

[Exeunt Rosalind and Celia 
Duke S. I do remember in this .shepherd-boy 
Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. 

Orl. My lord, the first time tliat I ever saw him, 
Methouglit he was a brother to your daughter : 
■ But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born. 
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
Of many desperate studies by his uncle, 
Whom he reports to be a great magician. 
Obscured in the circle of this forest. 

Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
Jaq. There is, sure, another flocd toward, and these 
couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of 



very strange beasts, which in 
fools. 

Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all. 

Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the 
motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often met in 
the forest : he hath been a courtier, he swears. 

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my 
purgation. I have trod a measure ; I have flattered a 
lady ; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with 
mine enemy ; I have undone three tailors ; I have had 
four quarrels, and like to have fought one. 

Jaq. And how was that ta'en up ? » 

Touch. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was 
upon the seventh cause. 

Jaq. How the seventh cause ?— Good my lord, like 
this fellow. 

Duke S. I like him very well. 

Tcnich. God 'ild' you, sir ; I desire you of the like. I 
press in here, sir, among the rest of the country copu- 
latives, to swear, and to forswear, according as mar- 
riase binds, and blood breaks.— A poor virgin, sir, an 
ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own : a poor humour 
of mine, sir, 
honesty dwells like a 
your pearl in your foul oyster. 

Duke S. By my faith, he is 
tious. 

Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such 

dulcet diseases. 

Jaq. But, for the seventh cause 
the quarrel on the seventh cause ? 

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed.— Bear 
your body more seeming, Audrey. — As thus, sir. I 
did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard : he 
sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he 
was in the mind it was : this is called the " retort 
courteous." If I sent him word again, it was not well 
cut he would send me word, he cut h to please him- 
self: this is called the "quip mode.«t." If again, it 
was not well cut, he disabled my judgment : this is 
called the " reply churli.sh." If again, it was not well 
cut. he would answer. I spake not true : this is called 
the' " reproof valiant." If again, it was not well cut, 
he would say, I lied : this is called the " countercheck 
quarrelsome :" and so to the " lie circumstantial," and 
the " lie direct " 

Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not 

well cut ? ,, ,. ■ 

Touch. I durst go no farther than the he circum- 



in a poor-house, as 
very swift and senten- 



how did you find 



stantial," nor he durst not give me the " lie 



direct;" 
and so we measured swords, and parted. 

Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of 

the lie ? ^ v , 

Touch. sir, we quarrel in print, by the book, as 
you have books for good mamiers : I will name you 
the degrees. The first, the retort courteous ; the 
second. °the quip modest; tlie third, the reply churlish ; 
the fourth, the reproof valiant : the fifth, the counter- 
check quarrelsome; the sixth, the lie with circum- 
stance ; the seventh, the lie direct. All these you may 
avoid, but the lie direct ; and you may avoid that too, 
with an if. I knew when seven justices could not 
take up a quarrel ; but when the parties were met 
themselves, one of them thought but of an if, as If you 
said so, then I said so ; and they shook hands and swore 
brothers. Your if is the only peace-maker; much 

virtue in if. ,,0,1 

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as 
good at any thing, and yet a fool. 



1 untuneablc : in f. e. ' they 



in f. e. ' urg'd : in f. e. * These two -words are not in f. e. 



s Yield. 



SCENE IV. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



209 



Diihe S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and 
under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. 
Enter Hymen, leading Rosalind in woman's clothes; 
and Celia. 
Still Music. 
Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven.^ 
When earthly things made even 

Atone^ together. 
Good duke^ receive thy datighter, 
Hymen from heaven brought her ; 

Yea, brought her hither.^ 
That thou might.^t join her hand with his. 
Whose heart tvithin her bosom is. 
Ros. [To Duke S.]To you I give myself, for I am yours. 
[To Orlando.] To you I give myself, for I am yours. 
Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my 

daughter. 
Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. 
Phe. If sight and shape be true, ' 
Why then, my love adieu ! 

Ros. [To Duke S.] I '11 have no father, if you be 
not he : — 
To Orlando.] I '11 have no husband, if you be not he :^ 
To Phebe.] Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. 
Hym. Peace, ho ! I bar confusion. 
'T is I must make conclusion 

Of these most strange events : 
Here 's eight that must take hands. 
To join in Hymen's bands. 

If truth holds true contents. 
[To Orlando and Rosalind.] You and you 

no cross shall part : 
[To Oliver and Celia.] You and you are 

heart in heart : 
[To Phebe.] You to his love must accord, 
Or have a woman to your lord : 
[To Touchstone and Audrey.] You and you 

are sure together, 
As the winter to foul w^eather. 
Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing. 
Feed yourselves with questioning. 
That reason wonder may diminish, 
How thus we met, and thus we' finish. 

SONfi. 

Wedding is great Juno's crown ; 

O. blessed bond of board and bed ! 
'Tis Hymen peoples every town ; 

High toed lock, then, be honoured : 
Honour, high honour, and renown^ 
To Hymen, god in' every town ! 
Duke S. 0, my dear niece ! welcome thou art to me : 
Even dautihtcr, welcome in no less degree. 

Phe. [To SiLvius.] I will not eat my word, now 
thou art mine ; 



Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. 
Enter Second Brother. 
2 Bro. Let me have audience for a word or two. 
I am the second son of old Sir Rowland. 

That brings these tidings to this fair assembly. 

Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day 
Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 
Address'd a mighty power, which were on foot 
In his own conduct, purposely to take 
His brother here, and put him to the sword. 
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came. 
Where, meeting with an old religious man. 
After some question with him, was converted 
Both from his enterprise, and from the world ; 
His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, 
And all their lands rcstor'd to them again. 
That were with him exil'd. This to be true, 
I do engage my life. 



Dvkc S. 



Welcome, young man. 



Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding : 

To one, his lands withheld ; and to the other, 

A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 

First, in this forest, let us do those ends 

That here were well begun, and well begot : 

And after, every of this happy number. 

That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us, 

Shall .share the good of our returned fortune, 

According to the measure of their 'states. 

Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity. 

And fall into our rustic revelry. — 

Play, music ! and you brides and bridegrooms all. 

With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. 

Jag. Sir, by your patience. — If I heard you rightly, 
The duke hath put on a religious life. 
And throwni into neglect the pompous court ' 

2 Bro. He hath. 

Jag. To him wall I : out of these convertites 
There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. — 
You [To Duke S.] to your former honour I bequeath ; 
Your patience, and your virtue, well deserve it : — 
You [To Orlando.] to a love, that your true faith doth 

merit : — 
You [To Oliver.] to your land, and loA-e, and great 
allies : — 

You [To SiLvius.] to a long and well deserved bed : 

And you [Jo Touchstone.] to wrangling; for thy 

loving voyage 
Is but for two months victuall'd. — So, to your pleasures: 
I am for other than for dancing measures. 

Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. 

Jaq. To see no pastime, I : — what you would have, 
I '11 stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit. 

Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we wall begin these rites, 
As we do trust they '11 end, in true delights. 



EPILOGUE. 



Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the Epi- 
logue ; but it is no more unhandsome, than to see the 
lord the Prologue. If it be true, that good wine 
needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no 
epilogue ; yet to good wine they do use good bushes, 
and good plays prove the better by the help of good 
epilogues. What a case am I in, then, that am neither 
a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with vou in the 



cliarge you, women ! for the love you bear to men, 
to like as much of this play as please you : and I 
charge you, men ! for the love you bear to women, 
(as I perceive by your simpering none of you hates 
them) that between you and the women, the play may 
please. If I were a woman.* I would kiss as many of 
you as had beards that pleased me. complexions that 
liked me, and breaths that I defied not : and. I am 



v.»r If 4- 1 1 -— -•" w."c^.^ ...til >uu 111 iiii; J imcu me, ana oreatns tnat i acnea not: and. l am 

Denall ot a good play? I am not furnished like a beg- sure, as many as have good beards, or eood faces, or 

gar, tneretore to beg will not become me : my way is, sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make 

to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. 1 1 curtsey, bid me farewell. [Exeunt. 

> Harmonize, i these things : in f. e. 3 of : in f. e. * Tieck says, this is an allusion to the practice of women's parts being played by men. 

14 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



A Lord. 

Christophero Sly, a Tinker. Hostess, 



Page, Players, 
vants, 



Huntsmen, and Ser- 



Persons 
in the 
Induc- 
tion. 



Baptista, a rich gentleman of Padua. 
ViNCENTio, an old Gentleman of Pisa. 
LucENTio, Son to Vincentio. 
Petruchio. a Gentleman of Verona. 
Gremio, 



HORTENSIO 



,\ 



Suitors to Bianca. 



Tranio, 

BlONDELLO, 

Grumio, 

Curtis, 

The Pedant. 

Katharina, 

Bianca, 

Widow. 



> Servants to Lucentio. 

> Servants to Petruchio. 



J'aughters to Baptista. 



Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio. 
SCENE, sometimes in Padua; and sometimes in Petruchio's House in the Country, 



INDUCTION. 



SCENE I. — Before an Alehouse on a Heath. 
Enter Hostess and Christophero Sly. 

Sly. I '11 pheese' you, in faith. 

Host. A pair of stoclcs, you rogue ! 

Sly. Y' are a baggage : the Slys are no rogues ; look 
in the chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror. 
Therefore, paucas pallabris ; let the world slide. Sessa!" 

Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst? 

Sly. No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy;-'' go to thy 
cold bed, and warm thee.* 

Host. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the 
headborough.^ [Exit. 

Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I '11 answer 
him by law ; I '11 not budge an inch, boy : let him come, 
and kindly. [Lies down, and falls asleep. 

Wind horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Hunts- 
men and Servants. 

Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my 
hounds : 
Brach' Merriman, — the poor cur is emboss'd,^ 
And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach. 
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good 
At tlie hedge corner, in the coldest fault ? 
I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. 
' 1 Htm. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord ; 
He cried upon it at the merest loss, 
And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent : 
Trust me, I take him for the better dog. 

Lord. Thou art a fool : if Echo were as fleet, 
I would esteem him worth a dozen such. 
But sup them well, and look unto them all : 
To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 

1 Hun. I will, my lord. 

Lord. What 's here? one dead, or drunk? See. doth 
he breathe? 



2 Hun. He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd 

with ale, 
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. 

Lord. 0, monstrous beast ! how like a swine he lies. 
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image ! 
Sirs, [ will practise on this drunken man. 
What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, 
Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, 
A most delicious banquet by his bed, 
And brave attendants near him when he wakes, 
Would not the beggar then forget himself? 

1 Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. 

2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him when he 

wak'd. 
Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless fancy. 
Then take him up, and manage well the jest. 
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber, 
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures ; 
Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters. 
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet : 
Procure me music ready when he wakes. 
To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound ; 
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight, 
And, with a low submissive reverence, 
Say, — what is it your honour will command ? 
Let one attend him with a silver bason, 
Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers j 
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper, 
And say, — will 't please your lordship cool your hands? 
Some one be ready with a costly suit, 
And ask him what apparel he will wear ; 
Another tell him of his hounds and horse, 
And that his lady mourns at his disease. 
Persuade him that he hath been lunatic ; 
Wlien he says what he is,' say that he dreams, 
For he is nothing but a mighty lord. 



1 A common word in the west of England, where it means to chastise, humble.— Giff or d. 2 Cessa, cease. ' f. e. : says Jeronimy. Go, 
by Jeronimy — from Thomas Kyd's Spanish Tragedy, often quoted in derision, and as a cant phrase, by the writers of the day. * This 
is also a quotation from the same play. » Constable ; it is usually altered to thirdborough. 6 a hound. ' Foams at the mouth from 
fatigue. 8 And when he says he is : in f. e. 



INDUCTION. 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



211 



This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs ; 
It will be pastime passing excellent, 
If it be husbanded with modesty. 

1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we will play our part. 
As he shall think, by our true diligence, 

He is no less than what we say he is. 

Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him, 
And each one to his office when lie wakes. — 

[Sly is borne out. A trumpet sounds. 
Sirrah, go see what trumpet 't is that sounds : — 

[Exit Servant. 
Belike, some noble gentleman, that means. 
Travelling some journey, to repose him here. — 

Re-enter Servant. 
How now ? who is 't ?' 

Serv. An 't° please your honour, players 

That offer humble^ service to your lordship. 
Lord. Bid them come near. 

Enter Jive or six Players.* 

Now, fellows, you are welcome. 
Players. We thank your honour. 
Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night ? 

2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty. 
Lord. With all my heart. — This fellow I remember, 

Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son : — 
'T was where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well. 
I have forgot your name ; but, sure, that part 
Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd. 

1 Play. I think, 't was Soto that your honour means. 

Lord. 'T is very true : thou didst it excellent. 
Well, you are come to me in happy time. 
The rather for I have some sport in hand, 
Wherein your cunning can assist me much. 
There is a lord will hear you play to-night ; 
But I am doubtful of your modesties. 
Lest, over-eyeing of his odd behavioiir, 
(For yet his honour never heard a play) 
You break into some merry passion, 
And so offend him ; for I tell you, sirs. 
If you should smile he grows impatient. 

1 Play. Fear not, my lord : we can contain ourselves, 
Were he the veriest antic in the world. 

Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, 
And give them friendly welcome every one : 
Let Ihem want nothing that my house affords. — 

[Exetmt Servant and Players. 
Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew, my page, [To a Servant. 
And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady : 
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber; 
And call hi]n madam, do him obeisance: 
Tell him from me, as he will ^vin my love, 
He bear himself with honourable action. 
Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies 
Unto their lords by them accomplished : 
Such duty to the drunkard let him do, 
With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy; 
And say, — what is 't your honour will command, 
Wherein your lady, and your humble wife 
May show her duty, and make known her love ? 
And then, ■w'ith kind embracements, tempting kisses, 
And with declining head into his bosom, 
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd 
To see her noble lord restor'd to health, 
Who for this seven years hath esteemed him 
No better than a poor and loalhsome beggar. 
And if the boy have not a woman's gift, 
To rain a shower of commanded tears, 
An onion will do well for such a shift, 



Which, in a napkin being close convey'd, 

Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. 

See Ihis despatch'd with all the haste thou canst: 

Anon I '11 give thee more instructions. [Exit Servant. 

I know, the boy will well usurp the grace. 

Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman : 

I long to Jiear him call the drunkard husband. 

And how my men will stay themselves from laughter, 

When they do homage to this simple peasant. 

I'll in to counsel them : haply, my presence 

May well abate their over-merry spleen. 

Which otherwise w"ould grow into extremes. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Bedchamber in the Lord's Hoiise. 
Sly is discovered, with Attendants ; some with apparel, 
others tvith bason, ewer, and appurtenances. Enter 
Lord, dressed like a Servant. 
Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 

1 Serv. Will 't please your loi'dship drink a cup of 

sack ? 

2 Serv. Will 't please your honour taste of these 

conserves ? 

3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to-day ? 
Sly. I am Christophero Sly ; call not me honour, 

nor lordship : I ne'er drank sack in my life; and if you 
give me any conserves, give me conserves of beef. 
Ne'er ask me what raiment I '11 wear, for I have no 
more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, 
nor no more shoes than feet : nay, sometime, more feet 
than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the 
overleather. [honour ! 

Lord. Heaven cease this eviP humour in your 
! that a mighty man, of such descent, 
Of such possessions, and so high esteem, 
Should be infused with so foul a spirit ! 

Sly. What ! would you make me mad ? Am not I 
Christophero Sly, old Sly's son, of Burton-heath;* by 
birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by trans- 
mutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a 
tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat alewife of Win- 
cot^, if she know me not : if she say I am not fourteen 
pence on the score for Warwickshire' ale, score me up 
for the lying'st knave in Christendom. What ! I am 
not bestraught'. Here 's — 

1 Serv. ! this it is that makes your lady mourn. 

3 Serv. O ! this it is that makes your servants droop. 

Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your 
house. 
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. 
O, noble lord ! bethink thee of thy birth ; 
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, 
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams. 
Look how thy servants do attend on thee. 
Each in his office ready at thy beck : 
Wilt thou haA-^e music? hark ! Apollo plays, [Music. 
And twenty caged nightingales do sing : 
Or wilt thou sleep ? we' 11 have thee to a couch, 
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed 
On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. 
Say thou wilt walk, we will bestrew the ground : 
Or wilt thou ride, thy horses shall be trapp'd, 
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. 
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar 
Above the morning lark: or wilt thou hunt? 
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them. 
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 

1 Serv. Say thou wilt course, thy greyhounds are 
as swift 



1 is it : in f. e. = An it : in f. e. 3 Not in f. e. ♦ Enter Players : in f. e. ' idle 
wickshire, is supposed to be alluded to. ' A place about four miles from Stratford. 



in f. e. 
" sheer 



6 Barton-on-ftiP-Heath, a village in War- 
in f. e. ' Distraught, distracted. 



212 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



ACT I. 



As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 

2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee 

straight 
Adonis painted by a running brook, 
And Cytherea all in hedges hid. 
Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, 
Even as the waving sedges play with wind. 

Lord. We '11 show thee lo as she was a maid, 
And how she was beguiled and surpris'd. 
As lively painted as the deed was done. 

3 Serv. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, 
Scratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds ; 
And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, 

So workma)ily the blood and tears are drawn. 

Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord : 
Thou hast a lady, far more beautiful 
Than any woman in this waning age. 

1 Serv. And. till the tears that she hath shed for thee, 
Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face, 

She was the fairest creature in the world ; 
And yet she is inferior to none. 

Sly. Am I a lord ? and have I such a lady ? 
Or do I dream ? or have I dream'd till now ? 
I do not sleep : I see, I hear, I speak : 
T smell .sweet savours, and I feel soft things. — 
Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed, 
And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly. — 
Well, bring the lady hither to our sight : 
And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. 

2 Serv. Will 't please your mightiness to wash your 

hands ? 

[Servants pre.^ent an ewer, bason, and napkin. 
0, how we joy to see your wits restor'd ! 
0, that once more, you knew but what you are ! 
These fifteen years yovi have been in a dream. 
Or, when yoii wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. 

Sly. These fifteen years ! by my fay, a goodly nap. 
But did I never speak of all that time ? 

1 Serv. O ! yes, my lord, but very idle words ; 
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, 
Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door, 
And rail upon the hostess of the house, 
And say you would present her at the leet,* 
Because she brought stone jvigs. and not seal'd' quarts. 
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Racket. 

Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the hoiTse. [maid. 

3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such 
Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up. 

As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, 
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell, 
And twenty more such names and men as these, 
Which never were, nor no man ever saw. 



Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends ! 

All. Amen. 

Sly. I thank thee ; thou shalt not lose by it. 

Enter the Page, as a Lady, with Attendants. 

Page. How fares my noble lord ? 

Sly. Marry, I fare well ; for here is cheer enough. 
Where is my wife ? 

Page. Here, noble lord : what is thy will with her ? 

Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me husband "^ 
My men should call me lord : I am your good-man. 

Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and hus- 
band ; 
I am your wife in all obedience. 

Sly. I know it well. — What must I call her? 

Lord. Madam. 

Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam ? 

Lord. Madam, and nothing else : so lords cjtll ladies. 

Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd, 
And slept about' some fifteen year and more. 

Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me, 
Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. 

Sly. 'T is much. — Servants, leave me and her alone. — 
Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. 

Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you 
To pardon me yet for a night or two ; 
Or if not so, until the sun be set, 
For your physicians have expressly charg'd. 
In peri] to incur your former malady. 
That I should yet absent me from your bed. 
I hope this reason stands for my excuse. 

Sly. Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly tarry so 
long ; but I would be loath to fall into my dreams again : 
I will therefore tarry, in despite of the flesh and the 
blood. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Your honour's players, hearing your amend- 
ment. 
Are come to play a pleasant comedy ; 
For so your doctors hold it very meet. 
Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood, 
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy : 
Therefore, they thought it good you hear a play, 
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, 
Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life. 

Sly. Marry, I will ; let them play it. Is not a com- 
monty a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling-trick ? 

Page. No. my good lord : it is more pleasing stuff. 

Sly. What, household stuff"? 

Page. It is a kind of history. 

Sly. Well, we '11 see 't. Come, madam wife, sit by 
my side, 
We shall ne'er be younger, and let the world slide.* 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— Padua. A Public Place. 
Enter Lucentio and Tranio, 
Luc. Tranio, since, for the great desire I had 
To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, 
I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy, 
The pleasant garden of great Italy ; 
And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd 
With his good will, and thy good company, 
My trusty servant, well approv'd in all. 
Here let us breathe, and haply institute 

1 Court leet. » Sealed or stamped aa full quart measure. ' above : 



A course of learning, and ingenious studies. 

Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. 

Gave me my being ; and my father, first 

A merchant of great traflic through the world, 

Vincentio, comes of the Bentivolii. 

Vincentio's son, brought up in Florence, 

It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd. 

To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds : 

And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study 

Virtue, and that part of philosophy 

Will I apply, that treats of happiness 

in f. e. * And let the ■world slip : we shall ne'er be younger : in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



213 



By virtue specially to be achiev'd. 
Tell me thy mind ; for I have Pisa left 
And am to Padua come, as he that leaves 
A shallow plash, to plunge him in the deep, 
And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. 

Tra. Mi perdonate^ gentle master mine, 
I am in all affected as yourself, 
Glad that you thus continue your resolve. 
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy ■ 
Only, good master, while we do admire 
This virtue, and this moral discipline, 
Let 's be no stoics, nor no stocks, I pray; 
Or so devote to Aristotle's Ethics,' 
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd. 
Talk logic with acquaintance that you have. 
And practise rhetoric in your common talk : 
Music and poesy used to quicken you : 
The mathematics, and the metaphysics. 
Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you. 
No profit grows, where is no pleasure ta'en : — 
In brief, sir, .study what you most affect. 

Luc. Graraercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. 
If, Biondello now were* come ashore. 
We could at once put us in readiness, 
And take a lodging fit to entertain 
Such friends as time in Padua shall beget. 
But stay awhile ; what company is this ? 

Tra. Master, some show to welcome us to toAvn. 

[They stand back.^ 

Enter Baptista, Katharina, Bianca, Gremio, and 

HORTKNSIO. 

Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no farther. 
For how I firmly am rcsolv'd you know ; 
That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter, 
Before I have a husband for the elder. 
If either of you both love Katharina, 
Because I know you well, and love you well, 
Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. 

Gre. To cart her rather : she 's too rough for me. — 
There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife ? 

Kath. [To Bap.] I pray you, sir, is it your gracious* 
will 
To make a stale of me amongst these mates ? 

Hor. Mates, maid ! how mean you that ? no mates 
for you. 
Unless you were of gentler, milder mood.* 

Kath. V faith, sir, you shall never need to fear : 
I wis, it is not half way to her heart ; 
But, if it were, doubt not her care should be 
To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool. 
And paint your face, and use you like a fool. 

Hor. From all such devils, good Lord, deliver us ! 

Gre. And me too, good Lord ! 

Tra. Hush, master ! here is some good pastime 
toward : 
That wench is stark mad, or wonderful froward. 

Luc. But in the other's silence do I see 
Maids' mild behaviour, and sobriety. 
Peace, Tranio. 

Tra. Well said, master : mum ! and gaze your fill. 

Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good 
What I have said, — Bianca, get you in : 
And let it not displease thee, good Bianca, 
For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl. 

Kath. A pretty peat !' it is best 
Put finger in the eye, — an she knew why. 

Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent. — 
Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe : 



My books, and instruments, shall be my company, 
On them to look, and practise by myself. 

Luc. Hark. Tranio ! thou may'st hear Minerva speak. 
Hor. Siguier Baptista, will you be so strange? 
Sorry am I, that our good will effects 
Bianca' s grief. 

Gre. Why, will you mew her up, 

Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell. 
And make her bear the penance of her tongue ? 

Bap. Gentlemen, content ye ; I am rcsolv'd. — . 
Go in, Bianca. — {Exit Bianca. 

And for I know, she taketh most delight 
In music, instruments, and poetry. 
Schoolmasters will I keep within my house, 
Fit to instruct her youth. — If you, Hortensio, 
Or signior Gremio, you, know any such. 
Prefer them hither ; for to cunning men 
I will be very kind, and liberal 
To mine own children in good bringing-up ; 
And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay. 
For I have more to conunune with Bianca. \Exit. 

Kath. Why, and I trust, I may go too; may I not? 
What ! shall I be appointed hours, as though, belike, 
I laiew not what to take, and what to leave ? Ha ! [Exit. 

Gre. You may go to the devil's dam : your gifts are 
so good, here 's none will hold you. This' love is not 
so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails toge- 
ther, and fast it fairly out : our cake 's dough on both 
sides. Farewell : — yet, for the love I bear my sweet 
Bianca. if I can by any means light on a fit man to 
teach her that wherein she delights, I will wish** him 
to her father. 

Hor. So will I, signior Gremio : but a word, I pray. 
Though the nature of our quarrel yet never brook'd 
parle, know now upon advice, it toucheth us both, that 
we may yet again have access to our fair mistress, and 
be happy rivals in Bianca's love, to labor and effect 
one thing 'specially. 

Gre. What 's that, I pray ? 

Hor. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. 

Gre. A husband ! a devil. 

Hor. I say, a husband. 

Gre. I say, a devil. Think'st thou, Hortensio, 
though her father be very rich, any man is so very a 
fool to be married to hell ? 

Hor. Tush, Gremio ! though it pass your patience, 
and mine, to endure her loud alarums, why, man, there 
be good fellows in the world, an a man could light on 
them, would take her with all faults, and money enough. 

Gre. I cannot tell, but I had as lief take her dowry 
with this condition, — to be whipped at the high-cross 
every morning. 

Hor. 'Faith, as you say, there 's small choice in rotten 
apples. But, come ; since this bar in law makes us 
friends, it shall be so far forth friendly maintained, 
till by helping Baptista's eldest daughter to a husband, 
we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have 
to 't afresh. Sweet Bianca ! — Happy man be his dole !' 
He that runs fastest gets the ring. How say you, sig- 
nior Gremio ? 

Gre. I am agreed : and 'would I had given him the 
best horse in Padua to begin liis wooing, that would 
thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and rid the 
house of her. Come on. 

Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio. 

Tra. [advancing^ I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible 
That love sliould'of a sudden take such hold ? 

Luc. O, Tranio ! till I found it to be true. 



' checks : in f. e. Blackstone alsii siipgested the change, 
iu f. e. ^ Pet. ^ Their : in f. e. « Commend. » iot. 



2 thou wert : in f. e. 3 aside : in f. e. ♦ This word is not in f. e. * mould ; 



214 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



ACT I. 



I never thought it possible, or likely. 
But see ! while idly I stood looking on, 
I found the effect of love in idleness ; 
And now in plainness do confess to thee, 
Tliat art to me as secret, and as dear, 
As Anna to the Queen of Carthage was, 
Tranio, I bum, I pine ; I perish, Tranio, 
If I achieve not this young modest girl. 
Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst : 
Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. 

Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now ; ' 
Affection is not rated from the heart : 
If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, — 
Redime te captum^ quam quea.s minimo} 

Luc. Gramercies, lad; go forward: this contents; 
The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. 

Tra. Mtuster, you look'd so longly on the maid. 
Perhaps you inark'd not what 's the pith of all. 

Luc. ! yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face. 
Such as the daughter of Agenor's race,^ 
That made great Jove to humble him to her hand. 
When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. 

Tra. Saw you no more ? mark'd you not, how her 
sister 
Began to scold, and raise up such a storm. 
That mortal ears might scarce endure the din? 

Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move. 
And with lier breath she did perfume the air : 
Sacred, and sweet, was all I saw in her. 

Tra. Nay, then, 't is time to stir him from his trance. — 
I pray, awake, sir : if you love the maid. 
Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands : 
Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd. 
That, till the father rid his hands of her, 
Master, your love must live a maid at home ; 
And therefore has he closely mcw'd her up. 
Because slic will not be annoy'd with suitors. 

Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father 's he ! 
But art thou not advis'd, he took some care 
To get her cunning masters to instruct her ? 

Tra. Ay, marry am I, sir ; and now 't is plotted. 

Luc. I liave it, Tranio. 

Tra. Master, for my hand. 

Both our inventions meet and jump in one. 

Luc. Tell mc thine first. 

Tra. You will be schoolmaster. 

And undertake the teaching of the maid : 
That 's youi device. 

Luc. It is : may it be done ? 

Tra. JNfot possible; for who shall bear your part, 
Aud be in Padua, here, Vincentio's son ; 
Keep house, and ply his book ; welcome his friends : 
Visit his countrymen, and banquet them ? 

Luc. Basta; content thee ; for I have it full. 
Wo have not yet been seen in any house. 
Nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces, 
For man, or master : then, it follows thus ; 
Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, 
Kecj) house, and port, and servants, as I should. 
I will some other be : some Florentine, 
Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. 
'T is hatch'd, and shall be so : — Tranio, at once 
Uncase thee ; take my colour'd hat and cloak : 
When Biondello comes, he waits on thee, 
But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. 

Tra. So had you need. [They exchange habits. 

Be brief, then, sir,^ sith it your pleasure is. 
And I am tied to be obedient ; 
(For so your father charg'd me at our parting ; 

1 Quoted as it stands in Lily's Grammar, and not as in Terence. 



" Be serviceable to my son," quoth he, 
Although, I think, 't was in another sense,) 
I am content to be Lucentio. 
Because so well I love Lucentio. 

Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves, 
And let me be a slave, t' achieve that maid 
Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wond'ring* eye. 

Enter Biondello. 
Here comes the rogue. — Sirrah, where have you been ? 

Bion. Where have I been? Nay, how now? where 
are you ? 
Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes. 
Or you stol'n liis, or both ? pray, what 's the news ? 

Luc. Sirrah, come hither : 't is no time to jest, 
And therefore frame your manners to the time. 
Your fellow Tranio, here, to save my life, 
Puts my apparel and my countenance on, ' 
And I for my escape have put on his ; 
For in a quarrel, since I came ashore, 
I kill'd a man. and fear I was descried. 
Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes. 
While I make way from hence to save my life. 
You understand me ? 

Bion. I, sir ? ne'er a whit. 

Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth : 
Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. 

Bio7i. The better for him ; 'would I were so too ! 

Tra. So would I, faith, boy, to have the next wish 
after. 
That Lucentio, indeed, had Baptista's youngest daugh- 
ter. 
But, sirrah, not for my sake, but your master's, I advise 
You use your manners discreetly in all kind of com- 
panies : 
When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio ; 
But in all places else, your master, Lucentio. 

Luc. Tranio, let 's go. — 
One thing more rests, that thyself execute ; 
To make one among these wooers : if thou ask me why, 
Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty. 

[Exeunt. 

1 Serv. My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play. 

Sly. Yes, by saint Anne, do I. A good matter, 
surely : comes there any more of it ? 

Page. My lord, 't is but begun. 

Sly. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam 
lady : would 't were done ! 

SCENE II. — The Same. Before Hortensio's House. 
Enter Petruchio and Grumio. 

Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave. 
To see my friends in Padua ; but, of all, 
My best beloved and approved friend, 
Hortensio : and. I trow, this is his house. — 
Here, sirrah Grumio ! knock, I say. 

Grti,. Knock, sir ! whom should I knock ? is there 
any man has rebused your worship ? 

Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. 

Gru. Knock you here, sir? why, sir, what am I, sir, 
that I should knock you here, sir ? 

Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate ; 
And rap me well, or I '11 knock your knave's pate. 

Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome. — I should 
knock you first. 
And then I know after who comes by the worst. 

Pet. Will it not be ? 
'Faith, sirrah, an you '11 not knock, I '11 wring it : 

1 '11 try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. 

[He wrings Grumio by the ears. 

2 Agenor had : in f. e. ^ in brief, sir : in f. e. * wounded : in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



215 



Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is mad. 

Pet. Now, knock when I bid you : sirrah ! villain ! 

[Grumio /a/Zs down. 
Enter Hortensio. 

Hor. How now ! what 's the matter? — My old friend 
Grumio, and my good friend Petruchio ! — How do you 
all at Verona ? 

Pet. Sij^nior Hortensio. come you to part the fray? 
Con tiitto il core ben trovato., may I say. 

Hor. Alia no.-^tra casa ben venuto, molto honorato 
aignior mio Petruchio. 
Rise, Grumio, rise : we will compound this quarrel. 

Gru. {Rising.^\ Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 
'leges in Latin. — If this be not a lawful cause for me 
to leave liis service. — Look you, sir — he bid me knock 
him, and rap him. soundly, sir : 
Well, was it fit for a servant to use his master so ; 
Being, perhaps, (for aught I see) two and thirty, — a 

pip mo ?^ 
Whom, 'would to God, I had well knock'd at first, 
Then had not Grumio come by the worst. 

Pet. A senseless villain ! — Good Hortensio, 
I bade the rascal knock upon your gate. 
And could not get him for my heart to do it. 

Gru. Knock at the gate ? — heavens ! Spake you 
not these words plain. — " Sirrah, knock me here ; rap 
me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly?" 
And come you now with knocking at the gate ? 

Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. 

Hor. Petruchio, patience : I am Grumio's pledge. 
Why this ? a heavy chance 'twixt him and you ; 
Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. 
And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale 
Blows you to Padua, here, from old Verona? 

Pet. Such wind as scatters young men through the 
world. 
To seek their fortunes farther than at home, 
Where small experience grows. But in a few, 
Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me : 
Antonio, my father, is deceas'd. 
And I liave thrust myself into this maze, 
Haply to wive, and thrive, as best I may. 
Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home. 
And so am come abroad to see the world. 

Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee, 
And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife ? 
Thou 'dst thank me but a little for my counsel ; 
And yet I '11 promise thee she shall be rich. 
And very rich : — ^but thou 'rt too much my friend, 
And I '11 not wish thee to her. 

Pet. Signior Hortensio, 't^^^xt such friends as we 
Few words suffice ; and therefore, if thou know 
One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, 
(As wealth is burthen of my wooing dance) 
Be she as foul as was Florentius' love,' 
As old as Sybil, and as curst and shrewd 
As Socrates' Xantippe, or even worse. 
She moves me not, or not removes, at least, 
Affection's edge in me. Were she as rough 
As are the swelling Adriatic seas. 
I come to wive it wealthily in Padua j 
If wealthily, then happily in Padua. 

Gj-m. Nay. look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his 
mind is : why, give him gold enough and marry hiin 
to a puppet, or an aglet-baby* ; or an old trot with ne'er 
a tooth in lier head, though she have as many diseases 
as two and fifty horses. Why, nothing conies amiss, 
so money comes withaL 



Hor. Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus far in, 
I will continue that I broaeh'd in jest. 
I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife 
With wealth enough, and young, and beauteous ; 
Brought up, as best becomes a gentlewoman : 
Her only fault, and that is faults enough, 
Is, that she is intolerably curst, 
And shrewd, and froward ; so beyond all measure. 
That, were my state far worser than it is, 
I would not wed her for a mine of gold. 



Pet. Hortensio, peace ! thou know'st not 



gold's 



effect. — 

Tell me her father's name, and "t is enough. 
For I will board her, though she chide as loud 
As thunder, when the clouds in Autumn crack. 

Hor. Her father is Baptista Minola, 
An affable and courteous gentleman : 
Her name is Katharina Minola, 
Pbcnown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. 

Pet. I know her father, though I know not her, 
And he knew my deceased father well. 
I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her ; 
And therefore let me be thus bold with you, 
To give you over at this first encounter. 
Unless you will accompany me thither. 

Gru. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour 
lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I do, 
slie would think scolding would do little good upon 
him. She may, perhaps, call him half a score knaves 
or so : why, that 's nothing : an he begin once, he '11 
rail in his rope-tricks. I '11 tell you what, sir, — an she 
stand him but a little, he will throw a figure in her 
face, and so disfigure her with it, that she shall have 
no more eyes to see withal than a cat. You know 
him not, sir. 

Hor. Tarry, Petruchio. I mu.st go with thee, 
For in Baptista's keep my treasure is : 
He hath the jewel of my life in hold, 
His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca, 
And her withholds from me, and other more 
Suitors to her, and rivals in my love ; 
Supposing it a thing impossible, 
For those defects I have before rehears'd, 
That ever Katharina will be woo'd : 
Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en. 
That none shall have access vmto Bianca, 
Till Katharine the cur.st have got a husband. 

Gru. Katharine the curst ! 
A title for a maid of all titles the worst. 

Hor. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace, 
And offer me, disguis'd in sober robes, 
To old Baptista. as a schoolmaster 
Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca; 
That so I may by this device, at least 
Have leave and leisure to make love to her. 
And unsuspected court her by herself. 

Enter Gremio, and Lucentio disguised, with books 
under his arm. 

Gru. Here 's no knavery ? See, to beguile the old 
folksj how tlie young folks lay their heads together ! 
Master, master, look about you : who goes there ? ha ! 

Hor. Peace, Grumio : 't is the rival of my love. 
Petruchio, stand by a while. 

Gru. A proper stripling, and an amorous ! 

[They retire. 

Gre. ! very well ; I have perus'd the note. 
Hark you, sir; I '11 have them very fairly boimd : 
All books of love, see that at any hand, 



» Not in f. e. = out : in f. e. ' The story is in Gower's Coufessio Amantis. 
was often shaped like a human form. 



* An ag'et was a point or tag to the string of a dress, and 



216 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



ACT I. 



And see you read no other lectures to lier. 

Yon understand me. — Over and beside 

Signior Baptista's liberality, 

I 'II mend it with a largess. — Take your papers, too, 

And let me have them very w^ell perfum'd, 

For she is sweeter than perfume itself, 

To whom they go.^ What will you read to her ? 

Luc. Whate'er I read to her, I '11 plead for you, 
As for my patron ; stand you so assur'd. 
As firmly as yourself were still in place : 
Yea, and perhaps with more successful words 
Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. 

Gre. 0, this learning, what a thing it is ! 

Gru. 0, this woodcock, what an ass it is ! 

Pet.. Peace, sirrah ! 

Hor. Grumio, mum! — [Coming forward.] — God 
save you, signior Gremio ! 

Gre. And you are well met, signior Hortensio. 
Trow you, whither I am going ? — To Baptista Minola. 
I promis'd to inquire carefully 
About a master for the fair Bianca : 
And; by good fortune, I have lighted well 
On this young man ; for learning and behaviour, 
Fit for her turn ; well read in poetry. 
And other books, — good ones, I warrant ye. 

Hor. 'T is well : and I have met a gentleman 
Hath promis'd me to help me to another, 
A fine musician to instruct our mistress : 
So shall I no whit be behind in duty 
To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me. 

Gre. Belov'd of me, and that my deeds shall prove. 

Gru. And that his bags shall prove. 

Hor. Gremio, 't is now no time to vent our love. 
Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, 
I '11 tell you news indifferent good for either. 
Here is a gentleman, whom by chance I met. 
Upon agreement from us to his liking, 
Will undertake to woo curst Katharine ; 
Yea, and to marry her, if her dowi-y please. 

Gre. So said, so done, is well. — 
Hortensio, have you told him all her faults ? 

Pet. I know, she is an irksome, brawling scold : 
If that be all. masters, I hear no harm. 

Gre. No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman? 

Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son : 
My father dead, my fortune lives for me ; 
And I do hope good days, and long, to see. 

Gre. ! sir, such a life with such a wife were strange ; 
But if you have a stomach, to 't o' God's name : 
You shall have me assi.sting you in all. 
But will you woo this wild cat ? 

Pet. Will I live? 

Gru. Will he woo her ? ay, or I '11 hang her. 

Pet. Why came I hither, but to that intent ? 
Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears ? 
Have I not in my time heard lions roar ? 
Have I not heard the sea, puff 'd up with winds. 
Rage like an angry boar, chafed with sweat ? 
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, 
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? 
Have I not in a pitched battle heard 
Loud 'laruins, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang? 
And do you tell me of a M^oman's tongue. 
That gives not half so great a blow to hear, 
As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire ? 
Tush ! tush ! fear boys with bugs*. 

^^- For he fears none. 

Gre. Hortensio, hark. 
This gentleman is happily arriv'd, 
I go to ; in folio. 



My mind presumes, for his own good, and oiu-s^. 

Hor. I promis'd we would be contributors, 
And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. 

Gre. And so we will, provided that he win her. 

Gru. I would, I were as sure of a good dinner. 

Enter Tranio, bravely apparelled ; and Biondello. 

Tra. Gentlemen, God save you ! If I may be bold, 
Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way 
To the house of signior Baptista Minola ? 

Bion. He that has the two fair daughters : — is 't he 
you mean ? 

Tra. Even he, Biondello. 

Gre. Hark you, sir : you mean not her to — 

Tra. Perhaps, him and her, sir : what have you 
to do? 

Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. 

Tra. I love no chiders, sir. — Biondello, let 's' away. 

Luc. Well begun, Tranio. [Aside. 

Hor. Sir, a word ere you go. 
Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea, or no ? 

Tra. An if I be, sir, is it any offence ? 

Gre. No; if without more words you will get you 
hence. 

Tra. Why, sir. I pray, are not the streets as free 
For me, as for you ? 

Gre. But so is not she. 

Tra. For what reason, I beseech you ? 

Gre. For this reason, if you '11 know. 
That she 's the choice love of signior Gremio. 

Hor. That she 's the chosen of signior Hortensio. 

Tra. Softly, my masters ! if you be gentlemen, 
Do me this right ; hear me with patience. 
Baptista is a noble gentleman. 
To whom my father is not all unknown ; 
And were his daughter fairer than she is. 
She may more suitors have, and me for one. 
Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers ; 
Then, well one more may fair Bianca have. 
And so she shall. Lucentio shall make one. 
Though Paris came in hope to speed alone. 

Gre. What ! this gentleman will out-talk us all. 

Luc. Sir, give him head : I know, he '11 prove a 
jade. 

Pet. Hortensio, to what end are all these words? 

Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you. 
Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter? 

Tra. No, sir ; but hear I do. that he hath two, 
The one as famous for a scolding tongue, 
As is the other for beauteous modesty. 

Pet. Sir, sir, the first 's for me ; let her go by. 

Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules, 
And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. 

Pet. Sir, understand you this of me : insooth. 
The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for. 
Her father keeps from all access of suitors. 
And will not promise her to any man. 
Until the elder sister first be wed ; 
The younger then is free, and not before. 

Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man 
Must stead us all, and me among the rest ; 
And if you break the ice, and do this feat*, 
Achieve the elder, set the younger free 
For our access, wliose hap shall be to have her 
Will not so graceless be to be ingrate. 

Hor. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive ; 
And since you do profess to be a suitor. 
You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman. 
To whom we all rest generally beholding. 



Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack : 



' This word was formerly synonymous wilh terrors, like our bug-bears. ^ yours : in f. e 



in sign whereof, 
^ seek : in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



217 



Please ye we may contrive' this afternoon, 
And quaff carouses to our mistress' health : 
Anil do as adversaries do in law, 
Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. 



Gru. Bion. 0, excellent motion ! Fellows, let 's 

begone. 
Hor. The motion 's good indeed, and be it so. — 
Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. [Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — The Same. A Room in Baptista's House. 
Enter Katharina and Bianca. 

Bian. Good si.ster, wrong me not. nor wrong yourself 
To make a bondmaid, and a slave of me : 
That I disdain ; but for these other gards*, 
Unbind my hands, I '11 put them off myself, 
Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat ; 
Or what you will command me will I do. 
So well I know my duty to my elders. 

Kath. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell 
Whom thou lov'st best : see thou dissemble not. 

Bian. Believe ine, sister, of all the men alive, 
T never yet beheld tliat special face 
Which I could fancy more than any other. 

Kath. Minion, thou liest. Is 't not Hortensio ? 

Bian. If you affect him, sister, here I swear, 
I '11 plead for you myself, but you shall have him. 

Kath. ! then, belike, you fancy riches more : 
You will have Greraio to keep you fair. 

Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so ? 
Nay tlien. you jest : and now I well perceive. 
You have but jested with me all this while. 
I pr'ythee, sister Kate, untie my hands. [her. 

Kath. If that be jest, then all the rest was so. [Strikes 
Enter Baptista. 

Bap. Why, how now, dame ! whence grows this in- 
solence ? — 
Bianca, stand aside : — ^poor girl ! she weeps. — 
Go ply thy needle ; meddle not with her. — 
For shame, thou hilding* of a devilish spirit. 
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee ? 
When did she cross thee with a bitter word ? 

Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I '11 be reveng'd. 

[Flies after Bianca. 

Bap. [Holding /tc/-.*] What ! in my sight ? — Bianca, 
get thee in. [Exit Bianca. 

Kath. What ! will you not suffer me ? Nay, now I see, 
She is your treasure, she must have a husband ; 
I must dance barefoot on her wedding-day. 
And for your love to her lead apes in hell. 
Talk not to me :' I will go sit and weep, 
Till I can find occasion of revenge. [Exit Katharina. 

Bap. Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I ? 
But wlio comes here ? 

Enter Gremio. with Lucentio in a mean habit ; Petru- 
chio, icilh Hortensio as a Musician; aiul Tranio, 

with Biondello bearing a lute and books. 

Gre. Good-morrow, neighbour Baptista. 

Bap. Good-morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save 
you, gentlemen ! 

Pet. And you, good sir. Pray, have you not a daughter, 
Oall'd Kiitharina, fair, and virtuous? 

Bap. I have a daughter, sir, calTd Katharina. 

Gre. You are too blunt : go to it orderly. 

Pet. You wrong me, signior Gremio : give me leave. — 
I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, 
That, hearing of her beauty, and her wit, 
Her affability, and bashful modesty, 



Her woman's'^ qualities, and mild behaviour. 
Am bold to show myself a forward guest 
Within your house, to make mine eye the witness 
Of that report which I so oft have heard. 
And, for an entrance to my entertainment, 
I do present you with a man of mine, 

[Presenting Hortensio. 
Cunning in music, and the mathematics, 
To instruct her fully in those sciences, 
Whereof, I know, she is not ignorant. 
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong : 
His name is Licio, born in Mantua. 

Bap. You 're welcome, sir, and he, for your good sake. 
But for my daughter Katharine, this I know. 
She is not for your turn ; the more my grief. 

Pet. I see, you do not mean to part with her. 
Or else you like not of my company. 

Bap. Mistake me not ; I speak but as I find. 
Whence are you, sir ? what may I call your name? 

Pet. Petruchio is my name, Antonio's son ; 
A man well known throughout all Italy. 

Bap. I know him well ; you are welcome for his sake. 

Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, 
Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too. 
Backare' : you are marvellous forward. 

Pet. ! pardon me, signior Gremio : I would fain 
be doing. 

Gre. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your 
wooing. — 
Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. 
To express the like kindness myself, that have been 
more kindly beholding to you than any, I freely give 
unto you this young scholar, [Presenting Lucentio] 
that hath been long studying at Fiheinis ; as cunning 
in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in 
music and mathematics. His name is Cambio; pray 
accept his service. 

Bap. A thousand thanks, signior Gremio : welcome, 
good Cambio. — But, gentle sir, [To Tranio,] mcthinks, 
you walk like a stranger : may I be so bold to know 
the cause of your coming ? 

Tra. Pardon nie, sir, the boldness is mine own, 
That, being a stranger in this city here. 
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, 
Unto Bianca, fair, and virtuous. 
Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me, 
In the preferment of the eldest sister. 
This liberty is all that I request, — 
That, upon knowledge of my parentage, 
I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo, 
And free access and favour as the rest : 
And, toward the education of your daugliters, 
I here bestow a simple instrument, 
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books ; 
If you accept them, then their worth is great. 

Bap. Lucentio is your name ? of whence, I pray' 

Tra. Of Pisa, sir ; son to Vincentio. 

Bap. A mighty man of Pisa : by report 
I know him well. You are very welcome, sir. — 



• The Latin eontero, pass or spend, 
means stand back. 



' goods : ill f. e. ' Low wretch. * Not in f. e. * wondrous : in f. e. « A word often used; it 



218 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



AOT n. 



Take you [To Hor.] the lute, and you [To Luc] the 

set of books ; 
You shall go see your pupils presently^ 
Holla, within ! 

Enter a Servant. 
Sirrah, lead these gentlemen 
To my daughters ; and tell them hoth, 
These are their tutors : bid them use them well. 

[Exit Servant, with Hortensio, Lucentio, 
and BiONDELLO. 
We will go walk a little in the orchard, 
And then to dinner. You are passing welcome. 
And so I pray you all to think yourselves. 

Pet. Siguier Baptista, my business asketh haste, 
And every day I cannot come to woo^ 
You knew my father well, and in him, me, 
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods. 
Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd : 
Then, tell me, — if I get your daughter's love, 
What dowry shall I have with her to wife? 

Bap. After my death, the one half of my lands, 
And in possef-sion twenty thousand crowns. 

Pet. And, for that dowry, I '11 assure her of 
Her widowhood, be it that she survive me, 
In all iny lands and leases whatsoever. 
Let specialities be therefore drawn between us, 
That covenants may be kept on either hand. 

Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, 
That is. her love ; for that is all in all. 

Pet. Why, that is nothing ; for I tell you, father, 
I am as peremptory, as she proud-minded ; 
And where two raging fires meet together, 
They do consume the tiling that feeds their fury. 
Though little fire grows great witli little wind. 
Yet extreme gu.sts will blow out fire and all ; 
So I to her, and so she yields to me. 
For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. 

Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy speed ! 
But be thou arm'd for some unliappy words. 

Pet. Ay, to tlie proof ; as mountains are for winds. 
That shake not, though they blow perpetually. 
Re-enter Hortensio, with his head broken. 
Ba.p. How now, my friend ! why dost thou look so pale ? 
Hor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. 
Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good musician ? 
Hor. I think, she '11 sooner prove a soldier : 
Iron may hold wdth her, but never lutes. 

Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute ? 
Hor. Why no, for she hath broke the lute to me. 
I did but tell her she mistook her frets. 
And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering. 
When, with a most impatient, devilish spirit, [them :" 
" Frets, call you these ?" quoth she : " I '11 fume with 
And with that word she struck me on the head. 
And through the instrument my pate made way ; 
And there I stood amazed for a while. 
As on a pillory looking through the lute, 
Wliile she did call me rascal fiddler. 
And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms. 
As she had studied to misuse me so. 

Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench ! 
I love her ten times more than e'er I did : 
0, how I long to have some chat with her ! 

Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited : 
Proceed in patience with my younger daughter ; 
She 's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. — 
Siguier Petruchio, will you go with us, 
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you ? 
Pet. I pray you do ; I will attend her here, 



[Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, and Hortensio. 

And woo her with some spirit when she comes. 

Say, that she rail ; why, then I '11 tell her plain, 

She sings as sweetly as a nightingale : 

Say, that she frown ; I '11 say, she looks as clear 

As morning roses newly wa.sh'd with dew : 

Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word ; 

Then I '11 cominend her volubility, 

And say, she uttereth piercing eloquence : 

If she do bid me pack, I '11 give her thanks, 

As though she bid me stay by her a week : 

If she deny to wed, I '11 crave the day 

When I shall ask the banns, and when be married. — 

But here she comes ; and now, Petruchio, speak. 

Enter Katharina. 
Good-morrow, Kate, for that 's your name, I hear. 

Kath. Well have you heard, but somethiifg hard of 
hearing : 
They call me Katharine that do talk of me. 

Pet. You lie, in faith : for you are call'd plain Kate, 
And bomiy Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst ; 
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom ; 
Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate. 
For dainties are all cates : and therefore, Kate, 
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation : — 
Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town. 
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, 
Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, 
Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. 

Kath. Mov'd ! in good time : let him that mov'd 
you hither, 
Bemove you hence. I knew you at the first. 
You were a moveable. 

Pet. Why, what 's a moveable ? 

Kath. A joint-stool. 

Pet. Thou hast hit it 

Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. 

Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you. 

Kath. No such jade to bear you,' if me you mean. 

Pet. Alas, good Kate ! I will not burden thee ; 
For, knowing thee to be but young and light, — 

Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to catch. 
And yet as heavy as my weight should be. 

Pet. Should be ? should buz. 

Kath. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. 

Pet. 0, slow-wing'd turtle ! shall a buzzard take 
thee ? 

Kath. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard. 

Pet. Come, come, you wasp ; i' faith, you are too 
angry. 

Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. 

Pet. My remedy is, then, to pluck it out. 

Kath. Ay, if the fool could find out wliere it lies. 

Pet. Who knows not where a wasp does wear his 
sting ? 
In his tail. 

Kath. In his tongue. 

Pet. Whose tongue ? 

Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails; and so farewell. 

Pet. What ! with my tongue in your tail ? nay, come 
again : 
Good Kate, I am a gentleman. 

Kath. That I '11 try. [Strikijig him. 

Pet. I swear I '11 cuff" you, if you strike again. 

Kath. So may you lose your arms : 
If you strike mo you are no gentleman, 
And if no gentleman, why, then no arms. 

Pet. A herald, Kate ? O ! put me in thy books. 

Kath. What is your crest ? a coxcomb ? 



come, sit on me. 



1 The burthen, says Knight, of an old ballad entitled " The Ingenious Braggadocio." ^ No such jade as you : in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



219 



Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. 

Kath. No cock of mine ; you crow too like a craven. 

Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you nmst not look so 
sour. 

Kalh. It is my fashion when I see a crab. 

Pet. Why, here 's no crab, and therefore look not sour. 

Kath. There is, there is. 

Pet. Then show it me. 

Kath. Had I a glass I would. 

Pet. What, you mean my face ? 

Kath. Well aim'd of such a young one. 

Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. 

Kath. Yet you are wither'd. 

Pet. 'T is with cares. 

Kath. I care not. 

Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate : in sooth, you 'scape not 
so, [Holding her.^ 

Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry : let me go. 

Pet. No, not a whit : I find you passing gentle. 
'T was told me, you were rough, and coy, and sullen. 
And now I find report a very liar ; 
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, pa.ssing courteous. 
Bat slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers. 
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, 
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will ; 
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk ; 
But tliou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers, 
With gentle conference, soft and affable. 
Why does the world report that Kate doth limp ? 
0, slanderous world ! Kate, like the hazel-twig. 
Is straight, and slender : and as brown in hue 
As hazel nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. 
! let me see thee walk : thou dost not halt. 

Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'.st command. 

Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove. 
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait ? 

! be thou Dian. and let her be Kate, 

And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful. 

Kath. Where did you study all this goodly speech ? 

Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit. 

Kath. A witty mother ! witless else her son. 

Pet. Am I not wise? 

Kath. Yes ; keep you warm. 

Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy bed. 
And therefore, setting all this chat aside, 
Thus in plain terms : — your father hath consented 
That you shall be my wife ; your dowry 'greed on, 
And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. 
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn ; 
For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, 
Tliy beauty that doth make me like thee well. 
Thou must be married to no man but me : 
For I am he, am born to tame you, Kate, 
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate 
Conformable, as other household Kates. 
Here comes your father : never make denial ; 

1 must and will have Katharine to my wife. 

Re-enter Baptista, Guemio, and Tranio. 
Bap. Now, signior Petruchio, how speed you with 

my daughter ? 
Pet. How but well, sir ? how but well ? 
It were impossible I should speed nmiss. 

Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine ! in your 

dumps? 
Kath. CiU you me, daughter? now, I promise you, 
You have show'd a tender fatherly regard, 
To wish me wed to one half lunatic ; 
A inad-c :\p rutfian, and a swearing Jack, 
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. 



Pet. Father, 't is thus : — yourself and all the world, 
That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her. 
If she be curst, it is for policy. 
For she 's not froward, but modest as the dove ; 
She is not hot, but temperate as the moon f 
For patience she will prove a second Grissel, 
And Roman Lucreee for her chastity ; 
And to conclude, — we have 'greed so well together. 
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. 

Kath. I '11 see thee hang'd on Sunday first. 

Grc. Hark, Petruchio : she says, she '11 see thee 
hang'd first. 

Tra. Is this your speeding? nay then, good night our 
pact. 

Pet. Be patient, gentlemen ; I choose her for myself 
If she and I be pleas'd, what 's that to you ? 
'T is bargnin'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, 
That she shall still be curst in company. 
I tell you, 't is incredible to believe 
How much she loves me. O, the kindest Kate ! 
She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss 
She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath. 
That in a twink she won me to her love. 

! you are novices : 'tis a world to see,^ 
How tame, when men and women are alone, 

A meacock* wretch can make the curstcst shrew. — 
Give me thy hand, Kate : I will unto Venice, 
To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day. — 
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests ; 

1 will be sure ! my Katharine shall be fine. 

Bap. I know not what to say ; but give me your 
hands : 
God send you joy ! Petruchio, 't is a match. 

Gre. Tra. Amen, say we : we will be witnesses. 

Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu. 
I will to Venice ; Sunday comes apace. 
We will have rings, and things, and fine array ; 
And, kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sunday. 

f Exeunt Petruchio and Katharine, severally. 

Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly ? 

Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part, 
And venture madly on a desperate mart. 

Tra. 'T was a commodity lay fretting by you : 
'T will bring you gain, or perish on the seas. 

Bap. Tlie gain I seek is quiet in the match. 

Gre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. — 
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter. 
Now is the day we long have looked for : 
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. 

Tra. And I am one, that love Bianca more 
Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess. 

Gre. Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I. 

Tra. Grey-beard, thy love doth freeze. 

Gre. But thine doth fry. 

Skipper, stand back: 'tis age, that nourisheth. 

Tra. But youth, in ladies' eyes, that flourisheth. 

Bap. Content you, gentlemen ; I '11 compound this 
strife : 
'T is deeds must win the prize ; and he, of both, 
That can assure my daughter greatest dower, 
Shall have my Bianca's love. — 
Say. signior Gremio, what can you assure her ? 

Gre. First, as you know, my house -wnthin the city 
Is richly furnished with plate and gold : 
Basons, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands ; 
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry : 
In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns ; 
In cypress chests my arras, counterpoints, 
Costly apparel, tents, and canopies. 



> Not in f. e. ^ morn : in f. e. 'A proverbial phrase, worth a world to see. * Cowardly. 



220 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



ACT III. 



Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl, 
Valance of Venice gold in needle-work, 
Pewter and brass, and all things that belong 
To house, or housekeeping : then, at my farm, 
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, 
Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls. 
And all things answerable to this portion. 
Myself am struck in years. I must confess ; 
And if I die to-morrow this is hers, 
If whilst I live she will be only mine. 

Tra. That " only" came well in. — Sir, list to me : 
I am my father's heir, and only son : 
If I may have your daughter to my wife, 
I '11 leave her houses three or four as good, 
Within rich Pisa walls, as any one 
Old signior Gremio has in Padua ; 
Besides two thousand ducats by the year 
Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. 
What, have I pinch'd you, signior Gremio? 

Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year of land ! 
My land amounts not to so much in all : 
That she shall have ; besides an argosy. 
That now is lying in Marseilles' road. — 
What, have I chok'd you with an argosy ? 

Tra. Greznio, 't is known, my father hath no less 
Than three great argosies, besides two galliasses, 
And twelve tight galleys : these I will assure her, 
And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next. 

Gre. Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more : 
And she can have no more than all I have : — 



If you like me, she shall have me and mine. 

Tra. Why, then, the maid is mine from all the world, 
By your firm promise : Gremio is out-vied. 

Bap. I must confess your offer is the best ; 
And. let your father make her the assurance, 
She is your own ; else, you must pardon me : 
If you should die before him, where 's her dower ? 

Tra. That 's but a cavil : he is old, I young. 

Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old ? 

Bap. Well, gentlemen, 
I am thus resolv'd. — On Sunday next, you know, 
My daughter Katharine is to be married : 
Now, on the Sunday following shall Bianca 
Be bride to you. if you make this as.surance : 
If not, to signior Gremio : 
And so I take my leave, and thank you both. [Exit. 

Gre. Adieu, good neighbovir. Now I fear thee not : 
Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool 
To give thee all, and, in his waning age, 
Set foot under thy table. Tut, a toy ! 
An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. [Exit. 

Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide ! 
Yet I have faced it with a card of ten.^ 
'T is in my head to do my master good : — 
I see no reason, but suppos'd Lucentio 
Must get a father, call'd — supposed Vincentio ; 
And that 's a wonder : fathers, commonly, 
Do get their children ; but in this case of winning,* 
A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. 

[Exit. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I. — A Ptoom in Baptista's House. 
Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca. 

Luc. Fiddler, forbear : you grow too forward, sir. 
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment 
Her sister Katharine welcom'd you withal? 

Hor. Tut. wrangling pedant ! I avouch, this is' 
The patroness of heavenly harmony : 
Then, give me leave to have prerogative ; 
And when in music we have spent an hour. 
Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. 

Ltic. Preposterous ass, that never read so far 
To know the cause why music was ordain'd ! 
Was it not to refresh the mind of man. 
After his studies, or his usual pain ? 
Then, give me leave to read Philosophy, 
And while I pause serve in your harmony. 

Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. 

Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong. 
To strive for that which resteth in my choice. 
I am no breeching scholar in the schools ; 
I '11 not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times, 
But learn my lessons as I please myself. 
And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down : — 
Take you your instrument, play you the whiles ; 
His lecture will be done, ere you have tuu'd. 

Hor. You '11 leave his lecture when I am in tune ? 

[Hortensio retires. 

Luc. That will be never: — tune your instrument. 

Bian. Where left we last ? 

Luc. Here, madam : 

Hac ibat Simois ; hie est Sigeia tellus ; 
Hie steterat Priami regia celsa senis. 



Bian. Construe them. 

Luc. Hac ibat. as I told you before, — Simois, I am 
Lucentio, — hie est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, — Sigeia 
tellus, disguised thus to get your love ; — Hie .steterat, 
and that Lucentio that comes a wooing. — Priami, is 
my man Tranio, regia, bearing my port, — celsa senis, 
that we might beguile the old pantaloon. 

Hor. [Returning.] Madam, my instrument 's in tune. 

Bian. Let's hear. — [Hortensio plays. 

fie ! the treble jars. 

iwc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. 

Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it : Hac ibat 
Simois, I know you not ; — hie est Sigeia tellus, I trust 
you not; — Hie steterat Priami, take heed he hear us 
not ; — regia, presume not ; — celsa senis, despair not. 

Hor. Madam, 't is now in tune. 

Luc. All but the base. 

Hor. The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars. 
How fiery and forward our pedant is ! 
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love ; 
Pedaseule, I '11 watch you better yet. [Aside.* 

Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. 

Luc. Mistrust it not : for, sure, J^acides 
Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather. 

Bian. I must believe my master ; else, I promise you, 

1 should be arguing still upon that doubt : 
But let it rest. — Now, Licio, to you. — 
Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray. 
That I have been thus pleasant with you both. 

Hor. [To Lucentio.] You may go walk, and give 
me leave awhile : 
My lessons make no music in three parts. [wait, 

Luc. Are you so formal, sir? [Aside.] Well, I must 



1 An old proverbial expression. ^ wooing : in f. e. ' But, wrangling pedant this is : in f. e. * Not in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



TAMING OF THE SHKEW. 



221 



And watch withal ; for, but I be deceiv'd, 
Our fine musician groweth amorous. 

Hor. Madam, before you toucli the instrument, 
To learn the order of my fingering, 
I must begin with rudiments of art ; 
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, 
More pleasant, pithy, and effectual, 
Than hath been taught by any of my trade : 
And there it is in writing fairly drawn. 

Bian. Why. I am past my gamut long ago. 
Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. 
Bian. [iimrfs.] Gamut I am, the ground of all accord, 
A re, to plead Hortensio' s pas.sion; 
B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord, 

C taut, that loves tcith all affection : 
D sol re, 07ie cliff, two notes have I: 
E la mi, show pity, or I die. 
Call you this gamut? tut ! I like it not: 
Old fashions please me best ; I am not so nice, 
To change true rules for new inventions. 
Enter a Servant. 
Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave your 
books. 
And help to dress your sister's chamber up : 
You know, to-morrow is the wedding-day. 

Bian.' Farewell, sweet masters, both: I must be 
gone. [Exeunt Bianca and Servant. 

Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. 

[Exit. 
Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant : 
Methinks, lie looks as thovigh he were in love. — 
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble, 
To cast thy wandering eyes on every stale, 
Seize thee that list : if once I find thee ranging, 
Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. [Exit. 

SCENE II.— The Same. Before Baptista's House. 

Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katharina, 

Bianca, Lucentio. and Attendants. 

Bap. Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day 
That Katharine and Petruchio should be married, 
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law. 
What will be said ? what mockery will it be, 
To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends 
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage ? 
What says Lucentio to this shame of ours? 

Kath. No shame but mine : I must, forsooth, be forc'd 
To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart, 
Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen ; 
Who wood in haste, and means to wed at leisure. 
I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, 
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour ; 
And to be noted for a merry man. 
He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage. 
Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banns; 
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. 
Now must the world point at poor Katharine, 
And say. — "Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife, 
If it would please him come and marry her." 

Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista too. 
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well. 
Whatever fortune stays him from his word : 
Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise ; 
Though he be merry, yet withal he 's honest. 

Kath. Would Katharine had never seen him though ! 
[Exit, weeping, followed hy Bianca. and others. 

Bap. Go, girl ; I cannot blame thee now to weep, 
For such an injury would vex a very saint. 
Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. 



Enter Biondello. 

Bion. Master, master ! news, and such old news' as 
you never heard of ! 

Bap. Is it new and old too ? how may that be ? 

Bion. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's 
coming ? 

Bap. Is he come ? 

Bion. Why, no, sir. 

Bap. What then ? 

Bion. He is coming. 

Bap. When will he be here ? 

Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you 
there. 

Tra. But, say, what is thine old news ? 

Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat. and 
an old jerkin ; a pair of old breeches, thrice turned : 
a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, 
another laced : an old rusty sword ta'cn out of the 
town armoury, with a broken hilt, and chapeless ; with 
two broken points : his horse heaped with an old mothy 
saddle, and stirrups of no kindred : besides, posse.-sed 
with the glanders, and like to mose in the chine : 
troubled with the lampass. infected with the fashions.^ 
full of wind-galls, sped with spavins, rayed with the 
yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the 
staggers, begnawn with the bots ; swayed in the back, 
and shoulder-shotten ; ne'er-legged before, and with a 
half-cheeked bit, and a head stall of sheep's-leather • 
which, being restrained to keep him from stumbling, 
hath been often burst, and now repaired with knots : 
one girth six times pierced, and a woman's crupper of 
velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly set 
down in studs, and here and there pieced with pack- 
thread. 

Bap. Who comes with him? 

Bion. 0, sir ! his lackey, for all the world caparisoned 
like the horse ; with a linen stock on one leg, and a 
kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red and 
blue list ; an old hat, and "the amours or^ forty fancies" 
pricked in 't for a feather : a monster, a very monster 
in apparel; and not like a Christian footboy, or a gen- 
tleman's lackey. 

Tra. 'T is some odd humour pricks him to this 
fashion ; 
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd. 

Bap. I am glad he is come, howsoe'er he comes. 

Bion. Why, sir, he comes not. 

Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes ? 

Bion. Who ? tliat Petruchio came ? 

Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. 

Bion. No, sir; I say, his horse comes, with him on 
his back. 

Bap. Why, that 's all one. 

Bion. Nay, by St. Jamy, 

I hold you a penny, 
A horse and a man 
Is more than one, 
And yet not many. 
Enter Petruchio and Grumio, strangely apparelled.* 

Pet. Come, where be these gallants ? who is at home ? 

Bap. You are welcome, sir. 

Pet. And yet I come not well. 

Bnp. And yet you halt not. 

Tra. Not so well apparell'd, 

As I wish you were. 

Pet. Were it much* better, I should rush in thus. 
But where is Kate ? where is my lovely bride ? — 
How does my father ? — Gentles, methinks you frown : 
And wherefore gaze this goodly company, 



1 old news, and such news : in f. e. * Farcy. 3 humours of : in f. e. ♦ These words are not in f. e. * Not in f. e. 



222 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



ACT III. 



" Ay, by gogs-wouns," quoth he ; and swore so loud, 
That, all-amaz'd, the priest let fall the book, 
And, as he stoop'd again to take it up, 
This mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cufF, 
That down fell priest and book, and book and priest : 
'•'■ Now take them up," quoth he, " if any list." 

Tra. What said the wench when he arose again ? 

Gre. Trembled and shook : for why, he stamp'd, and 
swore, 
As if the vicar meant to cozen him. 
But after many ceremonies done. 
He calls for wine : — " A health !"^ quoth he ; as if 
He had been aboard, carousing to his mates, 
After a storm : — quaff'd off the muscadel. 
And tlu-ew the sops all in the sexton's face ; 
Having no other reason. 
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly,^ 
And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking. 
This done, he took the bride about the neck. 
And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack, 
That, at the parting, all the church did echo : 
And I, seeing this, came thence for very shame ; 
And after me, I know, the rout is coming : 
Such a mad marriage never was before. 
Hark, hark ! I hear the minstrels play. {Music. 

Enter Petruchiq, Katharina, Bianca, Baptista, 
HoRTENSio, Grumio, and Train. 

Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your 
pains. 
I know, you think to dine with me to-day. 
And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer ; 
But, so it is, my haste doth call me hence, 
And therefore here I mean to take my leave. 

Baj). Is 't possible you will away to-night ? 

Pet. I must away to-day, before night come. 
Make it no wonder : if you knew my business. 
You would entreat me rather go than stay. — 
And, honest company. I thank you all, 
That have beheld me give away myself 
To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife : 
Dine with my father, drink a health to me. 
For I must hence ; and farewell to you all. 

Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. 

Pet. It may not be. 

Gre. Let me entreat you. 

Pet. It cannot be. 

Kath. Let me entreat you. 

Pet. I am content. 

Kath. Are you content to stay ? 

Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay. 
But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. 

Kath. Now. if you love me, stay. 

Pet. Grumio. my horse ! 

Gru. Ay, sir, they be ready: the oats have eaten 
the horses. 

Kath. Nay, then. 
Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day ; 
No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself. 
The door is open, sir, there lies your way ; 
You may be jogging whiles your boots are green; 
For me, I '11 not be gone, till I please my?elf. — 
'T is like you '11 prove a jolly surly groom, 
That take it on you at the first so roundly. 

Pet. 0, Kate ! content thee : pr'ythee, be not angry. 

Kath. I will be angry. Wliat hast thou to do ? — 
Father, be quiet ; he shall stay my leisure. 

Gre. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work. 

Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner. 

2 But, sir, to love : in f. e. 3 it was the custom at the time of the play, for a bride or knitting-cup to be quaffed in 



As if they saw some wondrous monument, 
Some comet, or unusual prodigy ? 

Bap. Why, sir, you know, this is your wedding-day: 
First were we sad, fearing you would not come ; 
Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. 
Fie ! doff this habit, shame to your estate, 
An eye-sore to our solemn festival. 

Tra. And tell us what occasion of import 
Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife. 
And sent you hither so unlike yourself? 

Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear: 
Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word. 
Though in some part enforced to digress; 
Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse 
As you shall well be satisfied withal. 
But, where is Kate ? I stay too long from her : 
The morning wears, 't is time we were at church. 

Tra. See not your bride in these unreverent robes. 
Go to my chamber : put on clothes of mine. 

Pet. Not I, believe me: thus I'll visit her. 

Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. 

Pet. Good sooth, even thus ; therefore, have done 
with words : 
To me she 's married, not unto my clothes. 
Could I repair what she will wear in me, 
As I can change these poor accoutrements, 
'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself. 
But what a fool am I to chat with you. 
When I should bid good-morrow to my bride, 
And seal the title with a loving' kiss ! 

[Exeunt Petruchio, Grumio, and Biondello. 

Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire. 
We will persuade him, be it possible. 
To put on better, ere he go to church. 

Bap. I '11 after him, and see the event of this. [Exit. 

Tra. But, to our love^ concerneth us to add 
Her father's liking ; which to bring to pass. 
As I before imparted to your worship, 
I am to get a man. — whate'er he be, 
It skills not much, we '11 fit him to our turn, — 
And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa, 
And make assurance, here in Padua, 
Of gi'eater sums than I have promised. 
So shall you quietly enjoy your hope. 
And marry sweet Bianca with consent. 

Luc. Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster 
Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 
'T were good, methinks, to steal our marriage ; 
Which once perform'd, let all the world say no, 
I '11 keep mine own, despite of all the world. 

Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into, 
And watch our va.ntage in this business. 
We '11 over-reach the grey-beard, Gremio, 
The narrow-prying father, Minola, 
The quaint musician, amorous Licio ; 
All for my master's sake, Lucentio. 
Re-enter Gremio. 
Signior Gremio, came you from the church ? 

Gre. As willingly as e'er I came from school. 

Tra. And is the bride, and bridegroom, coming home ? 

Gre. A bridegroom say you ? 't is a groom indeed; 
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. 

Tra. Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible. 

Gre. Why, he 's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. 

Tra. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam. 

Gre. Tut ! she 's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him. 
I 'n tell you, sir, Lucentio : when the priest 
Should ask, — if Katharine should be his wife, 

1 Invely : in f. e. 
church . — Kn ight . 



SCENE I. 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



223 



I see, a woman may be made a fool, 
If she had not a spirit to resist. 

Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.- 
Obey the bride, you that attend on her : 
Go to the feast, revel and domineer, 
Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, 
Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves. 
But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. 
Nay. look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret ; 
I will be master of what is mine own. 
She is my goods, my chattels ; she is my house, 
My household-stuff, my field, my barn. 
My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing : 
And here she stands ; touch her whoever dare : 
I '11 bring mine action on the proudest he 
That stops my way in Padua. — Grumio, 
Draw forth thy weapon ; we 're beset with thieves : 
Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man. — 



Fear not, sweet wench ; they shall not touch thee, Kate : 
I '11 buckler thee against a million. 

[Exetmt Petruchio, Katharina, and Grumio. 
Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. 
Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with 

laughing. 
Tra. Of all mad matches never was the like. 
Luc. Mistress, what 's your opinion of your sister? 
Bian. That, being mad herself, she 's madly mated. 
Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Katcd. 
Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride and 
bridegroom wants 
For to supply the places at the table, 
You know, there wants no junkets at the feast — 
Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place, 
And let Bianca take her sister's room. 

Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it ? 
Bap. She shall, Lucentio. — Come, gentlemen ; let 's 
go. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I. — A Hall in Petruchio's Country House. 
Enter Grumio. 

Gru. Fie, fie, on all tired jades, on all mad masters, 
and all foul ways ! Was ever man so beaten ? was 
ever man so raj'cd* ? was ever man so weary ? I am 
sent before to make a fire, and they are coming after 
to warm them. Now, were not I a little pot, and soon 
hot. my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue 
to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I 
should come by a fire to thaw me ; but, I, with blow- 
ing the fire, shall warm myself, for. considering the 
weather, a taller man than I will take cold. Holla, 
hoa ! Curtis ! 

Enter Curtis. 

Curt. Who is that, calls so coldly ? 

Gru. A piece of ice : if thou doubt it, thou may'st 
slide from my shoulder to my heel, with no greater a 
run but my head and my neck. A fire, good Curtis. 

Curt. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio ? 

Gru. ! ay, Curtis, ay ; and therefore fire, fire : 
cast on no water. 

Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she 's reported ? 

Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost ; but 
thou know'.st, winter tames man, woman, and beast, 
for it hath tamed my old master, and my new mistress, 
and thyself, fellow Curtis. 

Curt. Away, you three-inch fool ! I am no beast. 

Gru. Am I but three inches ? why, thy horn is a 
foot ; and so long am I at the least. But wilt thou make 
a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress, whose 
hand (she being now at hand) thou shalt soon feel, to 
thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office ? 

Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes 
the world ? 

Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; 
and, therefore, fire. Do tliy duty, and have thy duty, 
for my master and mistress are almost frozen to death. 

Curt. There 's fire ready ; and therefore, good Gru- 
mio, the news ? 

Gru. Why, " Jack, boy ! ho boy !"' and as much 
news as thou wilt. 

Cicrt. Come, you are so full of conycatching*. — 

Gru. Wliy, therefore, fire : for I have caught extreme 



cold. Where's the cook? is supper ready, the house 
trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept ; the serving- 
men in their new fustian, their white stockings, and 
every officer his wedding-garment on ? Be the Jacks 
fair within, the Jills* fair without, the carpets laid, and 
every thing in order ? 

Curt. All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news? 

Gru. First, know, my horse is tired ; my master and 
mistress fallen out. 

Curt. How ? 

Gru. Out of their saddles into the dirt ; and thereby 
hangs a tale. 

Curt. Let 's ha't, good Grumio. 

Gru. Lend thine ear. 

Curt. Here. 

Gru. There. [Striking him. 

Curt. This 't is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. 

Gru. And therefore 't is called, a sensible tale ; and 
this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and beseech 
listening. Now I begin : Imprimi.'ij we came down a 
foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress. 

Curt. Both of one horse ? 

Gru. What 's that to thee ? 

Curt. Why, a horse. 

Gru. Tell thou the tale: — ^but hadst thou not 
crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her horse 
foil, and she under her horse ; thou shouldst have 
heard, in how miry a place ; how she was bemoiled ; 
how lie left her with the horse upon her ; how he beat 
me because her horse stumbled ; how she waded 
through the dirt to pluck him off me ; how he swore ; 
how she prayed, that never prayed before ; how I 
cried ; how the horses ran away : how her bridle was 
burst; how I lost my crupper; — with many things of 
worthy memory, which now sliall die in oblivion, and 
thou return unexperienced to thy grave. 

Curt. By this reckoning he is more shrew than she. 

Gri(. Ay; and that thou and the proudest of you all 
shall find, when he comes home. But what talk I of 
this? — Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas. Philip, 
Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest : let their heads be 
.sleekly combed, their blue coats brushed, and their 
garters of an indifferent knit* : let them curtsey with 
their left legs, and not presume to touch a hair of my 



■ Betorayed, dirtied. * The first words of an old drinking round. Jacks, -were leathern drinking jugs. ' Trickery, cheating. * Pewter 
nkinscuvs. ^ on. f Matched. 



drinking cups. ^ on. * Matched 



224 



TAMING OF THE SHEEW. 



ACT IV. 



master's horse-tail, till they kiss their hands. Are 
they all ready ? 

Curt. They are. 

Gni. Call them forth. 

Curt. Do you hear ? ho ! you must meet my master, 
to countenance my mistress. 

Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own. 

Curt. Who knows not that ? 

Gru. Thou, it seems, that callest for company to 
countenance her. 

Cxtrt. I call them forth to credit her. 

Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them. 
Enter several Servants. 

Nath. Welcome home, Grumio. 

Phil. How now, Grumio ? 

Jos. What. Grumio ! 

Nick. Fellow Grumio ! 

Nath. How now, old lad ? 

Gru. Welcome, you : — how now, you ; — ^what, you ; 
— fellow, 3'ou ; — and thus much for greeting. Now, my 
spruce coinpanions, is all ready, and all things neat? 

Nath. All things is ready. How near is our master? 

Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this ; and therefore 
be not, — Cock's passion, silence ! — I hear my master. 

[All .servants frightened.'^ 
Enter Petruchio and Katharina. 

Pet. Where be these knaves ? What ! no man at 
the door. 
To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse. 
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip ? — 



All Serv. Here, 

Pet. Here, sir ! here, sir ! 



here, sir : 



here, sir. 

here, sir ! here, sir ? 



You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms ! 
What, no attendance ? no regard ? no duty ? — 
Where is the foolish knave I sent before ? 
Gru. Here, sir ; as foolish as I was before. 
Pet. You peasant swain ! you whoreson malt-horse 
drudge ! 
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park, 
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee ? 

Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made. 
And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the heel ; 
There was no link to colour Peter's hat, 
And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing : 
There were none fine, but Adam, K alph, and Gregory : 
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly : 
Yet, as they are. here are they come to meet you. 
Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. — 

[Exeunt .soine of the Servants. 
" Where is the life that late I led"— [Sings.'' 
Where are those — ? Sit down, Kate, and welcome. 
Soud, soud, soud, soud ! 

Re-enter Servants^ with supper. 
Why, when, I say ? — Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry. 
Off with my boots, you rogues ! you villains, when ? 
" It was the friar of orders grey, [Sings.^ 
As he forth walked on his way :" — 
you pluck my foot awry : 
Take that, and mend the plucking of the other. — 

[Kicks him.* 
here ; what, ho ! — 



Out, you rogue ! 



Be merry, Kate : — some water. 

Enter Servant^ with water. 
Where 's my spaniel Troilus ? — Sirrah, get you hence. 
And bid by cousin Ferdinand come hither : — 

[Exit Servant. 
One, Kate, that you mu.st kiss, and be acquainted with. — 
Where are my slippers? — Shall I have some water? 

[A hason is presented to him. 
Come, Kate, and M'ash, and welcome heartily. — 



You whoreson villain ! will you let it fall ? [Strikeshim. 

Kath. Patience, I pray you ; 't was a fault unwilling. 

Pet. A whoreson, beetleheaded, flap-ear'd knave ! 

[Meat served in. 
Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach. 
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I ? — 
What's this? mutton? 

1 Serv. Ay. 

Pet. Who brought it? 

1 Serv. I. 

Pet. 'T is burnt ; and so is all the meat. 
What dogs are these ! — Where is the rascal cook ? 
How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser, 
And serve it thus to me that love it not ? 
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all. 

[Throivs the meat., Ifc. all about 
You heedless joltheads, and unmanner'd slqyes ! 
What ! do you grumble? I '11 be with you straight. 

Kath. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet : 
The meat was well, if you were so contented. 

Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 't was burnt and dried away 
And I expressly am forbid to touch it. 
For it engenders choler, plantcth anger : 
And better 't were, that both of us did fast, 
Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, 
Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. 
Be patient ; to-morrow 't shall be mended. 
And for this night we '11 fast for company. 
Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. 

[Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, and Curti* 

Nath. Peter, didst ever see the like ? 

Peter. He kills her in her own humour. 
Re-enter Curtis. 

Gru. Where is he ? 

Cxirt. In her chamber. 
Making a sermon of continency to her ; 
And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul, 
Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak, 
And sits as one new-risen from a dream. 
Away, away ! for he is coming hither. [Exeunt, running 
Re-enter Petruchio. 

Pet. Thus have I politicly begun my reign, 
And 't is my hope to end successfully. 
My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty. 
And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorg'd. 
For then she never looks upon her lure. 
Another way I have to man my haggard. 
To make her come, and know her keeper's call ; 
That is, to watch her, as we watch those kites, 
That bate, and beat, and will not be obedient. 
She ate no meat to-day, nor none shall eat ; 
Last night she slept not. nor to-night she shall not : 
As with the meat, some undeserved fault 
I '11 find about the making of the bed. 
And here I '11 fling the pillow, there the bolster, 
This way the coverlet, another way the sheets : — 
Ay. and amid this hurly, I intend. 
That all is done in reverend care of her ; 
And. in conclusion, she shall watch all night : 
And, if she chance to nod, I '11 rail, and brawl. 
And wnth the clamour keep her still awake. 
This is the way to idll a wife with kindness ; 
And thus I '11 curb her mad and headstrong humour. 
He that knows better how to tame a shrew. 
Now let him speak : 't is charity to shew. [Exit. 

SCENP: II.— Padua. Before Baptista's House. 

Enter Tranio and Hortensio. 
Tra. Is 't possible, friend Licio, that mistress Bianca 



' ^ ' Not in f. e. * Strikes him : in f. e. * This word is not added in f. o 



SCEICE 11. 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



225 



Doth fancy any other but Lucentio ? 
I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. 

Hor. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, 
Stand by, and mark the manner of his teaching. 

{They stand aside. 
Enter Bianca and Lucentio. 

Luc. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read ? 

Bian. What, master, read you ? first resolve me 
that. 

Luc. I read that I profess, the Art to Love. 

Bian. And may you prove, sir, master of your art ! 

Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my 
heart. [They retire. 

Hor. [Coming forward.] Quick proceeders, marry! 
Now, tell me, I pray, 
You that durst swear that your mistress Bianca 
Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio. 

Tra. O, despiteful love ! unconstant womankind ! — 
I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. 

Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio, 
Nor a musician, as I seem to be, 
Bat one that scorns to live in this disguise, 
For such a one, as leaves a gentleman, 
And makes a god of such a cuUion. 
Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio. 

Tra. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard 
Of your entire affection to Bianca ; 
And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness, 
I will with you, if you be so contented, 
Forswear Bianca and her love for ever. 

Hor. See, how they kiss and court ! — Signior Lu- 
centio, 
Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow 
Never to woo her more ; but do forswear her, 
As one unworthy all the former favours 
That I have fondly flatter'd her withal. 

Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath, 
Never to marry her,' though she entreat.* 
Fie on her ! see, how beastly she doth c^urt him. 

Hor. Would all the world, but he, had quite for- 
sworn her !^ 
For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, 
I will bo married to a wealthy widow. 
Ere three days pass, which hath as long lov'd ma, 
As I have lov'd this proud, disdainful haggard. 
And so farewell, signior Lucentio. — 
Kindness in women ! not their beauteous looks, 
Shall win my love : — and so I take my leave, 
In resolution as I swore before. 

[Exit Hortensio. — Lucentio and Bianca advance!] 

Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace. 
As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case ! 
Nay. I have ta'en you napping, gentle love 
And have forsworn you, with Hortensio. 

Bian. Tranio, you jest. But have you both for- 
sworn me ? 

Tra. Mistress, we have. 

Luc. Then we are rid of Licio. 

Tra. V faith, he '11 have a lusty widow now, 
That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. 

Bian. God give him joy ! 

Tra. Ay, and he '11 tame her. 

Bian. He says so. Tranio. 

Tra. 'Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school . 

Bian. The taming-school ! what, is there such a 
place ? 

Tra. Ay, mistress, and Pctrnchio is the master; 
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, 
To tame a shrew, and charm her chatterins tongue. 



coming doAvn the hill, 



Enter Biondello. running. 

Bion. master, master ! I have watch'd so long 
That I 'm dog-weary : but at last I spied 
An ancient ambler* 
Will serve the turn. 

Tra. What is he, Biondello ? 

Bion. Master, a mercatante, or a pedant, 
I know not what ; but formal in apparel, 
In gait and countenance surely like a father. 

Luc. And what of him, Tranio? 

Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale, 
I '11 make him glad to seem Vincentio. 
And give assurance to Baptista Minola, 
As if he were the right Vincentio. 
Take in your love, and then let me alone. 

[Exejtnt Lucentio and Bianca. 
Enter a Pedant. 

Fed. God save you, sir ! 

Tra. And you, sir: you are welcome. 

Travel yovi far on, or are you at the farthest? 

Ped. Sir, at the farthest for a week or two ; 
Bat then xip farther, and as far as Rome, 
And so to Tripoly, if God lend me life. 

Tra. What countryman, I pray? 

Ped. Of Mantua. 

Tra. Of Mantua, sir ? — marrj', God forbid ! 
And come to Padua, careless of your life ? 

Ped. My life, sir ! hov/, I pray ? for that goes hard. 

Tra. 'T is death for any one in Mantua 
To come to Padua. Know you not the cause ? 
Yoixr slops are stay'd at Venice : and the duke, 
For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him. 
Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly. 
'T is marvel ; but that you are but newly come, 
You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. 

Ped. Alas, sir ! it is worse for me than so ; 
For I have bills for money by exchange 
From Florence, and must here deliver them. 

Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy 
This will I do, and this I will advise you. — 
Fir.st, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa ? 

Ped. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been ; 
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. 

Tra. Among them, know you one Vincentio ? 

Ped. I know him not, but I have heard of him : 
A merchant of incomparable wealth. 

Tra. He is my father, sir ; and, sooth to say. 
In countenance somewhat doth resemble j'ou. 

Bion. [Aside.] As much as an apple doth an oyster, 
and all one. 

Tra. To save your life in this extremity, 
This favour will I do you for his sake, 
And think it not the worst of all your fortunes. 
That you are so like to Vincentio. 
His name and credit shall you undertake. 
And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd. 
Look, that you take upon you as you shovild ; 
You understand me, sir ; — .so shall you stay 
Till you have done your business in the city. 
If this be courtesy, sir. accept of it, 

Ped. ! sir, I do ; and will repute you ever 
The patron of my life and liberty. 

Tra. Then go with me, to make the matter good. 
This, by the way, I let you understand : 
My fatlier is here look'd for every day. 
To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 
'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here : 
In all these circumstances I '11 instruct you. 
Go with me, to clothe you as becomes you. [Exeuni. 



» with her : in f. e. 2 -would entreat : in f. e. 



' This -CT-ord is not in f. e. 

15 



♦ engle : in f. e. 



-4 



226 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



ACT rv. 



SCENE III. — A Room in Petruchio's House. 
Enter Katharina and Grumio. 

Gni. No, no, forsooth ; I dare not, for my life. 

Kath. The more my wrong, the more his spite appears. 
What, did he marry me to famish me ? 
Beggars, that come unto my fatlier's door, 
Upon entreaty, have a present ahns : 
If not, elsewhere they meet with charity : 
But, I, who never knew how to entreat, 
Nor never needed, that I should entreat, 
Am starv'd for irieat, giddy for lack of sleep; 
With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed. 
And that which spites me more than all these wants, 
He does it under name of perfect love : 
As who should say, if I should sleep, or eat, 
'"T were deadly sickness, or else present death. 
I pr'ythee go, and get me some repast ; 
I care not what, so it be wholesome food. 

Gru. What say you to a neat's foot ? 

Kath. 'T is passing good : I pr'ythee let me have it. 

Gru. I fear, it is too choleric a meat. 
How say you to a fat tripe, finely broil'd ? 

Kath. I like it well : good Grumio fetch it me. 

Giu. 1 cannot tell : I fear, 't is choleric. 
What say you to a piece of beef, and mustard? 

Kath. A dish that I do love to feed upon. 

Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. 

Kath. Why, then the beef, and let the mustard rest. 

Gru. Nay, that I will not: you shall have the 
mustard. 
Or else you get no beef of Grumio. 

Kath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt. 

Gru. Why then, the mustard without the beef. 

Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave. 

[Beats him. 
That fecd'st me with the very name of meat. 
Sorrow on thee, and all the pack of you, 
That triumph thus upon my misery ! 
Go : get thee gone, I say. 
Eritr Petruchio with a dish of meat, and Hortknsio. 

Pet. How fares my Kate ? What, sweeting, all amort ?' 

Hor. Mistress, what cheer ? 

Kath. 'Faith, as cold as can be. 

Pet. Pluck up thy spirits : look cheerfully upon me. 
Here, love ; thou seest how diligent I am. 
To dress thy meat myself, and bi-ing it thee : 

[Sets the dish on a table. 
I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. 
What ! not a word ? Nay then, thou lov'st it not, 
And all my pains is sorted to no proof''. — 
Here, take away this dish. 

Kath. I pray you, let it stand. 

Pet. The poorest service is repaid with thanks, 
And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. 

Kath. I thank you, sir. 

Hor. Signior Petruchio, fie ! you are to blame. 
•Come, mistress Kate, I '11 bear you company, [me. — 

Pet. [Aside] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lov'st 
[To her.] Much good do it unto thy gentle heart ! 
Kate, eat apace. — And now, my honey love, 
Will we return unto thy father's house. 
And revel it as bravely as the best. 
With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings. 
With ruflTs, and cutTs, and farthingales, and things ; 
With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery, 
With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. 
What ! hast thou din'd ? The tailor stays thy leisure. 
To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure. 



Enter Tailor. 
Come, tailor, let us see the.'^e ornaments ; 

Enter Haberdasher. 
Lay forth the gown. — What news with you, sir ? 

Hab. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak. 

Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer ; 
A velvet dish : — fie, fie ! 't is lewd and filthy. 
Why, 't is a cockle or a walnut shell, 
A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap ; 
Away with it ! come, let me have a bigger. 

Kath. I '11 have no bigger : this doth fit the time, 
And gentlewomen wear such caj^s as these. 

Pet. When you are gentle, you shall have one too ; 
And not till then. 

Hor. [Aside.\ That will not be in haste. 

Kath. Why, sir, I trust, I may have leave to speak, 
And speak I will ; I am no child, no babe :^ 
Your betters have endur'd me say my mind, 
And, if you cannot, best you stop your eais. 
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, 
Or else my heart, concealing it, will break : 
And. rather than it shall, I will be free. 
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. 

Pet. Why, thou say'st true : it is a paltry cap, 
A custard-coffin', a bauble, a silken pie. 
I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not. 

Kath. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap, 
And it I will have, or I will have none. 

Pet. Thy gown? why, ay : — come, tailor, let us see't, 
0, mercy, God ! — what masking stufi' is here ? 
What 's this ? a sleeve ? 't is like a demi-cannon: 
What ! up and down, carv'd like an apple-tart ? 
Here 's snip, and nip. and cut, and slish, and slash. 
Like to a censer in a barber'.s shop. — 
Why. what, o' devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this ? 

Hor. [Aside^ I see, she 's like to have neither cap 
nor gown. 

Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well, 
According to the fashion, and the time. 

Pet. Marry, and did ; but if you bo remember'd, 
I did not bid you mar it to the time. 
Go, hop me over every kennel home. 
For you shall hop without my cu.stom, sir. 
I '11 none of it : hence ! make your best of it. 

Kath. I never saw a bettcr-fashion'd gown. 
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable. 
Belike, you mean to make a puppet of me. 

Pet. Why. true ; he means to make a puppet of 
thee. 

Tai. She says, your worship means to make a puppet 
of her. 

Pet. 0, monstrous arrogance ! Thou 
thread, 
Thou thimble, 

Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail ! 
Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter cricket thou ! — 
Brav'd in mine own house with a skein of thread ? 
Away ! thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant, 
Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard, 
As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st. 
I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown. 

Tai. Your worship is deceiv'd : the gown is made 
Just as my master had direction. 
Grumio gave order hoAV it should be done. 

Gru. I gave him no order : I gave him the stuff. 

Tai. But how did you desire it should be made ? 

Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. 

Tai. But did you not request to have it cut ? 

Gru. Thou hast faced many things. 



liest, thou 



> Dispirited. 2 Approofj approbation. ' The crust of a pie was so called. 



J 



60ENB IV. 



TAMING OF TIIK SHREW. 



227 



I said, a gown. 



Tai. I have. 

Gru. Face not me : thou hast braved' many men ; 
brave not me : I will neither be faced nor braved. I 
say unto thee, — I bid thy master cut out the gown : 
but I did not bid him cut it to pieces : ergo, thou licst. 

Tai. Wliy, here is the note of the fashion to testify. 

Pet. Read it. 

Gru. The note lies in 's throat, if he say I said so. 

Tai. '' Iiuprimis. a loose-bodied gown." 

Gru. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, .sew 
me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a 
botroMi of brown thread 

Fit. Proceed. 

Tai. "With a small compassed cape." 

Gru. I confess the cape. 

Tai. ''With a trunk sleeve." 

Gru. I confess two sleeves. 

Tai. " The sleeves curiously cut." 

Pet. Ay, there 's the villany. 

Gru. Error i' the bill, sir ; error i' the bill. I com- 
manded the sleeves should be cut out, and sewed up 
again ; and that I '11 prove upon thee, though thy little 
finger' be armed in a thimble. 

Tai. This is true, that I say : an I had thee in place 
where, thou .«houldst know it. 

Gru. I am for thee straight ; take thou the bill", give 
me thy mete-yard, and spare not me. 

Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio ; then he shall have no 
odds. 

Pet. Well, sir. in brief, the gown is not for me. 

Gru. You are i' the right, sir: 't is for my mistress. 

Pet. Go, take it up unto thy master's use. 

Gru. Villain, not for thy life ! Take up my mis- 
tress' gown for thy master's use ? 

Pit. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that? 

Gru. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for. 
Take up my mistres,s' gown to his master's use? 
O, fie, fie, fie ! 

Pet. [A.nde.] Hortcnsio, say thou wilt see the tailor 
paid. — 
Go take it hence ; be gone, and say no more. 

Hor. Tailor. I '11 pay thee for thy gown to-morrow: 
Take no unkindncss of his hasty words. 
Away, I say ; commend me to thy master. 

. [Exeunt Tailor and Haberdasher. 

Pel. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your 
father's, 
Even in the.*e honest mean habiliments. 
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor: 
For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich; 
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, 
So honour peereth in the meanest habit. 
What, is the jay more precious than the lark, 
Boca>ise his feathers are more beautiful ? 
Or is the adder better than the eel, 
Because his painted skin contents the eye ? 
! no, good Kate ; neither art thou the worse 
For this poor furniture, and mean array. 
It thou aceount'st it shame, lay it on me ; 
And therefore frolic : we will hence forthwith, 
To feast and sport us at thy father's house. — 
Go, call my men. and let us straight to him; 
And bring our horses unto Long-lane end. 
There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. — 
Let 's see ; I think, 't is now .some seven o'clock, 
And well we may come there by dinner time. 

Kath. I dare assure you, sir, 't is almost two, 
And 't will be supper time, ere you come there. 

1 Bravery was the oM word for finery. ' An old weapon like a pi 
< know : ill f. e. 



Pet. It shall be seven, ere I go to horse. 
Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do, 
You are still crossing it. — Sirs, let 't alone : 
I will not go to-day ; and, ere I do, 
It shall be what o'clock I say it is. 

Hor. Why, so this gallant will command the Fun. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Padua. Before Baptista's House. 

Erdcr Tranio, and the Pedant booted^ and dressed 

like ViNCENTio. 

Tra. Sir. this is the house : please it you, that I call ? 

P d. Ay, what else ? and, but I be deceived, 
Siguier Baptista may remember me, 
Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, 
Wh^re we were lodgers at the Pegasus. 

Tra. 'T is well ; and hold your own, in any case, 
With such austerity as 'longeth to a father. 
Enter Biondello. 

Ped. I warrant you. But, sir. here comes your boy ; 
'T were good, he were school'd. 

Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah, Biondello, 
Now do your duty throughly, I advise you : 
Imai^ine 'twere the right Vinceniio. 

Bioa. Tut! fear not me. 

Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista? 

Bion. I told him. that your father was at Venice, 
And iliat you look'd for him this day in Padua. 

Tra. Thou 'rt a tall fellow : hold thee that to drink. 
Here comes Baptista. — Set your countenance, sir. — 

Enter Baptista and Lucentio. 
Siguier Baptista, you are happily met. — 
Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of. — 
I pray you, stand good father to me now, 
(iive me Bianca for my patrimony. 

Ped Soft, son ! — 
Sir, by your leave : having come to Padua 
To gather in some debts, my son, Lucentio, 
Made me actxuainted with a weighty cause 
Of love between your daughter and himself: 
And, for the good report I hear of you, 
And for the love he beareth to your daughter, 
And she to him, to stay him not too long, 
I am content, in a good father's care, ^ 

To have him match'd ; and. if you please to like 
No worse than I, upon some agreement, 
Me shall you find ready and willing 
With one consent to have her so bestow'd; 
For curiou.s* I cannot be with you, 
Siguier Baptista, of whom I hear so well. 

Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say: 
Your plainne.'s, and your shortness please me well. 
Right true it is, your son Lucentio, here, 
Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him. 
Or both dissemble deeply their affections ; 
And, therefore, if you say no more than this, 
That like a father you will deal with him, 
And pass my daughter a sufficient dower. 
The match is made, and all is happily' done: 
Y'our son shall have my daughter with consent. 

Tra. I thank you, sir. Where, then, do you hold* 
best. 
We be afficd. and such a.'^suranee ta'en, 
As shall with either part's agrcetnonl stand? 

Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio ; for, you know, 
Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants ■ 
, Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still, 
i And, happily, we might be interrupted. 

,ke. ' Thii word not in f. e. * Particular. » This werd not in f. «. 



228 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



ACT IV. 



Tra. Then, at my lodging, an it like you : 
There doth my father lie, and there this night 
We '11 paf-s the business privately and well. 
Send for your daughter by your servant here ; 
My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. 
The v^'orst is this, — ^that, at so slender warning, 
You 're like to have a thin and slender pittance. 

Baj). It likes me well : — Cambio, hie you home, 
And bid Bianca make her ready straight ; 
And, if you will, tell what hath happened : 
Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua, 
And how she '.s like to be Lucentio's wife. 

Lxic. I pray the gods she may with all my heart. 

Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. 
Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? 
Welcome : one mess is like to be your cheer. 
Come, sir ; we will better it in Pisa. 
I follow you. 

{Exeunt Tranio, Pedant, anil Baptista. 

Bion. Cambio ! 

Lnc. What say'st thou, Biondcllo ? 

Bion. You saw my master winlc and laugh upon you. 

Luc. BiondellO; what of that ? 

Bion. 'Faith )iothing ; but he has left me here 
behind, to expound the meaning or moral of his signs 
and tokens. 

Lvc. I pray thee, moralize them. 

Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with the 
deceiving father of a deceitful son. 

Luc. And what of him ? 

His daughter is to be brought bv vou to the 



Bap. 



B 



ion. 



supper. 
Luc. 
Bion. 



And then? — 

The old priest at St. Luke's church is at 
your command at all hours. 

Luc. And wliat of all this ? 

Bion. I cannot tell; except*, while' they are busied 
about a counterfeit assurance, take you assurance of 
her, cum privilegio ad imprimevdum .solum. To the 
church ! — take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient 
honest witnesses. 

Tf this be not that you look for, I liave no more to say, 
But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. 

Luc. Hear'st thoii, Biondcllo ? 

Bion. I cannot tarry : I knew a wench married in 
an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to 
stuff a rabbit ; and so may you, sir ; and so adieu, sir. 
My master hath appointed me to go to St. Luke's, to 
bid the priest be ready to come against you come with 
your appendix. [Exit. 

Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented : 
She will be pleas'd. then wherefore should I doubt? 
Hap what hap may, I '11 roundly go about her : 
It shall go hard, if Cambio go without her. [Exit. 

SCENE v.— A public Road. 
Enter Tetrvchio. Katharina, and Hortensio. 
Pet. Come on, o' God's name : once more toward 
our father's. 
Good lord ! how bright and goodly shines the moon. 
. Kath The moon ! the sun : it is not moonlight now. 
Pet. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright. 
Kath. I know, it is the sun that shines so bright. 
Pet. Now. by my mother's son, and that 's myself, 
It .shall be moon, or star, or what I list. 
Or ere I journey to your father's house. — 
Go one,' and fetch our horses back again. — 
Evermore cross'd, and cross'd ; nothing but cross'd. 
Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go. 

•» •» fcxpistetrin f. e; ' a NyiW-f.'e. s on : in'f:'^' ^'■*'8b f in f. e. 



Kath. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, 
And be it moon, or sun, or what you please. 
An if you please to call it a rush candle, 
Henceforth, I vow, it shall be so for me. 

Pd. I say, it is the moon. 

Kath. I know, it is the moon. 

Pet. Nay, then you lie : it is the blessed sun. 

Kath. Then, God be bless'd. it is the blessed sun ; 
Bat sun it is not, when you say it is not. 
And the moon changes, even as your mind. 
What you will have it nam'd. even that it is ; 
And so it shall be still* for Katharine. 

Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways : the field is won. 

Pet. Well, forward, forward ! thus the bowl should 
run. 
And not unluckily against the bias. — 
But soft ! what company is coming here ? ^ 

Enter Vincentio, in a travelling dress. 
[To Vincentio.] Good-morrow, gentle mistress : where 

away ? — 
Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too. 
Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman ? 
Such war of white and red within her cheeks ! 
What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, 
As these two eyes become that heavenly face? — 
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee. — 
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. 

Hor. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman 
of him. 

Kath Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, and 
sweet. 
Whither away, or where is thy abode ? 
Happy the parents of so fair a child ; 
Happier the man, whom favourable stars 
Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow ! 

Pet. Why. how now, Kate ! I hope thou art not mad : 
This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd, 
And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. 

Kath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes. 
That liave been so bedazzled with the sun, 
That cA'ery thing I look on seemeth green. 
Now I perceive thou art a reverend father ; 
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. [known 

Pet. Do, good old grand sire : and, withal, make 
Which way thou travel lest : if along with us, 
We shall be joyful of thy compaily. 

Vin. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress. 
That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me, 
My name is called Vincentio : my dwelling, Pisa, 
And bound I am to Padua, there to visit 
A son of mine, which long I have not seen. 

Pet. What is his name ? 

Vin. Lucentio, gentle sir. 

Pet. Happily met ; the happier for thy son. 
And now by law, as well as reverend age, 
I may entitle thee — my loving father : 
The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman. 
Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not. 
Nor be not griev'd : she is of good esteem. 
Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth ; 
Beside, so qualified as may beseem 
The spouse of any noble gentleman. 
Let me embrace with old Vincentio ; 
And wander we to see thy honest son. 
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. 

Vin. But is this true ? or is it else your pleasvire, 
Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest 
Upon the company you overtake ? 

Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. 



SCENE I. 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



229 



Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; 
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. 

[Exeunt PetruchiOj KatharinAj and Vincentio. 



Hor. Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart. 
Have to my widow : and if she be froward, 
Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. [Exit. 



ACT V 



SCENE I. — Padua. Before Lucentio's House. 

Enter on one side Biondei.lo, Lucentio, and Bianca ; 

Gremio walking on the other side. 

Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir, lor the priest is ready. 

Luc. I fly, Biondello ; but they may chance to need 
thee at home : therefoi'e, leave us. 

Bion. Nay, faith, I '11 see the church o' your back ; 
and then come back to my master as soon as I 
can. 

[Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca, and Biondello. 

Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. 
Enter Petruchio, Kathauina, Vincentio, and 
Attendants. 

Pet. Sir, here 's the door ; this is Lucentio's house : 
My fatlier's bears more toward the market place j 
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. 

Vin. You shall not choose but drink before you go. 
I think I shall command your welcome here. 
And, by all likelihood, some clieer is toward. [Knocks. 

Gre. They 're busy witliin ; you were best knock 
louder. 

Enter Pedant above, at a window. 

Ped. What 's he, that knocks as he would beat down 
the gate? 

Vin. Is signior Lucentio within, sir ? 

Ped. He 's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. 

Vin What, if a man bring him a hundred pound or 
two to make merry withal ? 

Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: he 
shall need none, so long as I live. 

Pet. Nay, I told you, your son was beloved in Padua. 
— Do you hear, sir? to leave frivolous circumstances, 
I pray you, tell signior Lucentio, that his father is come 
from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him. 

Ped. Thou liest : his father is come from Pisa, and 
here looking out at the window. 

Vin. Art thou his father ? 

Ped. Ay, sir ; so his mother says, if I may believe 
her. 

Pet. Why, how now, gentleman? [To Vincentio.] 
why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another 
man's name. 

Ped. Lay hands on the villain. I believe, 'a means 
to cozen .somebody in this city under my countenance. 
Re-enter Biondello. 

Bion. I have seen them in the church together : 
God send 'em good shipping ! — But who is here ? mine 
old ma.«ter, Vincentio ! now we are undone, and brought 
to nothing. 

Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp. [Seeing Biondello. 

Bion. I hope I may choose, sir. 

Via. Come hither, you rogue. What, have you for- 
got me ? 

Bion. Forgot you ? no, sir : I could not forget you, 
for I never saw you before in all my life. 

Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never 
see thy niiister's father, Vincentio? 

Bion. What, my old, worshipful old master? yes, 
marry, sir : see where he looks out of the window. 



Vin. Is't so, indeed? [Beat.'s Biondello. 

Bion. Help, help, help ! here 's a madman will mur- 
der me. [Exit. 

Ped. Help, son ! help, signior Baptista ! 

[Exitj from the window. 

Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let 's stand a.side, and see the 
end of this controversy. [They retire. 

Re-enter Pedant, b"loir : Baptista, Tranio, and 
Servants. 

Tra. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my servant? 

Vin. What am I, .sir? nay, what are you, sir? — O, 
immortal Gods ! O, fine villain ! A silken doublet ! a 
velvet ho.se ! a scarlet cloak ! and a copatain' hat ! — O, 
I am undone ! I am undone ! while I play the good 
hu.sband at home, my son and my servant spend all at 
the university. 

Tra. How now ! what 's the matter ? 

Bap. What, is the man lunatic ? 

Tra. Sir. you seem a sober ancient gentleman by 
your habit, but your words show you a madman. Why, 
sir, what 'cerns it you if I wear pearl and gold ? I 
thank my good father, I am able to maintain it. 

Vin. Thy father ? 0, villain ! he is a sail-maker in 
Bergamo. 

Bap. You mistake, sir : you mistake, sir. Pray, 
what do you think is his name ? 

Vin. His name ? as if I knew not his name : I have 
brought him up ever since he was three years old, and 
his name is Tranio. 

Ped. Away, away, mad ass ! his name is Lucentio ; 
and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, 
signior Vincentio. 

Vin. Lucentio ! O ! he hath murdered his master. 
— Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's name. 
— O. my son, my son ! — tell me, thou villain, where is 
my son Lucentio ? 

Tra. Call forth an officer. 

Enter one, with an Officer. 
Carry this mad knave to the jail. — Father Baptista, I 
charge you see that he be forthcoming. 

Vin. Carry me to the jail ! 

Gre. Slay, officer : he shall not go to prison. 

Bap. Talk not, signior Gremio. I say, he shall go 
to prison. 

Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you be c«ny- 
catched in this business. I dare swear this is the right 
Vincentio. 

Ped. Swear, if thou darest. 

Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. 

Tra. Then thou wert best say, that I am not Lucentio. 

Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. 

Bap. Away with the dotard ! to the jail with him ! 

Vin. Thus strangers may be handled' and abused. — 
0, mon.^trous villain ! 

Re-enter Biondello with Lucentio, and Bianca. 

Bion. O, we are spoiled ! and yonder he is; deny 
him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. 

Luc. Pardon, sweet father. [Kneeling. 

Vin. Lives my sweet son ? 

[Biondello, Tranio, and Pedant run out. 



' Conical. ' haled : in f. e. 



230 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



ACT V. 



Bian. Pardon, dear fatlier, 
Bap. 
Where is Lucentio ? 



[Kneelinf 
How hast thou offended ?- 



Luc. 



Here 's Lucentio, 



Right son to the right Vineentio ; 

That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, 

While counterfeit supposes blcar'd thine eyne. 

Gre. Here 's packing, with a witness, to deceive us all! 

Vh}. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, 
That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so ? 

Bap. Why. tell me, is not this my Cambio ? 

Bian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio. 

Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love 
Made me exchange my state with Tranio, 
While he did bear my countenance in the towTi ; 
And happily I have arrived at the last 
Unto the wished haven of my blis-s. 
What Tranio did, myfclf enforc'd him to : 
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. 

Vin. 1 '11 slit the villain's nose, that would have sent 
me to the jail. 

Bap. [To LucKNTio.] But do you hear, sir ? Have 
you married my daughti:>r without asking my good will ? 

Fjn. Fear not. Baptista; we will content you: go 
to; but I will in, to be revenged for this villany. \Exit. 

Bap. And I, to .sound tlic depth of this knavery. [Exit. 

Luc. Look not pale, Bianca ; thy father will not 
frown. [Exeujit Luc. and Bian. 

Gre. My cake is dough ; but 1 '11 in among the rest, 
Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast. [Exit. 
Petuuchio and Katharina advance. 

Kath. Huf'band, let 's follow, to see the end of this ado. 

Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. 

Kath. What, in the midst of the street? 

Pet. What ! art thou ashamed of me ? 

Kath. No, sir, God forbid ; but a.«hamed to kiss. 

Pet. Why, then, let 's home again. — Come, sirrah, 
let 's away. 

Kath. Nay. I will give thee a kiss : now pray thee, 
love, stay. 

Pet. Is not this well ? — Come, my sweet Kate : 
Bjller once than never, for never too late. [Exeuyit. 

SCENE H. — A Boom in Lucentio's House. 
A Banquet set out ; Enter Baptista, Vincentio, Gre- 

Mio, the Pedant. LrcEXTio, Bianca, Petruchio, 

Katharina, Hortensio, and Widoio. Tranio, 

Bion'dello, Grl'Mio, and others, attending. 

Luc. At liist. tliough long, our jarring notes agree : 
And time it is, when raging war is gone,' 
To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. — 
My fair Bianca. bid my father welcome, 
While 1 with self-same kindness welcome thine. — 
Brother Petruchio — si^tcr Katharina, — 
And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, 
Feiist with the best, and welcome to my house : 
My banquet i.s to close our stomachs up, 
After our great good elieer. Pray you, sit down; 
For now wo sit to chat, as well as eat. [They sit at table. 

Pit. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat ! 

Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. 

Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. 

Hot. For both our sakes I would that word were 
true. 

Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. 

Wid. Then, never trust n)e, if I be afeard. 

Pet, You are very sensible, and yet you miss my 
sense : 
I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. 

I done : in f. e. » Tliis word is not in f. e. 



Wid. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round. 

Pet. Roundly replied. 

Kath. Mistress, how mean you that ? 

Wid. Thus I conceive by him. 

Pet. Conceives by me ! — How likes Hortensio that? 

Hot. My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. 

Pet. Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good 

widow. 
Kath. He that is giddy thinks the world turns 
round : — 
I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. 

Wid. Your husband, being troubled vsnth a shrew, 
Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe. 
And now you know my meaning. 
Kath. A very mean meaning. 
Wid. Riglit. I mean you. 

Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting y»u. 
Pet. To her, Kate ! 
Hot. To her, widow ! 

Pet. A hvindred marks, my Kate does put her down. 
Hor. That's my office. 
Pet. Spoke like an officer : — Here 's to thee, lad. 

[Drinks to Hortensio. 
Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks ? 
Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. 
Bian. Head and butt ? an hasty- wittcd body 
Would say. your head and butt were head and horn. 
Vin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you? 
Bian. Ay, but not frighted me : therefore, I '11 sleep 

again. 
Pet. Nay, that you shall not ; since you liave begun, 
Have at you for a better jest or two. 

Bian. Am I your bird? 1 mean to shift my bush. 
And then pursue me as you draw your bow. — 
You are welcome all. 

[Exciint Bianca. Katharina. and Widow. 
Pet. She hath prevented me — Here, signior Tranio ; 
This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not; 
Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd. 

Tra. sir ! Lucentio slipp'd me, like his greyhound, 
Which runs himself, and catches for his master. 
Pet. A good swift simile, but something currish. 
Tra. 'T is well, sir, that you hunted for yourself: 
'T is thought, your deer does hold you at a bay. 
Bap. O ho, Petruchio ! Tranio hits you now. 
Lvc. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. 
Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you hero ? 
Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess ; 
And, as the jest did glance away from me, 
'T is ten to one it maim'd you two outright. 

Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, 
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. 

Pet. Well. I say no : and therefore, for assurance, 
Let 's each one send unto his severaP wife, 
And he, whose wife is most obedient 
To come at first when he doth send for her, 
Shall win the wager which we will propose. 
Hor. Content. What is the wager ? 
Luc. Twenty crowns. 

Pet. Twenty crowns ! 
I '11 venture so much of my hawk, or hound, 
But twenty times so much upon my wife. 
Luc. A hundred then. 
Hor. Content. 

Pet. A match ! 't is done. 

Hor. Who shall begin? 
Luc. That will L 

Go. Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. 

Bion. I go. [Exit. 



SCENE n. 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



231 



Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. 
Luc. I '11 have no halves ; I '11 bear it all myself. 
Re-enter Biondello. 
I How now ! what news ? 

; Bhn. Sir, my mistress sends you word, 

j That she is busy, and she cannot come. 

Pet. How ! she is busy, and she cannot come ! 
Is that an answer ? 

Gre. Ay, and a kind one too : 

Pray God. sir, your wife send you not a worse. 
Pet. I hope better. 

Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go and entreat my wife 
To come to me forthwith. [Exit Biondello. 

Pet. ho ! enlreat her ! 

Nay, then she must needs come. 

Hor. I am afraid, sir, 

Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. 

Re-enter Biondello. 
Now, where 's my wife ? 

Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in hand ; 
She will not come : she bids you come to her. 

Pet. Worse and worse : she will not come ? vile ! 
Intolerable, not to be endur'd ! 
Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress; say, 
I command her come to me. [Exit Grcmio. 

Hor. I know her answer. 
Pet. What? 
Hor. She will not. 
Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. 

Enter Katharina. 
Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharina ! 
Katli. What is your will, sir, that you send for me ? 
Pet. Where is your sister, and Horteusio's wife ? 
Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. 
Pet. Go, fetch them hither : if they deny to come, 
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands. 
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. 

[Exit Katharina. 
Luc. Hero is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. 
Hor. And so it is. I wonder what it bodes. 
Pet. Mirry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, 
An awful rule, and right supremacy; 
And, to be short, what not that 's sweet and happy. 

Bap. Now fair befal thee, good Petruchio ! 
The wager thou hast won ; and I will add 
Unto their loses twenty thousand crowns ; 
Another dowry to another daughter. 
For she is ehang'd, as she had never been. 

Pet. Nay, T will win my wager better yet, 
And sliow more sign of her obedience, 
Her new-built virtue and obedience. 

Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca and Widow. 
See, where she comes, and brings your froward wives 
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. — 
Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not : 
Off with that bauble, throw it under foot. 

(Katharina pull'i off her cap. and throws it down. 
Wii. Lord ! let me never have a cause to sigh, 
Till I be brought to such a silly pass. 

Bian. Fie ! what a foolish duty call you this? 
Lac. I would, your duty were as foolish too : 
The wi.'sdom of your duty, fair Bianca, 
Cost me one' hundred crowns since supper-time. 
Bian. The more fool you for laying on my duty. 
Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong 
women 



What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. 
Wid. Come, come, you 're mocking : we will have 

no telling. 
Pet. Come on, I say ; and first begin with her. 
Wid. She shall not. 

Pet. I say, she shall: — and first begin with her. 
Kath. Fie. fie ! unknit that threatening unkind brow, 
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, 
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : 
It blots thy beauty, as frost.s do bite the meads, 
Confounds thy fame, as whirlvvinds shake fair buds, 
And in no sense is meet, or amiable. 
A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled. 
Muddy, ill-SL-eming, thick, bereft of beauty; 
And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty 
Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. 
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, 
Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee, 
And for thy maintenance ; commits his body 
To painful labour, both by sea and land. 
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold. 
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe ; 
And craves no other tribute at thy hands. 
But love, fair looks, and true obedience. 
Too little payment for so great a debt. 
Such duty as the subject owes the prince, 
Even such a woman oweth to her husband ; 
And when she 's froward, peevish, sullen, sour, 
And not obedient to his honest will. 
What is she but a foul contending rebel. 
And graceless traitor to her loving lord ? — 
I am asham'd that women are so simple 
To offer war where they should kneel for peace, 
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, 
When they are l)ound to serve, love, and obey. 
Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth, 
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world. 
But that our soft conditions, and our hearts, 
Should well agree with our external parts ? 
Come, come, you froward and unable worms, 
My mind hath been as big as one of yours. 
My heart as great, my reason, haply, more 
To bandy word for word, and frown for frown ; 
But now I see our lanees are but straws, 
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, 
That seeming most, which we indeed least are. 
Then, vail your stomachs, for it is no boot, , 

And place your hands below your husband's foot : 
In token of which duty, if he please. 
My hand is ready, may it do him ease. 

Pet. Why, there 's a wench ! — Come on, and kiss 
me, Kate. 

Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad, for thou shalt ha 't. 

Vin. 'T is a good hearing, when children are toward. 

Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froward. 

Pet. Come, Kate, we '11 to bed. — 
We three are married, but you two are sped. 
'T was I won the wager, though you hit the white ; 

[To LrcENTio. 
And, being a winner, God give you good night. 

[Exeunt Petruchio and Kath. 

Hor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst 
shrew. 

Luc. 'T is a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd 
80. [Exeunt. 



> an : in f. e. 



r ~" 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Kinj; of France. 

Duko of Kloroiice. 

Bkrtuam, Count of Rousillon. 

Lakku, an old Lord. 

Pauoi.i.ks. a Follower of Bertram. 

French Knvoy, serving with Bertram. 

French (.Jentlenian, also serving with Bertram. 

RiNALDO, Steward to the Countess of Rousillon. 

Clown, iin her household. 

A Page. 



Countess of Rousillon, Mother to Bertram. 
Hki.k.na, a Gentlewoman protected by tho Coun- 
tess. 
A Widow of Florence. 
Diana. Dauiihtcr to the .Widow. 

VlOI.F.NTA, 

Maui 



' } Nei" 

llANA, ) " 



hbours and Friends to tho Widow. 



Lords, attending on the King; Ollicers, Soldiers, 
&c., French and Florentine. 



SCENE, partly in France, and pai-tly in Tuscany. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L — Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 

Palace. 

Enter Bertram, the Coi'ntk.s<! of Rousillon, Helena, 

and Lafec, all in black. 

Count. In delivering my son from me, 1 bury a 
scwnd husband. 

Ber. And I, in going, madum, weep o'er my father's 
death anew ; but I must attend his majesty's command, 
to whom I am now in ward,' evermore in subjection. 

ImJ'. You shall luul o( the king a husband, madam ; 
— you, sir, a father. Ho that so generally is at all 
times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you. 
wlu>se worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, 
rather ihan lack it where there is such abundance. 

Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amend- 
ment ? 

La/". He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; 
under whose practices he hath persecuted time with 
hope, and finds no other advantage in tho process, but 
only the losing of hope by time. 

Cou)it. This young gentlewoman had a father, — 0, 
tliat had ! how sad a passage "t is — whose skill,' almost 
as great tv? his honesty, had it stretched so far would 
have made nature immortal, and death should have 
play for lack of work. Would, for the king's sake, he 
were living ! I think it would be the death of the 
king's disease. 

Laf. How called you the man you speak of, madam ? 

Count. He wivs famous, sir, in his profession, and it 
wa.s his great right to be so. — Gerard de Narbon. 

Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam : the king 
very lately spoke of him. admiringly and mourningly. 
He was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge 
could be set up against mortality. 

Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? 

Laf. A tistula, my lord. 

Btr. I heard not of it before. 

Li\f. I would it were not notorious. — Was this gcn- 
tlewom.ui the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? 



Count. His sole child, my lord ; and bequeathed to 
my overlooking. 1 have those hopes of her goid that 
her education promises: her dispositions she inherits, 
which make t'air gifts fairer ; for where an unclean 
mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations 
go with pity; they are virtues and traitors too: in her 
they are the better for their .Minplene.>;s ; she devives 
her honesty, and achieves her goodness. 

Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. 

Count. 'T is the best brine a maiden can season her 
praise in. The remeinbrance of her father never 
approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows 
takes all livelihood from her chet>k. — No more of this, 
Helena : go to, no more ; lest it be rather thought you 
afl'ect a sorrow, than to have. 

Ifel. I do allect a sorrow, indeed ; but I have it too. 

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, 
excessive grief the enemy to the living. 

Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess 
makes it soon mortal. 

Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wislies. 

Laf. How understand we that? 

Count. Be thou blest, Bertram; and succeed thy 
father 
In maimers, as in t^hapc ! thy blood, and virtue. 
Contend for empire in tliee ; and thy goodness 
Share with thy birth-right ! Love all, trust a few. 
Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy 
Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend 
Under thy own life's key : be check'd for silence, 
But never tax'd for speech. What lieavcn more will. 
That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, 
Fall on thy head ! — Farewell, my lord : 
'T is an unseason'd courtier : good my lord, 
Advise him. 

Li\f. He cannot want the best 

That shall attend his love. 

Count. Heaven bless him !— 
Farewell, Bertnun. [Exit Countess, 



* Heiis of lajge estates wore during their minority, \mrdi of the king. ' f, e. insert tea*. 



SCENE I. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



233 



Ber. [To Helkna.] The best wIkKcs that can be 
forged in your thoughts be servants to you ! Be com- 
fortable to iiiy mother, your miKtress, and make much 
of her. 

Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit 
of your father. [Exeunt Bkk i kam and Lmev. 

Ilel. 0, were that all ! — I think not on my father; 
And these great tears grace his remembrance more 
Than tlio.se 1 .shed for him. What was he like ? 
I have forgot him : my imagination 



there is no living, 



but only' Bertram's, 
none, 



Carries no favour in 

I am undone : 

If Bertram be away. It were all one, 

That I filiould love a bright particular star, 

And think to wed it. he is so above me : 

In his bright radiance and collateral light 

Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 

Th' ambiiion in my love thus plagues itself: 

The hind that would be mated by the lion, 

Must die for love. 'T was pretty, though a plague, 

To see him every hour ; to sit and draw 

His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 

In my heart's table ; heart, too capable 

Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: 

But now he 's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 

Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here? 

Enter Pakolles. 
One that goes with him : I love him for his sake, 
And yet I know him a notorious liar. 
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward ; 
Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him, 
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones 
Look bleak in the cold wind : withal, full oft we see 
Cold wi.sdom waiting on superfluous folly. 

Par. Save you, fair queen. 

Hel. And you, monarch.* 

Par. No. 

Hd. And no. 

Par. Are you meditating on virginity? 

Hel. Ay. You have some stain of .soldier in you; 
let me a.sk you a question : man is enemy to virginity ; 
how may we barricade it against him. 

Par. Keep him out. 

Jlel. But he assails ; and our virginity, though valiant 
in the dcl'ence, yet is weak. Unfold to us some war- 
like resistance. 

Par. There is none : man, sitting down before you, 
will undermine you. and blow you up. 

Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers, and 
blowers up ! — Is there no military policy, how virgins 
might blow up men? 

Par. Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier 
bo blown up : marry, in blowing him down again, with 
the breach yourselves made you lose your city. It is 
not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve 



viririmty. Loss of virginity is rational increase; and 
fiicre was never virgin got, till virginity wa« first lost. 
That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Vir- 
ifinily. by being once lo.st, may be ten times found : by 
being ever kept, it is ever lost. 'T is too cold a com- 
panion : away with 't. 

Hel. I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I 
die a viriiin. 

Par. There ' 
rule of nature. 



little can be said in 't : 't is against the 

To speak on the part of virginity is to 

mothers, which is most infallible di.sobe- 



accuse your 

dience. He that hanirs himself is a virgin: virginity 
murders it.'^elf. and should be buried in highways, out 
of all sanctified limit, as a desperate oflJendress against 

> Not in f. e 



cheese ; 
with 



nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a 
consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies 
feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, 
proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most in- 
hibited sin in the canon. Keep it not: you cannot 
choose but lose by 't. Out with 't : within two' years 
it will make itself two,* which is a goodly increase, and 
the principal itself not much the worse. Away with 't. 

Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own 
liking ? 

Par. Let me see: marry, ill ; to like him that ne'er 
it likes. 'T is a cc'mmodity will lose the gloss with 
lying ; the longer kept, the less worth : off with "t, while 
't is vendible : answer the time of request. Virginity, 
like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion ; 
richly suited, but unsuitable : just like the brooch and 
the tooth-pick, which wear not now. Your date is 
better in your pie and your porridge, than in your 
cheek: and your virginity, your old virginity, is like 
one of our French withered pears: it looks ill, it cats 
dryly; marry, 't is a withered pear: it was formerly 
better ; marry, yet, 't is a withered pear. Will you do* 
any thing with it ? 

Hel. Not with' my virginity yet. 
There shall your master have a thousand loves, 
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, 
A phoBnix, captain, and an enemy, 
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, 
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; 
His humble ambition, proud humility. 
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet. 
His faith, his sweet disaster ; with a world 
Of pretty, fond, adojjtious Christendoms, 
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he — 
I know not what he shall : — God send him well ! — 
The court 's a learning-place : — and he is one — 



;' faith ? 
well. — 'T is pity — 



Par. What one, i' 

Hel. That I wish 

Par. What's pity? 

Hel. That wishing well had not a body in 't. 



Which might be felt : that we. the poorer bom. 
Whose baser stars do shut us up in vvishes, 
Might with effects of them follow our friends. 
And show what we alone must think ; which never 
Returns us thanks. 

Enter a Page. 

Page. Monsieur ParoUes, my lord calls for you. 

[Exit Page. 

Par. Little Helen, farewell : if I can remember thee, 
I \s-ill think of thee at court. 

Hel. Monsieur ParoUes, you were born under a cha- 
ritable .star. 

Par. Under Mars, I. 

Hel. I especially think, under Mars. 

Par. Why under Mars ? 

Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you 
must needs be born under Mars. 

Par. When he was predominant. 

Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. 

Par. Why think you so ? 

Hel. You go so much backward when you fight. 

Par. That 's for advantage. 

Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the 
safety: but the composition that your valour and fear 
make in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the 
wear well. 



Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer 
thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the 
which my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, 

' Thig may be a play on the word Monarcho, a braggart. » « ten : in f. e. » « Not in f. a. 



234 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ACT I. 



A' 



SO thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and 
understand what advice shall thrust upon thee : else 
thou dicst in thine until ankfulncss, and thine ignorance 
makes thee away : farewell. When thou hast leisure, 
say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy 
friends. Get thee a good husband, and use him as he 
uses thee : so farewell. [Exit. 

Hcl. Oar remedies oft in ourselves do lie, 
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky 
Gives us free scope ; only, doth backward pull 
Our i^low designs, when we ourselves are dull. 
What power is 't which mounts my love so high ; 
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye ? 
The mightiest space in nature fortune brings.' 
To join like likes, and kiss like native things. 
Impossible be strange attempts to those 
That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose, 
Whnt hath been cannot be. Who ever strove 
To show her merit, that did miss her love ? 
The king's disease — my project may deceive me ; 
Rut my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. 

Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, with 

letters ; Lords and others attending. 

King. The Florentines and Senoys' are by th' ears ; 
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 
A braving war. 

I Lord. So 't is reported, sir. 

King. Nay, 't is most credible : we here receive it 
A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 
With caution, that the Florentine will move us 
For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend 
Preiuilicafcs the business, and would seem 
To have us make denial. 

1 Lord. His love and wisdom, 
Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead 

For amplest credence. 

King. He hath arm'd our answer, 

And Florence is denied before he comes : 
Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see 
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave 
To stand on either part. 

2 Lord. It may well servo 
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick 

For breathing and exploit. 

King. What 's he comes here ? 

Enter Bertram. Lafeu, and Parot.les. 

1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, 
Young Bertram. 

King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face ; 

Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, 
Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts 
May'st thou inherit too ! Welcome to Paris. 

Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. 

King. I would I had that corporal soundness now, 
As when thy father, and myself, in friendship 
First tried our soldiership. He did look far 
Into the service of the time, and was 
Discipled of the bravest : he lasted long ; 
But on VIS both did haggish age steal on, 
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me 
To talk of your good father. In his youth 
He had the wit, which I can well observe 
To-day in our young lords ; but they may jest, 
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, 
Ere they can hide their levity in honour : 
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness 
Were in his pride, or sharpness ; if they were, 



His equal had awak'd them : and his honour, 

Clock to itself, knew the true minute when 

Exception bid him speak, and at this time 

His tongue obey'd his hand : who were below him 

He us'd as creatures of another place. 

And boAv'd his eminent top to their low ranks, 

Making them proud of his humility. 

In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man 

Might be a copy to these younger times. 

Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now 

But goers backward. 



Ber. 



His good remembrance, sir. 



Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tcmb : 
So in approof lives not his epitaph, 
As in your royal speech. 

King. 'Would I were with him ! He would always 
say, 
(Methinks. I hear him now; his plausive words 
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them. 
To grow there, and to bear.) — '• Let me not live," — 
Thus his good melancholy oft began, 
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime. 
When it was out, " let me not live," quoth he, 
" After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff 
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses 
All but new things disdain : whose judgments are 
Mere fathers of their garments ; whose constancies 
Expire before their fashions." — This he wisli'd : 
I, after him, do after him wish too. 
Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, 
I quickly were dissolved from my hive, 
To give some labourers room. 

2 Lord. You a,re lov'd. sir ; 

They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. 

King. I fill a place, I know 't. — How long is 't. count, 
Since the physician at your father's died ? 
He was much fam'd. 

Ber. Some six months since, my lord. 

King. If he were living. I would try him yet ; — 
Lend me an arm : — the rest have worn me cut 
With several applications : nature and sickness 
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count ; 
My son 's no dearer. 

Ber. Thank your majesty. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HI. — Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 

Palace. 
Enter Countess, Steivard. and Chum. 

Coimt. I will now hear; what say you of this 
gentlewoman ! 

Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your 
content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my 
past endeavours ; for then we wound our modesty, and 
make foul the clearness of our deservings. when of 
ourselves we publish them. 

Count. What docs this knave here? Get you gone, 
sirrah : the complaints I have heard of you, I do not 
all believe : 't is my slowness, that I do not ; for I know 
you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability 
enough to make such knaveries yours. 

Clo. 'T is not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor 
fellow. 

Count. Well, sir. 

Clo. No, madam : 't is not so well, that I am poor, 
though many of the rich are damned. But, if I may 
have your ladyship's good-will to go to the world,^ 
Isbel, the woman, and I will do as we may. 

Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar ? 

Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case. 



' fortune nature brings ; in f. e. ' The people of Sienna. ' To be married. 



SCENE ni. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



235 



Count. In what care ? 

Clo. In Isbcl's case, and mine own. Service is no 
heritage ; and, I think. I shall never have the blessing 
of God, till I have issue of my body, for they say, 
bairns are bletsings. 

Count. Tell nie thy reason why thou wilt marry. 

Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it : I am driven 
on by the flesh, and he must needs go that the devil 
drives. 

Count. Is this all your wor.«hip's reason ? 

Clo. Faith, madam. I have other holy reasons, such 
as they are. 

Count. May the world know them ? 

Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you 
and all flesh and blood are ; and, indeed, I do marry 
that I may repent. 

Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. 

Clo. I am out o' friends, madam ; and I hope to 
have friends for my wife's sake. 

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. 

Clo. You are shallow, madam ; e'en' great friends ; 
for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am 
a-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my team, 
and gives me leave to inn the crop : if I be his cuckold, 
he 's my drudge. He that comforts my wife is the 
cherisher of my flesh and blood ; he that cherishes my 
flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood ; he that 
loves my flesh and blood is my friend ; ergo, he that 
kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be con- 
tented to be what they are, there were no fear in mar- 
riage : for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam 
the papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in 
religion, their heads are both one ; they may joll horns 
together, like any deer i' the herd. 

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calum- 
nious knave ? 

Clo. A prophet I, madam : and I speak the trxUh 
the next^ way : 

For I the ballad icill repeat. 

Which men full true i^hall find; 

Your marriage come.s by dr.ftinij, 
Your cuckoo sings by kind. 

Count. Get you gone, sir : I '11 talk with you more 
anon. 

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen 
come to you ? of her I am to speak. 

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would .speak 
with her ; Helen. I mean. 

Clo. Was this fair face, quoth .<;/ie, the cau.se,* 
Why the Grecians .sacked Troy ? 
Fond* done, done fond,^ good sooth it was ; 

Was this King Priani's joy? 
With that she sighed as .she stood^ 

And gave this .sentence then ; 

Among nine bad if one be good,'' 

There 's yet one good in ten. 

Count. What! one good in ten? you corrupt the 
song, sirrah. 

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam, which is a 
purifying o' the song*, and mending o' the sex. Would 
God would serve the world so all the year ! we 'd find 
no fault with the tithe-woman if I were the parson. 
One in ten, quoth a' ! an we might have a good woman 
born — but one' — every blazing star, or at an earth- 
quake, 't would mend the lottery well : a man may 
draw his heart out, ere he pluck one. 



Count. You '11 be gone, sir knave, and do as I com- 
mand you ? 

Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and 
yet no hurt done ! — Though honesty be no puritan, yet 
it will do no hurt ; it will wear the surplice of humility 
over the black gown of a big heart. — I am going, for- 
sooth : the business is for Helen to come hither. [Exit. 

Count. Well. now. 

Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman 
entirf^ly. 

Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to 
me ; and she herself, without other advantage, may 
lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there 
is more owing her than is paid, and more shall be paid 
her than she '1,1 demand. 

Stew. _ — m, I was very late more near her than, 
I think, she wished me : alone she was, and did com- 
municate to herself, her own words to her own ears; 
she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any 
stranger sense. Her matter was, .she loved your son : 
fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such 
difference betwixt tlieir two estates; love, no god, that 
would not extend his might, only where qualities were 
level : Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer 
her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the 
first assault, or ransom afterward. This .she delivered 
in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard 
virgin exclaim in ; which I held my duty speedily to 
acquaint you withal, sithence in the loss that may 
happen it concerns you sometliing to know it. 

Count. You have discharged this honestly : keep it 
to yourself. Many likelihoods informed me of this 
before, which hung so tottering in the balance, tliat I 
could neither believe, nor misdoubt. Pray you, leave 
me : stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your 
honest care. I will speak with you farther, anon. 

[Exit Steward. 

Count. Even so it was wth me, when I was young: 
If ever we are nature's, these are ours ; this thorn 
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; 

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born : 
It is the show and seal of nature's truth. 
Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth. 

Enter Helena." 
By our remembrances of days foregone 
Search we out faults, for" then we thought them none. 
He-r eye is sick on 't : I observe her now. 

Hel. What is your pleasure, madam ? 

Count. You know, Helen, 

I am a mother to you. 

Hel. Mine honourable mistress. 

Count. Nay, a mother. 

Why not a mother? When I said, a mother, 
Methought you saw a serpent : what 's in mother, 
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother, 
And put you in the catalogue of those 
That were enwombed mine. 'T is often seen, 
Adoption strives with nature ; and choice breeds 
A native slip to us from foreign .^eeds: 
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, 
Yet I express to you a mother's care. — 
God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood, 
To say, I am thy mother ? What 's the matter, 
That this distemper'd messenger of wet. 
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye ? 
Why, that you are my daughter ? 

Jiel- That I am not. 



1 Tho old copies : 
are rpj)«ated in f. p. 



'"„,,.' Nearest. 3 the cnu.ie, quoth she : in f . e. « Foolishly. » Thfi rest of this '.ine is not in f. e. « ' Thoie lines 
<• ,. . ■ ■"*/' °' ""* sentence not xn f. e. » ere : in f. e. i« This stage direction is given six lines above : in f e i' Such 

were our faults ; or, &c. : in f. e. ° o 



236 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ACT n. 



Count. I say, I am your mother. 

Hel. Pardon, madam; 

The count Rousillon cannot be my brother ; 
I am from humble, he from honour'd name ; 
No note upon my parents, his all noble : 
My master, my dear lord he is ; and I 
His servant live, and will his vassal die. 
He must not be my brother. 

Count. Nor I your mother ? 

Hel. You are my mother, madam : would you were 
(So that my lord, your son, were not my brother) 
Indeed, my mother ! — or were you both our mothers, 
I care no more for, than I do for heaven, 
So I were not his sister. Can't no other, 
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? 

Count. Ye?:, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law. 
God shield, you mean it not ! daughter, and mother. 
So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again ? 
My fear hath catcli'd your fondness ; Now 1 see 
The mystery of your loneliness, and find 
Your f^alt tears' head. Now to all i-enso "t is gross. 
You love my son : invention is asliam'd 
Against the proclamation of thy passion. 
To say, thou dost not: therefore, tell me true; 
But tell me then, 't is so : — for, look, thy cheeks 
Confess it, th' one to the otlier ; and thine eyes 
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours. 
That in their kind they speak it : only sin, 
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue. 
That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so? 
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue ; 
If it be not, forswear 't: howe'er, I charge thee, 
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, 
To tell me truly. 

Hel. Good madam, pardon me. 

Count. Do you love my son ? 

Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress. 

Count. Love you my son ? 

Hel. Do not you love him, madam? 

Count. Go not about : my love hath in 't a bond, 
Whereof the world takes note. Come, come, disclose 
The .state of your affection, for your passions 
Have to the full appeaeli'd. 

Hel. Then, I confess, [Kneeling.^ 

Here on my knee, before high lieaven and you, 
That before you, and next unto high heaven, 
I love your son. — [Rising.'' 

My friends were poor, but honest; so 's my love : 
Be not offended, for it hurts not him. 
That he is lov'd of me. I follow him not 
By any token of presumptuous suit ; 
Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him, 
Yet never know how that desert should be. 
[ know I love in vain, strive against hope ; 
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve, 
I still pour in the waters of my love, 
An^ lack not to lose still. Thus, Indian-like, 
Religious in mine error, t adore 
The sun. that looks upon his worshipper, 



But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, 
Let not your hate encounter with my love. 
For loving where you do : but, if yourself. 
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, 
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking. 
Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian 
Was both herself and love, ! then, give pity 
To her, whose .state is such, that cannot choose 
But lend and give where she is sure to lose ; 
That seeks not to find that her search implies, 
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies. 

Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly, 
To go to Paris ? 

Hel. Madam, I had. 

Count. Wherefore ? tell true. 

Hel. I will tell truth, by grace itself I .swear. 
You know, my father left me some prescriptions 
Of rare and prov'd eftects, such as his reading 
And manifold^ experience had collected 
For general sovereignty ; and that he w-ill'd me 
In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, 
As notes, whose faculties inclusive were 
More than they were in note. Amongst the rest, 
There is a remedy approv'd, set down 
To cure the desperate languishings whereof 
The king is render'd lost. 

Count. This was your motive 

For Paris, was it ? speak. 

Hel. My lord, your son, made me to think of this ; 
Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king. 
Had, from the conversation of my thoughts, 
Ha]dy been absent then. 

Count. But think you, Helen, 

If you should tender your supposed aid, 
He would receive it ? He and his physicians 
Are of a mind ; he, that they cannot help him. 
They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit 
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, 
Emboweird of their doctrine, have left off 
The danger to itself ? 

Hel. There 's something in 't, 
More than my father's skill, which was the greatest 
Of his profession, that his good receipt 
Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified 
By the luckiest stars in heaven : and, would your 

honour 
But give me leave to try success, I 'd venture 
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure, 
By such a day, and hour. 

Count. Dost thou believe 't ? 

Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. 

Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave, and 
love, 
Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings 
To those of mine in court. I '11 slay at home. 
And pray God"s blessing unto thy attempt. 
Be gone to-morrow ; and be sure of this. 
What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. [Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. 
Flourish. Enter King, with young Lords taking leave 
for the Florentine war; Bertram, Parolles, and 
Attendants. 

King. Farewell, young lords. These warlike principles 



» ' Not in f. e. 3 uianifust : in { o. 



Do not throw from you : — and you, my lords, farewell. 
Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all, 
The gift doth stretch itself as 't is receiv'd, 
And is enough for both. 

1 Lord. 'T is our hope, sir, 



SCENE I. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



23T 



After well-entor'd soldiers, to return 
And find your grace in health. 

King. No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my heart 
Will not Ciinfess he owes the malady 
That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; 
Whether I live or die, be you the sons 
or worthy Frenchmen : let higher Italy 
(Thosi3 'bated, that inlierit but the fall 
or the last monarchy) see, that you come 
Not to woo honour, but to wed it : when 
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek. 
That fame may cry you loud. I say, farewell. 

2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty ! 

King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them. 
They say. our French lack language to deny, 
If they demand : beware of being captives, 
Belbre you serve. 

Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. 

King. Farewell. — Come hither to me. 

[The King retires to a couch. 

1 Lord. 0, my sweet lord, that you will stay be- 

hind us ! 
Par. 'T is not his fault, the spark. 

2 Lord. O, 't is brave wars ! 
Par. Most admirable : I have seen those wars. 
Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with ; 

" Too young," and '• the next year," and " 't is too early." 
Par. An thy mind stand to 't, boy, steal away bravely. 
Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, 
Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, 
Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn. 
But one to dance with. By heaven ! I '11 steal away. 

1 Lord. There 's honour in the theft. 

Par. Commit it, count. 

2 Lord. I am your accessary: and so farewell. 
Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured 

body. 

1 Lord. Farewell, captain. 

2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles ! 

Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. 
Good sparks, and lustrous, a word, good metals : — you 
shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one captain 
S})urio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war. here on 
his sinister cheek : it was this very sword entrenched 
it : say to him, I live, and observe his reports of me. 

2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. [Exewif Lord.s. 

Par. Mars dote on you for his novices ! — What will 
you do ? 

Ber. Stay ; the king — [Seeing him ri.^e. 

Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble 
lords; you have restrained yourself within the lists of 
too cold an adieu : be more expressive to them : for 
they wear themselves in the cap of the time : there do 
muster true gait ; eat, speak, and move under the 
influence of the most received star; and though the 
devil lead the measure, such are to be followed. Al'ter 
them, and take a more dilated farewell. 

Ber. And I will do so. 

Par. Worthy fellows, and like to prove most sinewy 
8word-men. [E.xeunt Bertram and Paroli.es. 

Enter Lafeu. 

Laf. Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings. 

[Kneeling. 

King. I '11 see thee to stand up. 

Laf. Tlien here' a man stands, that has brought his 
pardon. [Rising.' 

I would, you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy, 
And that, at my bidding, you could so stand up. 

King. I would I had ; so I had broke thy pate, 

I here 's : ii^f^-Po, o.'j^?',.^.^^ 



And ask'd thee mercy for 't. 

Laf. Goodfaith, across. But, my good lord, 't is thus : 
Will you be cur'd of your infirmity ? 

King. No. 

Laf., O ! will you eat no grapes, my royal fox? 
Yes, but you will, ay, noble grapes, an if 
My royal fox could reach them. I have seen 
A medicine that 's able to breathe life into a stone, 
Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary 
With spritely fire and motion ; whose simple touch 
Is powerful to uprai.se' king Pepin, nay, 
To give great Charlemaine a pen in 's hand. 
To write to her a love-line. 



Kins. 



What her is this ? 



Laf. Why, doctor she. My lord, there 's one arriv'd, 
If you will see her : — now, by my faith and honour, 
If seriously I may convey my thoughts 
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke 
With one, that in her sex, her years, profession, 
Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more 
Than I dare blame my weakness. Will you see her, 
(For that is her demand) and know her business ? 
That done, laugh well at me. 

King. Now, good Lafeu, 

Bring in the admiration, that we with thee 
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine 
By wond'ring how thou took'st it. 

Laf. Nay, I '11 fit you, 

And not be all day neither. [Exit Lafeu. 

King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. 
Re-enter Lafeu, with Helena, 

Laf. Nay, come your ways. 

King. This haste hath wings, indeed. 

Laf. Nay, come your ways. 
This is his majesty, say your mind to him: 
A traitor you do look like ; but such traitors 
His majesty seldom fears. I am Cressid's uncle, 
That dare leave two together. Fare you well. [Exit. 

King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us ? 

Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was my 
father ; 
In what he did profess well found. 

King. I knew him. 

Hel. The rather will I spare my praises tov/ards him ; 
Knowing him, is enough. On 's bed of death 
Many receipts he gave me : chiefly one 
Which, as the dearest issue of his practice. 
And of his old experience th' only darling. 
He bad me store up as a triple eye. 
Safer than mine own two, more dear. I have so; 
And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd 
With that malignant cause, wherein the honour 
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, 
I come to tender it, and my appliance. 
With all bound humbleness. 

King. We thank you, maiden ; 

But may not be so credulous of cure : 
When our most learned doctors leave us. and 
The congregated college have concluded 
That labouring art can never ransom nature 
From her inaidable estate, I say, we must not 
So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, 
To prostitute our past-cure malady 
To empirics; or to dissever so 
Our great self and our credit, to esteem 
A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. 

Hel. My duty, then, shall pay me for my pains : 
I will no more enforce mine office on you ; 
Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts 



3 araise ; in f e. 

esj ij'S^r.Liv^tiaii'.t tit. lu u-..; 



•o^t (:;■. 



i-i\ii c^ l:li ii--Jl ■ 



• s .1 II. J'./. 



. u.i.;;i JO 



238 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ACT n. 



A modest one, to bear me back again. 

King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful. 
Thcu thought'st to help me, and such thanks I give 
As one near death to thot^e that wish him live; 
But what at full I know thou know'st no part, 
I knowing all my peril, thou no art. 

Hel. Wliat I can do, can do no hurt to try, 
Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. 
He that of greatest works is finisher. 
Oft docs them by the weakest minister : 
So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, 
When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown 
From simple sources ; and great seas have dried. 
When miracles have by the greatest been denied. 
Oil expectation fails, and most oft there 
Where mcst it promises; and oft it hits, 
Where hope is coldest, and despair mcst fits.* 

King. I must not hear thee : fare thee well, kind maid. 
Thy painp, not us'd, must by thy.' elf be paid : 
Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward. 

IIcl. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd. 
It is not so with him that all things knows, 
As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows: 
But most it is presumption in us. when 
The help of heaven we count the act of men. 
Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; 
Of heaven, not me, make an e.x;pcriment. 
I am not an impostor, that proclaim 
Myself against the level of mine aim ; 
But know I think, and think I know mo.st sure, 
My art is not past power, nor you past cure. 

King. Art thou so confident ? Within what space 
B ip'st thou my cure ? 

iff^i- The greatest grace lending grace, 

Eic twice the horses of the sun shall bring 
Theiir fiery toreher his diurnal ring; 
En twice in murk and occidental damp 
MoiSt Hesperus hath queneh'd liis sleepy lamp; 
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass 
Hatli told the thievish minutes how they pass. 
What is inlirm from your sound parts shall fly, 
HeaUn shall live free, and sickness freely die. 

King. Upon ihy certainty and confidence, 
What dar'st thou venture ? 

^Icl. Tax of impudence, 

A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, 
Tradue'd by odious ballads ; my maiden's name 
Sear'd otherwise; ne worse of worst extended, 
With vilest torture let my life be ended. [speak. 

King. Mcthinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth 
His powerful sound within an organ weak : 
And what impossibility would slay 
In common sense, sense saves another way. 
Thy life is dear ; for all, that life can rate 
Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate ; 
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, honour,' all 
That happiness in^ prime can happy call : 
Thon this to hazard, needs must intimate 
Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate. 
Sweet practise!-, thy physic I will try. 
That ministers thine own death, if I die. 

Hil. If I break time, or flinch in property 
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die ; 
And well deserv'd. Not helping, death 's my fee ; 
But. if I help, what do you promise me ? 

King. Make thy demand. 

If^}- But wll you make it even ? 

King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of heaven. 

Hel. Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand 

> Pope reads : siU. a Not in f. e. 3 and : in f . e 



What husband in thy power I will command : 
Exempted be from me the arrogance 
To choose from forth the royal blood of France, 
My low and humble name to propagate 
With any branch or image of thy state ; 
But such a one, thy va.ssal, whom I know 
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. 

King. Here is my hand ; the premises observ'd, 
Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd : 
So make the choice of thy own time; for I, 
Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. 
More should I question thee, and more I must, 
Though more to know cculd net le more to trust. 
From whence thou cam'st. how tended on ; but rest 
Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest. — 
Give me some help here, ho ! — If thou proceed 
As high as word, my deed shall match thy -deed. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 

Palace. 
Enter Countess and Clown. 

Count. Come on, sir : I shall now put you to the 
height of your breeding. 

Clo. I will show myself highly fed, and lowly taught. 
I know my business is but to the court. 

Count. To the court ! why, what place make you 
special, when you put off" that with such confempt? 
But to the court ! 

Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any 
manners, he may easily put it off" at court : he that 
cannot make a leg, put off"'s cap, kiss his hand, and 
say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and, 
indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the 
court. But, for me, I have an answer will serve all 
men. 

Count. Marry, that 's a bountiful an.swer, that fits 
all questions. 

Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks ; 
the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn-buttock, 
or any buttock. 

Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions? 

Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attor- 
ney, as your French crown for your tafl'ata punk, as 



rush* for 



forefinger, as a pancake for 



Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to 
his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean 
to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's 
mouth ; nay, as the pudding to his skin. 

Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness 
for all questions ? 

Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your consta- 
ble, it will fit any question. 

Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous 
size, that must fit all demands. 

Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned 
should speak truth of it. Here it is, and all that be- 
longs to 't : ask me, if I am a courtier ; it shall do you 
no harm to learn. 

Count. To be young again, if we could. I will be a 
fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. 
I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? 

Clo. O Lord, sir ! — there 's a simple putting oflT. — 
More, more, a hundred of them. 

Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves 
you. 

Clo. O Lord, sir ! — Thick, thick, spare not me. 

Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely 
meat. 



* Rush rings are often spoken of as interchanged between rustic lovers. 



SCENE III. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



239 



Clo. Lord, sir ! — Nay, put me to't, I warrant you. 

Count. Ycu were lately whipped, sir, as I think. 

Clo. Lord, sir ! — Spare not me. 

Count. Do you cry, "0 Lord, sir," at your whipping, 
and '-spare not me?" Indeed, your "0 Lord, sir," is 
very sjquent to your whipping : you would answer very 
well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. 

Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my — " 
Lord, .sir." I see, things may serve long, but not serve 
ever. 

Count. I play the noble housewife with the time, to 
entertain it so merrily with a fool. 

Clo. Lord, sir ! — why, there "t sei-ves well again. 

Count. An end, sir : to your business. Give Helen this, 
And urge lier to a present answer back : 
Commend ine to my kinsmen, and my son. 
This is not much. 

Clo. Not much commendation to them. 

Count. Not much employment for you : you under- 
stand me ? 

Clo. Most fruitfully : I am there before my legs. 

Count. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally. 

SCENE HL— Paris. A Room in the King's 

Palace. 

Enter Bertram, Lafeu. and Parolles. 

Laf. Tliey say, miracles are past ; and we have our 
philo.-:op!iical persons, to make modern' and familiar 
things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it, that 
we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into 
seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves 
to an unknown fear. 

Par. Why. 't is the rarest argument of wonder, that 
hath shot out in our latter times. 

Ber. And so 'tis. 

Laf. To be relinquished of the artists, — 

Par. So I say ; both of Galen and Paracelsus. 

Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows, — 

Par. Right ; so I say. 

Laf. That gave him out incurable, — 

Par. Why, there 't is ; so say I too. 

Laf. Not to be helped, — 

Par. \\ iglit ; as 't were a man assured of an — 

LiUf. Uncertain life, and sure death. 

Par. Ju!^t, you say well : .so would I have said. 

Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. 

Par. It is, indeed : if you will have it in showing, 
you shall read it in. — what do you call there ? — 

Laf. lu showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly 
actor. 

Par. That's it I would have said ; the very same. 

Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier : 'fore me, I 
speak in respect — 

Par. Nay, 't is strange ; 't is very strange, that is the 
brief and the tedious of it ; and he is of a most facino- 
rous spirit, that will not acknowledge it to be the— 

Laf. Very hand of heaven. 

Par. Ay, so I say. 

Laf. In a most weak — 

Par. And debile minister, great power, great tran- 
scendence ; which should, indeed, give us a further use 
to be made, than alone the recovery of the king, as to 
be — 

Laf. Generally thankful. 

Enter Kin«, Helena, and Attendants. 

Par. I would have said it ; you say well. Here 
comes the king. 

Laf. Lustick, as the Dutchman says :' I '11 like a 



maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head. 
Why, he 's able to lead her a coranto.^ 

Par. Mort du vinaigre ! Is not this Helen ? 

Laf. 'Fore God, I think so. 

King. Go, call before me all the lords in court. — 

[Exit an Attendant. 
Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; 
And wiih this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense 
Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive 
The contirmation of my promisM gift. 
Which but attends thy naming. 

Enter several Lords. 
Fair maid, send forih thine eye : this youthful parcel 
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, 
O'er whom both sovereign's* power and father's voice 
I have to use : thy frank election make. 
Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. 

Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress 
Fall. Avhen love please ! — marry, to each, but one.' 

Laf. I 'd give bay curtal," and his furniture, 
My mouth no more were broken' than these boys', 
And with* as little beard. 

King. Peruse them well : 

Not one of those but had a noble father. 

Hel. Gentlemen, 
Heaven hath through me rcstor'd the king to health. 

All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. 

Hel. I am a simple maid ; and therein wealthiest, 
That, I protest. I simply am a maid. — 
Please it your majesty, I have done already : 
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, 
" We blush, that thou shouldst choose ; but, be refus'd, 
Let the white death sit on thy check for ever : 
We '11 ne'er come there again." 

King. Make choice, and see ; 

Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me. 

Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, 
And to imperial Love, that god most high. 
Do my sighs steam. — Sir, will you hear my suit? 

1 Lord. And grant it. 

Hel. Thanks, sir : all the re?t is mute. 

Laf. I had rather be in this choice, and throw ames- 
ace' for my life. 

Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, 
Before I speak, too threateningly replies: 
Love make your fortunes twenty times above 
Her that so wishes, and her humble love ! 

2 Lord. No better, if you please. 

Hel. My wish receive, 

Which great Love grant ! and so I take my leave. 

Laf. Do ail they deny her ? An they were sons of 
mine, I'd have them whipped, or I would send them to 
the Turk to make eunuchs of. 

Hel. [To 3 Lord.] Bo not afraid that I your hand 
should take ; 
I '11 never do you wrong for your own sake : 
Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed 
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed ! 

Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they 'II none have 
her : sure, they are bastards to the English ; the French 
ne'er got them. 

Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good, 
To make yourself a son out of my blood. 

4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so. 

Laf. There 's one grape yet : — I am sure, thy father 
drank wine. — But if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth 
of fourteen : I have known thee already. [I give 

Hel. [To Bertram.] I dare not say I take you; but 



' Common. > The word came in use from Holland, about IGOO. ' A lively danee. * sovereign : in f. e. * Except one. • A docked 
horse. ' I had lost no more ;eeth. 8 writ : in f. e. ' Both aces ; an e.xpression for ill luck. 



240 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ACT n. 



wise, fair; 



Me, and my service, ever whilst I live, 
Into your guiding power. — This is the man. 

King. Why then, young Bertram, take her ; she 's 
thy wife. [Bertram draws hack} 

Bcr. My wife, my liege ? I shall beseech your highness. 
In such a business give me leave to use 
The help of mine own eyes. 

King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, 

What she has done for me ? 

Bcr. Yes, my good lord ; 

But never hope to know why I should marry her. 

King. Thou know'st, she has rais'd me from my 
sickly bed. 

Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me Anv>n.\ 
Must answer for your raising ? I know her well : 
She had her breeding at my father's charge. 
A poor physician's daughter my wife ? — Disdain 
Rather corrupt me ever ! 

King. 'T is only title thou di.sdain'st in her, the which 
I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods. 
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, 
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off 
In differences so mighty. If she be 
All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st, 
A poor pliysician's daughter) thou dislik'st 
Of virtue for the name ; but do not so : 
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, 
The place is dignified by the doer's deed : 
Where great additions swell 's,^ and virtue none, 
ft is a dropsied honour : good alone 
Is good, without a name ; Adleness is so : 
The property by what it is should go, 
Not by the title. She is young. 
In these to nature she 's immediate heir, 
And these breed honour : that is honour's scorn. 
Which challenges itself as honour's born, 
And is not like the sire : honours thrive. 
When rather from our acts we them derive. 
Than our foregoers. The mere word 's a slave, 
Debauch'd on every tomb ; on every grave, 
A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb. 
Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb 
Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said? 
If thou canst like this creature as a maid, 
I can create the rest. Virtue, and she 
Is her own dower ; honour, and wealth from me. 

Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do 't. 

King. Thou v^rong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive 
to choose. 

Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I am glad. 
Let the rest go. 

King. My honour 's at the stake, which to defend,' 
I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, 
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift, 
That dost in vile misprision shackle up 
My love, and her desert ; that**anst not dream, 
We, poising us in her defective scale. 
Shall weigh thee to the beam ; that wilt not know. 
It is in us to plant thine honour, where 
We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt : 
Obey our will, which travails in thy good : 
Believe not thy disdain, but presently 
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right. 
Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims, 
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever 
Into the staggers, and the careless lapse 
Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge and hate, 
Loosing upon thee in the name of justice. 
Without all terms of pity. Speak : thine answer. 



Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord, for I submit 
My fancy to your eyes. When I consider 
What great creation, and what dole of honour, 
Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late 
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now 
The praised of the king • who, so emioblcd. 
Is, as 't were, born so. 

King. Take her by the hand. 

And tell her, she is thine ; to whom I promise 
A counterpoise, if not to thy estate, 
A balance more replete. 

Ber. I take her hand. 

King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king, 
Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony 
Shall seem expedient on the now born* brief, 
And be perforni'd to-night : the solemn feast 
Shall more attend upon the coming space, ^ 
Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her. 
Thy love 's to me religious, else, does err. 

[Exeunt King, Bertram, Helena, Lords, and 
Attendants. 

Laf. Do you hear, monsieur ? a word with you. 

Par. Your pleasure, sir ? 

Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his re- 
cantation. 

Par. Recantation ! — My lord ? my master ? 

Laf. Ay ; is it not a language I speak ? 

Par. A most harsh one, and not to be understood 
without bloody succeeding. My master ? 

Laf. Are you companion to the Count Rousillon ? 

Par. To any count ; to all counts ; to what is man. 

Laf. To what is count's man : count's master is of 
another style. 

Par. You are too old. sir : let it satisfy you, you are 
too old. 

Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to wl)ich 
title age cannot bring thee. 

Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. 

Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries,' to be a 
pretty wise fellow : thou didst make tolerable vent of 
thy travel : it might pass ; yet the scarfs, and the ban- 
nerets about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me from 
believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I have 
now found thee : when I lose thee again, I care not ; 
yet art thou good for nothing but taking up, and that 
thou 'rt scarce worth. 

Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon 
thee, — 

Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou 
hasten thy trial; which if — Lord have mercy on thee 
for a hen ! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee 
well : thy casement I need not open, for I look through 
thee. Give me thy hand. 

Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. 

Laf. Ay, with all my heart ; and thou art worthy 
of it. 

Par. I haA^e not, my lord, deserved it. 

Laf. Yes, good faith, every drachm of it; and I will 
not bat« thee a scruple. 

Par. Well, I shall be wiser. 

Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull 
at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound 
in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to 
be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my 
acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that 
I may say, in the default, he is a man I know. 

Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable vexa- 
tion. 

Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my 



' Not in f. e. 2 g-well us. 3 defeat : in f, e. * The old copies : borne. • Dining in your company twice. 



SCENE IV, 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



241 



poor doing eternal : for doing I am past, as I will by 
thee, in what motion age will give me leave. [Exit. 
Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace 
off me, seurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord ! — Well I must 
be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I '11 boat 
liim, by my life, if I can meet him with any conve- 
nience, an he were double and double a lord. I '11 have 
no more pity of his age, than I would have of — I '11 beat 
him : an if I could but meet him again. 

Re-enter Lafeu. 

Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master 's married : there 's 
news for you ; you have a new mistress. 

Par. I most unfcignedly beseech your lordship to 
make some reservation of your wrongs : he is my good 
lord ; whom I serve above is my master. 

Laf. Who? God? 

Par. Ay, sir. 

Laf. The devil it is, that 's thy master. Why dost 
thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose 
of tliy sleeves ? do other servants so ? Thou wert best 
set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine 
honour, if I were but two hours younger I 'd beat thee : 
methiaks, thou art a general offence, and every man 
should beat thee. I think, thou wast created for men 
to breathe themselves upon thee. 

Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. 

Laf. Go to, sir ; you were beaten in Italy for picking 
a kernel out of a pomegranate : you are a vagabond, 
and no true traveller. You are more saucy with lords 
and honourable personages, than the condition' of your 
birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not 
worth another word, else I 'd call you knave. I leave 
you. [Exit. 

Enter Bertram. 

Par. Good, very good ; it is so then : — good, very 
good. Let it be concealed a while. 

Bcr. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever ! 

Par. What is the matter, sweetheart ? 

Bcr. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, 
I will not bed her. 

Par. What ? what, sweet heart? 

Ber. 0, my Parolles, they have married me ! 
I '11 to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. 

Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits 
The trend of a man's foot. To the wars ! 

Ber. There 's letters from my mother : what the im- 
port is, 
I know not yet. 

Par. Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my 
boy ! to the wars ! 
lie wears his honour in a box, unseen, 
That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home, 
Spending his manly marrow in her arms, 
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet 
Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions ! 
France is a stable ; we^, that dwell in 't, jades; 
Therefore, to the wars ! 

Bcr. It shall be so : I '11 send her to my house, 
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, 
And wherefore I am fled : write to t!ic king 
Tliat which I durst not speak. His present gift 
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields. 
Where noble fellows strike. War is no strife 
To the dark house, and the detested wife. 

Par. Will this capriccio hold in thee, art sure? 

Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. 
I '11 send iier straight away: to-morrow 
I 11 to the wars, she to her single sorrow. 

' commission : in f. e. * xiiis speech is not in f. e. ' Owing to. 



Par. Why, these balls bound ; there 's noise in it ; 
't is hard. 
A young man married is a man that 's marr'd : 
Therefore away, and leave her : bravely go ; 



The king has done you wronf 



but, hush ! 't is so. 



[Exeuni. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. Another Room in the Same. 
Enter Helena and Clown. 

Hel. My mother greets me kindly: is she well? 

Clo. She is not well ; but yet she has her health : 
she 's very merry ; but yet she is not well : but thanks 
be given, she 's very well, and wants nothing i' the 
world ; but yet she is not well. 

Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that she 's 
not very well ? 

Clo. Truly, she 's very well indeed, but for two things. 

Hel. What two things ? 

Clo. One, that she 's not in heaven, whither God 
send her quickly ! the other, that she 's in earth, from 
whence God send her quickly ! 

Enter Parolles. 

Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady ! 

Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine 
own good fortunes. 

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on ; and to 
keep them on, have them still. — 0, my knave ! How 
does my old lady? 

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money, 
I would she did as you say. 

Par. Why, I say nothing. 

Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man: for many a 
man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing. To say 
nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have 
nothing, is to be a great part of your title, which is 
within a very little of nothing. 

Par. Away! thou 'rt a knave. 

Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave thou 'rt 
a knave ; that is, before me thou 'rt a knave : this had 
been truth, sir. 

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool : I have found thee. 

Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir, or were you 
tausht to find me ? 

Par. Go to, I say : I have found thee : no 
found thee, a witty fool.' 

Clo. The search, sir. was profitable: and much fool 
may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure, and 
the increase of laughter. 

Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. — 
Madam, my lord will go away to-night; 
A very serious business calls on him. 
The great prerogative and rite of love, 
Which as your due time claims, he does acknowledge, 
But puts it off to^ a compell'd restraint; 
Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets, 
Which they distil now in the curbed time 
To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy, 
And ))leasure drown the brim. 

Hel. What 's his vi-ill else ? 

Par. That you will take your instant leave o' the king, 
And make this haste as your own good proceeding, 
Strengthcn'd with what apology you think 
May make it probable need. 

Hel. What more commands he ? 

Par. That having this obtain'd, you presently 
Attend his further pleasure. 

Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will. 

Par. I shall report it so. 

Hel. I pray you. — Come, sirrah. [Exeunt. 



more; I 



16 



242 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ACT III. 



SCENE v.— Another Room in the Same. 
Enter Lafeu and Bertram. 



Laf. 
Bcr. 

Laf. 



Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a 
soldier. 

Bcr. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. 
You have it from his own deliverance. 
And by other warranted testimony. 
Then my dial goes not true. I took this lark 
for a bunting. 

Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in 
knowledge, and accordingly valiant. 

Laf. I have then sinned again.st his experience, and 
transgressed against his valour ; and my state that way 
is dangerous, since I caiuiot yet find in my heart to 
repent. Here he comes. I pray you, make us friends : 
I -will pursue the amity. 

Enter Parolles. 

Var. [To Bertram] These things shall be done, sir. 

Laf. Pray you, sir, who 's his tailor ? 

Far. Sir? 

Laf. 0! I know him well. Ay, sir, he, 
good workman, a very good tailor. 

Ber. [ J.v«/e to Parolles.] Is she gone to the king ? 

Par. She is. 

Ber. "Will she away to-night ? 

Par. As you '11 have her. 

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, 
Given order for our horses ; and to-night, 
When I should take possession of the bride, 
End', ere I do begin. 

Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter end 
of a dinner ; but one tliat lies three-thirds and uses a 
known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should 
be once heard, and thrice beaten. — God save you, 
captain. 

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and 
you, monsieur ? 

Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into my 
lord's displeasure. 

Liif. You have made shift to run into 't, boots and 
spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard,^ 
and out of it you '11 run again, rather than suffer ques- 
tion for your residence. 

Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord. 

Laf 
prayers 



Ber. I think so. 

Par. Why, do you not know him ? 

Ber. Yes, I do know him well ; and common speech 
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. 
Enter Helena. 

Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, 
Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave 
For present parting ; only he desires 
Some private speech with you. 

Ber. I shall obey his will. 

You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, 
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does 
The ministration and required office 
On my particular : prepar'd I was not 
For such a business : therefore am I found 
So much unsettled. This drives me to entreat you, 
That presently you take your way for home ;' 
And rather mvise than ask why I entreat you, 
For my respects are better than they seem ; 
And my appointments have in them a need. 
Greater than shows itself, at the first view, 



And shall do so ever, though I took him at his 

Fare you well, my lord ; and believe this of 

this light nut ; the soul 

trust him not in matter of 



me, there can be no kernel in 
of this man is his clothes 

heavy consequence; I have kept of Ihem tame, and 
know their natures. — Farewell, monsieur : I have 
spoken better of you, than you have or will deserve at 
my hand : but we nuist do good against evil. [Exit. 
Par. An idle lord, I swear. 



sir, is a I To you that know them not. This to my mother. 

I [Giving a letter. 

'T will be two days ere I shall see you : so, 
I leave you to your wisdom. 

Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, 

But that I am your most obedient servant. 

Ber. Come, come, no more of that. 

Hel. And ever shall 

With true observance seek to eke out that. 
Wherein toward me my Iiomely stars have fail'd 
To equal my great fortune. 

Ber. Let that go : 

My haste is very great. Farewell : hie home. 

Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. 

Ber. Well, what would you say? 

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe f 
Nor dare I say, 't is mine, and yet it is, 
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal 
What law does voucli mine own. 

Ber. What would you have ? 

Hel. Something, and scarce so much : — nothing, 
indeed. — 
I would not tell you what I would, my lord — 'faith. 

yes ]— 
Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. 

Ber. I pray you stay not, but in baste to horse. 

Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. 
Where are my other men ? monsieur, farewell.* [Exit. 

Ber. Go thou toward home ; where I will never come, 
Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum. — 
Away ! and for our flight. 

Par. Bravely, coragio ! [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I. — Florence. A Room in the Duke's 

Palace. 
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended; 

two Frenchmen and Soldiers. 
Duke. So that, from point to point, now have you 
heard 
The fundamental reasons of this war, 



Whose great decision hath much blood let forth, 
And more thirsts after. 

1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel. 

Upon your grace's part ; black and fearful 
On the opposer. 

Diike. Therefore we marvel much our cousin France 
Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom 
Against our borrowing prayers. 



1 f. e. : And. The change is also found in Lord F. ERerton's MS. annotated copy of the first folio. = A frequent exploit of the fool at 
great entertainments. A custard was a dish in great request, and therefore large. ^ Own. * Mod. eds. give this line to hertram. 



soENiE n. 



ALL'S WELL TIIxiT ENDS WELL. 



243 



Ft. Env. Good, my lord, 

The reasons of our state I cannot yield, 
But like a common and an outward man, 
That the great figure of a council frames 
By self-unable motion : therefore, dare not 
Say what I tliink of it, since I have found 
Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail 
As often as I guess'd. 

Duke. Be it his pleasure. 

Fr. Gent. But I am sure, the younger of our natm-e, 
That surfeit on their ease, will day by day 
Come here for physic. 

Duke. Welcome shall they be, 

And all the honours that can fly from us 
Shall on them settle. You know your places well; 
When better fall, for your avails they fell. 
To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 

Palace. 

E?iter Countess and Clown. 

Count. It hath happened all as I would have had it, 
save that he comes not along with her. 

Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a 
very melancholy man. 

Count. By what observance, I pray you ? 

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing ; 
mend his ruff', and sing; ask questions, and sing; pick 
his teeth, and sing. I know a man that had this trick 
of melancholy^ sold^ a goodly manor for a song. 

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he 
means to come. [Opening a letter. 

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court. 
Our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing 
like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court ; the 
brains of my Cupid 's knocked out, and I begin to 
loVe, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. 

Count. What have we here ? 

Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit. 

Count. [Reads.] " I have sent you a daughter-in-law: 
she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have 
wedded her, not bedded her ; and sworn to make the 
■not eternal. You shall hear, I am run away : know it 
before the report come. If there be breadth enough in 
the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. 

" Your unfortunate son, 

'• Bertram." 
This is not well : rash and unbridled boy, 
To fly the favours of so good a king ! 
To pluck his indignation on thy head, 
By the misjjrizing of a maid, too virtuous 
For the contempt of empire ! 

Re-enter Cloum. 

Clo. madam ! yonder is heavy news within, be- 
tween two soldiers and my young lady. 

Count. What is the matter? 

Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some 
comfort : your son will not be killed so soon as I 
thought he would. 

Count. Why should he be killed ? 

Clo. So sav I, madam, if he run awav. as I hear he 
does : the danger is in standing to t : that 's the loss of 
men, though it be the getting of children. Here lliey 
come will tell you more ; for my part, I only hear your 
son was run away. [ Exit Clown. 

Enter Helena and two French Gentlemen. 

Fr. Env. Save you. good madam. 

llel. Madam, my lord is gone ; for ever gone. 

' The top of the loose boot -vehich turned over wa.s calletl the ruff, or ruffle. ^ Old co])ies : holi ; which Knight retains, understanding 
song as the tenure by which it wa."i held. '■' are : in f. e. * holds : in f. e. ' have : in f. e. 



Fr. Gen. Do not say so. 

Count. Think upon patience. — 'Pray you, gentle 
men, — 
I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief. 
That the first face of neither, on the start. 
Can woman me unto 't : — where is my son, I pray you ? 

Fr. Gen. Madam, he 's gone to serve the duke of 
Florence : 
We met him thitherward ; for thence we came, 
And, after some despatch in hand at court. 
Thither we bend again. 

Hel. Look on his letter, madam : here 's my pass- 
port. 

[Reads.] •' When thou canst get the ring upon my 
finger, which never shall come off, and show me 
a child begotten of thy body, that I am father 
to, then call me husband : but in such a then I 
write a never.'''' 
This is a dreadful sentence. 

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? 

Fr. Env. Ay, madam; 

And for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains. 

Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer ; 
If thou engrossest all the griefs as^ thine, 
Thou robbst me of a moiety. He was my son, 
But I do wash his name out of my blood, 
And thou art all my child. — Towards Florence is he? 

Fr. Gen. Ay, madam. 

Count. And to be a soldier ? 

Fr. Gen. Such is his noble purpose : and, believe 't, 
The duke will lay upon him all the honour 
That good convenience claims. 

Count. Return you thither ? 

Fr. Env. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of 
speed. 

Hel. [Reads.] " Till I have no wife, 1 have nothing 
in France." 
'T is bitter. 

Count. Find you that there ? 

Hel. Ay, madam. 

Fr. Env. 'T is but the boldness of his hand, haply, 
Which his heart was not consenting to. 

Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife ! 
There 's nothing here that is too good for him, 
But only she : and she deserves a lord. 
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, 
And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him ? 

Fr. Env. A servant only, and a gentleman 
Which I have some time known. 



Count. 



Parolles, was it not? 



* Fr. Env. Ay, my good lady, he. 

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked- 
ness. 
My son corrupts a well-derived nature 
With his inducement. 

Fr. Env. Indeed, good lady, 

The fellow has a deal of that too much. 
Which 'hoves* him much to leave. ^ 

Count. Y' are welcome, gentlemen. 
I will entreat you. when you see my son. 
To tell him, that his sword can never win 
The honour that he loses : more I '11 entreat you 
Written to bear along. 

Fr. Gen. We serve you, madam, 

In that and all your worthiest affairs. 

Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. 
Will you draw near ? 

[Exeunt Countess and French Gentlemen 



244 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ACT ni. 



Hel. " Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.'' 
Nothing in France, until he has no wife ! 
Tliou shall have none, Rousillon, none in France: 
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is 't I 
That chase tliee from thy country, and expose 
Those tender limbs of thine to the event 
Of the non-S])aring war ? and is it I 
That drive thee from che sportive court, where thou 
Was shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark 
Of smoky muskets ? O ! you leaden messengers, 
That ride upon the volant' speed of fire, 
Fly with false aim ; wound'^ the still-piercing^ air 
That sings witli piercing, do not touch my lord ! 
Whoever shoots at liiiii. I set him there; 
Whoever charges on his forward breast, 
I am the caitiff that do hold him to it; 
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause 
His death was so effecled. Better 't were, 
I met the raveniny* lion when he roar'd 
With sharp constraint of hunger ; better 't were 
That all the miseries which nature owes 
Were mine at once. No. come thou home, Rousillon, 
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, 
As oft it loses all : I will be gone. 
My being here it is that holds thee hence : 
Shall I stay here to do "t ? no. no, although 
The air of paradise did fan the house, 
And angels ofRc'd all : I will be gone, 
That pitiful rumour may report my flight. 
To consolate thine ear. Come, night : end. day • 
For with the dark, poor thief, I '11 steal away. [Exit. 

SCENE III. — Florence. Before the Duke's Palace. 

Flourish. Etiter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, 
Parolles, Lords, Officer.^., Soldiers, and others. 

Duke. The general of our horse thou art ; and we. 
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence 
Upon thy promising fortune. 

-Bcr. • Sir, it is 

A charge too heavy for my strength ; but yet 
We '11 strive to bear it for your worthy sake. 
To th' extreme edge of hazard. 

Duke. Then go thou forth, 

And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, 
As thy auspicious mistress ! 

Bcr. This very day. 

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file : 
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove 
A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. Roiisillon. A Room in the Countess's 

Palace. 
Enter Countess and her Steward. 

Count. Alas ! and would you talve the letter of her ? 
Might you not know, she would do as she has done, 
By sending me a letter ? Read it again. 

Stew. [Reads.] -l am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither 
gone. 

Ambitious love hath so in me offended, 
That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon, 

With sainted vow my faults to have amended. 
Wrife, write, that from the bloody course of war, 

My dearest master, your dear son, may hie : 
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far 

His name with zealous fervour sanctify. 
His taken labours bid liim me forgive : 

I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth 
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, 

Where death and danger dog the heels of worth : 
' violent : in f. e. 



2 move : in f. e. ^ still-peering : in f. e. * ravin 



He is too good and fair for death and me. 
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free." 

Count. Ah, what sharp slings are in her mildest 
words ! — 
Rintildo, you did never lack advice so much. 
As letting her pass so : had I spoke with her, 
I could have well diverted her intents, 
Which thus she hath prevented. 

•^'t^'- Pardon me. madam : 

If I had given you this at over-night, 
She might have been o'erta'en ; and yet she writes. 
Pursuit would be but vain. 

Count. What angel shall 

Bless this uirworthy husband ? he cannot thrive, 
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear, 
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath 
Of greatest justice. — Write, write, Kinaido, 
To this unworthy husband of his wife : 
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, 
That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief, 
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. 
Despatch the most convenient messenger. — 
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone, 
He will return : and hope I may. that she, 
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again. 
Led hitlier by pure love. Which of them both 
Is dearest to me, I have no skill or^ sense 
To make distinction. — Provide this messenger. — 
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak ; 
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— Without the Walls of Florence. 

A tucket^ afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, 

Diana, Violenta, Mariana, and other Citizens. 

Wid. Nay, come ; for if they do approach the city, 
we shall lose all the sight. 

Dia. They say, the French count has done most 
honourable service. 

Wid. It is reported that he has taken their greatest 
commander, and that with his own hand he slew the 
Duke's brotlier. We have lost our labour: they are 
gone a contrary way : hark ! you may know by their 
trumpets. 

Mar. Come : let 's return again, and suffice our- 
selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of 
this French earl : the honour of a maid is her name, 
and no legacy is so rich as honesty. 

Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have been 
solicited by a gentleman his companion. 

Mar. I know that knave ; hang him ! one Parolles: 
a filthy officer he is in those suggestions' for the young 
earl. — Beware of them. Diana ; their promises, entice- 
ments, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are 
not the things they go under : many a maid hath been 
seduced by them ; and the misery is, example, that so 
terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for 
all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed 
with the twigs that threaten them. I hope, I need not 
to advise you further ; but I hope, your own grace will 
keep you where you are, though there were no farther 
danger known, but the modesty which is so lost. 

Dia. You shall not need to fear me. 

Enter Helena in the dress of a Pilgrim. 

Wid. I hope so. — Look, here comes a pilgrim : I 
know she will lie at my house ; thither they send one 
another. 

I '11 question her. — God save you, pilgrim ! 
Whither are you bound ? 

in f. e. * in : in f. e. ^ Flourisji of a trumpet. ' Temptations. 



SCENE vr. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



245 



Hel. To Saint Jaques le Grand. 

Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you ? 

Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. 

Hcl. Is this the way ? 

Wid. Ay, marry, is 't. — Hark you! [A march afar off. 
They come this way. — 
If you will tarry, holy pilgrim. 
But till the troops come by, 
I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd ; 
The rather, for I think I know your hoste^^s 
As ample as myself. 

Hcl. Is it yourself? 

Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. 

Hsl. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. 

Wid. You came, I think, from France ? 

Hel. ' I did so. 

Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours, 
That has done worthy service. 

Hel. His name, [ pray you. 

Dia. The count Rousillon : know you such a one ? 

Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him : 
His face I know not. 

Dia. Whatsoe'er he is. 

He 's bravely taken here. He stole from France, 
As 't is reported, for the king had married him 
Against his liking. Think you it is so ? 

HI. Ay, surely, mere the truth : I know his lady. 

Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the count. 
Reports but coarsely of her. 

Hel. What's his name ? 

Dia.. Monsieur Parolles. 

Hel. ! I believe with him, 

In argument of praise, or to the worth 
Of the great count himself, she is too mean 
To have her name repeated : all her deserving 
Is a reserved honesty, and that 
I have not heard e.xamin'd. 

Dia. Alas, poor lady ! 

'T is a hard bondage, to become the wife 
Of a detesting lord. 

Wid. I write' good creature : wheresoe'er she is, 
Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her 
A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. 

Hel. How do you mean? 

May be, the amorous count solicits her 
In the unlawful purpose. 

Wid. He does, indeed ; 

And brokes with all that can in such a suit 
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid : 
But she is arni'd for him, and keeps her guard, 
In honestest defence. 

Enter with drum and colours., a party of the Florentine 
armifj Bertram, and Parolles. 

^fa.r. The gods forbid else ! 

Wid. So, now they come. — 

That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest son; 
That. Escalus. 

Hcl. Which is the Frenchman ? 

Dia. He ; 

That with the plume: 't is a most gallant fellow; 
I would he lov'd his wife. If he were honester. 
He were much goodlier ; is 't not a handsome gentleman? 

Hel. I like him well. 

Dia. 'T is pity, he is not honest. Yond 's that same 
knave, 
That leads him to these places : were I his lady, 
I would poison that vile rascal. 

Hel. Which is he ! 



Dia. That jackanapes with scarfs. Why is he me- 
lancholy ? 

Hcl. Perchance he 's hurt i' the battle. 

Par. Lose our drum ! well. 

Mar. Hc"s f^hrewdly vexed at something. Look, he 
has spied us. 

Wid. Marry, hang you ! 

3far. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier ! 

[Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers, and Soldiers. 

Wid. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring 
you 
AYhere you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents 
There 's four or five, to great saint Jaqucs bound, 
Already at my house. 

Hel. I humbly thank you. 

Please it this matron, and this gentle maid. 
To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking 
Shall be for me ; and, to requite you farther, 
I will bestow some precepts of^ this virgin. 
Worthy the note. 

Both. We '11 take your offer kindly. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— Camp before Florence. 
Enter Bertram, and the two Frenchmen. 

Fr. Env. Nay, good my lord, put him to 't : let him 
have his way. 

Fr. Gent. If your lordship find him not a hilding,' 
hold me no more in your respect. 

Fr. Env. On my life, my lord, a bubble. 

Ber. Do you think I am so far deceived in him ? 

Fr. Env. Believe it, my lord : in mine own direct 
knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as 
my kinsman, he 's a most notable coward, an infinite 
and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner 
of no one good quality, worthy your lordsliip's enter- 
tainment. 

Fr. Gent. It were fit you knew him, lest reposing 
too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, at 
some great and trusty business in a main danger, fail 
you. 

Ber. I would I knew in what particular action to 
try him. 

Fr. Gent. None better than to let him fetch off his 
drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake 
to do. 

Fr. Env. I, with a troop of Florentines, will sud- 
denly surprise him : such I will have, whom, I am 
sure, he knows not from the enemy. We will bind 
and hoodwink him .'^o, that he shall suppose no other 
but that he is carried into the leaguer'^ of the adversa- 
ries, when we bring him to our own tents. Be but 
your lordship present at his examination, if he do not, 
for the promise of his life, and in the highest compul- 
sion of base fear, offer to betray you. and deliver all 
the intelligence in his power against you, and that 
with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never 
trust my judgment in any thing. 

Fr. Gent. ! for the love of laughter, let him fetch 
off* his drum : he says he has a stratagem for 't. When 
your lordship sees the bottom of his success in 't, and 
to what metal this counterfeit lump of ores' will be 
melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertain- 
ment,' your inclining cannot be removed. Here he 
comes. 

Enter Parolles. 

Fr. Env. ! for the love of laughter, hinder not the 
honour of his design : let him fetch off his drum in any 
hand. 



' Ay, right : in 2d folio. » on : in 9(1 folio. 3 Low, cowardly fellow, 
raon phrase, meaning to turn one out of doors. 



* Camp. » This word is not in f. e. * ore : in f. e. 'A com- 



246 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ACT in. 



Ber. How now, monsieur ? this drum sticks sorely 
in your disposition. 

Fr. Gent. A pox on 't ! let it go : 't is but a drum. 

Par. But a drum ! Is 't but a drum ? A drum so 
lost ! — There was an excellent command, to charge in 
with ovir horse upon our o^Ti wings, and to rend our 
own soldiers ! 

Fr. Gent. That was not to be blamed in the com- 
mand of the service : it was a disaster of war that 
Ca3sar himself could not have prevented, if he had 
been there to command. 

Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success : 
some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum ; but 
it is not to be recovered. 

Par. It might have been recovered. 

Ber. It might ; but it is not now. 

Par. It is to be recovered. But that the merit of 
service is seldom attributed to the true and exact per- 
former, I would have that drum or another, or hicjacet. 

Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to 't. monsieur, if 
you think your jnystery in stratagem can bring this 
instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be 
magnanimous in the enterprise, and go on; I will grace 
the attempt for a worthy exploit : if you speed well in 



and extend to you 
even to the utmost 



it, the Duke shall both speak of it, 
what farther becomes his greatness, 
syllable of your worthiness. 

Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. 

Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 

Par. I '11 about it this evening : and I will presently 
pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my cer- 
tainty, put myself into my mortal preparation, and by 
midnight look to hear farther from me. 

Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are 
gone about it? 

Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord ; 
but the attempt I vow. 

Ber. I know thovx art valiant, and to the possibility 
of thy soldiership will subscribe for thee. Farewell. 

Par. I love not many words. [Exit. 

Fr. Env. No more than a fish loves water. — Is not 
this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems 
to undertake this business, which he knows is not to 
be done, damns himself to do. and dares better be 
damned than to do 't ? 

Fr. Gent. You do not know him, my lord, as we do : 
certain it is, that he will steal himself into a man's 
favour, and for a week escape a great deal of discove- 
ries ; but when you find him out, you have him ever after. 

Ber. Why, do you think, he will make no deed at all 
of this, that so seriously he does address himself unto ? 

Fr. Env. None in the world, but return with an in- 
vention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies. 
But we have almost embossed' him, you shall see his 
fall to-night : for, indeed, he is not for your lordship's 
respect. 

Fr. Gent. We '11 make you some sport with the fox. 
ere we case* him. He was first smoked by the old 
lord Lafeu : when his disguise and he is parted, tell 
me what a sprat you shall find him, wliich you shall 
see this very night. 

Fr. Env. I must go look my twigs : he shall be caught. 

Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. 

Fr. Gent. As 't please your lordship. 

Fr. Em). I'll leave you. \Exit. 

Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you 
The lass I spoke of. 



Fr. Gent. But, you say, she 's honest. 

Ber. That's all the fault. I spoke with her but once, 
And found her wondrous cold ; btit I sent to her, 
By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, 
Tokens and letters which she did re-send; 
And this is all I have done. She 's a fair creature : 
Will you go see her? 

Fr. Gent. With all my heart, my lord. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— Florence. A Room in the Widow's 

House. 

Enter Helena and Widow. 

Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, 
I know not how I shall assure you farther, 
But I shall lose the grounds 1 work upon. 

Wid. Though my estate be fall'n, I was well bom, 
Nothing acquainted with these businesses, 
And would not put my reputation now 
In any staining act. 

Hel. Nor would I wish you. 

First, give me trust, the count he is my husband, 
And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken, 
Is so, from word to word ; and then you cannot. 
By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, 
Err in bestowing it. 

Wid. ■ I should believe you : 

For you have show'd me that, which well approves 
You are great in fortune. 

Hel. Take this purse of gold, 

And let me buy your friendly help thus far. 
Which I will over-pay, and pay again. 
When I have found it. The count he woos your 

daughter. 
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, 
Resolved to carry her : let her, in fine, consent, 
As we '11 direct her how 't is best to bear it. 
Now, his important^ blood will nought deny 
That she '11 demand : a ring the county wears, 
That downward hath succeeded in his house 
From son to son, some four or five descents 
Since the first father wore it : this ring he holds 
In most rich choice ; yet, in his idle fire 
To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, 
Howe'er repented after. 

Wid. Now I see 

The bottom of your purpose. 

Hel. You see it lawful then. It is no more. 
But that your daughter, ere she seems as won. 
Desires this ring ; appoints him an encounter ; 
In fine, delivers me to fill the time. 
Herself most chastely absent. After this, 
To marry her, I '11 add three thousand crowns 
To what is past already. 

Wid. I have yielded. 

Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, 
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful. 
May prove coherent. Every night he comes. 
With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd 
To her unworthiness : it nothing steads us. 
To chide him from our eaves, for he persists 
As if his life lay on 't. 

Hel. Why then, to-night 

Let us assay our plot ; which, if it speed. 
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed, 
And lawful meaning in a lawful act ; 
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact. 
I But let 's about it. [Exeunt. 



1 Run him down till he foams at the mouth. ^ Flay. 3 Importunate. 



SOEKTE n. 



ALL'S WELL THAT EKDS WELL. 



247 



ACT IV, 



SCENE I.— Without the Florentine Camp. 
Enter French Envoy, with Jive or six soldiers in ambush. 

Fr. Env. He can come no other way but by this 
hedge corner. When you sally upon him, speak what 
terrible language you will : though you understand it 
not yourselves, no matter ; for we must not seem to 
understand him, unless some one among us, whom we 
must produce for an interpreter. 

1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter. 

Fr. Env. Art not acquainted with him ? knows he 
not thy voice? 

1 Sold. No. sir, I warrant you. 

Fr. Env. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak 
to us again ? 

1 Sold. Even such as you speak to me. 

Fr. Env. He must tliink us some band of strangers 
i' the adversary's entertainment. Now, he hath a 
smack of all neighbouring languages • therefore, we 
must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to know 
what we speak one to another ; so we seem to know is 
to go straight to our purpose : chough's language, gab- 
ble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, 
you must seem very politic. But couch, ho ! here he 
comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to 
return and swear the lies he forges. [They stand baclc.^ 
Enter Parolles. 

Par. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 't will be 
time enough to go home. What shall I say I have 
done ? It must be a very plausive invention that car- 
ries it. They begin to smoke me. and disgraces have 
of late knocked too often at my door. I find, my 
tongue is too foolhardy ; but my heart hath the fear of 
Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the 
reports of my tongue. 

Fr. Env. [A.side.] This is the first truth that e'er 
thine own tongue was guilty of. 

Par. What the devil should move me to undertake 
the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the 
impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I 
must give myself some hurts, and say, I got them in 
exploit. Yet slight ones will not carry it : they will 
say, " Came you off" with so little ?" and great ones I 
dare not give. Wherefore ? what 's the instance ? 
Tongue, I must put you into a butter- woman's mouth, 
and buy myself another of Bajazet's mule, if you 
prattle me into these perils. 

Fr. Env. [Aside.] Is it possible, he should know 
what he is, and be that he is? 

Par. I would the cutting of my garments would 
serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish sword. 

Fr. Env. [A.fide.] We cannot afford you so. 

Par. Or the baring of my beard ; and to say, it was 
in stratagem. 

Fr. Env. [A.side.] 'T would not do. 

Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped. 

Fr. Env. [Aside.] Hardly serve. 

Par. Though I swore I leaped from the window of 
the citadel — 

Fr. Env. [Aside.] How deep? 

Par. Thirty fathom. 

Fr. Env. [A.'iide.] Three great oaths would scarce 
make that be believed. 

Par. 1 would I had any drum of the enemy's : I 
would swear I recovered it. 

> Not in f. e. ' stern : in f. e. 



Fr. Env. [A.-^ide.] You shall hear one anon. 

Par. A drum, now, of the enemy's ! 

[Alarum ivithin. 

Fr. Env. Throca movousvs., cargo., cargo., cargo. 

All. Cargo, cargo, viUianda par corho, cargo. 

Par. ! ransom, ransom ! — Do not hide mine eyes. 
[They .seize and blindfold him. 

1 Sold. BosJiOs thromuldo boslcos. 

Par. I know you arc the Muskos' regiment ; 
And I shall lose my life for want of lancuage. 
[f there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, 
Italian, or French, let him speak to me : 
I will discover that Avhich shall undo 
The Florentine. 

1 Sold. Bo.tkos vauvado : — 

I understand thee, and can sj)eak tliy tongue.— 
Kerclybonto. — Sir, 

Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards 
Are at thy bosom. 

Par. ! 

1 Sold. I pray, pray, pray. — 

Manka revania dulche. 

Fr. Env. Oscorbidulchos volivorcho. 

1 . Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet, 
And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on 
To gather from thee : haply, thou may'st inform 
Something to save thy life. 

Par. O ! let me \\ve. 

And all the secrets of our camp I '11 show. 
Their force, their purposes : nay, I '11 speak that 
Which vou will wonder at. 

1 Sold. But wilt thou faithfully ? 

Par. If I do not, damn me. 

1 Sold. Acordo linta. — 
Come on: thou art granted space. 

[Exit with P.vROLLES guarded. 
Fr. Env. Go, tell the count Rousillon, and my bro- 
ther. 
We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him 

muffled. 
Till we do hear from them. 

2 Sold. Captain. I will. 

Fr. Env. A' will betray us all unto ourselves : 
Inform on that. 

2 Sold. So I will, sir. 

Fr. Env. Till then, I'll keep him dark, and safely 
lock'd. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Florence. A Room in the Widow's 

House. 

Enter Bertram and Diana. 

Ber. They told me that your name was Fontibell. 

Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. 

Ber. Titled goddess, 

And worth it, with addition ! But, fair soul. 
In your fine frame hath love no quality ? 
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, 
You are no maiden, but a monument : 
When you are dead, you should be such a one 
As you are now, for you are cold and stone ;* 
And now you should be as your mother was, 
When your sweet self was got. 

Dia. She then was honest. 

Ber. So should you be. 

Dia. No : 



248 



ALL'S "WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ACT IV. 



My mother did but duty ; such, my lord, 
As you owe to your wife. 

Ber. No more o' that : 

I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows. 
I was compeird to her ; but I love thee 
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever 
Do thee all rights of service. 

Did. Ay, so you serve us, 

Till we serve you ; but when you have our roses, 
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, 
And mock us with our bareness. 

Ber. How have I sworn? 

Did. 'T is not the many oaths that make the truth, 
But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true. 
What is not holy, that we swear not by, 
But lake the highest to witness : then, pray you, tell me. 
If I should swear by Jove's great attributes, 
I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths, 
When I did love you ill ? this has no holding, 
To swear by him, whom I protest to love, 
That I will work against him. Therefore, your oaths 
Are words, and poor conditions, but unseal'd, 
At least, in my opinion. 

Ber. Change it, change it. 

Be not so holy-cruel : love is holy. 
And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts. 
That you do charge men with. Stand no more off, 
But give thyself unto my sick desires. 
Who then recover : say. thou art mine, and ever 
My love, as it begins, shall so persever. 

Dia. I see, that men make hopes in such a suit' 
That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. 

Ber. I '11 lend it thee, my dear ; but have no power 
To give it from me. 

Dia. Will you not, my lord ? 

Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house. 
Bequeathed down from many ancestors, 
Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world 
In me to lose. 

Dia. Mine honour 's such a ring : 

My chastity 's the jewel of our house. 
Bequeathed doM'n from many ancestors, 
Whicli 't were the greatest obloquy i' the world 
In me to lose. Thus, your own proper wisdom 
Brings in the champion, honour, on my part 
Against your vain assault. 

Ber. Here, take my ring : 

My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine. 
And I '11 be bid by thee 

Dia 

window 
I '11 order take my mother shall not hear. 
Now will I charge you in the band of truth, 
When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed. 
Remain there but an hovir. nor speak to me. 
My reasons are most strong ; and you shall know them, 
When back again this ring shall be deliver'd : 
And on yoiu' linger, in the night. I '11 put 
Another ring : that what in time proceeds 
May token to the future our past deeds. 
Adieu, till then ; then, fail not. You have won 
A wife of me. though there my hope be none'^. 

Ber. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. 

[Exit. 

Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven 
and me ! 
You may so in the end, 
My mother told me just how he would woo, 



When niidniglit comes, knock at my chamber 



As if she sat in 's heart : she says, all men 

Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me, 

When his wife 's dead ; therefore I '11 lie with him, 

When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid^, 

Marry that will, I live and die a maid : 

Only, in this disguise, I think 't no sin, 

To cozen him, that would unjustly win. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— The Florentine Camp. 

Enter the two Frenchmen, and two or three Soldiers. 

Fr. Gent. You have not given him his mother's letter. 

Fr. Env. I have delivered it an hour since : there is 
something in 't that stings his nature, for on the read- 
ing it he changed almost into another man. 

Fr. Gent. He has much worthy blame laid upon him, 
for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady. 

Fr. Env. Especially he hath incurred the eA'crlasting 
displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his bounty 
to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but 
you shall let it dwell darkly within you. 

Fr. Gent. When you have spoken it, 't is dead, and 
I am the grave of it. 

Fr. Env. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman, 
here in Florence, of a most chaste renowii. and this 
night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour : he 
hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks him- 
self made in the unchaste composition. 

Fr. Gent. Now, God delay our rebellion: as we are 
ourselves, what things are we ! 

Fr. Env. Merely our own traitors : and as in the 
common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal 
themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends, so he 
that in this action contrives against his own nobility, 
in his proper stream o'erflows himself. 

Fr. Gent. Is it not most* damnable in us. to be trum- 
peters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then 
have his company to-night. 

Fr. Env. Not till after midnight, for he is dieted to 
his hour. 

Fr. Gent. That approaches apace : I would gladly 
have him see his companion* anatomized, that he might 
take a measure of his own judgment, wherein so curi- 
ously he had set this counterfeit. 

Fr.-Env. We will not meddle with him till he come, 
for his presence must be the whip of the other. 

Fr. Gent. In the mean time, what hear you of these 
wars ? 

Fr. Env. 

Fr. Gent. 

Fr. Env. 
he travel higher, 

Fr. Gent. I perceive 



I hear there is an overture of peace. 
Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. 
What will count Rousillon do then ? will 
or return again into France ? 

by this demand you are not 
altogether of his council. 

Fr. Env. Let it be forbid, sir ; so should I be a great 
deal of his act. 

Fr. Gent. Sir, his wife some two months since fled 
from his house ; her pretence is a pilgrimage to saint 
Jaques le Grand, which holy undertaking with most 
austere sanctimony she accomplished ; and. there re- 
siding, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey 
to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, 
and now she sings in heaven. 
Fr. Env. How is this justified ? 
Fr. Gent. The stranger^ part of it by her own letters, 
which make her story triie, even to the point of her 
death : her death itself, which could not be her office 
to say, is come, and' faithfully confirmed by the rector 
of the place. 

' f. e. : make ropes in such a scarre. 2 done : in f. e. ' Deceitful. * meant : in f. e. 5 company : in f. e. * stronger : in f. e. 
' was : in f. e 



SCENE nr. 



ALL'S WELL THAT EI^DS WELL. 



249 



Fr. Env. Hath the count all this intelligence ? 
Fr. Gent. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point 
from point, to the full arming of the verity. 

Fr. Env. I am heartily sorry that he '11 be glad of this. 
Fr. Gent. How mightily, sometimes, we make us 
comforts of our losses. 

Fr. Env. And how mightily, some other times, we 
drown our gain in tears. The great dignity, that his 
valour hath here acquired for him, shall at homo be 
encountered with a shame as ample. 

Fr. Gent. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, 
good and ill together : our virtues would be proud, if 
our faults whipped them not : and our crimes would 
despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues. 

Filter a Servant. 
How now ? where 's your master ? 

Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom 
he hath taken a solemn leave : his lordship will next 
morning for France. The duke hath offered him letters 
of commendations to the king. 

Fr. Env. They shall be no more than needful there, 
if they were more than they can commend. 
E7iter Bertram. 
Fr. Gent. They cannot be too sweet for the king's 
tartness. Here 's his lordship now. — How now, my 
lord ! is 't not after midnight ? 

Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen businesses, 
a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success : I 
have congi'''d with the duke, done my adieu with his 
nearest, buried a wife, mourned for her, writ to my 
lady mother I am returning, entertained my convoy ; 
and between these main parcels of despatch effected 
many nicer needs : the last was the greatest, but that 
I have not ended yet. 

Fr. Env. If the business be of any difficulty, and 
this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of 
your lordship. 

Ber. I mean the business is not ended, as fearing to 
hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue 
between the fool and the soldier? Come, bring forth 
this counterfeit medal : he has deceived me, like a 
double-meaning prophesier. 

Fr. Env. Bring him forth. [Exeunt Soldiers.] He 
has sat i' the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. 

Ber. No matter : his heels have deserved it, in usurp- 
ing his spurs so long. How does he carry himself? 

Fr. Env. I have told your lordship already : the stocks 
carry him. But, to answer you as you would be un- 
derstood, he weeps, like a wench that had shed her 
milk. He hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom 
he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remem- 
brance, to this very instant disaster of his sitting i' the 
stocks, and what think you he hath confessed ? 
Ber. Nothing of me, has he ? 

Fr. Env. His confession is taken, and it shall be 
read to his face : if your loi'dship be in 't, as I believe 
you are, you must have the patience to hear it. 
Re-enter Soldier.s. u'ith Parolles. 
Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled ? he can say no- 
thing of me : hush ! hush ! 

Fr. Gent. Hoodman' comes ! — Portotartaro.'isa. 
1 Sold. He calls for the tortures : what will you say 
without 'em ? 

Par. I will confess what I know without constraint : 
if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. 
1 Sold. Boako chimurko. 
Fr. Gent. Bohlibindo chicurmurco. 
1 Sold. You are a merciful general. — Our general 
bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. 



Par. And truly, as I hope to live. 

1 Sold. '' First, demand of him how many horse the 
duke is strong." What say you to that ? 

Par. Five or six thousand : but very weak and'un- 
serviceable : the troops are all scattered, and the com- 
manders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and 
credit, and as I hope to live. 

1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so ? 

Par. Do : I '11 take my sacrament on 't, how and 
which way you will. 

1 Sold. All 's one to him.^ 

Ber. What a past-saving slave is this ! 

Fr. Gent. Y' are deceived, my lord : this is monsieur 
Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his own 
phrase) that had the whole theorick of war in the knot of 
his scarf, and the practice in the chape^ of his dagger. 

Fr. Env. I will never trust a man again for keeping 
his sword clean ; nor believe he can have every thing 
in him by wearing his apparel neatly. 

1 Sold. Well, that 's set down. 

Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, — I will say 
true, — or tliereabouts, set down, — for I '11 speak truth. 

Fr. Gent. He 's very near the truth in this. 

Ber. But I con* him no thanks for 't, in the nature 
he delivers it. 

Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 

1 Sold. WolC that 's set down. 

Par. I humbly thank you, sir. A truth 's a truth : 
the rogues are marvellous poor. 

1 Sold. '■'■ Demand of him, of what strength they 
are a-foot." What say you to that? 

Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present 
hour, I will tell true. Let me see : Spurio a hundred 
and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus so many. .Jaques 
so many ; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two 
hundred fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, 
Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred fifty each : so that the 
muster-file, rotten and 



ound, upon my life, amounts 
not to fifteen thousand poll ; half of the which dare 
not shake the snow from off their cassocks, lest they 
shake themselves to pieces. 

Ber. What shall be done to him ? 

Fr. Gent. Nothing, but let him have thanks. — 
Demand of hinr my condition, and what credit I have 
with the duke. 

1 Sold. Well, that 's set down. '^ Yoxi shall demand 
of him, whether one captain Dumaine be i' the camp, 
a Frenchman : what his reputation is with the duke, 
what his valour, honesty, and expertness in wars ; or 
whether he thinks, it were not possible with well- 
weighing sums of gold to corrupt him to a revolt." 
What say you to this ? what do you know of it ? 

Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the particular 
of the intergatories : demand them singly. 

1 Sold. Do you know this captain Dumaine ? 

Par. I know him ; he was a botcher's 'prentice in 
Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the 
sheriffs fool with child ; a dumb innocent, that could 
not say him, nay. [Dumaine lifts up his hand in anger. 

Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands ; though, 
I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. 

1 Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's 
camp? 

Par. Upon my knowledge he is, and lousy. 

Fr. Gent. Nay, look not so upon me ; we shall hear 
of your lordship anon. 

1 Sold. What is his reputation with the duke ? 

Par. The duke knows him for no other but a pwor 
officer of mine, and writ to me this other day to turn 



An allusion to blind man's buff. — Knight. 2 f. e. give these -words to Bertram. ' Hook, by which it was attached. * Owe. 



250 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ACT IV. 



him out o' the band : 
pocket. 



I think, I have his letter in my more of his soldier.<hip I know not ; except, in that 



1 Sold. Marry, we '11 search. 

Par. In good sadness, I do not know: either it is 
there, or it is upon a file, with the duke's other letters, 
in my tent. 



1 Sold. 
you^ 



Here 



'tis; 



here 's a paper : shall I read it to 



Par. 1 do not know if it be it, or no. 
Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 
Fr. Gent. Excellently. 



1 Sold. [Reads.] ' 
of gold,"— 

Par. That is not 



Dian, the count 's a fool, and full 

the duke's letter, sir : that is an 
advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, 
to take heed of the allurement of one count Rousillon, 
a foolish idle boy, but. for all that, very ruttish. I 
pray you, sir, put it up again. 

1 Sold. Nay, I '11 read it first, by your favour. 

Par. My meaning in 't. I protest, was very honest 
in the behalf of the maid ; for I knew the young 
count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a 
whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. 

Ber. Damnable, both-sides rogue ! 

1 Sold. [Reads.] "When he swears oaths, bid him 
drop gold, and take it ; 

After he scores, he never pays the score : 
Half won is match well made ; match, and well make it : 

He ne'er pays after debts ; take it before, 
And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this. 
Men are to melP with, boys are not to kiss : 
For count of this, the count 's a fool, I know it. 
Who pays before, but not where he does owe it. 
" Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear, 

"Parolles." 

Ber. He shall be whipped through the army, with 
this rhyme in 's forehead. 

Fr. Env. This is your devoted friend, sir; the mani- 
fold linguist, and the armipotent soldier. 

Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat, and 
now he 's a cat to me. 

1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by our general's looks, we 
shall be fain to hang you. 

Par. My life, sir, in any case ! not that I am afraid 
to die : but that, my offences being many, I would 
repent out the remainder of nature. Let me live, sir, 
in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, so I may \We. 

1 Sold. We '11 see what may be done, so you confess 
freely : therefore, once more to this captain Dumaine. 
You have answered to his reputation with the duke, 
and to his valour : what is his honesty ? 

Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister : for 
rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He pro- 
fesses not keeping of oaths : in breaking them he is 
stronger than Hercules. He will lie. sir, with such 
vokibility, that you would think truth were a fool. 
Drunkenness is his best virtue : for he will be swine- 
drunk, and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his 

but they know his conditions, 

I have but little more to say, 

has every thing tliat an honest 

what an honest man should 



country, he had the honour to be the officer at a place 
there called Mile-end,' to instruct for the doiibling of 
files : I would do the man what honour I can. but of 
this I am not certain. 

Fr. Gent. He hath out- villained villany so far, that 
the rarity redeems him. 

Ber. A pox on him ! he 's a cat still. 

1 Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I need 
not ask you, if gold will corrupt him to rcA^olt. 

Par. Sir, for a q^iart d'ecu^ he will sell the fee-simple 
of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the 
entail from all remainders, and a perpetual succession 
for it perpetually. 

1 Sold. What 's his brother, the other captain Du- 
maine ? 

Fr. Env. Why does he ask him of me ? ^ 

1 Sold. What's he? 

Par. E'en a crow o' the same nest ; not altogether 
so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great 
deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward, yet 
his brother is reputed one of the best that is. In a 
retreat he out-runs any lackey : marry, in coming on 
he has the cramp. 

1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake to 
betray the Florentine ? 

Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count Rou- 
sillon. 

1 Sold. I '11 whisper with the general, and know 
his pleasure. 

Par. [A.nde.] I '11 no more drumming ; a plague of 
all drums ! Only to seem to deserve well, and to 
beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy 
the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who 
would have suspected an ambush, where I was taken? 

1 Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die. 
The general says, you, that have so traitorously dis- 
covered the secrets of your army, and made such pes- 



bed-clothes about him 
and lay him in straw. 



tiferous reports of men very 
world for no honest use ; 



nobly held, can serve the 
tlierefore you must die. 



sir, of his honesty : he 
man should not have ; 
have, he has nothing. 

Fr. Gent. I begin to love him for this. 

Ber. For this description of thine honesty ? A pox 
upon him ! for me he is more and more a cat. 

1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in war ? 

Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the 
English tragedians, — to belie him, I will not, — and 

1 Meddle, do. 2 j\ place -where the Londoners were often mustered and trained. 



Come, headsman; olF with his head. 

Par. O Lord, sir; let me live, or let me see my 
death ! 

1 Sold. That shall you ; and take your leave of all 
your friends. [UnmvjJIing him. 

So, look about you : know you any here ? 

Ber. Good-morrow, noble captain. 

Fr. Env. God bless you, captain Parolles. 

Fr. Gent. God save you, noble captain. 

Fr. Env. Captain, what greeting will you to my 
lord Lafeu? I am for France. 

Fr. Gent. Good captain, will you give me a copy of 
the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the count 
Rousillon ? an I were not a very coward, I 'd compel it 
of you; but fare you well. 

[Exeunt Bertram, Frenchmen, kc. 

1 Sold. You are undone, captain; all but your scarf, 
that has a knot on 't yet. 



Par. Who cannot be crushed v^-ith a plot ? 

1 Sold. If you could find out a country where 



but 



women were, that had received so much shame, you 
might begin an impudent nation. Fare you well, sir; 
I am for France too : we shall speak of you there. [Exit. 

Par. Yet am I thankful : if my heart were great, 
'T would burst at this. Captain I '11 be no more ; 
But I will eat, .and drink, and sleep as soft 
As captain shall : simply the thing I am 
Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, 
Let him fear this ; for it will come to pass, 

3 About eight-pence English. 



SCENE V. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



251 



That every braggart shall be found an ass. 

Rust, sword ! cool, blushes ! and Parolles. live 

Safest in shame ! being fool'd, by foolery thrive ! 

There 's place and means for every man alive. 

I '11 after them. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— Florence. A Room in the Widovsr's 
House. 

Enter Helena, Widoiv, and Diana. 

Hel. That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd 
you, 
One of the greatest in the Christian world 
Shall be my surety ; 'fore whose throne, 't is needful, 
Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel. 
Time was I did him a desired office, 
Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude 
Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth 
And answer, thanks. I duly am inform'd, 
His grace is at Marseilles, to which place 
We have convenient convoy. You must know, 
I am supposed dead : the army breaking. 
My husband hies him home ; where, heaven aiding, 
And by the leave of my good lord the king, 
Wc '11 be before our welcome. 

irid. Gentle madam, 

You never had a servant, to whose trust 
Your business was more welcome. 

Hel. Nor you, mistress. 

Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour 
To recompense your love ; doubt not, but heaven 
Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, 
As it hath fated her to be my motive. 
And helper to a husband. But 0, strange men ! 
That can such sweet use make of what they hate, 
When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts 
Defiles the pitchy night ! so lust doth play 
Witli what it loathes, for that which is away. 
But more of this hereafter. — You, Diana, 
Under my poor instruolions, yet must suffer 
Something in my behalf. 

Dia. Let death and honesty 

Go with your impositions, I am yours 
Upon your will to suffer. 

Hel. Yet, I pray you : 

But with the world' the time will bring on summer, 
When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns, 
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; 
Our waggon is prepar'd, and time reviles" us : 
" All 's well that ends well :" still the fine 's the crown; 
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. 

[E.vei(nt. 

SCENE V. — Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 

Palace. 
Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown. 

Laf. No, no, no ; your son was misled with a snipt- 
taffata fellow there, whose villanous saffron^ would 
have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a 
nation in his colour : your daughter-in-law had been 
alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more 
advanced by the king, than by that red-tailed humble- 
bee I speak of. 

Count. I would I had not kno-wm him. It was the 
death of the most virtuous gentlewoman, that ever 
nature had praise for creating : if she had partaken of 
my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, 
I could not have owed her a more rooted love. 



Laf. 'T was a good lady, 't was a good lady : we ma^ 
pick a tliousand salads, ere we light on such anothei 
herb. 

Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the 
salad, or, rather the herb of grace. 

Laf. They are not pot-herbs*, you knave: they are 
nose-herbs. 

Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir ; I have not 
much skill in grass. 

Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave, or 
a fool ? 

Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave 
at a man's. 

Laf. Your distinction ? 

Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his 
service. 

Laf. So you were a knave at his service, indeed 

Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble^, sir, to 
do her service. 

Laf. I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave 
and fool. 

Clo. At your service. 

Laf No, no, no. 

Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as 
great a prince as you are. 

Laf. Who 's that ? a Frenchman ? 

Clo. Faith, sir, a' has an English name* ; but his 
phisnomy is more hotter in France, than there. 

Laf. What prince is that? 

Clo. The black prince, sir ; alias, the prince of dark- 
ness; alias., the devil. 

Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse. I give thee not 
this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of : 
serve him still. 

Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved 
a great fire ; and the master I speak of, ever keeps a 
good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world ; let 
the nobility remain in 's court. I am for the house 
with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for 
pomp to enter : some, that humble themselves, may ; 
but the man)^ will be too chill and tender, and they '11 
be for the flowery way, that leads to the broad gate, 
and the great fire. 

Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a- weary of thee ; 
and I tell thee .*iO before, because I would not fall out 
with thee. Go thy ways : let my horses be well looked 
to, "without any tricks. 

Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be 
jades' tricks, which are their own right by the law of 
nature. [Exit. 

Laf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy^ 

Count. So a' is. My lord, that 's gone, made himself 
much sport out of him : by his authority he remains 
here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness : 
and, indeed, he has no place', but runs where he will. 

Laf. 1 like him well ; 't is not amiss. And I was 
about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's 
death, and that my lord, your son, was upon his return 
home. I moved the king, my master, to speak in the 
behalf of my daughter ; which, in the minority of them 
both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, 
did first propose. His highness hath promised me to do 
it ; and to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived 
against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does 
your ladyship like it? 

Count. With very much content, my lord; and I 
wish it happily effected. 



1 word : in f. e. ' revives : in f. e, ' Saffron was used to color starch, a yellow hue beinp then fashionable in dress. It was also used 
to color pie-crust. ♦ salad-herbs : in f. e. » A short .stick, with a fool's head, or a small figure, at the end of it. An inflated bladder was 
sometimes attached. « Old copies : maine. ''Mischievous. Space: inf. e. 



959 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ACT y. 



Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as 
able body as when he numbered thirty : a' will be here 
to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intel- 
ligence hath seldom failed. 

Coimt. It rejoices me that I hope I shall see him ere 
I die. I have letters that my son will be here to-night : 
I shall beseech your lordship, to remain with me till 
they meet together. 

Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I 
might safely be admitted. 

Count. You need but plead your honourable privilege. 

Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, 
I tliank my God, it holds yet. 



Re-enter Chum. 

do. 0, madam ! yonder 's my lord your son with a 
patch of velvet on 's face : whether there be a scar 
under it, or no, the velvet knows ; but 't is a goodly 
patch of velvet. His left cheek is a cheek of two pile 
and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. 

Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good 
livery of honour ; so, belike, is that. 

Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face. 

Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you : I long to 
talk with the young noble soldier. 

Clo. 'Faith, there 's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine 
hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the head, 
and nod at every man. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE L— Marseilles. A Street. 

Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two 

Attendants. 

JJel. But this exceeding posting, day and night, 
Must wear your spirits low : we cannot help it ; 
But, since you have made the days and nights as one, 
To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs. 
Be bold, you do so grow in my requital, 
As nothing can unroot you. In happy time. 
Enter a Gentleman, a Strancrer.'- 
This man may help me to his majesty's ear, 
If he would spend his power. — God save you, sir. 

Gent. And you. 

i/c/. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. 

Gent. I have been sometimes there. 

Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen 
From the report that goes upon your goodness ; 
And tliereforc, goaded with most sharp occasions 
Which lay nice maimers by, I put you to 
The use of your own virtues, for the which 
I shall continue thankful. 

Gent. What 's your will ? 

Hel. That it will please you 
To give this poor petition to the king. 
And aid jne with that store of power you have, 
To come inio his presence. \Giving it to him. 

Gent. The king 's not here. 

Hel. Not here, sir ? 

Gent. Not, indeed : 

He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste 
Than is his use. 

Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains ! 

Hel. All 's well that ends well yet. 
Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit. — 
I do beseech you, whither is he gone ? 

Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon ; 
Whither I am going. 

Hel. I do beseech you, sir, 

Since you are like to see the king before me. 
Commend the paper to his gracious hand ; 
Which, I presume, shall render you no blame. 
But rather make you thank your pains for it. 
I will come after you, with what good speed 
Our means will make us means. 

Gent. This I '11 do for you. 

Hel And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, 
Whate'er falls more. — We must to horse again : — 
Go, go, provide. [Exeunt. 

' a gentle Astringer : in f. e. " This word is not added in f. e. 



SCENE II.— Rousillon. The inner Court of the 

Countess's Palace. 

Enter Clown, and Parolles, ill-favoured.^ 

Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu 
this letter. I have ere now, sir, been better known to 
you. when T have held familiarity with fresher clotlies; 
but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood, and 
smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasixre. 

Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it 
smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will henceforth 
eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee, allow the 
wind. 

Par. Nay. you need not to stop your nose, si r : I 
spake but by a metaphor. 

Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop 
my nose ; or against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee, 
get thee farther. 

Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. 

Clo. Foh ! pr'ythee, stand away : a paper from for- 
tune's close-stool to give to a nobleman ! Look, here 
he comes himself. 

E7iter Lafeu. 

Here is a pur of Ibrtune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, 
(but not a musk-cat) that has fallen into the unclean 
fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied 
withal. Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may, lor he 
looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally 
knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles of comfort, 
and leave him to your lordship. [Exit Clown. 

Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath 
cruelly scratched. 

Laf. And what would you have me to do ? 't is too 
late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you ]dayed 
the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, 
who of herself is a good lady, and would not have 
knaves thrive long under her ? There 's a guart d'ecu 
for you. Let the justices make you and fortune friends ; 
I am for other business. 

Par. I beseech your honour to hear me one single 
word. 

Laf. You beg a single penny more : come, you shall 
ha 't ; save your word. 

Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. 

Laf. You beg more than one word, then. — Cox' my 
passion! give me your hand. — How does your drum? 

Par. 0, my good lord ! you were the first that found 
me. [thee. 

Laf. Was 1, in sooth ? and I was the first that lost 



SCENE III. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



253 



Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bi'ing me in some 
grace, for you did bring me out. 

Laf. Out upon thee, knave ! dost thou put upon me 
at once both the office of God and the devil ? one 
brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. 
YTrumpets sound.] The king 's coming : I laiow by his 
trumpets. — Sirrah, inquire farther after me : I had talk 
of you last night. Though you are a fool and a knave, 
you shall cat : go to. follow. 

Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. A Room in the Countess's 

Palace. 

Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords. 
Gentlemen., Guards^ ^'c. 

King. We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem 
Was made much poorer by it; but your son, 
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know 
Her estimation home. 

Count. 'T is past, my liege ; 

And I beseech your majesty to make it 
Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze' of youth : 
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, 
O'erbears it, and burns on. 

King. My honour'd lady, 

I have forgiven and forgotten all. 
Though my revenges were high bent upon him, 
And watch'd the time to shoot. 

Laf. This I must say. — 

But first I beg my pardon, — the young lord 
Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, 
Offence of mighty note, but to himself 
The greatest wrong of all : he lost a wife. 
Whose beauty did astonish the survey 
Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive ; 
Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve 
Humbly call'd mistress. 

King. Praising what is lost 

Makes the remembrance dear. — Well, call him 

hither. 
We are rcconcil'd, and the first view shall kill 
All repetition. — Let him not ask our pardon: 
The nature of his great offence is dead, 
And deeper than oblivion we do bury 
The incensing relics of it : let him approach, 
A stranger, no oflender : and inform him, 
So 't is our will he should. 

Gent. I shall, my liege. [Exit Gentleman. 

King. What says he to your daughter? have you 
spoke ? 

Laf. AH that he is hath reference to your high- 
ness. 

King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters 
sent me. 
That set hiai high in fame. 

Enter Bertram. 

L'lf. He looks well on 't. 

King. I am not a day of season. 
For thou may'st see a sunshine and a hail 
In me at once : but to the brightest beams 
Distracted clouds give way: so stand thou forth ; 
The time is fair again. 

Ber. My high repented blames, 

Dear sovereign, pardon to me. 

King. All is whole ; 

Not one word more of the consumed time. 
Let 's take the instant by the fon^'ard top, 
For we are old. and on our quick'st decrees 



Th' inaudible and noiseless foot of time 
Steals, ere we can effect them. You remember 
The daughter of this lord. 

Ber. Admiringly. 

My liege, at first 

I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue : 
Where the impression of mine eye infixing, 
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, 
Which warp'd the line of every other favour, 
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen, 
Extended or contracted all proportions. 
To a most hideous object. Thence it came. 
That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, 
Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye 
The dust that did offend it. 

King. Well excus'd : 

Tliat thou didst love her strikes some scores away 
From the great compt. But love, that comes too late, 
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried. 
To the great sender turns a sore'^ offence. 
Crying, tliat 's good that 's gone. Our rash faults 
Make trivial price of serious things we have. 
Not knowing them, until we know their grave : 
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust. 
Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust ; 
Our own love, waking, cries to see what 's done,^ 
While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. 
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. 
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin : 
The main consents are had ; and here we '11 stay 
To see our widower's second marriage-day. 

Laf. Which better than the first. 0. dear heaven, 
bless !* 
Or, ere they meet, in me, nature, cease^. 
Come on. my son, in whom my house's name 
Must be digested, give a favour from you, 
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, 
That she may quickly come. — By my old beard, 
And every hair that 's on 't, Helen, that 's dead, 
Was a sweet creature : such a ring as this, 
The last time ere she* took her leave at court, 
I saw upon her finger. 

Ber. Hers it was not. 

King. Now, pray you, let me see it ; for mine eye, 
While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to 't.-^ 
This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen, 
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood 
Necessitied to help, that by this token 
I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her 
Of what should stead her most ? 

Ber. My gracious sovereign, 

Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, 
The ring was never hers. 

Count. Son, on my life, 

I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it 
At her life's rate. 

Laf. I am sure I saw her wear it. 

Ber. You are deceiv'd : my lord, she never saw it. 
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, 
Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name 
Of her that threw it. Noble she was, and thought 
I stood engag'd ; but when I had subscrib'd 
To mine owti fortune, and informed her fully 
I could not answer in that course of honour 
As she had made the overture, she ceas'd, 
In heavy satisfaction, and would never 
Receive the ring again. 



1 blade : in f. e. 2 gy^r ; 
next line to the Countess. 



in f. e. ^ This and the next line are erased by the MS. emendator of the folio, 1632. * f e. assign this and the 
5 Old copies : cesse. <> ere I : in f. e. 



254 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ACT V. 



King. Plutus himself, 

That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine/ 
Hath not in nature's mystery more science, 
Than I have in this ring : 't was mine, 't was Helen's, 
Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know 
That you are well acquainted with 't yourself. 
Confess 't was hers, and by what rough enforcement 
You got it from her. She call'd the saints to surety, 
That she would never put it from her finger, 
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed. 
Where you have never come, or sent it us 
Upon her great disaster. 

Ber. She never saw it. 

King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour, 
And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me. 
Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove 
That thou art so inhuman, — 't will not prove so ; — 
And yet I know not : — thou didst hate her deadly. 
And she is dead ; — which nothing, but to close 
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, 
More than to see this ring. — Take him away. — 

[Guards seize Bertram. 
My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, 
Shall tax my fears of little vanity. 
Having vainly fear'd too little. — Away with him ! 
We 'II sift this matter farther. 

Ber. If you shall prove 

This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy 
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, 
Where yet she never was. [Exit Bertram, guarded. 
Enter the Gentleman, a Stranger.^ 

King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. 

Gent. Gracious sovereign, 

Whetlier I have been to blame, or no, I know not : 
Here 's a petition from a Florentine, 
Who hath, for four or five removes, come short 
To tender it herself. I undertook it, 
Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech 
Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, 
Is here attending : her business looks in her 
With an importing visage ; and she told me, 
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern 
Your liighness with herself. 

King. [Reads.] "Upon his many protestations to 
marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, 
he won me. Now is the count RousiUou a widower : 
his vows arc forfeited to me, and my honour 's paid to 
him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I 
follow him to his country for justice. Grant it me, 
king ! in you it best lies ; otherwise a seducer flour- 
ishes, and a poor maid is undone. " Diana Capilet." 

Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and tolP 
him : for this, I '11 none of him. 

King. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu, 
To bring forth this discovery.— Seek these suitors.— 
Go speedily, and bring again the count. 

[Exeunt Ge?itleman, and some Attendants. 
I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady, 
Was foully snatch'd. 

Count. Now, justice on the doers ! 

Re-enter Bertram, guarded. 

King. I wonder, sir, for, wives are monsters to you.* 
And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, 
Yet you desire to marry. — What woman 's that ? 
Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow, and Diana. 

Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, 
Derived from the ancient Capilet : [Kneeling.^ 



My suit, as I do understand, you know, 
And therefore know how far I may be pitied, 

Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour 
Both suffer under this complaint we bring. 
And both shall cease, without your remedy. 

King. Come hither, county'. Do you know these 
women ? 

Ber. My lord, I neither can, nor will deny 
But that I know them. Do they charge me farther ? 

Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife ? 

[Rising.'' 

Ber. She 's none of mine, my lord. 

Dia. If you shall marry. 

You give away this hand, and that is mine ; 
You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine ; 
You give away myself, which is known min^ 3 
For I by vow am so embodied yours. 
That she which marries you must marry me ; 
Either both, or none. 

Laf. [To Bertram.] Your reputation comes too 
short for my daughter : you are no husband for her. 

Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature. 
Whom sometime I have laugh'd with. Let your 

higlmcss 
Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour. 
Than so to think that I would sink it here. [friend, 

King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to 
Till your deeds gain them : fairer prove your honour. 
Than in my thought it lies. 

Dia. Good my lord, 

Ask him upon his oath, if he does think 
He had not my virginity. 

King. What say'st thou to her ? 

Ber. She 's impudent, my lord ; 

And was a common gamester to the camp. 

Dia. He does me wrong, my lord : if I were so, 
He might have bought me at a common price : 
Do not believe him. ! behold this ring, 
Whose high respect, and rich validity. 
Did lack a parallel ; yet, for all that. 
He gave it to a commoner 0' the camp, 
If I be one. 



Count. 



He blushes, and 't is his.* 



Of six preceding ancestors, that gem 
Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue. 
Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife : 
That ring 's a thousand proofs. 

King. Methought, you said, 

You saw one here in court could witness it. 

Dia. I did, my lord, but loth am to produce 
So bad an instrument : his name 's Parolles. 

Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. 

King. Find him, and bring him hither. 

Ber. What of him? 

He 's quoted for a most perfidious slave. 
With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debauch'd, 
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. 
Am I or that, or this, for what he '11 utter, 
That will speak any thing ? 

King. She hath that ring of yours, 

Ber. I think, she has : certain it is, I lik'd her, 
And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth. 
She knew her distance, and did angle for me. 
Madding my eagerness with her restraint, 
As all impediments in fancy's course 
Are motives of more fancy ; and, in fine. 
Her infinite cunning,' with her modern grace, 



4 riA" a,Uiision to the Alchemists. 2 Enter a Gentleman : in f. e. 3 A " toll " was paid for the privilege of selling a horse at a fair, 
i his word is inserted in place of " sir," in Lord F. Egerton's MS. annotated folio, 1623. 5 Not in f. e. « count : in f. e. i Not in f. e. 
8 Old copies : hit (the old form of it). 9 insuit coming : in f. e. 



SCENE III. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS AVELL. 



255 



King. 



Subdued me to her rate : she got the ring, 
And I had that, which any inferior might 
At market-price have bought. 

Dia. I must be patient : 

You, that turn'd^ off a first so noble wife, 
May justly diet me. I pray you yet, 
(Since you lack virtue, I will lo.'^e a husband) 
Send for your ring ; I will return it home, 
And give me mine again. 

Ber. I have it not. 

King. What ring was yours, I pray you ? 
Dia. Sir, much like 

The same upon your finger. 

Know you this ring? this ring was his of 
late. 

Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. 
King. The story then goes false, — you threw it 
him 
Out of a casement. 

Dia. I have spoke the truth. 

Enter Parolles. 
Ber. My lord, I do confess, the ring was hers. 
King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts 
you . — 
[s this the man you speak of? 

Dia. Ay, my lord. 

King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge 
you. 
Not fearing the displeasure of your master, 
(Which, on your ju>;t proceeding, I "11 keep off) 
JBy him, and by this woman here, what know you ? 

Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been 
an honourable gentleman : tricks he hath had in him, 
which gentlemen have. 

King. Come, come ; to the pvirpose. Did he love 
this woman ? 

Par. "Faith, sir, he did love her ; but how? 
King. How, I pray you ? 

Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a 
woman. 

King. How is that ? 

Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. 
King. As thou art a knave, and no knave. — 
What an equivocal companion is this ! 

Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's 
command. 

Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty 
orator. 

Dia. Do you know, he promised me marriage ? 
Par. 'Faith, I know more than I '11 speak. 
King. Bat wilt thou not speak all thou know'st ? 
Par. Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between 
them, as I said ; but more than that, he loved her, — 
for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, 
and of limbo, and of furies, and I know not what : yet 
I was in that credit with them at that time, that I 
knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, as 
promising her marriage, and things that would derive 
me ill will to speak of: therefore, I will not speak 
what I know. 

King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou 
canst 
Say they are married. But thou art too fine 
In thy evidence; therefere, stand aside. — 
This ring, you say, was yours ? 

Dia. Ay, my good lord. 

King. Where did you buy it V or who gave it 

you ? 
Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. 

» f. 6. have tun'd. a a Not in f. e 



King. Who lent it you ? 

Dia. It was not lent me neither. 

King. Wliere did you find it then ? 

Dia. I found it not. 

King. If it were yours by none of all these ways, 
How could you give it him ? 

Dia. I never gave it him. 

Laf. This woman 's an easy glove, my lord : she 
goes off and on at pleasure. 

King. This ring was mine: I gave it his first 
wife. 

Dia. It might be yours, or hers, for aught I know. 

King. Take her away : I do not like her now. 
To prison with her; and away with him. — 
Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst tliis ring, 



I'll never tell you. 



Thou diest within this hour. 
Dia. 
King. Take her away. 

Dia. I'll put in bail, my liege. 

King. I think thee now some common customer. 

Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 't was you. 

King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this 
while ? 

Dia. Because he 's guilty, and he is not guilty. 
He knows I am no maid, and he '11 swear to 't; 
I '11 swear I am a maid, and he knows not. 
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life ! 
I am either maid, or else this old man 's wife. 

[Pointing to Lafeu. 

King. She does abuse our ears. To prison with 
her ! 

Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail. — [Exit Widow.] 
Stay, royal sir : 
The jeweller that owes the ring, is sent for. 
And he shall surety me. But for this lord, 
Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself. 
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit liim. 
He kiiows himself my bed he hath defil'd, 
Aird at that time he got his wife with child : 
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick : 
So there 's my riddle, one that 's dead is quick ; 
And now behold the meaning. 

Re-enter Widow, with Helena. 

King. Is there no exorcist 

Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes ? 
Is 't real, that I see ? 

Hel. No, my good lord : 

'T is but the shadow of a wife you see ; 
The name, and not the thing. 

Ber. Both, both ! 0, pardon ! [Kneeling'^ 

Hel. ! my good lord, when I was like this maid, 
I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring ; 
And look you, here 's your letter : this it says : 
" When from my finger you can get this ring. 
And are by me with child," &c. — This is done : 
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ? 

Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this 
clearly, [Rising.^ 

I '11 love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. 

Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, 
Deadly divorce step between me and you ! — 
! my dear mother, do I see you living ? 

Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon. — 
Good Tom Drum, [To Parolles.] lend me a handker- 
chief: so, I thank thee. Wait on me home, I '11 make 
sport with thee : let thy courtesies alone, they are 
scurvy ones. 

King. Let us from point to point this story know, 
To make the even truth in pleasure flow. — 



256 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



ACT V. 



[To Diana.] If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped 

Hower, 
Choose thou thy husband, and I '11 pay thy dower ; 
For I can guess, that by thy honest aid 
Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. — 



Of that, and all the progress, more and less 
Resolvedly more leisure shall express : 
All yet seems well ; and if it end so meet, 
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. 



[Flourish. 



EPILOGUE BY THE KING. 



The king's a beggar, now the play is done. 

All is well ended, if tliis suit be won, 

That you express content ; which we will pay, 

1 This line is not in f. e. 



With strife to please you, day exceeding day : 
Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts ; 
Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. ' 

[Exeunt omnes. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



DEAMATIS PEESON^. 



Malvolio, Steward to Olivia. 



Orsino, Duke of Illyria. 

Sebastian, Brother to Viola. 

Antonio, a Sea Captain, Friend to Sebastian. 

A Sea Captain, Friend to Viola. 

n ' ' ' ' } Gentlemen attending on the Duke. 
Curio, ) ° 

Sir Toby Belch, Uncle to Olivia. 

Sir Andrew Ague-Cheek. 

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and Attendants. 

SCENE, a City in Illyria; and the Sea-coast near it. 



pj 'I Servants to Olivia. 

Olivia, a rich Countess. 
Viola, in Love with the Duke. 
Maria, Olivia's Woman. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Duke, Curio, Lords. Mtisic playing} 

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on : 
Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting, 
The appetite may sicken, and so die. 
That strain again ; — it had a dying fall : 
O ! it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,'' 
That breathes upon a bank of violets. 
Stealing, and giving odour. — Enough ! no more : 

[Music ceases,^ 
'T is not so .sweet now, as it was before. 
O, spirit of love ! how quick and fresh art tliou, 
That, notwithstanding thy capacity 
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there. 
Of what validity* and pitch soe'er, 
But falls into abatement and low price. 
Even in a minute ! so full of shapes is fancy. 
That it alone is high-fantastical. 

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? 

Duke. What, Curio? 

Cur. The hart. 

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have. 
! when mine eyes did see Olivia first, 
Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence : 
That instant was I turn'd into a hart. 
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds. 
E'er since pursue me.' — How now ! what news from her ? 
Enter Valentine. 

Vol. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, 
But from her handmaid do return this answer: — 
The element itself, till seven years' heat. 
Shall not behold her face at ample view : 
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, 
And water once a day her chamber round 
With eye-offending brine : all this, to season 
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh 
And lasting in her sad remembrance. 

Duke. O ! she that hath a heart of that fine frame. 



To pay this debt of love but to a brother, 
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft 
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else 
That live in her : when liver, brain, and heart. 
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd, 
(Her sweet perfections) with one self king. — 
Away, before me to sweet beds of flowers ; 
Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Sea-coast. 
Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors. 

Vio. What country, friends, is this ? 

Cap. This is Illyria, lady. 

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria ? 
My brother he is in Elysium. 
Perchance, he is not drown'd : — ^what think you, sailors ? 

Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were sav'd. 

Vio. 0, my poor brother ! and so, perchance, may 
he be. 

Cap. True, madam : and, to comfort you with chance^ 
Assure yourself, after our ship did split. 
When you, and those poor number saved with you, 
Hung on our driving boat. I saw your brother. 
Most provident in peril, bind hirnself 
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) 
To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea j 
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, 
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves 
So long as I could see. 

Vio. For saying so there 's gold. 

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope. 
Whereto thy speech serves for authority, 
The like of him. Know'st thou this country ? 

Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and bom, 
Not three hours' travel from this very place. 

Vio. Who governs here ? 



Cap. 
As in name. 



• Musicians attending : in f. e. * The old copies read: sound; Pope made the change, 
like hounds, pursue me to my death. — " DanieCs Velia," 1592. 

17 



A noble duke, in nature 



s Not in f. e. ♦ Value. » My thought*, 



258 



TWELFTH-NIGHT 



OR, 



WHAT YOU WILL. 



ACT I. 



Mar. Ay, but he '11 have tut a year in all these 
ducats: he 's a very fool, and a prodigal. 

Sir To. Fie, that you '11 say so ! he plays o' the 
viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages 
word for word without book, and hath all the good 
gifts of nature. 

Mar. He hath, indeed. — all most natural : for, besides 
that he 's a fool, he 's a great quarreller ; and, but that 
he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath 
in quarrelling, 't is thought among the prudent he would 
quickly have the gift of a grave. 

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and sub- 
stractors that say so of him. Who are they ? 

]\Iar. They that add, moreover, he 's drunk nightly 
in your company. 

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece. I '11 
drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my throat, 
and drink in Illyria. He 's a coward, and a coistril,^ 
that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o' 
the toe like a parish-top.* What, wench ! Castiliano 
vulgo,^ for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face. 
Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 

Sir. And. Sir Toby Belch ! how now, sir Toby Belch ? 

Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. 

Mar. And you too, sir. 

Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. 

Sir. And. What 's that ? 

Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. 

Sir And. Good misti'ess Acccst, I desire better ac- 
quaintance. 

Mar. My name is Mary, sir. 

Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost, — 

Sir To. You mistake, knight : accost is front her, 
board her, woo her, assail her. 

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in 
this company. Is that the meaning of accost? 

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. 

Sir To. An thou let her^ part so. sir Andrew, would 
thou mightst never draw sword again ! 

Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might 
never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you 
have fools in hand ? 

Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 

Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and here 's my 
hand. 

Mar. Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring 
your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. 

Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart ? what 's your 
metaphor ? 

Mar. It 's dry,' sir. 

Sir And. Why, I think so : I am not such an ass, but 
I can keep my hand dry. But what 's your jest ? 

Mar. A dry jest, sir. 

Sir And. Are you full of them ? 

3Iar. Ay, sir ; I have them at my fingers' ends : mar- 
ry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit Maria. 

Sir To. O knight ! thou lack'st a cup of canary. 
When did I see thee so put down ? 

Sir Aiid. Never in your life, I think ; unless you see 
canary put me down. Methinks, sometimes I have no 
more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has; 
but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does 
harm to my wit. 

Sir To. No question. 

Sir And. An I thought that, I 'd forswear it. I '11 
ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. 

1 Old eJs. : sight, and company. = Fine, brave. 3 From keatrel, a mongrel kind of hawk. ■« A large top was formerly kept in parishes 
or towns, tor the use of the public. >' Sir Toby's mistake, says Verplanck, for volto—?\x\. on a grave face. « This word is not in f. e. ' Tips 
was considered a sign of debility. > j *- ! b 



Vio. What is his name ? 

Cap. Orsino. 

Vio. Orsino ! I have heard my father name him : 
He was a bachelor then. 

Cap. And so is now, or was so very late ; 
For but a month ago I went from hence. 
And then 't was fresh in murmur, (as, you know, 
What great ones do the less will prattle of) 
That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. 

Vio. What's she? 

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count 
That died some twelvemonth since ; then leaving her 
In the protection of his son, her brother. 
Who shortly also died : for whose dear love, 
They say, she hath abjur'd the company. 
And sight^ of men. 

Vio. ! that I serv'd that lady, 

And might not be delivered to the world. 
Till I liad made mine own occasion mellow, 
What my estate is. 

Cap. That wei'c hard to compass. 

Because she will admit no kind of suit. 
No, not the duke's. 

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain. 
And though that nature with a beauteous wall 
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee 
I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits 
With this thy fair and outward character. 
I pr'ythee, (and I '11 pay thee bounteously) 
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid 
For such disguise as haply shall become 
The form of my intent. I '11 serve this duke : 
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him. 
It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing, 
And speak to him in many sorts of music. 
That will allow me very worth his service. 
What else may hap to time I will commit ; 
Only, shape thou thy silence to my wit. 

Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I '11 be : 
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. 

Vio. I thank thee. Lead me on. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— A Room in Olivia's House. 
Enter Sir Toby Belch, and Maria. 

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the 
death of her brother thus ? I am sure care 's an enemy 
to life. 

Mar. By my troth, sir Toby, you must come in 
earlier o' nights : your cousin, my lady, takes great 
exceptions to your ill hours. 

Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. 

Mar. Ay. but you must confine yourself within the 
modest limits of order. 

Sir To. Confine? I '11 confine myself no finer than 
I am. These clothes are good enough to drink in, and 
so be these boots too : an they be not, let them hang 
themselves in their own straps. 

Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you : I 
heard my lady talk of it yesterday, and of a foolish 
knight, that you brought in one night here to be her 
wooer. 

Sir. To. Who ? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek ? 

Mar. Ay, he. 

Sir To. He 's as talP a man as any 's in Illyria. 

Mar. What 's that to the purpose ? 

Sir To. Why. he has three thousand ducats a 
year. 



SCENE V. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



259 



Sir To. Pourquoi, my dear knight ? 

Sir And. What is pourquoi ? do or not do ? I would 
I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have 
in fencing, daneing. and bear-baiting. O, had I but 
followed the arts ! 

Sir To. Then hadst thou an excellent head of hair. 

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? 

Sir To. Past question; for, thou seest, it will not 
curl by nature. 

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does 't not ? 

Sir To. Excellent : it hangs like flax on a distaff, 
and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her 
legs, and spin it off. 

Sir And. 'Faith, I '11 home to-morrow, Sir Toby : 
your niece will not be seen ; or, if she be, it 's four to 
one she '11 none of me. The count himself, here hard 
by, woos her. 

Sir To. She'll none o' the count: she'll not match 
above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit: I 
have heard her swear it. Tut, there 's life in 't, man. 

Sir And. I "11 stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' 
the strangest mind i' the world : I delight in masques 
and revels sometimes altogether. 

Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight ? 

Sir And. As any man in lUyria, whatsoever he be, 
under the degree of my betters: and yet I will not 
compare with an old man. 

Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard,^ knight ? 

Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper. 

Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to 't. 

Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply 
as strong as any man in Illyria. [Dances fantast ically .^ 

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid ? wherefore 
have these^ifts a curtain before them? are they like 
to take dust, like Mistress Mall's^ picture ? why dost 
thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in 
a coranto ?* My very walk should be a jig : I would 
not so much as make water, but in a sink-a-pace.^ 
What dost thou mean ? is it a world to hide virtues in? 
I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it 
was formed under the star of a galliard. 

Sir And. Ay, 't is strong, and it does indifferent well 
in a dun-coloured' stock. Shall we set about some revels ? 

Sir To. What shall we do else ? were we not born 
under Taurus ? 

Sir And. Taurus ? that 's sides and heart.' 

Sir To. No. sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see 
thee caper. [Sir And. dances again.Y Ha ! higher : 
ha, ha ! — excellent ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— A Room in the Duke's Palace. 

Enter Valentine, and Viola in man''s attire. 

Val. If the duke continue these favours towards you, 

Cesario, you are like to be much advaneed : he hath 

known you but three days, and already you are no 

stranger. 

Vio. You either fear his humour or my negligence, 
that you call in question the continuance of his love. 
Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours ? 
Val. No, believe me. 

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. 
Vio. I Ihank you. Here comes the count. 
Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho ? 
Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. 
Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. [Curio., Sfc. retire.^ 
— Cesario, 



Thou know'st no less but all : I have unclasp'd 
To thee the book even of my secret soul ; 
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her : 
Be not denied access, stand at her doors. 
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, 
Till thou have audience. 

Vio. Sure, my noble lord, 

If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow. 
As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 

Ditke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, 
Rather than make unprofited return. 

Vio. Say I do speak with lier, my lord, what then? 

Duke. ! then unfold the passion of my love ; 
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith : 
It shall become thee well to act my woes j 
She will attend it better in thy youth. 
Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. 

Vio. I think not so, my lord. 

Dtdce. Dear lad, believe it, 

For they shall yet belie thy happy years, 
That say thou art a man : Diana's lip 
Is not more smooth, and rubious ; thy small pipe 
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound. 
And all is semblative a woman's part. 
I know, thy constellation is right apt 
For this affair. — Some four, or five, attend him ; 
All, if you will, for I myself am best, 
When least in company. — Prosper well in this. 
And thou slialt live as freely as thy lord 
To call his fortunes thine. 

Vio. I '11 do my best, 

To woo your lady: [Aside ^ yet, 0,-° barfuP' strife ! 
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt, 

SCENE v.— A Room in Olivia's House. 
Enter Maria, and Cloum. 

Mar. Nay ; either tell me where thou hast been, or 
I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter 
in way of thy excuse. My lady will hang thee for thy 
absence. 

Clo. Let her hang me : he that is well hanged in 
this world needs to fear no colours. 

Mar. Make that good. 

Clo. He shall see none to fear. 

Mar. A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where 
that saying was born, of, I fear no colours. 

Clo. Where, good mistress Mary ? 

Mar. In the wars ; and that may you be bold to say 
in your foolery. 

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it ; and 
those that are fools, let them use their talents. 

Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so long ab- 
sent : or. to be turned away, is not that as good as a 
hanging to you ? 

Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage ; 
and for turning away, let summer bear it out. 

Mar. You are resolute, then ? 



Clo. Not so neither ; but I am resolved on two points.*' 

Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold ; or, if 
both break, your gaskins'* fall. 

Clo. Apt, in good failh ; very apt. Well, go thy 
way : if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as 
witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria. 

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here 
comes my lady : make your excuse wisely ; you were 
best. ' [Exit. 

' A quick, lively dance. 2 Not in f. e. ' Mary Frith, a (jreat notoriety of the time, -who -K-ent about in male attire ; a -n-ood cut of her 
maybe found prefixed to "The Roarinp Girl," in Dodsley'sOld Plays, Vol. VI., and in the Pictorial Shakspere. * Quick dance for two persons. 
* The name of a dance, the measures .whereof are regulated by the number five 
allusion to the representation of man, and the signs of the zodiac in old almanacs 
pediments. la '3 Points were strings to hold up the gaskins or hose. 



-Sir John Hatckins. 

» Not in f. e. i" a 



' flame-coloured : in f. e. ' An 
: in f. e. i' Full of bars or im- 



260 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



ACT I. 



Enter Olivia, and Malvolio, 

Clo. Wit, an 't be thy will, put me into good fooling ! 
Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove 
fools ; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a 
wise man: for what says Quinapalus? Better a witty 
fool, than a foolish wit. — God bless thee, lady ! 

on. Take the fool away. 

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the 
lady. 

OH Go to, you 're a dry fool ; I '11 no more of you : 
besides, you grow dishonest. 

Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good coun- 
sel will amend : for give the dry fool drink, then is the 
fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself, 
if he mend, he is no longer dishonest : if he cannot, 
let the botcher mend him. Any thing that 's mended 
is but patched : virtue that transgresses is but patched 
with sin ; and sin that amends is but patched with 
virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; 
if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true 
cuckold but calamity, so beauty 's a flower. — The lady 
bade take away the fool ; therefore, I say again, take 
her away. 

OH. Sir, I bade them take away you. 

Clo. Misprision in the highest degree ! — Lady, cu- 
cullus nan facit monachum : that 's as much as to say, 
I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give 
me leave to prove you a fool. 

OH. Can you do it? 

Clo. Dexteriously, good madonna. 

OH. Make your proof. 

Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna. Good 
my mouse of virtue, answer me. 



OH. Well, sir, for want 
your proof. 

Clo. Good madonna, 
Good fool 



of other idleness I '11 'bide 



why mourn'st thou ? 
for my brother's death. 
I think, his soul is in hell, madonna. 
I know his soul is in heaven, 
The more 



fool. 



fool, madonna, to mourn for your 
being in heaven. — Take away the fool. 



OH. 

Clo. 

OH. 

Clo. 
brother's soul 
gentlemen. 

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he 
not mend ? 

Mai. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake 
him : infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make 
the better fool. 

Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the 
better increasing your folly ! Sir Toby will be sworn 
that I am no fox, but he will not pass his word for two- 
pence that you are no fool. 

Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio ? 

Mai. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such 
a barren rascal : I saw him put down the other day 
with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a 
stone. Look you now, he 's out of his guard already: 
unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is 
gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow 
so at these set kind of fools, to be no better than the 
fools' zanies. 

OH. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste 
with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, 
and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird- 
bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets. There is no 
slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but 
rail ; nor no railing in a known discreet 
he do nothing but reprove. 

Clo. Now, Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou 
speakest well of fools. 



man, though 



Re-enter Maria. 

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentle- 
man much desires to speak with you. 

Oli. From the count Orsino, is it ? 

Mar. I know not, madam : 't is a fair young man, 
and well attended. 

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay ? 

Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. 

Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you : he speaks nothing 
but madman. Fie on him ! [Exit Maria.] Go you, 
Malvolio : if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or 
not at home ; what you will, to dismiss it. [Exit Mal- 
volio.] Now you see. sir, how your fooling grows old, 
and people dislike it. 

Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy 
eldest son should be a fool, whose skull Jove cram with 
brains ; for here comes one of thy kin, that ha:s a most 
weak pia mater. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch. 

OH. By mine honour, half drunk. — What is he at 
the gate, cousin? 

Sir To. A gentleman. 

Oli. A gentleman ! What gentleman ? 

Sir To. 'T is a gentleman here. — A plague o' these 
pickle-herrings ! — How now, sot? 

Clo. Good sir Toby,— 

Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by 
this lethargy ? 

Sir To. Lechery ! I defy lechery. There 's one at 
the gate. 

Oli. Ay, marry ; what is he ? 

Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will. 



give me faith, say L Well, it 's all one. 



OH. 

Clo. 



What ' 
Like a 



I care not: 
[Exit. 



s a drunken man like, fool ? 
drown'd man, a fool, and a madman : 



one draught above heat makes him a fool, the second 



and let him sit 
of drink ; he 's 



mads him, and a third drowns him. 

OH. Go thou and seek the coroner, 
o' my coz, for he 's in the third degree 
drown'd : go, look after him. 

Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna ; and the fool shall 
look to the madman. [Exit Clown. 

Re-enter Malvolio. 

Mai. Madam, yond' young fellow swears he will 
speak with you. I told him you were sick: he takes 
on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to 
speak with you. I told him you were asleep : he seems 
to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore 
comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, 
lady ? he 's fortified against any denial. 

OH. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. 

3Ial. He has been told so; and he says, he '11 stand 
at your door like a sheriff's post,' or" be the supporter 
to a bench, but he '11 speak with you. 

OH. What kind of man is he ? 

Mai. Why, of man kind. 

Oli. What manner of man ? 

3Ial. Of very ill manner : he '11 speak with you. will 
you, or no. 

Oli. Of what personage, and years is he ? 

3Ial. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young 
enough for a boy ; as a squash' is before 't is a peascod, 
or a codling when 't is almost an apple : 't is with him 
e'en standing water, between boy and man. He is 
very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly : 
one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of 



him. 

Oli. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman. 
Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit. 

» A post at the door of a sheriff, to which proclamations and placards were affixed. » and : in f. c. ' An unripe pod. 



SCENE V. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



261 



Re-enter Maria. 

OH. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face. 
We '11 once more hear Orsino's embassy. 
Enter Viola. 

Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is she ? 

OH. Speak to me ; I shall answer for her. Your will ? 

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchablc 
beauty, — I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of the 
house, for I never saw her : I would be loath to cast 
away my speech ; for, besides that it is excellently well 
penned, I have taken great pains' to con it. Good 
beauties, let me sustain no scorn ; I am very comptible^ 
even to the least sinister usage. 

OH. Whence came you, sir? 

Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and 
that question 's out of my part. Good gentle one, give 
me modest assurance if you be the lady of the house, 
that I may proceed in my speech. 

OH. Are you a comedian ? 

Vio. No, my profound heart ; and yet, by the very 
fangs of malice I swear, I am not that I play. Are 
you the lady of the house ? 

OH. If I do not usurp myself, I am. 

Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp 
yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to 
reserve. But this is from my commission. I will on 
with my speech in your praise, and then show you the 
heart of my message. 

OH. Come to what is important in 't : I forgive you 
the praise. 

Vio. Alas ! I took great pains to study it, and 't is 
poetical. 

OH. It is the more like to be feigned : I pray you, 
keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my gates, and 
allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you than 
to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone ; if you have 
reason, be brief: 't is not that time of moon with me 
to make one in so skipping a dialogue. 

Mar. Will you hoLst sail, sir ? here lies your way. 

Vio. No, good swabber ; I am to hulP here a little 
longer. — Some mollification for your giant', sweet lady. 
Tell me your mind : I am a messenger. 

OH. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, 
when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your 
office. 

Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no over- 
ture of war, no taxation of homage. I hold the olive 
in my hand : my words are as full of peace as matter. 

OH. Yet you began rudely. What are you ? what 
would you? 

Vio. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me, have I 
learn'd from my entertainment. What I am. and 
what I would, are as secret as maidenhead : to your 
ears, divinity ; to any other's, profanation. 

OH. Give us the place alone. We will hear this 
divinity. [Exit Maria.] Now, sir; what is your 
text? 

Vio. Most sweet lady, — 

OH. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said 
of it. Where lies your text ? 

Vio. In Orsino's bosom. 

OH. In his bosom ! In what chapter of his bosom ? 

Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his 
heart. 

OH. ! I have read it: it is heresy. Have you no 
more to say ? 

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. 

OH. Have you any commission from your lord to 

I Sensitive. » Lie, or remain. ' An allusion to the wardens of ladies in old romances. * I was this present : in f. e. * An old word 
for cantos. ' Not in f. e. 



negotiate with my face ? you are now out of your text : 
but we will draw the curtain, and show you the pic- 
ture. Look you, sir ; such a one I am at this pre- 
sent*: is 't not well done ? [UnveiHng. 

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. 

OH. 'T is in grain, sir : 't will endure wind and 
weather. 

Vio. 'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white 
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on. 
Lady, you are the crueU'st she alive. 
If you will lead these graces to the grave, 
And leave the world no copy. 

OH. ! sir, I will not be so hard-hearted. I will 
give out divers schedules of my beauty : it shall be 
inventoried, and every particle, and utensil, labelled 
to my will; as, item, two lips indifierent red; item, 
two grey eyes with lids to them ; ilem, one neck, one 
chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me? 

Vio. I see what you are : you are too proud ; 
But, if you were the devil, you are fair. 
My lord and master loves you : O ! such love 
Should be but reeompens'd, though you were crown'd 
The nonpareil of beauty ! 

OH. How does he love me ? 

Vio. With adorations, fertile tears. 
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. 

OH. Your lord does know my mind ; I cannot love 
him : 
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, 
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; 
In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, 
And in dimension, and the shape of nature, 
A gracious person ; but yet I cannot love him. 
He might have took his answer long ago. 

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, 
With such a suffering, such a deadly life, 
In your denial I would find no sense : 
I would not understand it. 

OH. Why, what would you ? 

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, 
And call upon my soul within the house ; 
Write loyal cantons' of contemned love, 
And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; 
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, 
And make the babbling gossip of the air 
Cry out, Olivia ! O ! you should not rest 
Between the elements of air and earth, 
But you should pity me. 

Oii. You might do much. What is your parentage ? 

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well • 
I am a gentleman. 

OH. Get you to your lord : 

I cannot love him. Let liim send no more, 
Unless, perchance, you come to me again. 
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : 
I thank you for your pains. Spend this for me. 

[Offering her purse.* 

Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady ; keep your purse : 
My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 
Love make his heart of flint that you shall love. 
And let your fervour, like my master's, be 
Plac'd in contempt ! Farewell, fair cruelty, 

OH. What is your parentage ? 
" Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : 
I am a gentleman." — I '11 be sworn thou art : 
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit. 
Do give thee five-fold blazon. — Not too fast : — soft ! 
soft! 



[Exit. 



\ 



262 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



ACT n. 



Unless the master were the man. — How now? 
Even so quickly may one catch the plague. 
Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections, 
With an invisible and subtle stealth, 
To creep in at mine eyes. 
What, ho ! Malvolio. — 

Re-enter Malvolio. 

Mai. Here, madam, at your service. 

OH. Run after that same peevish* messenger, 
The county's man : he left this ring behind him, 



Well, let it be.— 



Would T, or not : tell him, I' 11 none of it. 
Desire him not to flatter with his lord, 
Nor hold him up with hopes : I am not for him. 
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, 
I '11 give him reasons for 't. Hie thee, Malvolio. 

Mai. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

OH. I do I know not what, and fear to find 
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
Fate, show thy force : ourselves we do not owe' ; 



What is decreed must be, and be tliis so ! 



[Exit. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— The Sea-coast. 
Enter Antonio and Sebastian. 

Ant. Will you stay no longer ? nor will you not, 
that I go with you ? 

Seb. By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly 
over me : the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, 
distemper yours ; therefore, I shall crave of you your 
leave, that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad 
recompense for your love, to lay any of tliem on you. 

Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound. 

Seb. No, 'sooth, sir. My determinate voyage is mere 
extravagancy ; but I perceive in you so excellent a 
touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me 
what I am willing to keep in : therefore, it charges me 
in manners the rather to express my.self. You must 
know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, 
Avhich I called Roderigo. My father was that Sebastian 
of Mcssaline. whom, I know, you have heard of: he 
left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an 
hour. If the heavens had been pleased, would we had 
so ended ! but, 5'ou, sir, altered that ; for some hour 
before you took me from the breach of the sea was my 
sister drowned. 

Ant. Alas, the day ! 

Seb. A lady, sir. though it was said she much resem- 
bled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful : but, 
though I could not with self-estimation wander so far to 
believe tliat^ ; yet thus far I will boldly publish her — 
she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair. She 
is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem 
to drown her remembrance again with more. 

Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. 

Seb. 0, good Antonio ! forgive me your trouble. 

Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me 
be your servant. 

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that 
is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. 
Fare ye well at once : my bosom is full of kindness ; 
and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that 
upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales 
of me. I am bound to the count Orsino's court : fare- 
well. [Exit. 

Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee ! 
1 liave many enemies in Orsino's court, 
Else would I very shortly see thee there; 
But, come what may, I do adore thee so, 
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit. 

SCENE II.— A Street. 
Enter Viola ; Malvolio following. 
Mai. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia ? 



Via. Even now, sir : on a moderate pace^ I have 
since arrived but hither. 

Mai. She returns this ring to yo\i, sir: you might 
have saved me my pains, to have taken it away your- 
self. She adds, moreover, that you should put your 
lord into a desperate assurance she will none of hi.u. 
And one thing more ; that you be never so hardy to 
come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your 
lord's taking of this : receive it so. 

Via. She took no* ring of me ! — I 'II none of it. 

3Ial. Come, sir ; you peevishly threw it to her, and 
her will is, it should be so returned : if it be worth 
stooping for, there it lies in your eye ; if not, be it his 
that finds it. [Exit. 

Via. I left no ring w^ith her : what means this lady? 
Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her ! 
She made good view of me ; indeed, so much, 
That, met bought, her eyes had lost her tongue, 
For she did speak in starts distractedly. 
She loves me, sure : the cunning of her passion 
Invites me in this churlisli messenger. 
None of my lord's ring? why he sent her none. 
I am the man : — if it be so, as 't is. 
Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, 
W^herein the pregnant enemy does much. 
How easy is it, for the proper false 
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms ! 
Alas ! our frailty is the cause, not we. 
For such as we are made, if such we be. 
How will this fadge^. My master loves her dearly; 
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him ; 
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. 
What will become of this ? As I am man, 
My state is desperate for my master's love; 
As I am woman, now, alas the day ! 
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ! 
O time ! thou must untangle this, not I ; 
It is too hard a knot for me t' untie. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— A Room in Olivia's House. 
Enter Sir Toby Belch, and Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 

Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew : not to be a-bed after 
midnight is to be up betimes ; and diluculo siirgere,* 
thou know'st, — 

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not ; but I 
know, to be up late, is to be up late. 

Sir To. A iMse conclusion : I hate it as an unfilled 
can. To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, 
is early ; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go 
to bed betimes. Does not our life consist of the four 
elements ? 



1 Foolish. 5 Own. 3 with such e.^timnble -sronder overfar believe that : in f. e. 
mum est. An adage quoted in Lily's Latin Grammar. 



* the : in f. e. ' Suit. * diluculo surgere saluberri- 



SCENE III. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WH^L. 



263 



Sir And. 'Faith, so they say ; but, I think, it rather 
consists of eating and drinking. 

Sir To. Thou art a scholar ; let us therefore eat and 
drink. — Marian, I say ! — a stoop of wine ! 
Enter Clown. 

Sir And. Hero comes the fool, i' faith. 

Clo. How now, my hearts ! Did you never see the 
picture of we three ?' 

Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let 's have a catch. 

Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent 
breast.^ I had rather than forty shillings I had such a 
leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In 
sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, 
when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians 
passing the equinoctial of Queubus : 't was very good, 
i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy lemon^: hadst it? 

Clo. I did impeticote thy gratuity : for Malvolio's 
nose is no whipstock : my lady has a white hand, and 
the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. 

Sir And. Excellent ! Why this is the best fooling, 
when all is done. Now, a song. 

Sir To. Come on : there is sixpence for you ; let 's 
have a song. 

Sir And. There's a testril of me, too : if one knight 
give away sixpence so will I give another : go to, a song.* 

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good 
life? 

Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. 

Sir And. Ay, ay ; I care not for good life. 

SONG. 

Clo. 0, mi.stres.s mine ! where are you roaming? 
O ! .stay., for here^ your true love '5 coming, 

That can .sing both high and low. 
Trip no farther, pretty sweeting ; 
Journeys end in lovers^ meeting, 
Every wise mmi's .son doth know. 
Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith. 
Sir To. Good, good. 
Clo. What is love ? H is not hereafter ; 

Present mirth hath pre.sent laughter ; 

What \s to come is still unsure : 
In delay there lies no plenty ; 
Then come kiss me, sioeet and ttventy, 
Youth 's a stuff u'ill not endure. 
Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. 
Sir To. A contagious breath. 
Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. 
Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in conta- 
gion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? 
Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw 
three souls out of one weaver ? shall we do that? 

Sir Ami. An you love me, let 's do 't : I am a dog 
at a catch. 

Clo. By 'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. 
Sir And. Most certain. Let our catch be, " Thou 
Knave.'"' 

Clo. '-Hold thy peace, thou knave," knight? I shall 
be constrain'd in 't to call the knave, knight. 

Sir And. 'T is not the first time I have constrain'd 
one to call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins, "Hold 
thy peace." 

Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. 



Sir And. Good i' faith. 



Come, begin. 

\They sing a catch. 
Enter Maria. 
3Iar. What a catterwauling do you keep here ! If 
my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio, and 
bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. 

Sir To. My lady 's a Cataian' ; we are politicians ; 
Malvolio 's a Peg-a-Ramsey*, and '• Three merry men 
be we.'" Am not I consanguineous ? am I not of her 
blood ? Tilly-valley, lady ! " There dwelt a man in 
Babylon, lady, lady!""' [Singing. 

Clo. Beshrew me, the knight 's in admirable 
fooling. 

Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be disposed, 
and so do I too : he docs it with a better grace, but I 
do it more natural. 

Sir To. "0 ! the twelfth day of December," — 

[Singing. 
Mar. For the love o' God, peace ! 
Enter Malvolio. 
Mai. My masters, are you mad ? or what are you ? 
Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble 
like tinkers at this time of night ? Do ye make an 
alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your 
coziers'" catches without any mitigation or remorse of 
voice ? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, 
in you? 

Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. 
Snick up " 

Mai. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My 
lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you 
as her kinsman, she 's nothing allied to your disorders. 
If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, 
you .are welcome to the house ; if not, an it would 
please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to 
bid you farewell. 

Sir To. " Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs 
be gone."'= [Singing.^* 

Mar. Nay, good sir Toby. 

Clo. '■ His eyes do show his days are almost done." 

[Singing. ^^ 
Mai. Is't even so? 
Sir To. •' But I will never die." 
Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. 
Mai. This is much credit to you. 
Sir To. '• Shall I bid him go ?" 
Clo. '• What an if you do ?" 
Sir To. '• Shall I bid him go, and spare not ?" 
Clo. '■ ! no, no, no, no, you dare not." 
Sir To. Out o' tune'* ! — Sir, ye lie. Art any more 
than a steward ? Dost thou think, because thou art 
virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?" 

Clo. Yes, by saint Anne ; and ginger shall be hot i' 
the mouth too. 

Sir To. Thou 'rt i' the right. — Go, sir: rub your 
chain with crumbs'". — A stoop of wine, Maria ! 

3Ial. Mistre.<s Mary, if you prized my lady's favour 

at any thing more than contempt, you would not give 

means for this uncivil rule : she shall know of it, by 

this hand. [Exit. 

Mar. Go shake your ears. 

Sir And. 'T were as good a deed as to drink when a 



1 A common tavern sign and print, of two fools, with the inscription, " we be three" — the spectator forming the third. * Used synony- 
mojsly with voice. ' IMi.ttres.^. * f. e. end this speech thus: "if one knight give a — " * and hear : in f. e. ^ Contained in Ravens- 
croft's " Deuteroraelia," 1609, where the air is (riven to these words : 

'■ Hold thy peace, and I pr'ythee hold thy peace. 

Thou knave, thou knave! hold thy peace, thou knave." 
' May mean a sharper or a Chinese. •* A popular tune. ' The burden, with variations, as "Three merry boys,'' &c., of several old songs. 
'" P'rom the ballad of The Godly and Constant wyfe, Susannah — a stanza is in Percy's Reliques, Vol. I. •' Botchers'. '* The derivation of 
this is not known ; it means, " Go, and be hanged." " The ballad from which this is taken is in Percy's Reliques, "Vol. I. '* " Not in 
f. e. " So the old copies ; Theobald reads : time. ''' These dainties were eaten on Saints' days, greatly to the horror of the Puritans, for 
whose benefit the passage may have been intended. '8 Stewards wore gold chains, which were cleaned with crumbs. 



264 



TWELFTH-IS^IGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



ACT n. 



man 's a-hungry, to challenge him to the field, and then, 
to break promise with him, and make a fool of him. 

Sir To. Do 't, knight : I '11 WTite thee a challenge, or 
I '11 deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. 

Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night. Since 
that youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she 
is much out of quiet. For monsieur Malvolio, let me 
alone with him : if I do not gull him into a nayword', 
and make him a common recreation, do not think I 
have wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know, I 
can do it. [him. 

Sir To. Possess us, possess us : tell us something of 

Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. 

Sir Ami. ! if I thought that, I 'd beat him like a dog. 

Sir To. What ! for being a Puritan ? thy exquisite 
reason, dear knight ? 

Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for 't, but I have 
rea.son good enough. 

Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing 
constantly, but a time plea.'^er ; an affectioned^ ass, that 
cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths : 
the best persuaded of himself; so crammed, as he thinks, 
Avith excellences, that it is his ground of faith, that all 
that look on him love him ; and on that vice in him 
will my revenge find notable cause to work. 

Sir To. What wilt thou do ? 

Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles 
of love ; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape 
of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his 
eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself 
most feelingly personated. I can write very like my 
lady, your niece : on a forgotten matter we can hardly 
make distinction of our hands. 

Sir To. Excellent ! I smell a device. 

Sir Atid. I have 't in my nose, too. 

Sir To. He shall think, by the letter that thou wilt 
drop, that it comes from my niece, and that she is in 
love with him. 

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. 

Sir And. And your horse, now, would made him an ass. 

Mar. Ass I doubt not. 

Sir And. ! 't will be admirable. 

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you : I know, my physic 
will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the 
fool make a third, where he shall find the letter : ob- 
serve his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and 
dream on the event. Farewell. 



Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, 
That old and antique song, we heard last night ; 
Methought, it did relieve my passion much, 
More than light airs, and recollected terms. 



giddy-paced tunes' : 

so please your lordship, that 



[Exit. 

Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. 

Sir And. Before me, she 's a good wench. 

Sir To. She 's a beagle, true-bred, and one that 
adores me : what o' that ? 

Sir And. I was adored once too. 

Sir To. Let 's to bed, knight. — Thou hadst need send 
for more money. 

Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul 
way out. 

Sir To. Send for money, knight: if thou hast her 
not i' the end, call me cut^. 

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me; take it how 
you will. 

Sir To. Come, come : I '11 go burn some sack, 't is too 
late to go to bed now. Come, knight : come, knight. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— A Room in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Duke, Viola. Curio, and others. 
Duke. Give me some music. [3Iusic.^] — Now, good 
morrow, friends. — 

1 By- -word, a laughing-^tock. « Affected. 3 Curtail horse. * Not in f. e. 
nance. ' Chaste, pure. 



Of these most brisk and 
Come ; but one verse. 

Cur. He is not here, 
should sing it. 

Duke. Who was it ? 

Cxir. Fcste, the jester, my lord : a fool, that the lady 
Olivia's father took much delight in. He is about the 
house. 

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. 

[Exit Curio. — Music again.* 
Come hither, boy : if ever thou shalt love, [To Viola.^ 
In the sweet pangs of it remember me; 
For such as I am all true lovers are : 
Un.staid and .skittish in all motions else. 
Save in the constant image of the creature 
That is belov'd. — How do.'-t thou like this tune? 

Vio. It gives a A'ery echo to the seat 
Where Love is thron'd. 

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly. 

My life upon 't, young though thou art, thine eye 
Hath stay'd upon some favour* that it loves ; 
Hath it not, boy? 

Vio. A little, by your favour. 

Duke. What kind of woman is 't ? 

Vio. Of your complexion. 

Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What years i' 
faith ? 

Vio. About your years, my lord. 

Duke. Too old, by heaven. Let still the woman take 
An elder than herself ; so wears she to him, 
So sways she level in her hvisband's heart : 
For, boy. however we do praise ourselves. 
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm. 
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, 
Than women's are. 

Vio. I think it well, my lord. 

D^ike. Then, let thy love be younger than thyself, 
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent ; 
For women are as roses, whose fair flower, 
Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. 

Vio. And so they are : alas ! that they are so ; 
To die, even when they to perfection grow ! 
Re-enter Curio, and Clown. 

Duke. O, fellow ! come, the song we had last night. — 
Mark it, Cesario ; it is old, and plain : 
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun. 
And the free' maids, that weave their thread with bones. 
Do use to chaunt it : it is silly sooth. 
And dallies with the innocence of love, 
Like the old age. 

Clo. Are you ready, sir ? 

Duke. Ay, pr'ythee, sing. [Music. 



Clo. 



THE SONG. 

Come atvay, come away, death, 
And in sad cypress let me be laid / 

Fly away, fly aivay, breath ; 
I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 

! prepare it : 
My part of death no one so true 
Did share it. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 
On my black coffin let there be strown / 

* times : in f. e. ' Music : in f. e. ' Not in f. e. 8 Counte- 



SOENE V. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



265 



Not a friend^ not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : 
A thousand thousand sighs to save^ 

Lay me, O ! where 
Sad true lover never Jind my grave^ 
To weep there. 
Duke. There 's for thy pains. [Giving him money. ^ 
Clo. No pains, sir : I take pleasure in singing, sir. 
Duke. I '11 pay thy plca.sure then. 
Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time 
or another. 

Duke. I give thee now leave to leave me.' 
Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee, and the 
tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata. for thy 
mind is a very opal ! — I would have men of such con- 
stancy put to sea, that their business might be every- 
thing, and their intent every where ; for that 's it, that 
always makes a good voyage of nothing. — Farewell. 

[Exit Clown. 
Duke. Let all the rest give place. — 

[Exeunt Curio and Attendants. 
Once more, Cesario, 
Get thee to yond' same sovereign cruelty : 
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world. 
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands : 
The parts that fortune hath bcstow'd upon her, 
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune ; 
But 't is that miracle, and queen of gems. 
That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul. 
Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir ? 



Duke. 

Vio. 



I cannot be so answer'd. 



Soothj but you must. 



Say, that some lady, as perhaps there is. 
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her: 
You tell her so ; must she not then be answer'd ? 

Duke. There is no woman's sides 
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion 
As love doth give my heart ; no woman's heart 
So big to hold so much : they lack retention. 
Alas ! their love may be call'd appetite, 
No motion of the liver, but the palate, 
That suffers surfeit, cloyment, and revolt ; 
But mine is all as hungry as the sea. 
And can digest as much. Make no compare 
Between that love a woman can bear me, 
And that I owe Olivia. 

Vio. Ay, but I know. — 

Duke. What dost thou know ? 

Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe : 
In faith, they are as true of heart as we. 
My father had a daughter lov'd a man. 
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 
I should your lordship. 

D\(ke. And what 's her history ? 

Vio. A blank, my lord. Siie never told her love, — 
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud. 
Feed on her damask cheek : she pin'd in thought : 
And, with a green and yellow melancholy, 
She sat like patience on a monument. 
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ? 
We men may say more, swear more ; but, indeed, 
Our shows are more than will, for still we prove 
Much in our vows, but little in our love. 

Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy ? 

Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house. 
And all the brothers too ; and yet I know not. — 
Sir, shall I to this lady ? 

Duke. Ay, that 's the theme. 



To her in haste : give her this jewel ] say, 

My love can give no place, bide no denay. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— Olivia's Garden. 
Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, and 

Fabian. 

Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. 

Fab. Nay, I '11 come : if I lose a scruple of this sport, 
let me be boiled to death with melancholy. 

Sir To. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the nig- 
gardly, rascally sheep-biter come by some notable 
shame ? 

Fab. I would exult, man : you know, he brought me 
out o' favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here. 

Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again, 
and we will fool him black and blue ; — shall we not, 
sir Andrew? 

Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. 
Enter Maria. 

Sir To. Here comes the little villain. — How now, 
my metal of India ?^ 

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio's 
coming down this walk : he has been yonder i' the sun, 
practising behaviour to his own shadow, this half hour. 
Observe him, for the love of mockery ; for, I know, this 
letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, 
in the name of jesting ! [The men hide themselves \ 
Lie thou there ; [drops a letter\ for here comes the 
trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit Maria. 
Enter Malvolio. 

Mai. 'T is but fortune ; all is fortune. Maria once 
told me, she did affect me ; and I have heard herself 



come thus near, that. 



should she 
Besides, 



should be 
with 



fancy, it 
one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me witn a 
more exalted respect than any one else that follows 
her. What should I think on 't ? 

Sir To. Here 's an over-weening rogvie ! 

Fab. O, peace ! Contemplation makes a rare turkey- 
cock of him : how he jets under his advanced 
plumes ! 

Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue. — 

Sir To. Peace ! I say. 

Mai. To be count Malvolio. — 

Sir To. Ah, rogue ! 

Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. 

Sir To. Peace ! peace ! 

Mai. There is example for 't : the lady of the Strachy 
married the yeoman of the wardrobe. 

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel. 

Fab. O, peace ! now he 's deeply in : look, how ima- 
gination blows him. 

Mai. Having been three months married to her, sit- 
ting in my state, — 

Sir To. 0. for a stone bow* to hit him in the eye ! 

Mai. Calling my officers about me, in my branched 
velvet gown, having come from a day-bed, where I 
have left Olivia sleeping : — 

Sir To. Fire and brimstone ! 

Fab. 0, peace ! peace ! 

Mai. And then to have the honour' of state ; and 
after a demure travel of regard, — telling them. I know 
my place, as I would they should do theirs, — to ask for 
my kinsman Toby — 

Sir To. Bolts and shackles ! 

Fab. O, peace, peace, peace ! now, now. 

Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, 
make out for him. I frown the while ; and, perchance, 
wind up my watch, or play with my — some rich jewel. 
Toby approaches ; court'sies tliere to me. 



1 Not in f. e. ' Give me now leave to leave thee : in f e. ' Heart of gold. * A bow for throwing stones. ' humour : in f. e. 



266 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



ACT II. 



Sir To. Shall this fellow live ? 

Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us by th' 
ears' ; yet peace ! 

Mai. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my 
familiar smile with an austere regard of control 

Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the 
lips then ? 

Mai. Saying, " Cousin Toby, my fortunes, having cast 
me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech." — 
Sir To. What, what ? 

Mai. " You must amend your drunkenness." 
Sir To. Out, scab ! 

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. 
3fal. "Besides, you waste the treasure of your time 
with a foolish knight." 

Sir And. That 's me, I warrant you. 
Mai. '■ One sir Andrew." 

Sir And. I knew 't was I ; for many do call me fool. 
Mai. [Seeing the letter.] What employment have we 
here ? 

Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. 
Sir To. 0, peace ! and the spirit of humours inti- 
mate reading aloud to him ! 

3Ial. [TaJciug vp the letter.] By my life, this is my 
lady's hand ! these be her very Cs, her &s, and her 
Ts ; and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in con- 
tempt of question, her hand. 

Sir And. Her Cs, her ITs, and her Ts : Why that ? 
Mai. [Reads.] " To the unknown beloved, this, and 
my good wishes:" her very phrases ! — By your leave, 
wax. — Soft ! — and the imprcssure her Lucreee, with 
which she uses to seal : 't is my lady. To whom should 
this be ? 

Fab. This wins him, liver and all. 
3Ial. [Reads.] " Jove knows, I love ; 
But who ? 
Lips do not move : 
No man must know." 
" No man must know." — What follows ? the number 's 
altered. — " No man must know :" — if this should be 
thee, Malvolio? 

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock' ! 
Mai. [Reads.] '• I may command, where I adore; 
But silence, like a Lucreee knife. 
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore : 
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life." 
Fab. A fustian riddle. 
Sir To. Excellent wench, say L 
Mai. '• M, 0, A, I, doth sway my life."— Nay, but 
first let me see, — let me see, — let me see. 

Fab. What a dish of poison has she dressed him ! 
Sir To. And with what wing the stannyeP checks 
at it! 

31al. " I may command where I adore." Why, she 
may command me : I serve her ; she is my lady. Why, 
this is evident to any formal* capacity. There is no 
obstruction in this. — And the end, — what should that 
alphabetical position portend ? if I could make that 

resemble something in me. — Softly ! — M, A L 

Sir To. O ! ay, make up that. He is now at a cold 
scent. 

Fab. Sowter' will ery upon 't, for all this, though it 
be not as rank as a fox. 

Mai. M.— Malvolio :— M,— why that begins my 
nanfie. 

Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out ? the cur 
is excellent at faults. 

Mai. M. — But then there is no consonancy in the 

' -with ears : in f. e. 
6 Some game of dice. 



sequel ; that suffers under probation : A should follow, 
but O does. 

Fab And ! shall end, I hope. 
Sir To. Ay, or I '11 cudgel him, and make him cry, ! 
Mai. And then I comes behind. 
Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might 
see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes before 
you. 

3Ial. M, 0, A, I : — this simulation is not as the 
former : — and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow 
to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. 
Soft! here follows prose. — [Reads.] "If this fall into 
thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee ; but 
be not afraid of greatness : some are born great, some 
achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 
them. Thy fates open their hands ; let thy blood and 
spirit embrace them. And. to inure thyself io what 
thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear 
fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants : 
let thy tongue tang arguments of state : put thyself 
into the trick of singularity. She thus advises thee, 
that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy 
yellow stockings, and wished to sec thee ever cross- 
gartered : I say, remember. Go to, thou art made, 
if thou desirest to be so ; if not, let me see thee a stew- 
ard still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch 
fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter ser- 
vices with thee, 

The fortunate-unhappy." 
Day-light and champaign* discovers not more : this is 
open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I 
will bafile sir Toby, I will wash off" gross acquaintance, 
I will be point-device' the very man. I do not now 
fool myself, to let imagination jade me, for every 
reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She 
did commend my yellow stockings of late : she did 
praise my leg being cross-gartered ; and in this she 
manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunc- 
tion drives me to those habits of her liking. I thank 
my stars I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in 
yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the 
swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stars be praised ! 
— Here is yet a postscript. [Reads.] " Thou canst not 
choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my 
love, let it appear in thy smiling : thy smiles become 
thee well ; therefore in my presence still smile, dear 
my sweet, I pr'ythee." — Jove, I thank thee. — I will 
smile : I will do every thing that thou wilt have me. 

[Exit. 

Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pen- 
sion of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. 

Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device. 

Sir And. So could I too. 

Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her. but such 
another jest. 

Sir And. Nor I neither. 

Enter Marli. 

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 

Sir To. AVilt thou set thy foot o' my neck ? 

Sir And. Or o' mine either ? 

Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip,^ and 
become thy bond-slave ? 

Sir And. V faith, or I either ? 

Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, 
that when the image of it leaves him he must run mad. 

Mar. Nay, but say true : does it work upon him ? 

Sir To. Like aqua-vitae with a midwife. 

Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, 

" Badger. 3 A species of hawk. » One in his senses. » The name of a dog. « An open country. ' Exactly. 



SCENE I. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OK, WHAT YOU WILL. 



267 



mark his first approach before my lady : he will come ] that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt. 



to her in yellow stockings, and 't is a colour she abhors ; 
and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests ; and he will 
smile upon her. which will now be so imsuitable to her 
disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, 



If you will see it, follow me. 

Sir To. To the gates of Tartarus, thou most excel- 
lent devil of wit ! 

Sir And. I '11 make one too. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— Olivia's Garden. 
Enter Viola, and Clown playing on pipe and tabor. 

Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou 
live by thy tabor ? 

Clo. No, sir ; I live by the church. 

Vio. Art thou a churchman ? 

Clo. No such matter, sir : I do live by the church ; 
for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by 
the church. 

Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lives by a beggar, 
if a beggar dwell near him ; or, the church stands by 
thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. 

Clo. You have said, sir — To see this age ! — A sen- 
tence is but a chcveril' glove to a good wit : how 
quickly the wrong side may be turned outward ! 

Vio. Nay, that's certain : they, that dally nicely with 
words, may quickly make them wanton. [sir. 

Clo. I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, 

Vio. Why, man ? 

Clo. Why, sir, her name 's a word ; and to dally 
with that word, might make my sister wanton. But, 
indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced 
them. 

Vio. Thy reason, man? 

Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words ; 
and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove 
reason with them. 

Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest 
for nothing. 

Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something : but in 
my conscience, sir, I do not care for you : if that be 
to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you 
invisible. 

Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool ? 

Clo. No, indeed, sir ; the lady Olivia has no folly : 
she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married ; and fools 
are as like husbands, as pilchards are to herrings, the 
husband 's the bigger. I am, indeed, not her fool, but 
her corrupter of words. 

Vio'. 1 saw thee late at the count Orsino's. 

Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the 
sun : it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, 
but the fool should be as oft with your master, as with 
my mistress : I think I saw your wisdom there. 

Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I '11 no more with 
thee. Hold; there's expenses for thee. [Giving money. ^ 

Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send 
thee a be<ard. 

Vio. By my troth, I '11 tell thee : I am almost sick 
for one, though I would not have it grow on my chin. 
Is thy lady within ? 

Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? 

Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. 

Clo. I would play lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to 
bring a Cressida to this Troilus. 

Vio. I understand you, sir : 't is well begg'd. 

[Giving more.^ 

1 Kid. 2 ' Not in f. e. ■■ And : in f. e. * "Wild, untrained hawk, 
quite taint." ' Limit, aim. " Anticipated. ' Not in f. e. 



Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging 
but a beggar : Cressida was a beggar. My lady is 
within, sir. I will construe to them whence you come; 
who you are, and what you would, are out of my 
welkin : I might say element, but the word is over- 
worn. [Exit. 

Vio. This fellow 's wise enough to play the fool, 
And to do that well craves a kind of wit : 
He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 
The quality of persons, and the time, 
Nof* like the haggard', check at every feather 
That comes before his eye. This is a practice 
As full of labour as a wise man's art ; 
For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit, 
But wise men's folly fall'n quite taints* their wit. 
Enter Sir Toby Bklch a7}d Sir Andrew 
Ague-cheek. 

Sir To. Save you, gentleman. 

Vio. And you, sir. 

Sir And. Dicu vons garde, monsieur. 

Vio. Et vous attssi: votre serviteur. 

Sir And. I hope, sir, you are ; and I am yours. 

Sir To. Will you encounter the house ? my niece is 
desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. 

Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir : I mean, she is 
the list' of my voyage. 

Sir To. Taste your legs, sir : put them to motion. 

Vio. My legs do better understand me. sir, than I 
understand what you mean by bidding me taste my 
le"s 

Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. 

Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance. 
But we are prevented^. 

Enter Olivia and Maria. 
Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens raiu 
odours on you ! 

Sir And. That youth 's a rare courtier. " Rain 
odours !" well. 

Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your 
own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear. 

Sir And. " Odours," " pregnant," and " vouch- 
safed :" — I '11 get 'em all three all ready. 

[Writing in his table-book.^ 

OH. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to 
my hearing. [Exer(77t SjVToby, SzV Andrew, and Maria. 
Give me your hand, sir. 

Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. 

OH. What is your name ? 

Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. 

OH. My servant, sir? 'T was never merry world, 
Since lowly feigning was called compliment. 
You 're servant to the count Orsino, youth. 

Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours : 
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. 

OH. For him, I think not on him : for his thoughts, 
'Would they were blanks, rather than fiU'd with me ! 

Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts 
On his behalf. — 
« So the old copies, which Tyrwhitt changed to "men, folly-fallen, 



263 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



ACT in. 



OH. ! by your leave, I pray you : 

I bade you never speak again of him ; 
But, would you undertake another suit, 
I had rather hear you to solicit that, 
Than music from the spheres. 

Vio. Dear lady, — 

OH. Give me leave, 'beseech you. I did send. 
After the last enchantment you did here, 
A ring in chase of you : so did I abuse 
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you. 
Under your hard construction must I sit, 
To force that on you, in a shamefac'd'- cunning. 
Which you knew none of yours : what might you think ? 
Have you not set mine honour at the stake. 
And baited it with all th' unmuzzled thoughts [ing 
That tyrannous heart can think ? To one of your receiv- 
Enoiigh is shown; a Cyprus*, not a bosom, 
Hides my heart. So, let me hear you speak. 

Vio. I pity you. 

OH. That 's a degree to love. 

Vio. No, not a griso^ ; for 't is a vulgar proof. 
That very oft we pity enemies. 

OH. Why, then, methinks, 't is time to smile again. 

world, how apt tlie poor are to be proud ! 
If one should be a prey, how much the better 

To fall before the lion, than the wolf? [Clock strikes. 
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. — 
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you ; 
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest. 
Your wife is like to reap a proper man. 
There lies your way, due west. 

Vio. Then westward ho !* 

Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship. 
You '11 nothing, madam, to my lord by me ? 

OH. Stay : 

1 pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. 

Vio. That you do think you are not what you are. 

OH. If I think so, I think the same of you. 

Vio. Then think you right : I am not what I am. 

OH. I would, you were as I would have you be ! 

Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am ? 
I wish it might ; for now I am your fool. 

OH. ! what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
In the contempt and anger of his lip ! 
A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon 
Than love that would seem hid : love's night is noon. 
Cesario, by the roses of the .spring, 
By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, 
I love thee so, that, maugre all my pride, , 
Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. 
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause. 
For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause ; 
But rather, reason thus with reason fetter : 
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. 

Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, 
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth. 
And that no woman has ; nor never none 
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
And so adieu, good madam : never more 
Will I my master's tears to you deplore. 

OH. Yet come again ; for thou, perhaps, may'st move 
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. [Exeimt. 

SCENE II.— A Room in Olivia's House. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, 

and Fabian. 

Sir And. No, faith, I 'II not stay a jot longer. 
Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom : give thy reason. 



Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours 
to the count's serving man, than ever she bestowed 
upon me : I saw 't i' the orchard. 

Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell 
me that. 

Sir And. As plain as I see you now. 

Fab. This was a great argument of love in her 
toward you. 

Sir And. 'Slight ! will you make an ass o' me ? 

Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths 
of judgment and reason. 

Sir To. And they have been grand jury-men since 
before Noah was a sailor. 

Fab. She did show favour to the youth in your sight 
only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, 
to put fire in your heart, and brimstone in your liver. 
You should then have accented her, and with some 
excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have 
banged the youth into dumbness. This was looked for 
at your hand, and this was baulked : the double gilt of 
this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are 
now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion ; where 
you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, 
unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt, 
either of valour, or policy. 

Sir And. An 't be any way, it must be with valour, 
for policy I hate : I had as lief be a Brownisf* as a 
politician. 

Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the 
basis of valour : challenge me the count's youth to fight 
with him ; hurt him in eleven places : my niece shall 
take note of it ; and as-sure thyself, there is no love- 
broker in the world can more prevail in man's com- 
mendation with woman, than report of valour. 

Fab. There is no way but this, sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge to 
him ? 

Sir To. Go, "WTite it in a martial hand ; be curst 
and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent, 
and full of invention : taunt him with the liccn.se of 
ink : if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be 
amiss ; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of 
paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed 
of Ware in England, .set 'em down. Go, about it. 
Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou 
write with a goose-pen. no matter. About it. 

Sir And. Where shall I find you ? 

Sir To. Wc '11 call thee at the cubimlo. Go. 

[Exit Sir Andrew. 

Fab. This is a dear manakin to you, sir Toby. 

Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad •. some two 
thousand strong, or so. 

Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him ; but 
you '11 not deliver it. 

Sir To. Never trust me then ; and by all means stir 
on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and wain- 
ropes cannot hale them together. For sir Andrew, if 
he were opened, and you find so much blood in his 
liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I '11 eat the rest of 
the anatomy. 

Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage 
no great presage of cruelty. 

Enter Maria. 

Sir To. Look, where the youngest -wren of nine 
comes. 

Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh your- 
selves into stitches, follow me. Yond' gull Malvolio is 



1 sliameful : in f. e. 2 A veil of Cyprus or crape. 3 Step. * A common phrase, used by the Thames -watermen. 
the Independents) much ridiculed by the writers of the time. 



5 A seel (afterwards 



SCENE IV. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR WHAT YOU W^ILL. 



269 



turned heathen, a very renegado ; for there is no 
Christian, that means to be saved by believing rightly, 
can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. 
He 's in yellow stockings. 

Sir To. And cross-gartered ? 

Mar. Most villainously ; like a pedant that keeps a 
school i' the church. — I have dogged him like his 
murderer. He does obey every point of the letter that 
I dropped to betray him : he does smile his face into 
more lines than are in the new map, with the aug- 
mentation of the Indies' . You have not seen such a 
tiling as 't is ; I can hardly forbear hurling things at 
him. I know, my lady will strike him : if she do, 
he '11 smile, and take 't for a great favour. 

Sir To. Come, bring us. bring us where he is. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— A Street. 
Filter Sebastian and Antonio. 

Scb. I would not, by my will, have troubled you; 
But, since you make your pleasure of your pains, 
I will no farther chide you. 

Ant. I could not stay behind you : my desire, 
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth : 
And not all love to see you, (though so much. 
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage) 
But jealousy what might befall your travel. 
Being skilless in these parts : which to a stranger, 
Unguided, and unfriended, often prove 
Rough and unhospitable : my willing love. 
The rather by these arguments of fear. 
Set forth iu your pursuit. 

Scb. My kind Antonio, 

I can no other answer make, but, thanks, 
And thanks, still thanks," and very'' oft good turns 
Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay ; 
But, were my wealth*, as is my conscience, firm, 
You should find better dealing. What 's to do ? 
Shall we go see the reliques of this town ? 

Ant. To-morrow, sir: best first go see your lodging. 

Seb. I am not weary, and 't is long to night. 
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes 
With the memorials, and the things of fame. 
That do renown this city. 

Ant. 'Would, you 'd pardon me : 

I do not without danger walk these streets. 
Once, in a sea-fight 'gainst the county's galleys 
I did some service ; of such note, indeed, 
That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd. 

Scb. Belike, you slew great number of his people. 

Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature, 
Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrel. 
Might well have given us bloody argument. 
It might have since been answer'd in repaying 
What we took from them ; which, for traffick's sake. 
Most of our city did : only my.self stood out ; 
For which, if I be lapsed in this place, 
I shall pay dear. 

Seb. Do not. then, walk too open. 

Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir : here 's my purse. 
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, 
Is best to lodge : I will bespeak our diet, 
Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge. 
With viewing of the town : there shall you have me. 

Scb. Why I your purse ? 

Ant. Haply your eye shall light upon some toy 
You have desire to purchase ; and your store, 
I think, is not for idle markets, sir. 



Seb. I '11 be your purse-bearer, and leave you for an 
hour. 

A7it. To the Elephant. — 

Seb. I do remember. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Olivia's Garden. 
Enter Olivia and Maria. 

Oh. I have sent after him : he says, he '11 come. 
How shall I feast him? what bestow of^ him? 
For youth is bought more oft, than begg'd, or borrow'd. 
I speak too loud. — 

Where is Malvolio ? — he is sad, and civil.* 
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes. — 
Where is Malvolio? 

Mar. He 's coming, madam ; but in very strange 
manner. He is sure possess'd, madam. 

Oli. Why, what 's the matter ? does he rave ? 

3Iar. No, madam ; he does nothing but smile : your 
ladyship were best to have some guard about you, if he 
come, for sure the man is tainted in 's wits. 

Oli. Go call him hither. [Exit Maria.'] — I am as 
mad as he. 
If sad and merry madness equal be. — 

Enter Malvolio and Maria.* 
How now, Malvolio? 



Mai. Sweet lady, ha, ha ! 



[S77iiles ridicidously. 



Oli. Smil'st thou? 
1 sent for thee upon a sad occasion. 

3Ial. Sad, lady? I could be sad. This does make 
some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering; but 
what of that ? if it please the eye of one, it is with me 
as the very true sonnet hath it, " Please one, and please 
all." 

OH. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter 
with thee ? 

3Ial. Not black in my mind, though yellow' in my 



come to his 
I think we 



hands, and commands shall 
do know the sweet Roman 



legs. It did 
be executed : 
hand. 

Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio ? 

Mai. To bed ? ay, sweet-heart, and I '11 come to thee. 

Oli. God comfort thee ! W^hy dost thou smile so, 
and kiss thy hand so oft? 

Mar. How do you, Malvolio? 

Mai. At your request ! Yes ; nightingales answer 
daws. 

Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness 
before my lady? 

Mai. "Be not afraid of greatness:" — 'T was well 
writ. 

Oli. What meane.«t thou by that, Malvolio ? 

3Ial. " Some are born great," — 

Oli. Ha? 

Mai. " Some achieve greatness." — 

Oli. What say'st thou ? 

" And some have greatness thrust upon them." 
Heaven restore thee ! 



Mai. 

Oli. 

Mai. 



Remember, who commended thy yellow 



stockings ;" — 

Oli. Thy yellow stockings ? 

3Ial. " And wished to see thee cross-gartered." 

Oli. Cross-gartered ? 



so 



Mai. '• Go to : Ihou art made, if thou desirest to be 

.)) 

Oli. Am I made? 

Mai. " If not, let me see thee a servant still." 

Oli. Why, this is very midsummer madness. 



' A map enjrraved for Linschoten's Vovages. a translation of which wa.s published in 1.593. A portion, showing it.s many lines, is en- 
praved in '' Knight's Pictorial Shakspere." ^ The words, "still thanks," are not in f. e. 3 ever : in f. e. 'worth: in f. e. 'On 
' Grave and formal. ' Not in f. e. * Enter Malvolio : in f. e. ' There was an old ballad-tune, called " Black and Yellow." 



270 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OK, WHAT YOU WILL. 



ACT m. 



Enter Servant. 

Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the count 
Orsino's is returned. I could hardly entreat him back : 
he attends your ladyship's pleasure. 

OH. I '11 come to him. [Exit Servant.] Good Maria, 
let this fellow be looked to. Where 's my cousin Toby? 
Let some of my people have a special care of him. I 
would not have him miscarry for the half of my down,-. 

[Excvnt Olivia and Maria. 

Mai. Oh, ho ! do you come near me now ? no worse 
man than sir Toby to look to me? This concurs 
directly wilh the letter: she sends him on purpose, that 
I may ajipear stubborn to him ; for she incites me to 
that in tlie letter. " Cast thy humble slough," says 
she: — "be opposite with a kinsman, surly with ser- 
vants. — let thy tongue tang with arguments of state, — 
put thyf-elf into the trick of singularity:" — and conse- 
quently sets down the manner how ; as, a sad face, a 
reverend carriage, a slow toneue 



how; as, a sad face, 
in the habit of some 



-•5 



sir of note, and so forth. I have limed her; but it is 
Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful. And when 
she went away now, "Let this fellow be looked to:" 
fellow,' not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow. 
Why, every thing adheres together, that no dram of a 
scruple, no scruple of a ."^cruplc, no obstacle, no incred- 
ulous or unsafe circumstance — What can be said ? 
Nothing that can be can come between me, and the full 
prospect of my liopes. Well. Jove, not I, is the doer 
of this, and he is to be thanked. 
Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby Belch, and Fabian. 

Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? 
If all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Legion 
himself possess him. yet I' 11 speak to him. 

Fab. Here he is, here he is. — How is 't with you, sir ? 
how is 't with you, man ? 

Mai. Go off; I discard you : let me enjoy my privacy : 
go off. 

Ma;-. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him ! 
did not I tell you ? — Sir Toby, my lady prays you to 
have a care of him. 

Mai. Ah, ha! does she so? 

Sir To. Go to, go to : peace ! peace ! wc must deal 
gently with him ; let me alone. — How do you, Malvo- 
lio ? how is 't with you ? What, man ! defy the devil : 
consider, he 's an enemy to mankind. 

Mai. Do you know what you say ? 

Mar. La, you ! an you speak ill of the devil, how he 
takes it at heart. Pray God, he be not bewitched ! 

Fab. Carry his water to the wise woman. 

Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morn- 
ing, if I live. My lady would not lose him for more 
than I '11 say. 

Mai. How now. mistress ? 

Mar. O lord ! 

Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace : this is not the 
way. Do you not see you move him ? let me alone 
with him. 

■Fab. No way but gentleness ; gently, gently : the 
fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. 

Sir To. Why. how now, my bawcock ? how dost thou, 
chuck ? 

Mai. Sir! 

Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man ! 't is 
not for gravity to play at cherry-pit'' with Satan. Hang 
him, foul collier ! 

Mar. Get him to say his prayers ; good sir Toby, get 
him to pray. 

Mai. My prayers, minx ! 

Mar. No, I warrant you ; he will not hear of godliness. 



Go 



, hang yourselves all ! you are idle shallow 

You shall know 



[Exit. 



Mai. 
things : I am not of your element 
more hereafter. 

Sir To. Is 't possible ? 

Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, I could 
condemn it as an improbable fiction. 

Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection of 
the device, man. 

Mar. Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air, 
and taint. 

Fab. Why, we shall make him mad, indeed. 

Mar. The house will be the quieter. 

Sir To. Come, we '11 have him in a dark room, and 
bound. My niece is already in the belief that he 's 
mad : we may carry it thus, for our pleasure, and his 
penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, 
prompts us to have mercy on him ; at whicirtime, we 
will bring the device to the bar, and crown thee for a 
finder of madmen. But see, but see. 

Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 

Fab. More matter for a May morning. 

Sir And. Here 's the challenge ; read it : I warrant, 
there 's vinegar and pepper in 't. 

Fab. Is 't so saucy? 

Sir Atid. Ay, is 't, I warrant him : do but read. 

Sir To. Give me. [Reads.] " Youth ; whatsoever 
thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow." 

Fab. Good, and valiant. 

Sir To. " Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, 
why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason 
for 't." 

Fab. A good note, that keeps you from the blow of 
the law. 

Sir To. " Thou comest to the lady Olivia, and in my 
sight she uses thee kindly: but thou liest in thy throat; 
that is not the matter I challenge thee for." 

Fab. Very brief, and to exceeding good sense-less. 

Sir To. " I will way-lay thee going home; where, if 
it be thy chance to kill me," — 

Fab. Good. 

Sir To. " Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain." 

Fab. Still you keep o' the windy side of the law : good. 

Sir To. " Fare thee well ; and God have mercy upon 
one of our souls ! He may have mercy upon mine ; 
but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy 
friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy : 
Andrew Ague-cheek." If this letter move him not, 
his legs cannot. I '11 give 't him. 

Mar. You may have very fit occasion for 't : he is 
now in some commerce with my lady, and will by and 
by depart. 

Sir To. Go to, sir Andrew : scout me for him at the 
corner of the orchard, like a bum-bailie. So soon as 
ever thou seest him, draw, and, as thou drawest, swear 
horrible ; for it comes to pass oft, that a terrible oath, 
with a swaggering accent, sharply twanged off, gives 
manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would 
have earned him. Away ! 

Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. [Exit. 

Sir To. Now, will not I deliver his letter; for the 



1 Taken in the old sense of companion. 



behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to be of 
good capacity and breeding : his employment between 
his lord and my niece confirms no less ; therefore this 
letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no ter- 
ror in the youth : he will find it comes from a clodpole. 
But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of mouth ; 
set upon Ague-cheek a notable report of valour, and 
drive the gentleman, (as, I know, his youth will aptly 
receive it) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, 

' Played by pitching cherry-stones into a hole. 



SCENE IV. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



271 



skill, fury, and impetuosity. This will so fright them 



both. 



like 



,, that they will kill one another by the look, 
cockatrices. 

Fab. Here he comes with your niece. Give them 
way, till he take leave, and presently after him. 

Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some horrid 
message for a challenge. 

[Exevnt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria. 
Re-enter Olivia, with Viola. 

OH. I have said too much unto a heart of stone, 
And laid mine honour too unchary on 't. 
There 's something in me that reproves my fault. 
But such a headstrong potent fault it is, 
That it but mocks reproof. 

Vio. With the same 'haviour that your passion boars, 
Go on my masters griefs. 

OH. Here ; wear this jewel for me : 't is my picture. 
Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you ; 
And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow. 
What shall you ask of me, that I '11 deny, 
That, honour sav'd, may upon asking give ? 

Vio. Nothing but this ; your true love for my master. 

OH. How with mine honour may I give him that. 
Which I haA^e given to you ? 

Vio. I will acquit you. 

OH. Well, come again to-morrow. Fare thee well : 
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell. [Exit. 
Re-enter Sir Toby Belch, and Fabian, 

Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee. 

Vio. And you, sir. 

Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to 't : 
of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I 
know not ; but thy intercepter, full of despight, bloody 
as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dis- 
mount thy tuck' ; be yare'' in thy preparation, for thy 
assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly. 

Vio. You mistake, sir : I am sure, no man hath any 
quarrel to me. My remembrance is very free and 
clear from any image of offence done to any man. 

Sir To. You '11 find it otherwise, I assure you : 



price, 
hath in 



betake 
him 



therefore, if you hold your life at any 

you to your guard; for your opposite 

what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish man 

withal. 

Vio. I pray you, sir. what is he ? 

Sir To. He is a knight, dubbed with unhatch'd^ 
rapier, and on carpet consideration,* but he is a devil 
in a private brawl : souls and bodies hath he divorced 
three, and his incensement at this moment is so im- 
placable, that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of 



Hob, 



nob,' 



is his word ; give 't. 



death and sepulchre, 
or take 't. 

Vio. I will return again into the house, and desire 
some conduct of the lady : I am no fighter. I have 
heard of some kind of men, that put quarrels purposely 
on others to taste their valour : belike, this is a man 
of that quirk. 

Sir To. Sir, no ; 
of a very competent 
give him his desire. 



his indignation derives itself out 
injury : therefore, get you on, and 
Back you shall not to the house, 
unless you undertake that with me, which with as 
much safety you might answer him : therefore, on, strip 
your .sword stark naked ; for meddle you must, that 's 
certain, or forswear to wear iron about you. 

Vio. This is as uncivil, as strange. I beseech you, 
do me this courteous office, as to know of the knight 
what my offence to him is : it is something of my neg- 
ligence, nothing of my purpose. 

1 Rapier. " XiniMe. ^ Vnhackfd. ♦Rpferring to carpet-knip:hts, or those 
* A corruption of Imp, or ne hap. * The words " hanging back" are not in f. e. 



Sir To. I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by 
this gentleman till my return. [Exit Sir Toby. 

Vio. Pray you. sir, do you know of this matter ? 

Fab. I know, the knight is incensed against you, 
even to a mortal arbitrement, but nothing of the cir- 
cu instance more. 

Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is he ? 

Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read 
him by his form, as you are like to find him in the 
proof of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the most skil- 
ful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could po.«sibly 
have found in any part of Illyria. Will you walk to- 
wards him ? I will make your peace with him, if I 
can. 

Vio. I shall be much bound to you for 't : I am one, 
that would rather go with sir priest, than sir knight : I 
care not who knows so much of my mettle. [Exeunt. 

Re-e7iter Sir Toby, with Sir Andrew hanging back. '^ 

Sir To. Why, man, he 's a very devil, I have not 
seen s«ch a firago. I had a pass with him, rapier, 
scabbard, and all. and he gives me the stuck in. with 
such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable ; and on the 
answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hit the 
ground they step on. They say, he has been fencer to 
the Sophy. 

Sir And. Pox on't, I '11 not meddle with him. 

Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified : Fabian 
can scarce hold him yonder. 

Sir And. Plague on't; an I thought he had been 
valiant, and so cunning in fence, I 'd have seen him 
damned ere I 'd have challenged him. Let him let 
the matter slip, and I '11 give him my horse, grey 
Capulet. 

Sir To. I '11 make the motion. Stand here ; make a 
good show on 't. This shall end without the perdition 
of souls. [Aside.] Marry, I '11 ride your horse as well 
as I ride you. 

Re-enter Fabian and Viola, unwiUingly.'' 
I have his horse [To Fab.] to take up the quarrel. I 
have persuaded him, the youth 's a devil. 

Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him; [To Sir 
Toby] and pants, and looks pale, as if a bear were at 
his heels. 

Sir To. There 's no remedy, sir : [To Viola] he will 
fight with you for 's oath sake. Marry, he hath bet- 
ter bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that 
now scarce to be worth talking of: therefore, draw for 
the supportance of his vow : he protests, he will not 
hurt you. 

Vio. [Aside.] Pray God defend me ! A little thing 
would make me tell them how much I lack of a man. 

Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious. 

Sir To. Come, sir Andrew, there 's no remedy : the 
gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have one bout 
with you : he cannot by the duello avoid it ; but he 
has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, 
he will not hurt you. Come on : to 't. 

Sir And. Pray God, he keep his " 
oath ! 

Vio. I do assure you, 't is against 
my will. 

Enter Antonio. 

Ant. Put up your sword. — If this young gentleman 
Have done offence, I take the fault on me : 
If you offend him, I for him defy you. [Drawing. 

Sir To. You. sir ? why, what arc you ? 

Ant. One. sir, that for his love dares yet do more, 
Than you have heard him brag to you he will. 



[They draw, and 
go back from 
each other.]" 



vho were not dubbed on the field of battle, or for service. 
' This word is not added in f. e. 8 Draws: in f. e. 



272 



T^VELFTII NIGHT: OE, WHAT YOU WILL. 



ACT rv. 



Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you. 

[Drawing. 
Enter Ojjicers. 
Fab. O, good sir Toby, hold ! here come the officers. 
Sir To. I '11 be with you anon. 
Vio. Pray, sir ; put your sword up, if you please. 
Sir And. Marry, will I, sir : — and, for that I pro- 
mised you, I '11 be as good as my word. He will bear 
you easily, and reins well. 

1 Of. This is the man : do thy office. 

2 Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit 
Of count Orsino. 

Ant. You do mistake me, sir. 

1 Off. No, sir, no jot : I know your favour well, 
Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. — 
Take him away: he knows, I know him well. 

Ant. I must obey. — [To Viola.] This comes with 
seeking you ; 
But there 's no remedy : I shall answer it. 
What will you do ? Now my necessity 
Makes me to ask you for my purse. It grieves me 
Much more for what I cannot do for you, 
Than what befalls myself. You stand amaz'd, 
But be of comfort. 

2 Off. Come, sir, away. 

Ant. I must entreat of you some of that money. 

Vio. What money, sir? 
For the fair kindness you have show'd me here, 
And part, being prompted by your present trouble, 
Out of my lean and low ability, 
I '11 lend you something. My having is not much: 
I '11 make division of my present with you. 
Hold, there 's half my coffer. 

Ant. Will you deny me now ? 

Is 't possible, that my deserts to you 
Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery, 
Lest that it make me so unsound a man. 
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses 
That I have done for you. 

Vio. I know of none ; 

Nor know I you by voice, or any feature. 
I hate ingratitude more in a man. 
Than lying vainness, babbling drunkenness, 



Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption 
Inhabits our frail blood. 



Ant. 



O, heavens themselves ! 



2 Off. Come, sir : I pray you, go. [see here, 

Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth, that you 
I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death ; 
Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love, 
And to his image, which, methought, did promise 
Most veritable' worth, did I devotion. 

1 Off. What 's that to us ? The time goes by : away ! 

Ant. But, O, how vile an idol proves this god ! — 
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. 
In nature there 's no blemish, but the mind ; 
None can be call'd deform'd, but the unkind : 
Virtue is beauty ; but the beauteous evil 
Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil. 

1 Off. The man grows mad : away with him ! 
Come, come, sir. 

Ant. Lead me on. [Exeunt Officers, with Amtonio. 

Vio. Methinks, his words do from such passion fly, 
That he believes himself; so do not I. 
Prove true, imagination, O ! prove true, 
That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you ! 

Sir To. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian: 
we '11 whisper o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws. 

Vio. He nam'd Sebastian : I my brother know 
Yet living in my glass ; even such, and so, 
In favour was my brother ; and he went 
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, 
For him I imitate. O ! if it prove, 
Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love ! [Exit. 

Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a 
coward than a hare. His dishonesty appears, in leaving 
his friend here m necessity, and denying him j and for 
his cowardship, a.sk Fabian. [it. 

Fab. A coward, a most devout coward : religious in 

Sir And. 'Slid, I '11 after him again, and beat him. 

Sir To. Do ; cuff him soundly, but never draw thy 
sword. 

Sir And. An I do not, — [Exit. 

Fab. Come, let 's see the event. 

Sir To. I dare lay any money 't will be nothing yet. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— The Street before Olivia's House. 
Enter Sebastian and Clown. 

Clo. Will you make me believe that I am not sent 
for you ? 

Seb. Go to. go to ; thou art a foolish fellow : 
Let me be clear of thee. 

Clo. Well held out, i' faith ! No, I do not know 
you ; nor I am not sent to you by my lady to bid you 
come speak with her ; nor your name is not master 
Cesario : nor this is not my nose neither. — Nothing, 
that is so, is so. 

Seb. I pr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere else : 
Thou know'st not me. 

Clo. Vent my folly ! He has heard that word of 
some great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent 
my folly ! I am afraid this great lubberly world^ will 
prove a cockney. I pr'ythee now. ungird thy strange- 
ness, and tell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall 



I vent to her that thou art coming ? 

Seb. I pr'ythee, foolish Greek^. depart from me. 
There 's money for thee : if you tarry longer, 
I shall give worse payment. 

Clo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand. — These 
wise men, that give fools money, get themselves a good 
report after fourteen years' purchase.* 

Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian. 

Sir And. Now, sir, have I met you again ? there 's 
for you. [Striking SEbASTiAN. 

Seb. Why, there 's for thee, and there, and there. — 
Are all the people mad ? [Beating Sir Andrew. 

Sir To. Hold, sir, or I '11 throw your dagger o'er the 
house. 

Clo. This will I tell my lady straight. I would not 
be in some of your coats for two-pence. [Exit Clown. 

Sir To. Come on, sir: hold! [Holding Sebastian. 

Sir And. Nay, let him alone ; I '11 go another way 
to work with him : I '11 have an action of battery 



' venerable : in f. e. " this gresd lubber, the world : in f. e. ' foolish and merry Greek, were terms applied to jocular persons. 
was a high (twelve being the usual) rate of purchase. — Verplanck. 



♦This 



SCENE n. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



273 



against him, if there be any law in lUyria. Though I 
struck him first ; yet it 's no matter for that. 

Seb. Let go thy hand. 

Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my 
young soldier, put up your iron : you are well fleshed. 
Come on. 

Scb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou 
now ? [Breaking away} 

If thou dar'st tempt me farther, draw thy sword. 

Sir To. What, what ! Nay then, I must have an 
ounce or two of this malapert blood from you. 

\They draw and fence.* 
Enter Olivia. 

Oil. Hold, Toby ! on thy life, I charge thee, hold ! 

Sir To. Madam— 

Oli. Will it be ever thus ? Ungracious wretch ! 
Fit for the mountains, and the barbarous caves, 
Where manners ne'er were preach'd. Out of my 

sight ! — 
Be not offended, dear Cesario. — 
Rudcsby, be gone ! — I pr'ythce, gentle friend, 

[Eteunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. 
Let tliy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 
In this uncivil, and unjust extent 
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house ; 
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks 
This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby 
May'st smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go : 
Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me. 
He started one poor heart of mine in thee. 

Seb. What relish is in this? how runs the stream? 
Or I am mad. or else this is a dream. 
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep ; 
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep. 

Oli. Nay, come, I pr'ythee. Would thou'dst be 
rul'd by me ! • 

Scb. Madam, I will. 

Oli. O ! say so, and so be. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— A Room in Olivia's House. 
Enter Maria and Clown. 

Mar. Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown, and this 
beard : make him believe thou art sir Topas, the cu- 
rate : do it quickly ; I '11 call sir Toby the whilst. 

[Exit Maria. 

Clo. Well, I '11 put it on, and I will dissemble my- 
self in 't : and I would I were the first that ever dis- 
sembled in such a gown. [Putting it on.^] I am not 
tall* enough to become the function well, nor lean 
enough to be thought a good student; but to be said 
an honest man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly 
as to say a careful man, and a great scholar. The 
competitors* enter. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria. 

Sir To. Jove bless thee, master parson. 

Clo. Bonos diesj sir Toby : for as the old hermit of 
Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said 
to a niece of king Gorboduc, " That, that is, is ;" so I, 
being master parson, am master parson, — for what is 
that, but that? and is, but is? 

Sir To. To him, sir Topas. 

Clo. What, ho ! I say. — Peace in this prison. 

[Opejiing a door.^ 

Sir To. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave. 

Mai. [Within.] Who calls there? 

Clo. Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit Mal- 
volio the lunatic. 



Mai. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas. go to my 
lady. 

Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend ! how vexest thou this 
man. Talkest thou nothing but of ladies ? 

Sir To. Well said, master parson. 

Mai. Sir Topas, never was man thus WTonged. — 
Good sir Topas, do not think I am mad : they have 
laid me here in hideous darkness. 

Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Sathan I I call thee by the 
most modest terms ; for I am one of those gentle ones, 
that will use tlie devil himself with courtesy. Say'st 
thou that house is dark ? 

Mai. As hell, sir Topas. 

Clo. Why, it hath bay-windows tran.sparent as bar- 
ricadoes, and the clear stories' towards the south-north 
are lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest thou of 
obstruction ? 

3Ial. I am not mad, sir Topas. I say to you, this 
house is dark. 

Clo. Madman, thou errest : I say there is no dark- 
ness but ignorance, in which thou art more puzzled 
than the Egyptians in their fog. 

Mai. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, though 
ignorance were as dark s.s hell ; and I say. there was 
never man thus abused. I am no more mad than 
you are ; make the trial of it in any constant ques- 
tion. 

Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning 
wild-fowl ? 

Mai. That the soul of our grandam might haply in- 
habit a bird. 

Clo. What thinkcst thou of his opinion ? 

Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve 
his opinion. 

Clo. Fare thee well : remain thou still in darkness. 
Thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will 
allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a woodcock, lest 
thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee 
well. [Closing the door.^ 

Mai. Sir Topas ! sir Topas ! — 

Sir To. My most exquisite sir Topas. 

Clo. Nay, I am for all waters. 

Mar. Thou mightst have done this without thy 
beard, and gown : he sees thee not. 

Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring me 
word how thou findest him ; I would, we were all well 
rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently deli- 
vered, I would he were ; for I am now so far in offence 
with my niece, that I cannot pursue with any safety 
this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my cham- 
ber. [Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria. 

Clo. " Hey Robin, jolly Robin, 

Tell me how thy lady does.'" [Singing. 

Mai. Fool ! 

Clo. " My lady is unkind, perdy." 

Mai. Fool! 

Clo. " Alas, why is she so ?" 

Mai. Fool, I say. 

Clo. " She loves another" — Who calls, ha? 

[Opening the door.^' 

Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at 
my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and paper. 
As I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to thee 
for 't. 

Clo. Master Malvolio ! 

Mai. Ay, good fool. 

Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits? 

1 Not in f. e. » DrniJt',? ; in f. e. ' jjot in f. e. * Lusty, stout. ^Confederates. « Not in f. e. ' The clere-story of a church, is the 

8 Not inf. e. s This ballad may be found in Percy's Reliques. lONot 



AiuL III I. K^. - jjTujvA : in i. e. - i-sol in i. e. ^ i^u,\ty., m 
upper wall above the aisles, having generally a row of windows 
in f. e. 



18 



274 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OE, WHAT YOU WILL. 



ACT V. 



Mai. Fool, there was never man so notoriously 
abused ; I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. 

Clo. But as well ? then you are mad, indeed, if you 
be no better in your wits than a fool. 

3IaI. They have here propertied' me ; keep me in 
darkness, send ministers to me, asses ! and do all they 
can to face me out of my wits. 

Clo. Advise you what you say : the minister is here. 
[Speaking as sir Topas.^] — Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits 
the heavens restore ! endeavour thyself to sleep, and 
leave thy vain bibble babble. 

Mai. Sir Topas, — 

Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. — 
? not I, sir. God b' wi' you, good sir 



Who, I, sir 



-Marry, amen. — I will, sir, I will. 
Fool, fool, fool, I say. 



What say you, sir? I am 



Topas .- 

Mai. 

Clo. Alas, sir, be patient, 
shent^ for speaking to you. 

Mai. Good fool, help me to some light, and some 
paper ; I tell thee, I am as well in my wits, as any 
man in lUyria. 

Clo. Well-a-day, that you were, sir ! 

Mai. By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, 
paper, and light, and convey what I will set down to 
my lady : it shall advantage thee more than ever the 
bearing of letter did. 

Clo. I will help you to 't. But tell me true, are you 
not mad indeed ? or do you but counterfeit ? 

Mai. Believe me, I am not : I tell thee true. 

Clo. Nay, I '11 ne'er believe a madman, till I see his 
brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink. 

Mai. Fool, I 'U requite it in the highest degree : I 
pr'ythee, be gone. 

Clo. [Singing.]* I am gone, sir. 
And anon, sir, 
I '// be with you again, 
With^ a trice, 
Like the^ old vice'', 
Your need to sustain; 

Who with dagger of lath, 
In his -rage and his wrath, 
Cries, Ah, ha ! to the devil : 



Like a mad lad. 
Pare thy nails, dad, 
Adieu, goodman drivel^. 

SCENE III.— Olivia's Garden. 



[Exit. 



Enter Sebastian. 

Seb. This is the air ; that is the glorious sun; 
This pearl she gave me, I do feel 't, and see 't ; 
And though 't is wonder that enwraps me thus. 
Yet 't is not madness. Where 's Antonio then? 
I could not find him at the Elephant ; 
Yet there he was, and there I found this credit. 
That he did range the town to seek me out. 
His counsel now might do me golden service : 
For though my soul disputes well with my sense, 
That this may be some error, but no madness, 
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune -' 
So far exceed all instance, all discourse, 
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes. 
And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me 
To any other trust but that I am mad : 
Or else the lady 's mad : yet, if 't were so. 
She could not sway her house, command her followers, 
Take, and give back, and thus despatch affairs. 
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing. 
As, I perceive, she does. There's something in 't, 
That is deceivable. But here the lady comes. 
Enter Olivia and a Priest. 

Oli. Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well, 
Now go with me, and with this holy man. 
Into the chantry by ; there, before him, 
And vmderneatli that consecrated roof. 
Plight me the full assurance of your faith ; 
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul 
May live at peace : he shall conceal it, 
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note. 
What time we will our celebration keep 
According to my birth. — What do ycu say? 

Seb. I '11 follow this good man, and go with you. 
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 

Oli. Then lead the way, good father; and heavens 
so shine, 
That they may fairly note this act of mine ! [Exeunt. 



ACT V 



SCENE I.— The Street before Olivia's House. 
Enter Cloim and Fabian. 

Fab. Now, as thou lov'st me. let me see his letter. 

Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another request. 

Fab. Any thing. 

Clo. Do not desire to see this letter. 

Fab. This is, to give a dog, and in recompense 
desire my dog again. 

Enter Duke, Viola, and Attendants. 

Ihike. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends? 

Clo. Ay, sir ; we are some of her trappings. 

Duke. I know thee well : how dost thou, my good 
fellow ? 

Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the 
worse for my friends. 

Duke. Just the contrary; the better for thy friends. 

Clo. No, sir, the worse. 

Duke. How can that be ? 



Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass 
of me : now, my foes tell me plainly I »m an ass ; so 
that by my foes, sir. I profit in the knowledge of 
myself, and by my friends I am abused ; so that, con- 
clusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make 
your two afRrmatives, why then, the worse for my 
friends, and the better for my foes. 

Duke. Why, this is excellent. 

Clo. By my troth, sir, no ; though it please you to 
be one of my friends. 

Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me : there 's 
gold. [Giving money.^ 

Clo. But that it would be ' 

would you could make it another. 

Duke. ! you give me ill counsel. 

Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this 
once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. 

Duke. Well, 
double dealer : 



double-dealing, 



sir. 



I 



I will 
there ' 



be so much a sinner to be a 
s another. 



' Taken po.ssession of. 
drama. 8 devil: in f. e. 



2 Not in f. e. 
» Not in f. e. 



3 Rebuked. * Not in f. e. * In: in f. e. « To the, ^c: in f. e. 'A character in the early English 



SCElfE I. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OE, WHAT YOU WILL. 



275 



Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play ; and the 
old saying is, the third pays for all : the triplet', sir, is 
a good tripping measure ; or the bells of St. Bennet, 
sir, may put you in mind — one, two, three. 

Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at 
this throw : if you will let your lady know I am here 
to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it 
may awake my bounty further. 

Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty, till I come 
again. I go, sir ; but I would not have you to think, 
that my desire of having is the sin of covctousness ; 
but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will 
awake it anon. [Exit Clown. 

Enter Antonio and Officers. 

Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. 

Duke. That face of his I do remember well ; 
Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd, 
As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war. 
A bawbling vessel was he captain of. 
For shallow draught and bulk unprizable. 
With which such scathful grapple did he make 
With the most noble bottom of our fleet. 
That very envy, and the tongue of loss. 
Cried fame and honour on him. — What 's the matter? 

1 Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio, 
That took the Phcenix, and her fraught, from Candy ; 
And this is- he, that did the Tiger board, 
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg. 
Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state, 
In private brabble did we apprehend him. 

Vio. He did me kindness, sir, drew on my side, 
But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me ; 
I know not what 't was, but distraction. 

D%ike. Notable pirate, thou salt-water thief. 
What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, 
Whom thou, in terms so bloody, and so dear*, 
Hast made thine enemies ? 

Ant. Orsino. noble sir, 

Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me : 
Antonio never yet was thief, or pirate, 
Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, 
Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither : 
That most ingrateful boy there, by your side. 
From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth 
Did I redeem : a wreck past hope he was. 
His life I gave him, and did thereto add 
My love, without retention, or restraint, 
All his in dedication : for his sake, 
Did I expose myself, pure for his love, 
Into the danger of this adverse town ; 
Drew to defend him, wlien he was beset : 
Wliere being apprehended, his false cunning 
(Not meaning to partake with me in danger) 
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance. 
And grew a twenty-years-removed thing. 
While one would wink ; denied me mine own purse. 
Which I had recommended to his use 
Not half an hour before. 

Vio. How can this be ? 

Duke. When came he to this town ? 

Ant. To-day, my lord ; and for three months before. 
No interim, not a minute's vacancy. 
Both day and night did we keep company. 
Enter Olivia and Attendants. 

Duke. Here comes the countess : now heaven walks 
on earth ! — 
But for thee, fellow ; fellow, thy words are madness : 
Three months this youth hath tended upon me j 



But more of that anon. — Take him aside. 

Oli. What would my lord, but that he may not have, 
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable ? — 
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 

Vio. Madam ? 

Duke. Gracious Olivia, — 

Oli. What do you say, Cesario ? — Good my lord, — 

Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. 

Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, — 
It is as fat and fuLsome to mine ear, 
As howling after music. 

Duke. Still so cruel ? 

Oli. Still so constant, lord. 

Duke. What, to perverseness ? you uncivil lady, 
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
My soul the faithfuU'st offerings hath breath'd out, 
That e'er devotion tender'd. What shall I do? [him. 

Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall becohne 

Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, 
Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, 
Kill what I love ?' a savage jealousy. 
That sometimes savours nobly. — But hear me this : 
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, 
And that I partly know the instrument 
That screws me from my true place in your favour. 
Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still ; 
But this your minion, whom, I know, you love. 
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly. 
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye. 
Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. — 
Come boy, with me : my thoughts are ripe in mischief : 
I '11 sacrifice the lamb that I do love. 
To spite a raven's heart within a dove. [Going. 

Vio. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, 
To do you rest a thousand deaths would die. [Following. 

Oli. Where goes Cesario ? 

Vio. After him I love, 

More than I love these eyes, more than my life, 
More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife. 
If I do feign, you wtnesses above 
Punish my life for tainting of my love ! 

Oli. Ah me ! detested ? how am I beguil'd ! 

Vio. Who does beguile you ? who does do you wrong? 

Oli. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long? — 
Call forth the holy father. [Exit an Attendant. 

Duke. Come away. [To Viola. 

Oli. Whither, my lord ? — Cesario, husband, stay. 

Duke. Husband ? 

Oli. Ay, husband : can he that deny ? 

Duke. Her husband, sirrah ? 

Vio. No, my lord, not I. 

Oli. Alas ! it is the baseness of thy fear, 
That makes thee strangle thy propriety. 
Fear not, Cesario : take thy fortunes up ; 
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art 
As gi'cat as that thou fear'st. — 0, welcome, father ! 

Re-enter Attendant ivith the Priest. 
Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, 
Here to unfold (though lately Ave intended 
To keep in darkness, what occasion now 
Reveals before 't is ripe) what thou dost know, 
Hath newly past between this youth and me. 

Prie.st. A contract and* eternal bond of love, 
Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands. 
Attested by the holy close of lips, 
Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings; 
And all the ceremony of this compact 
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony : 

1 triplex : in f. e. = From the Saxon dere, hurt. ' Thyamis, in the Greek romance, the "Ethiopics" of Heliodortis, translated into 
English near the end of the sixteenth century. * of : in f. e. 



276 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



ACT V. 



Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave 
I have travelled but two hours. 

Duke. O, thou dissembling cub ! what wilt thou be. 
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case ?' 
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, 
That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow ? 
Farewell, and take her ; but direct thy feet. 
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. 

Vio. My lord, I do protest, — 

OH. O ! do not swear : 

Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. 
Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, with his head broken. 

Sir And. P'or the love of God, a surgeon ! send one 
presently to Sir Toby. 

OH. What 's the matter ? 

Sir And. He has broke my head across, and has 
given sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too. For the love of 
God, your help ! I had rather than forty pound I were 
at home. 

OH. Who has done this, sir Andrew ? 



Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Cesario. 



We 



took him for a coward, but he 's the very devil incar- 
dinate. 

Duke. My gentleman, Cesario ? 

Sir Ami. Od's lifelings ! here he is. — You broke my 
head for nothing ; and that that I did, I was set on to 
do 't by sir Toby. 

Vio. Why do you speak to me ? I never hurt you : 
You drew your sword upon me, without cause ; 
But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. 

Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have 
hurt me : I think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch, drunk, led by the Clown. 
Here comes sir Toby halting : you shall hear more : 
but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled 
you othergates than he did. 

Duke. How now, gentleman ; how is 't with you ? 

Sir To. That 's all one : he has hurt me, and there 's 
the end on 't. — Sot, didst see Dick surgeon, sot ? 

Clo. O ! he 's drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone : his 
eyes were set at eight i' the morning. 

Sir To. Then he 's a rogue, and a passy-measures 
pavin.^ I hate a drunken rogue. 

OH. Away with him ! Who hath made this havoc 
with them ? 

Sir And. I '11 help you, sir Toby, because we '11 be 
dressed together. 

Sir To. Will you help ? An ass-head, and a cox- 
comb, and a knave ! a thin-faced knave, a gull ! 

OH. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to. 
[Exeunt Clown, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew. 
Enter Sebastian (all start^). 

Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman; 
But had it been the brother of my blood, 
I must have done no less with wit and safety. 
You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that 
I do perceive it hath ofiended you : 
Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows 
We made each other but so late ago. 

Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons; 
A natural perspective,* that is, and is not ! 

Scb. Antonio ! 0, my dear Antonio ! 
How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me. 
Since I have lost thee ! 

Ant. Sebastian are you ? 

Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio ? 

Ant. How have you made division of youi-self ? — 



An apple cleft in two is not more twin 

Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian ? 

OH. Most wonderful ! 

Scb. Do I stand there ? I never had a brother; 
Nor can there be that deity in my nature. 
Of here and every where. I had a sister, 
Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd.^ 
[To Viola.] Of charity, what kin are you to me ? 
What countryman ? what name ? what parentage ? 

Vio. Of Messaline : Sebastian was my father ; 
Such a Sebastian was my brother too. 
So went he suited to his watery tomb. 
If spirits can assume both form and suit, 
You come to fright us. 

Seb. A spirit I am indeed ; 

But am in that dimension grossly clad. 
Which from the womb I did participate. ' 
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, 
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek. 
And say — thrice welcome, drowned Viola ! 

Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. 

Scb. And so had mine. 

Vio. And died that day, when Viola from her birth 
Had numbcr'd thirteen years. 

Seb. O ! that record is lively in my soul. 
He finished, indeed, his mortal act 
That day that made my sister thirteen years. 

Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both, 
But this my masculine usurp'd attire, 
Do not embrace me, till each circumstance 
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump. 
That I am Viola : which to confirm, 
I '11 bring you to a captain's in this towTi, 
Where lie my maiden weeds ; by whose gentle help 
I was preserv'd to serve this noble count. 
All the occurrence of my fortune since 
Hath been between this lady, and this lord. 

Seb. So comes it, lady, [2b Olivia.] you have been 
mistook ; 
But nature to her bias true' in that. 
You would have been contracted to a maid, 
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd : 
You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. 

Duke. Be not amaz"d ; right noble is his blood. — 
If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, 
I shall have share in this most happy wreck. 
Boy, [To Viola.] thou hast said to me a thousand times. 
Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. 

Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear, 
And all those swearings keep as true in soul. 
As doth that orbed continent, the fire 
That severs day from night. 

Duke. Give me thy hand ; 

And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. 

Vio. The captain, that did bring me first on shore, 
Hath my maid's garments : he, upon some action, 
Is now in durance at Malvolio's suit, 
A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. 

OH. He shall enlarge him. — Fetch Malvolio hither : — 
And yet, alas ! now I remember me. 
They say, poor gentleman, he 's much distract. 
A most distracting^ frenzy of mine own 
From my remembrance clearly banish'd his. — 

Re-enter Clown, with a letter. 
How does he, sirrah ? 

Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Beelzebub at the stave's 
end, as well as a man in his case may do. He has hero 



1 Slcin. 2 The pavin, or peacock dance, -was slow and heavy ; the passa mezzo, -n-as a formal step. ' " all start," not in f. e. * A 
picture painted on a board, so cut as to present a different appearance -when looked at in front or at the side. ' drew : in f. e. <• extracting: 
in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT: OE, WHAT YOU WILL. 



277 



writ a letter to you : I should have given it you to-day 
morning ; but as a madman's epistles are no gospels, 
so it skills' not much when they arc delivered. 

OH. Open it. and read it. 

Clo. Look then to be well edified, when the fool de- 
livers the madman : — [Reads.] " By the Lord, ma- 
dam." — 

Oli. How now ? art thou mad ? 

Clo. No. madam, I do but read madness : an your 
ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must allow 
vox. 

Oli. Pr'ythee, read i' thy right wits. 

Clo. So I do, madonna ; but to read his right wits, 
is to read thus : therefore perpend, my princess, and 
give ear. 

Oli. Read it you, sirrah. [lb Fabian. 

Fab. [Reads.] '• By the Lord, madam, you wrong 
me, and the world shall know it : though you have put 
me into darkness, and given your drunken cousin rule 
over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as 
your ladyship. I have your own letter that induced 
me to the semblance I put on : with the which I doubt 
not but to do myself much right, or you much shame. 
Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little 
unthought of, and speak ovit of my injury. 

" The madly-used Malvolio." 

Oli. Did he write this ? 

Clo. Ay, madam. 

Didce. This savours not much of distraction. 

Oli. See him deliver'd, Fabian : bring him hither. 

[Exit Fabian. 
My lord, so please you, these things further thought on. 
To think me as well a sister as a wife. 
One day shall crown the alliance, and' so please you, 
Here at my house, and at my proper cost. 

Duke. Madam, I am most apt t' embrace your offer. — 
[To Viola.] Your master quits yovi; and for your ser- 
vice done him. 
So much against the mettle of your sex. 
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, 
And since you call'd me master for so long. 
Here is my hand ; you shall from this time be 
Your master's mistress. 

Oli. A sister : you are she. 

i?c-enfcr Fabian, with Malvolio,' with straw about him, 
as from prison. 

Duke. Is this the madman ? 

Oli. Ay, my lord, this same. 

How now, Malvolio ? 

Mai. 
Notorious wrong. 

Oli. Have I, Malvolio ? no. 

MaJ. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that letter : 
You must not now deny it is your hand, 
Write from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase ; 
Or say, 't is not your seal, nor your invention : 
You can say none of thi.s. Well, grant it then, 
And tell me, in the modesty of honour, 
Why you have given me such clear lights of favour, 
Bade me come smiling, and cross-garter'd to you, 
To put on yellow stockings, and to frown 
Upon sir Toby, and the lighter people ? 
And, acting this in an obedient hope, 
Why have you sufTer'd me to be imprison'd. 
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, 
And made the most notorious geek* and gull, 
That e'er invention play'd on? tell me why. 

Oli. Alas ! Malvolio, this is not my writing, 



Madam, you have done me wrong, 



Though, I confess, much like the character; 

But, out of question, 't is Maria's hand : 

And now I do bethink me, it was she 

First told me thou wast mad ; thou' cam'st in smiling, 

And in such forms which here were preimpos'd* 

Upon thee in the letter. Pr'ythee, be content : 

This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee; 

But when we know the grounds and authors of it, 

Thou shalt be both the plaintiff" and the judge 

Of thine own cause. 

Fab. Good madam, hear me speak; 

And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come. 
Taint the condition of this present hour. 
Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not, 
Most freely I confess, myself, and Toby, 
Set this device against Malvolio here. 
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts 
We had conceived against him. Maria writ 
The letter at sir Toby's great importance ; 
In recompense whereof he hath married her. 
How with a sportful malice it was follow'd, 
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge, 
If that tlie injuries be justly weigh'd, 
That have on both sides past. 

Oli. Alas, poor soul,' how have they baffled thee ! 

Clo. Why "some are born great, some achieve 
greatness, and some have greatness thrust* upon them." 
I was one, sir, in this interlude ; one sir Topas, sir ; 
but that 's all one, — " By the Lord, fool, I am not mad ;" 
— But do you remember ? " Madam, why laugh you 
at such a barren rascal ? an you smile not, he 's gagg'd :" 
And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. 

Mai. I '11 be reveng'd on the whole pack of you. [Exit. 

Oli. He hath been most notoriously abus'd. 

Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace. 
He hath not told us of the captain yet ; 
When that is known and golden time convents, 
A solemn combination shall be made 
Of our dear souls : — mean time, .sweet sister. 
We will not part from hence. — Cesario, come; 
For so you shall be, while you are a man, 
But when in other habits you are seen, 
Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. [Exeumt, 

Clown sings,^ to pipe and tabor. 

When that I was and a little tiny boy. 

With hey^ ho. the wind and the rain, 
A foolish thing ivas but a toy, 

For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came to maris estate, 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

^Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came, alas ! to wive, 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
By swaggering coidd I never thrive. 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came unto my bed. 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain. 

With toss-pots still i'" had drunken head, 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

A great while ago the world begun. 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

But timt '5 all one, our play is done. 

And we HI strive to please you every day. 



' Signifies. » the alliance on 't : in f. e. ^ The rest of this direction is not in f. e. * Object of srorn. * then : in f. e. 
ed : in f. e. ^ fool : in f. e. 8 thrown : in f. e. ' The rest of this direction not in f. e. 10 " 1" : not in f. e. 



' presuppos- 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



DEAMATIS PERSONS. 



Leontes, King of Sicilia. 

Mamillius, young Prince of Sicilia. 

Camillo, 

Antigonus. 

Cleomenes, 



Dion. 

ROGERO, 



Lords of Sicilia. 



a Gentleman of Sicilia. 



Officers of a Court of Judicature. 
PoLixENES, King of Bohemia. 
Florizel, Prince of Bohemia. 
Archidamus, a Lord of Bohemia. 
A Mariner. 
Gaoler. 



An old Shepherd, reputed Father of Perdita. 

Clown, his Son. 

Servant to the old Shepherd. 

AuTOLYcus, a Rogue. 

Time, the Chorus. 

Hermione, Queen to Leontes. 

Perdita, Daughter to Leontes and Hermione. 

Paulina, Wife to Antigonus. 

Emilia, a Lady attending the Queen. 

Mopsa, 

Dorcas, 



[ Shepherdesses. 



Lords, Ladies, and Attendants ; Satyrs, Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, &c. 
SCENE, sometimes 



in Sicilia, sometimes in Bohemia. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L— Sicilia. 



An Antechamber in Leontes' 
Palace. 
Enter Camillo and Archidamus. 

Arch. If you should chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, 
on the like occasion whereon my services are now on 
foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference 
betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. 

Cam. I think, this coming summer, the king of 
Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he 
justly owes him. 

Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us, 
we will be jvistified in our loves ] for, indeed, — 

Cam. Beseech you. — 

Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my know- 
ledge : we cannot with such magnificence — in so rare 
— I know not what to say. — We will give you sleepy 
drinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insuffi- 
cience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little 
accuse us. 

Cam. You pay a great deal too dear for what 's given 
freely. 

Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding in- 
structs me, and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. 

Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohe- 
mia. They were trained together in their childhoods ; 
and there rooted betwixt them then such an aifection, 
which cannot choose but branch now. Since their 
more mature dignities, and royal necessities, made 
separation of their society, their encounters, though 

with 
that 



not personal, have been so' royally attorney'd, 
interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies, 
they have seemed to be together, though absent, shook 
hands, as over a vast, and embraced, as it were, from 



the ends of opposed winds, 
their loves ! 



The heavens continue 



Arch. I think, there is not in the world either 
malice, or matter, to alter it. You have an unspeak- 
able comfort of your young prince Mamillius : it is a 
gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into 
my note. 

Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes of 
him. It is a gallant child ; one that, indeed, physics 
the subject, makes old hearts fresh : they, that went 
on crutches ere he was born, desire yet their life to 
see him a man. 

Arch. Would they else be content to die ? 

Cam. Yes ; if there were no other excuse •w:hy they 
should desire to live. 

Arch. If the king had no son they would desire to 
live on crutches till he had one. {Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Room of State in the 

Palace. 

Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, 

Camillo, and Attendants. 

Pol. Nine changes of the watery star have been 
The shepherd's note, since we have left our tlu'one 
Without a burden : time as long again 
Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks ; 
And yet we should for perpetuity 
Go hence in debt : and therefore, like a cipher, 
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply 
With one wc-thank-you many thousands more 
That go before it. 

Leon. Stay your thanks awhile, 

And pay them when you part. 

Pol. Sir, that 's to-morrow. 

I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance. 
Or breed upon our absence : may there^ blow 
No sneaping^ winds at home, to make us say, 
"This is put forth too early*." Besides, I have stay'd 



1 This word is not in f. e. ^ jji^t may : in f. e. ^ Nipping. * truly : in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



279 



To tire your royalty. 

Leon. We are tougher, brother, 

Than you can put us to 't. 

Pol. No longer stay. 

Leon. One seven-night longer. 

Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow. 

Leon. We '11 part the time between 's then ] and in that 
I '11 no gain-saying. 

Pol. Press me not, beseech you. 

There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world, 
So soon as yours, could win me : so it should now, 
Were there necessity in your request, although 
'T were needful I denied it. My affairs 
Do even drag me homeward ; which to hinder, 
Were in your love a whip to me, my stay 
To you a charge, and trouble : to save both, 
Farewell, our brother. 

Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen ? speak you. 

Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, until 
You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. You, sir. 
Charge him too coldly : tell him, you are sure 
All in Bohemia 's well : this satisfaction 
The by-gone day proclaim'd. Say this to him, 
Fie 's beat from his best ward. 

Leon. Well said, Hermione. \He walks apart.^ 

Her. To tell he longs to see his son were strong : 
But let him say so then, and let him go ; 
But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, 
We '11 thwack him hence with distaffs. — [venture 

Yet of your royal presence [To Polixenes.] I'll ad- 
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia 
You take my lord, I '11 give him my commission. 
To let him there a month behind the gest^ 
Prefix'd for 's parting ; yet, good deed,' Leontes, 
I love thee not a jar* o' the clock behind 
What lady should her lord. You '11 stay ? 

Pol. 

Her. Nay, but you will ? 

Pol. I may not, verily. 

Her. Verily ! 
You put me off with limber vows ; but I, 
Though you would seek t" unsphere the stars with oaths. 
Should yet say, •' Sir, no going." Verily, 
You shall not go : a lady's verily is 
As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet ? 
Force me to keep you as a prisoner. 
Not like a guest, so you .*hall pay your fees. 
When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you ? 
My prisoner, or my guest ? by your dread verily, 
One of them you shall be. 

Pol. Your guest then, madam : 

To be your prisoner should import offending ; 
Which is for me less easy to commit, 
Than you to punish. 

Her. Not your jailor, then, 

But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you 
Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys ; 
You were pretty lordlings then. 

Pol. We were, fair queen. 

Two lads, that thought there was no more behind, 
But such a day to-morrow as to-day. 
And to be boy eternal. 

Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o' the two ? 

Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i' the 
sun, 
And bleat the one at th' other : what we chang'd, 
Was innocence for innocence ; we knew not 



No, madam. 



The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd 

That any did. Had we pursued that life, 

And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd 

With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven 

Boldly •' not guilty ;" the imposition clear'd. 

Hereditary ours. 

Her. By this we gather, 

You have tripp'd since. 

Pol. ! my most sacred lady. 

Temptations have since then been born to 's ; for 
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl : 
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes 
Of my young play-fellow. 

Her. Grace to boot ! 

Of this make no conclusion, lest you say. 
Your queen and I are devils : yet, go on : 
Th' offences we have made you do, we '11 answer ; 
If you first simi'd with us, and that with us 
You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not 
With any, but with us. 

Leon. Is he won yet? [Coming forward.'' 

Her. He '11 stay, my lord. 

Leon. At my request he would not. 

Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st 
To better purpose. 

Her. Never ? 

Leon. Never, but once. 

Her. What ? have I twice said well ? when was 't 
before ? 
I pr'ythee, tell me. Cram's with praise, and make's 
As fat as tame things : one good deed, dying tongueless. 
Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. 
Oar praises are our wages : you may ride 's 
With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs, ere 
With spur we clear' an acre. But to the good' — 
My last good deed was to entreat his stay : 
What was my first ? it has an elder sister, 
Or I mistake you : O, would her name were Grace ! 
But once before I spoke to the purpose : When ? 
Nay, let me have 't ; I long. 

Leon. Why, that was when 

Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death, 
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand. 
And clap^ thyself my love : then didst thou utter 
" I am yours for ever." 



Her. 



It is Grace, indeed .- 



Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice : 
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband, 
Th' other for some while a friend. 

[Giving her hand to Polixenes. 

Leon. Too hot, too hot ! [Aside. 

To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods. 
I have tremor cordis on me : — my heart dances. 
But not for joy, — not joy. — This entertaimnent 
May a free face put on ; derive a liberty 
From heartiness, from bounty's fertile' bosom. 
And well become the agent : 't may, I grant ; 
But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers, 
As now they are ; and making practis'd smiles. 
As in a looking-glass ; — and then to sigh, as 't were 
The mort'" o' the deer ; ! that is entertainment 
My bosom likes not, nor my brows. — Mamillius, 
Art thou my boy ? 

Mam. Ay, my good lord. 

Leon. I' fecks ? 

Why, that's my bawcock.'' What ! hast smutch'd thy 
nose ? — 



' Not in f. e. = Period; a word dprived from the Frpnch, gi.<^te. ' Indeed. ♦ A tick. " Not in f. e. « heat : in f. e. ' goal : in f. e. 
8 To clap, or join hands, was part of the betrothal. ' from bounty, fertile &c. : in f. e. i" The long blast sounded at the death of the deer. 
'' Supposed to be derived from beau coq. 



280 



THE WINTEK'S TALE. 



ACT I. 



They say, it is a copy out of mine. 

Come, captain, 

We must be neat ; not neat, but cleanly, captain : 

And yet the steer, the heifer, and the .calf, 

Are all call'd neat. — Still virginalling' 

[Observing Polixenes and Hermione. 
Upon his palm ? — How now, you wanton calf : 
Art thou my calf ? 

Main. Yes, if you will, my lord. 

Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash," and the shoots 
that I have, 
To be full'' like me : — yet, they say. we are 
Almost as like as eggs : women say so, 
That will say any thing : but were they false 
As our dead* blacks, as wind, as waters ; false 
As dice arc to be wish'd, by one that fixes 
No bourn " twixt his and mine j yet were it true 
To say this boy were like me. — Come, sir page, 
Look on me with your welkin' eye : sweet villain ! 
Most dear'st ! my collop ! — Can thy dam? — ^may't be 
Affection ?' thy intention stabs the' centre ; 
Thou dost make possible things not so held, 
Communicat'st with dreams ; — (how can this be ?) — 
With what 's unreal thou coactive art, 
And fellow'st nothing. Then, 't is very credent, 
Thou may'st co-join with something ; and thou dost, 
And that beyond commission ; and I find it, 
And that to the infection of my brains, 
And hardening of my brows. 

Pol. What means Sicilia ? 

Her. He something seems unsettled. 

Pol. How, my lord ! 

Leon. What cheer ? how is 't with you, best brother ? 

[Holding his forehead.^ 

Her. You look, 

As if you held a brow of much distraction : 
Are you mov'd, my lord ? 

Leon. No, in good earnest. — 

How sometimes nature will betray its folly, [Aside.^ 
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime 
To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines [To them.^" 
Of my boy's face, my'' thoughts I did recoil 
Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd, 
In my green velvet coat : my dagger muzzled, 
Lest it should bite its master, and so pi'ove, 
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. 
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, 
This squash,'' this gentleman. — Mine honest friend. 
Will you take eggs for money ?'^ 

Mam. No, my lord, I '11 fight. 

Leo7i. You will ? why, happy man be his dole !'* — 
My brother. 
Are you so fond of your young prince, as we 
Do seem to be of ours ? 

Pol. If at home, sir, 

He 's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter : 
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy ; 
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all. 
He makes a July's day sliort as December ; 
And with his varying childness cures in me 
Thoughts that would thick my blood. 

Leon. So stands this squire 

OfRe'd with me. We two will walk, my lord, 
And leave you to your graver steps. — Hermione, 



How thou lov'st us, show in our brother's welcome : 
Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap. 
Next to thyself, and my young rover, he 's 
Apparent to my heart. 

Her. If you would seek us, 

We are yours i' the garden : shall 's attend you there ? 

Leon. To your own bents dispose you: you'll be 
found. 
Be you beneath the sky. — [Aside.] I am angling now. 
Though you perceive me not how I give line, 
Go to, go to ! 

How she holds up the neb, the bill to him ; 
And arms her with the boldness of a wife 
To her allowing husband. Gone already ! 

[Ereunt Polixenes, Hermione, a7id Attendants. 
Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd 

one ! — " 

Go play, boy. play ; — thy mother plays, and I 
Play too, but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue 
Will hiss me to my grave : contempt and clamour 
Will be my laiell. — Go play, boy, play. — There have 

been, 
Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now ,* 
And many a man there is, (even at this present. 
Now, while I speak this) holds his wife by th' arm, 
That little thinks she has been sluic'd in 's absence, 
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by 
Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there 's comfort in 't, 
Whiles other men have gates, and those gates opeu'd, 
As mine, against their will. Should all despair 
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind 
Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none: 
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike 
Where 't is predominant : and 't is powerful, think it. 
From east, west, north, and south : be it concluded. 
No barricade for a belly : know it ; 
It will let in and out the enemy. 
With bag and baggage. Many a thousand on 's 
Have the disease, and feel 't not. — How now, boy ? 

Mam. I am like you, they say. 

Leon. Why, that 's some comfort. — 

What ! Camillo there ? 

Cam. Ay, my good lord. 

Leon. Go play, Mamillius. Thou 'rt an honest man. 

[Exit Mamillius. 
Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. 

Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold : 
When you cast out, it still came home. 

Leon. Didst note it ? 

Cam. He would not stay at your petitions ; made 
His business more material. 

Leon. Didst perceive it ? — 

They're here with me" already; whispering, round- 
in" '* 
" Sicilia is a" — so forth. 'T is far gone. 
When I shall gust" it last. — How came't, Camillo, 
That he did stay ? 

Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. 

Leon. At the queen's, be 't : good should be pertinent; 
But so it is, it is not. Was this taken 
By any vniderstanding pate but thine ? 
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in 
More than the common blocks : — not noted, is 't, 
But of the finer natures ? by some severals, 



1 Playing with her fingers, as on a virginal, which was an oblong musical instrument, played with keys, like a piano. 2 Head. 3 Fully. 
♦ o er-dyed : in f. e. * Blue, like the sky. 6 This passage is usually pointed, with a period before affection — which thus commences a sen- 
tence — it has the sense, taken in connection with this reading, of imagination— J/i<en<io», that of intensity. The punctuation of the text 
is that of the old copies. The pa-ssage (to the end of the speech) is crossed out by the MS. emendatorof the folio of 1632. 'to the (of the 
heart). 8 9 10 Not in f. e. i' Old copies : me: my is the MS. emendation of Lord F. F.gerton's folio, 16-23. 1= Unripe pea-pod. '3 A pro- 
verb for bearing an afl'ront. 1* Portion, or lot ; this is another old proverb. ^* They are aware of my condition. " An old word for wkia- 
pering. " Taste, or be aware of. 



SCENE n. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



281 



Of head-piece extraordinary ? lower messes/ 
Perchance, are to this business purblind : say. 

Cam. Business, my lord ? I think, most understand 
Bohemia stays here longer. 

Leon. Ha ? 

Cam. Stays here longer. 

Leon. Ay, but why ? 

Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties 
Of our most gracious mistress. 

Leon. Satisfy 

The entreaties of your mistress ? — satisfy ? — 
Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, 
With all the nearest things to my heart, as well 
My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou 
Hast cleans'd my bosom : I from thee departed 
Thy penitent reform'd ; but we have been 
Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd 
In that which seems so. 

Cam. Be it forbid, my lord ! 

Leon. To bide upon 't, — thou art not honest ; or, 
If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward, 
Which boxes" honesty behind, restraining 
From course requir'd ; or else thou must be counted 
A servant grafted in my serious trust, 
And therein negligent ; or else a fool. 
That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn, 
And tak'st it all for jest. 

Cam. My gracious lord, 

I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful : 
In every one of these no man is free, 
But tliat his negligence, his folly, fear. 
Amongst the infinite doings of the world, 
Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord, 
If ever I were wilful-negligent, 
It was my folly ; if industriously 
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence. 
Not weighing well the end : if ever fearful 
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, 
Whereof the execution did cry out 
Against the non-performance, 't was a fear 
Which oft infects the wisest. These, my lord, 
Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty 
Is never free of: but, beseech your grace. 
Be plainer with me : let me know my trespass 
By its own visage ; if I then deny it, 
'T is none of mine. 

Leon. Have not you seen, Camillo, 

(But tliat 's past doubt ; you have, or your eye-glass 
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn) or heard, 
(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour 
Cannot be mute) or thought, (for cogitation 
Resides not in that man that does not think it') 
My wife is slippery ? If thou wilt confess. 
Or else be impudently negative, 
To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought, then say, 
My wife 's a hobbyhorse ; deserves a name 
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to 
Before her troth-plight : say 't, and justify 't. 
Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to hear 
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 
My present vengea'hee taken. 'Shrew my heart. 
You never spoke what did become you less 
Than this : which to reiterate, were sin 
As deep as that, though true. 

Leo7i. Is whispering nothing ? 

Is leaning cheek to cheek ? is meeting noses ? 
Kissing with inside lip ? stopping the career 
Of laughter with a sigh ? (a note infallible 



Of breaking honesty) horsing foot on foot ? 
Skulking in corners ? wishing clocks more swift ? 
Hours, minutes ? noon, midnight ? and all eyes blind 
With the pin and web*, but theirs, theirs only, 
That would unseen be wicked ? is this nothing ? 
Why, then the world, and all that is in't. is nothing; 
The covering sky is nothing ; Bohemia nothing ; 
My wife is nothing ; nor nothing have these nothings, 
If this be nothing. 

Cam. Good my lord, be cur'd 

Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes ; 
For 't is most dangerous. 

Leon. Say, it be ; 't is true. 

Cam. No, no. my lord. 

Leon. It is ; you lie. you lie : 

I say, thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee; 
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave, 
Or else a hovering temporizer, that 
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, 
Inclining to them both : Were my wife's liver 
Infected as her life, she would not live 
The running of one glass. 

Cam. Who does infect her ? 

Leon. Why he, that wears her like a'' medal, hanging 
About his neck, Bohemia : who — if I 
Had servants true about me, that bare eyes 
To see alike mine honour as their profits. 
Their own particular thrifts, they would do that 
Which should undo more doing : ay, and thou, 
His cup-bearer, — whom I from meaner form 
Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship, who may'st see 
Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven, 
How I am galled, — mightst bespice a cup, 
To give mine enemy a lasting wink. 
Which draught to me were cordial. 

Cam. Sure, my lord, 

I could do this, and that with no rash potion, 
But with a lingering dram, that should not work 
Maliciously, like poison ; but I cannot 
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, 
So sovereignly being honourable. 
I have lov'd thee. — 

Leon. Make that thy question, and go rot ! 

Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled, 
To appoint myself in this vexation ? sully 
The purity and whiteness of my sheets, 
(Which to preser\''e is sleep ; which, being spotted, 
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps,) 
Give scandal to the blood o' the prince, my son, 
(Who, I do think is mine, and love as mine) 
Without ripe moving to 't ? Would I do this ? 
Could man so blench?" 

Ca7n. I must believe you, sir : 

I do ; and will fetch off Bohemia for 't ; 
Provided, that when he 's remov'd, your highness 
Will take again your queen, as yours at first, 
Even for your son's sake ; and thereby for sealing 
The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms 
Known and allied to yours. 

Leon. Thou dost advise me. 

Even so as I mine own course have set down. 
I '11 give no blemish to her honour, none. 

Cam. My lord, 
GJo then ; and with a countenance as clear 
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia, 
And with your queen. I am his cupbearer; 
If from me he have wholesome beverage, 
Account me not youx servant. 



1 People sittinp; at lower tables — the lower classes. 
the eyes. * his : in f. e. « Start, or Jlj/ off. 



3 Hamstrings. ^ " it," 'w^.s added ia the 2d folio. * An old name for a cataract in 



282 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



ACT I. 



Leon. 



This is all 



Do 't, and thou hast the one half of my heart ; 
Do 't not, thou split'st thine own. 

Cam. I '11 do 't. my lord. 

Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. 

[Exit. 

Cam. 0, miserable lady ! — But, for me, 
What case stand I in ? I must be the poisoner 
Of good Polixenes ; and my ground to do 't 
Is the obedience to a master ; one. 
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have 
All that are his so too — To do this deed, 
Promotion follows ; if I could find example 
Of thousands that had struck anointed kings. 
And flourisli'd after, I 'd not do ■ t ; but since 
Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, 
Let villany itself forswear 't. I must 
Forsake the court : to do' t, or no, is certain 
To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now ! 
Here comes Bohemia. 

Enter Polixenes. 

Pol. This is strange. Methinks, 

My favour here begins to warp. Not speak ? — 
Good-day, Camillo. 

Cam. Hail, most royal sir ! 

Pol. What is the news i' the court ? 

Cam. None rare, my lord. 

Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance, 
As he had lost some province, and a region 
Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him 
With customary compliment, when he, 
Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling 
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and 
So leaves me to consider what is breeding 
That changes thus his mannere. 

Cam. I dare not know, my lord. 

Pol. How ! dare not ? do not ! Do you know, and 
dare not 
Be intelligent to me ? 'T is thereabouts ; 
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must, 
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, 
Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror. 
Which shows me mine chang'd too ; for I must be 
A party in this alteration, finding 
Myself thus alter'd with 't. 

Cam. There is a sickness 

Which puts some of us in distemper ; but 
I cannot name the disease, and it is caught 
Of you, that yet are well. 

Pol. How caught of me ? 
Make me not sighted like the basilisk : 
I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better 
By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo. — 
As you are certainly a gentleman ; thereto 
Clerk-like, experienc'd, which no less adorns 
Our gentry than our parents' noble names. 
In whose success we are gentle, — I beseech you. 
If you know aught which does behove my knowledge 
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison it not 
In ignorant concealment. 

Cam. I may not answer. 

Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well ? 
I must be answer'd. — Dost thou hear. Camillo, 
I conjure thee, by all the parts of man 
Which honour does acknowledge, — whereof the least 
Is not this suit of mine, — that thou declare 
What incidency thou dost guess of harm 
Is creeping toward me ; how far off, how near ', 
Which way to be prevented, if to be : 



If not, how best to bear it. 

Cam. Sir, I will tell you ; 

Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him 
That I think honourable. Therefore, mark my counsel, 
Which must be even as swiftly follow'd, as 
I mean to utter it, or both yourself and t 
Cry, '■ lost," and so good-night. 

Pol. On, good Camillo. 

Cam. I am appointed him to murder you. 

Pol. By whom, Camillo ? 

Cam. Bv the king. 

Pol. ' For what ? 

Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears, 
As he had seen 't, or been an instrument 
To vice' you to 't — that you have touch'd his queen 
Forbiddenly. 

Pol. ! then my best blood turn'' 

To an infected jelly, and my name 
Be yok'd with liis that did betray the Best ! 
Turn then my freshest reputation to 
A savour, that may strike the dullest nostril 
Where I arrive ; and my approach be shunn'd. 
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection 
That e'er was heard, or read ! 

Cam. Swear this though over 

By each particular star in heaA en, and 
By all their influences, you may as well 
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon. 
As, or by oath, remove, or counsel, shake, 
The fabric of his folly, whose foundation 
Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue 
The standing of his body. 

Pol. How should this grow ? 

Cam. I know not ; but, I am sure, 't is safer to 
Avoid what 's grown, than question how 't is born. 
If therefore you dare trust my honesty, 
That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you 
Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night. 
Your followers I will whisper to the business ; 
And will, by twos and threes, at several posterns, 
Clear them o' the city. For myself, I '11 put 
My fortunes to your service, which are here 
By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain ; 
For, by the honour of my parents, I 
Have utter'd truth, which if you seek to prove, 
I dare not stand by ; nor shall you be safer 
Than one condemned by the king's own mouth, 
Thereon his execution swoii. 

Pol. I do believe thee : 

I saw his heart in 's face. Give me thy hand : 
Be pilot to me, and thy places shall 
Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and 
My people did expect my hence departure 
Two days ago. — This jealousy 
Is for a precious creature : as she 's rare. 
Must it be great ; and. as his person 's mighty. 
Must it be violent ; and as he does conceive 
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever 
Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must 
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me : 
Good expedition be my friend : heaven comfort* 
The gracious queen, part of liis dream^, but nothing 
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion ! Come, Camillo : 
I will respect thee as a father, if 
Thou bear'st my life off hence. Let us avoid. 

Cam. It is in mine authority to command 
The keys of all the posterns. Please your highness 
To take the urgent hour. Come, sir : away ! 

[Exeunt. 



1 Screw, or incite. 2 Good expedition, be my friend, and comfort, &c. : in f. e. ' theme : in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



283 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— The Same. 
Enter Hermione, Mamillius, and Ladies. 
Her. Take the boy to you : he so troubles me, 
'T is past enduring. 

1 Loily. Come, my gracious lord : 

Shall I be your play-fellow ? 

Mam. No, I 'II none of you. 

1 Lady. Why, my sweet lord ? 

Mam. You '11 kiss me hard, and speak to me as if 
I were a baby still. — I love you better. 

2 Lady. And why so, my lord ? 

Mam. Not for because 

Your brows are blacker ; yet black brows, they say, 
Become some women best, so that there be not 
Too much hair there, but in a .semi-circle, 
Or a half-moon made with a pen. 

2 Lady. Who taught this ? 

Mam. I learn'd it out of women's faces. — Pray now, 
What colour are your eyebrows ? 

1 Lady. Blue, my lord. 
31am.. Nay, that 's a mock : I have seen a lady's nose 

That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. 

2 Lady. Hark ye. 
The queen, your mother, rounds apace : we shall 
Present our services to a fine new prince, 

One of these days, and then you 'd wanton with us, 
If we would have you. 

1 Lady. She is spread of late 

Into a goodly bulk : good time encounter her ! 

Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir; 
now 
I am for you again : pray you, sit by us, 
And tell 's a tale. 

31am.. Merry, or sad, shall 't be? 

Her. As merry as you will. 

31am. A sad tale 's best for winter. 

I have one of sprites and goblins. 

Her. Let 's have that, good sir. 

Come on ; sit down : — come on, and do your best 
To fright me with your sprites ; you 're powerful at it. 

Mam. There was a man. — 

Her. Nay, come, sit down ; then on. 

3fam. Dwelt by a church-yard. — I will tell it softly; 
Yond' crickets shall not hear it. 

Her. Come on then. 

And give 't me in mine ear. 

Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and others. 

Leon. Was he met there ? his train ? Camillo with him ? 

1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them : never 
Saw I men scour so on their way. I eyed them 
Even to their ships. 

Leon. How blcss'd am I [Aside.'^ 

In my ju.st censure ! in my true opinion ! — 
Alack, for les.ser knowledge ! — How accurs'd. 
In being so blest ! — There may be in the cup 
A spider steep'd, and one may drink a part,* 
And yet partake no venom,' for his knowledge 
Is not infected ; but if one present 
The abhorrd ingredient to his eye. 



How he hath drunk, he cracks his 



make known 

'orge. his sides. 



With violent hefts.* — I have drunk, and seen the spider. 
Camillo was his help in this, his pander. — 
There is a plot against my life, my crown : 



All 's true that is mistrusted : — that false villain. 
Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him. 
He has discover'd my design, and I 
Remain a pinch'd thing ; yea, a very trick* 
For them to play at will. — How came the posterns 

[To them.^ 
So easily open ? 

1 Lord. By his great authority ; 

Which often hath no less prevail'd than so, 
On your command. 

Leon. I know't too well. — 

Give me the boy. [lb Hermione.] I am glad, you did 

not nurse him : 
Though he does bear some signs of me. yet you 
Have too much blood in him. 

Her. What is this ? sport ? 

Leon. Bear the boy hence ; he shall not come about 
her. 
Away with him : and let her sport herself 
With that she 's big with ; for 't is Polixenes 
Has made thee swell thus. 

Her. But, I 'd say he had not, 

And, I '11 be sworn, you would believe my saying, 
Howe'er you lean to the nayward. 

Leon. You, my lords, 

Look on her, mark her well ; be but about 
To say, " she is a goodly lady," and 
The justice of your hearts will thereto add, 
'"T is pity she 's not honest, honourable :" 
Praise her but for this her withov\t-door form, 
(Which, on my faith, deserves high speech) and straight 
The shrug, the hum, or ha (these petty brands, 
That calumny doth use, — 0, I am out ! — 
That mercy does, for calumny will sear 
Virtue itself) — these shrugs, these hums, and ha's. 
When you have said, '• she 's goodly," come between, 
Ere you can say " she 's honest." But be 't known, 
From him that has most cause to grieve it should be, 
She 's an adult'ress. 

Her. Should a villain say so, 

The most replenish'd villain in the world. 
He were as much more villain : you, my lord, 
Do but mistake. 

Leon. You have mistook, my lady, 

Poli.xenes for Leontes. O, thou thing ! 
Which I '11 not call a creature of thy place, 
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent. 
Should a like language use to all degrees, 
And mannerly distinguishment leave out 
Betwixt the prince and beggar ! — I have said 
She 's an adult'ress ; I have said with whom : 
More, she's a traitor ; and Camillo is 
A feodary with her, and one that knows 
What she should shame to know herself. 
But with her most vile principal, that she 's 
A bed swerver, even as bad as those 
That \'ulgars give bold'st titles ; ay, and privy 
To this their late escape. 

Her. No, by my life, 

Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you, 
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that 
You thus have published me ? Gentle my lord, 
You scarce can right me thoroughly then, to say 
You did mistake. 



1 Not in f. e. 
in f. e. 



= drink, depart, &c. : in f. e. ^ It -vras an old popular belief that spiders were poisonous. * Heavings. * Puppet. "Not 



284 



THE WINTEK'S TALE. 



ACT II. 



Leon. No ; if I mistake 

In those foundations which I build upon, 
The centre is not big enough to bear 
A school-boy's top. — Away with her to prison ! 
He, who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty, 
But that he speaks. 

Her. There 's some ill planet reigns : 

I must be patient, till the heavens look 
With an aspect more favourable. — Good my lords, 
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex 
Commonly are, the want of which vain dew, 
Perchance, shall dry your pities ; but I have 
That honourable grief lodg'd here, which burns 
Worse than tears drown. Beseech you all, my lords, 
With thoughts so qualified as your charities 
Shall best instruct you, measure me ; — and so 
The king's will be performed. 

Leon. Shall I be heard ? [7b the Chiards. 

Her. Who is 't that goes with me ? — Beseech your 
highness, 
My women may be with me ; for you see, 
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools ; 
There is no cause : when you shall know, your mistress 
Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears. 
As I come out : this action, I now go on. 
Is for my better grace. — Adieu, my lord : 
I never wish'd-to see you sorry : now, 
I trust, I shall. — My women, come ; you have leave. 

Leon. Go, do our bidding: hence ! 

[Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 

1 Lord. Beseech your highness, call the queen again. 

Ant. Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice 
Prove violence ; in the which three great ones suffer. 
Yourself, your queen, your son. 

1 Lord. For her, my lord, 

I dare my life lay down, and will do 't, sir. 
Please you t' accept it, that the queen is spotless 
[' the eyes of heaven, and to you : I mean, 
In this which you accuse her. 

Ant. If it prove 

She 's otherwise, 1 '11 keep me stable' where 
I lodge my wife ; I'll go in couples with her ; 
Than when I feel, and see her, no further trust her ; 
For every inch of woman in the world. 
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false, 
If she be. 

Leon. Hold your peaces ! 

1 Lord. Good my lord. 

Ant. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves. 
You are abus'd, and by some putter-on, 
That will be damn'd for 't ; would I knew the villain, 
I would lamback= him. Be she honour-flaw'd, — 
I have three daughters ; the eldest is eleven, 
The second, and the third, nine, and some five ; 
If this prove true, they'll pay for 't: by mine honour, 
I'll geld them all: fourteen they shall not see. 
To bring false generations : they are co-heirs. 
And I had rather glib myself, than they 
Should not produce fair issue. 

Leon. Cease ! no more. 

You smell this business with a sense as cold 
As is a dead man's nose ; but I do see 't, and feel 't, 
As you feel doing thus, and see withal 
The instruments that feel. 

Ant. If it be so, 

We need no grave to bury honesty : 
There 's not a grain of it the face to sweeten 
Of the whole dungy earth. 

Leon. What ! lack I credit ? 

1 my stables : in f. e. 2 land-damn : in f. e, ; lamiack, is to beat. 



1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than I, my lord, 
Upon this ground ; and more it would content me 
To have her honour true, than your suspicion, 
Be blam'd for 't how you might. 

Leon. Why, what need we 

Commune with you of this, but rather follow 
Our forceful instigation ? Our prerogative 
Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness 
Imparts this ; which, if you (or stupified, 
Or seeming so in skill) cannot, or will not, 
Relish a truth like us. inform yourselves. 
We need no more of your advice : the matter, 
The loss, the gain, the ordering on 't, is all 
Properly ours. 

Ant. And I wish, my liege. 

You had only in your silent judgment tried it. 
Without more overture. ^ 

Leon. How could that be ? 

Either thou art most ignorant by age. 
Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight. 
Added to their familiarity, 

(Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture, 
That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation 
But only seeing, all other circumstances 
Made up to the deed) doth push on this proceeding : 
Yet, for a greater confirmation, 
(For in an act of this importance 't were 
Most piteous to be wild) I have despatch'd in post, 
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, 
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know 
Of stuff'd sufficiency. Now, from the oracle 
They will bring all ; whose spiritual counsel had. 
Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well ? 

1 Lord. Well done, my lord. 

Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no more 
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle 
Give rest to the minds of others ; such as he. 
Whose ignorant credulity vnll not 
Come up to the truth. So have we thought it good, 
From our free person she should be confin'd, 
Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence 
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us: 
We are to speak in public ; for this business 
Will raise us all. 

Ant. [Aside.] To laughter, as I take it, 
If the good truth were knovvTi. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. The outer Room of a Prison. 
Enter Paulina and Attendants. 

Paul. The keeper of the prison, — call to him : 

[Exit an Attendant. 
Let him have knowledge who I am. — Good lady ! 
No court in Europe is too good for thee. 
What dost thou then in prison ? — Now, good sir. 

Re-enter Attendant.^ with the Jailor. 
You know me, do you not ? 

Jailor. For a worthy lady. 

And one whom much I honour. 

Paul. Pray you then. 

Conduct me to the queen. 

Jailor. I may not, madam : to the contrary 
I have express commandment. 

Paul. Here 's ado. 

To lock up honesty and honour from 
Th' access of gentle visitors ! — Is 't lawful, pray you. 
To see her women ? any of them ? Emilia ? 

Jailor. So please you, madam, 
To put apart these your attendants, [ 
Shall bring Emilia forth. 



SCENE in. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



285 



Paul. I pray now, call her. — 

Withdraw yourselves. [^Exeunt Attend. 

Jailor. And, madam, 

I must be present at your conference. 

Paul. Well, be 't so, pr'ythee. \Exit Jailor. 

Here 's such ado to make no stain a stain, 
As passes colouring. 

Re-enter Jailor^ with Emilia. 

Dear gentlewoman. 
How fares our gracious lady ? 

Emil. As well as one so great, and so forlorn, 
May hold together. On her frights, and griefs, 
(Which never tender lady hath borne greater) 
She is, something before her time, deliver'd. 

Paul. A boy ? 

Emil. A daughter ; and a goodly babe, 

Lusty, and like to live : the queen receives 
Much comfort in 't, says, " My poor prisoner, 
I am innocent as you." 

Paul. I dare be sworn : — 



These dangerous, unsane' lunes i' the 



Icing, 



beshrew 



them ! 

He must be told on 't, and he shall : the office 
Becomes a woman best ; I '11 take 't upon me. 
If I prove honey-inouth'd, let my tongue blister, 
And never to my red-look'd anger be 
The trumpet any more. — Pray you, Emilia, 
Commend my best obedience to the queen : 
If she dares trust me with her little babe, 
I '11 show 't the king, and undertake to be 
Her advocate to the loud'st. We do not know 
How he may soften at the sight o' the child : 
The silence often of pure innocence 
Persuades, when speaking fails. 

Emil. Most worthy madam. 

Your honour, and your goodness, are so evident. 
That your free undertaking cannot miss 
A thriving issue : there is no lady living 
So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship 
To visit the next room, I '11 presently 
Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer. 
Who, but to-day, hammer'd of this design, 
But durst not tempt a minister of honour, 
Lest she should be denied. 

Paul. Tell her, Emilia, 

I '11 use that tongue I have: if wit flow from it, 
As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted 
I shall do good. 

Emil. Now, be you blest for it ! 

I'll to tlie queen. — Please you, come something nearer. 

Jailor. Madam, if 't please the queen to send the babe, 
I know not what I shall incur to pass it. 
Having no warrant. 

Paul. You need not fear it, sir : 

The child was prisoner to the womb, and is. 
By law and process of great nature, thence 
Freed and enfranchis'd ; not a party to 
The anger of the king, nor guilty of, 
If any be, the trespass of the queen. 

Jailor. I do believe it. 

Paul. Do not you fear : upon mine honour, I 

Will stand betwixt you and danger. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords^ and other 
Attendants. 
Leon. Nor night, nor day, no rest. It is but weak- 
ness 
To bear the matter thus, mere weakness. If 



The cause were not in being, part o' the cause, 
She, th' adult'ress ; for the harlot king 
Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank 
And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she 
I can hook to me : say, that she were gone, 
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest 
Might come to me again. — Who 's there ? 

1 Atten. My lord. 

Leon. How does the boy ? 

1 Atten. He took good rest to-night : 

'T is hop'd, his sickness is discharg'd. 

Leon. To see his nobleness ! 

Conceiving the dishonour of his mother. 
He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply, 
Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on 't in himself. 
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep. 
And dowm-ight languish'd. — Leave me solely : — go. 
See how he fares. [Exit Attend.\ — Fie, fie ! no thought 

of him: — 
The very thought of my revenges that way 
Recoil upon me : in himself too mighty. 
And in his parties, his alliance ; — let him be. 
Until a time may serve : for present vengeance. 
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes 
Laugh at mc ; make their pastime at my sorrow : 
They should not laugh, if I could reach them ; nor 
Shall she, within my power. 

Enter Paulina, behind^., with a Child. 

1 Lord. You must not enter. 

Paid. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me. 
Fear you his tyrannovis passion more, alas. 
Than the queen's life ? a gracious innocent soul. 
More free than he is jealous. 

Ant. That 's enough. 

1 Atten. Madam, he hath not slept to-night ; com- 
manded 
None should come at him. 

Paul. Not so hot, good sir : 

I come to bring him sleep. 'T is such as you, — 
That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh 
At each his needless heavings, such as you 
Nourish the cause of his awaking : I 
Do come with words as medicinal as true. 
Honest as either, to purge him of that humour, 
That presses him from sleep. 

Leon. What noise there, ho ? 

Paid. No noise, my lord ; but needful conference, 

[ Coming forward.^ 
About some gossips for your highness. 

Leon. How ? — 

Away with that audacious lady. Antigonus, 
I charg'd thee, that she should not come about me : 
I knew she would. 

Ant. I told her so, my lord. 

On your displeasure's peril, and on mine. 
She should not visit you. 

Leon. What ! canst not rule her ? 

Paul. From all dishonesty he can : in this, 
(Unless he take the course that you have done. 
Commit me for committing honour) trust it. 
He shall not rule me. 

Ant. Lo, you now ! you hear. 

When she will take the rein, I let her run ; 
But she '11 not stumble. 

Paul. Good my liege, I come, — 

And, I beseech you, hear me, who professes 
Myself your loyal servant, your physician. 
Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dares 
Less appear so in comforting* your evils, 



1 unsafe : in f. e. > This word is not in f. e. ' Not in f. e. • Encouraging. 



286 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



ACT IT. 



Than such as most seem yours, — I say", I come 
From your good queen ; 

Leon. Good queen ! 

Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen : I say, 
good queen ; 
And would by combat make her good, so were I 
A man, the worst about you. 

Leon. Force her hence. 

Paul. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes 
First hand me. On mine own accord I '11 off". 
But first I '11 do my errand. — The good queen, 
For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter : 
Here 't is : commends it to your blessing. 

[Laying down the Child. 

Leon . Out ! 

A mankind' witch ! Hence with her, out o' door : 
A most intelligencing bawd ! 

Paxd. Not so : 

I am as ignorant in that, as you 
In so entitling me, and no less honest 
Than you are mad ; which is enough, I 'II warrant. 
As this woi'ld goes, to pass for honest. 

Leon. Traitors ! 

Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard. — 
Thou, dotard, [To Antigoncs.] thou art woman-tir'd," 

unroosted 
By thy dame Partlet here. — Take up the bastard : 
Take 't up, I say; give 't to thy crone. 

Paul. For ever 

Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou 
Tak'st up the princess by that forced baseness 
Which he has put upon 't ! 

Leon. He dreads his wife. 

Paxd. So I would you did ; then, 't were past all doubt. 
You 'd call your children yours. 

Leon. A nest of traitors ! 

Ant. I am none, by this good light. 

Paul. Nor I ; nor any. 

But one that 's here, and that 's himself; for he 
The sacred honour of himself, his queen's. 
His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, 
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's, and will not 
(For, as the case now stands, it is a curse 
He cannot be compell'd to 't) once remove 
The root of his opinion, which is rotten 
As ever oak, or stone, was sound. 



Leon. 



A call at', 



Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband, 
And now baits me ! — This brat is none of mine : 
It is the issue of Polixenes. 
Hence with it ; and, together with the dam. 
Commit them to the lire. 

Paul. It is yours; 

And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge, 
So like yovi, 't is the worse. — Behold, my lords, 
Although the print be little, the whole matter 
And copy of the father : eye, nose, lip, 
The trick of his frowni, his forehead ; nay, the valley, 
The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek ; his smiles ; 
The A'ery mould and frame of hand, nail, finger. — 
And, thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it 
So like to him that got it, if thou hast 
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours 
No yellow in 't ; lest she suspect, as he does. 
Her children not her husband's. 

Leon. A gross hag ! — 

And, lozel*, thou art worthy to be hang'd, 
That wilt not stay her tongue. 



Ant. Hang all the husbands 

That cannot do that feat, you '11 leave yourself 
Hardly one subject. 

Leon. Once more, take her hence. 

Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord 
Can do no more. 

Leon. I '11 ha' thee burn'd. 

Paid. I care not : 

It is an heretic that makes the fire. 
Not she which burns in 't. I '11 not call you tyrant; 
But this most cruel usage of your queen 
(Not able to produce more accusation 
Than your own weak hing'd fancy) something savours 
Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you. 
Yea, scandalous to the world. 

Leon. On your allegiance, 

Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyraat, 
Where were her life ? She durst not call me so. 
If she did know me one. Away with her ! 

Paul. I pray you, do not push me; I '11 be gone. 
Look to your babe, my lord : 't is yours : Jove send her 
A better guiding spirit ! — ^What need these hands ? — 
You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies, 
Will never do him good, not one of you. 
So, so : — farewell ; we are gone. {Exit. 

Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. — 
My child ? away with 't ! — even thou, that hast 
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence. 
And see it instantly consum'd with fire : 
Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight. 
Within this hour bring me word 't is done, 
(And by good testimony) or I '11 seize thy life, 
With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse, 
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so ; 
The bastard-brains with these my proper hands 
Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire. 
For thou sett'st on thy wife. 



Ant. 



I did not, sir : 



These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, 
Can clear me in 't. 

1 Lord. We can : my royal liege, 

He is not guilty of her coming hither. 

Leon. You're liars all. 

1 Lord. Beseech your highness, give us better credit. 
We have always truly serv'd you. and beseech you 
So to esteem of us ; and on our knees we beg, 
(As recompen.se of our dear services. 
Past, and to come) that you do change this purpose ; 
Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must 
Lead on to some foul issue. We all kneel. 

Leon. Am I a feather for each wind that blows ? 
Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel 
And call me father ? Better burn it now. 
Than curse it then. But, be it; let it live: — 
It shall not neither. — You, sir, come you hither ; 

[To Antigonus. 
You, that have been so tenderly officious 
With lady Margery, your midwife, there, 
To save this bastard's life, — for 'tis a bastard, 
So sure as thy^ beard 's grey, — what will you adventure 
To save this brat's life ? 

Ant. Any thing, my lord, 

That my ability may i;ndergo, 
And nobleness impose : at least, thus much ; 
I '11 pawn the little blood which I have left, 
To save the innocent ; any thing possible. 

Leon. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword 
Thou wilt perform my bidding. 



1 Masculine. 3 Hen-pecked. 
Lord F. Egerton's folio, 16-33. 



3 A vwmnn of low character. * A worthless fellow. * Old copies : this ; thjf is the MS. emendation of 



SCENE II. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



287 



Ant. I will, my lord. 

Leon. Mark, and perform it, seest thou ; for the fail 
Of any point in 't shall not only be 
Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongued wife. 
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee. 
As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry 
This female bastard hence : and that thou bear it 
To some remote and desert place, quite out 
Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it, 
Without more mercy, to its own protection, 
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune 
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee. 
Oil thy soul's peril and thy body's torture. 
That thou commend it strangely to some place, 
Where chance may nurse, or end it. Take it up. 

Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death 
Had been more merciful. — Come on, poor babe : 

[Taking it up.^ 
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens, 
To be thy nurses. Wolves, and bears, they say, 
Casting their savageness aside, have done 
Like offices of pity. — Sir, be prosperous 



In more than this deed doth require ! — And blessing 

Against this cruelty fight on thy side. 

Poor thing, condemn'd to loss ! [Exit with the Child. 

Leon. No; I '11 not rear 

Another's issue. 

1 Atteri. Please your highness, posts 

From those you sent to the oracle are come 
An hour since : Cleomenes and Dion, 
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed, 
Hasting to the court. 

1 Lord. So please you, sir, their speed 

Hath been beyond account. 

Leon. Twenty-three days 

They have been absent : 't is good speed, foretels, 
The great Apollo suddenly will have 
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords : 
Summon a session, that we may arraign 
Our most disloyal lady ; for, as she hath 
Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have 
A just and open trial. While she lives, 
My heart will bo a burden to me. Leave me, 
And think upon my bidding, [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



Even to the guilt, or the purgation. — 
Produce the prisoner. 

Ojji. It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen 
Appear in per.son here in court. [Silence.' 

Enter Hermione, to her trial^^ guarded ; Paulina and 
Ladies attending. 

Leon. Read the indictment. 

Offi. " Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes. 
king of Sicilia. thou art here accused and arraigned of 
high treason, in committing adultery with Polixenes, 
king of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo to take 
away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal 
husband : the pretence whereof being by circumstances 
partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith 
and allegiance of a true subject, didst counsel and aid 
them, for their better safety, to fly away by night." 

Her. Since what I am to say, must be but that 
Which contradicts my accusation, and 
The testimony on my part no other 
But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me 
To say " Not guilty :" mine integrity, 
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, 
Be so received. But thus : — If powers divine 
Behold our human actions, (as they do) 
I doubt not, then, but innocence shall make 
False accusation blush, and tyranny 
Tremble at patience. — You, my lord, best know, 
(Who least will seem to do so) my past life 
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, 
As I am now unhappy ; which is more 
Than history can pattern, though devis'd. 
And play'd to take spectators. For behold me, 
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe* 
A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, 
The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing 
To prate and talk for life, and honour, 'fore 
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it 
As I weigh grief, which I would spare : for honour, 
'T is a derivative from me to mine. 
And only that I stand for. I appeal 

1 Not in f. e. * Printed as a stage direction in the 1st folio ; the others omit it. Mod. eds., -with Malone, usually add it to the previous 
speech. 3 The -vrords, •' to her trial," not in f. e. * Own. 



SCENE I.— The Same. A Street in some Town. 
Enter Cleomenes and Dion. 

Cleo. The climate 's delicate, the air most sweet. 
Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing 
The common praise it bears. 

Dion. I shall report, 

For most it caught me, the celestial habits, 
(Methinks, I so should term them) and the reverence 
or the grave wearers. 0, the sacrifice ! 
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly ! 
It was i' the oflTering ! 

Cleo. But, of all, the burst 

And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle. 
Kin to .loA'c's tluuider, so surpris'd my sense. 
That I was nothing. 

Dion. If th' event o' the journey 

Prove as successful to the queen, — 0, be 't so ! — 
As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy. 
The time is worth the use on 't. 

Cleo. Great Apollo, 

, Turn all to the best ! These proclamations, ' 
So forcing faults upon Hermione, 
I little like. 

Dion. The violent carriage of it 

Will clear, or end, the business : when the oracle, 
(Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up) 
Shall the contents discover, something rare, 
Even then, will rush to knowledge.— Go, — fresh 

horses ; — 
And gracious be the issue. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Court of Justice. 
Enter Leontes, Lords.^ and Officers. 
Leon. This sessions (to our great grief we pronounce) 
Even pushes 'gainst our heart : the party tried, 
The daughter of a king ; our wife, and one 
Of us too mvich bclov'd. Let us be clcar'd 
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly 
Proceed in justice, which shall have due course, 



288 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



Acrr in. 



To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes 
Came to your court, how I was in your grace, 
How merited to be so ; since he came, 
With what encounter so uncurrent I 
Have stray'd' 't appear thus : if one jot beyond 
The bound of honour, or, in act, or will, 
That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts 
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin 
Cry, " Fie !" upon my grave. 

Leon. I ne'er heard yet. 

That any of these bolder vices wanted 
Less impudence to gainsay what they did. 
Than to peiform it first. 

Her. That 's true enough : 

Though 't is a saying, sir, not due to me. 

Leon. You will not own it. 

Her. More than mistress of, 

Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not 
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, 
(With whom I am accus'd) I do confess, 
I lov'd him, as in honour he requir'd. 
With such a kind of love as might become 
A lady like mc ; with a love, even such. 
So and no other, as yourself commanded : 
Which not to have done, I think, had been in me 
Both disobedience and ingratitude 
To you, and toward your friend, whose love had spoke, 
Even since it could speak from an infant, freely, 
That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, 
I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'd 
For me to try how : all I know of it 
Is, that Camillo was an honest man; 
And why he left your court, the gods themselves, 
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. 

Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know 
What you have imderta'cn to do in 's absence. 

Her. Sir, 
You speak a language that I understand not : 
My life stands in the leveP of your dreams, 
Which I '11 lay down. 

Leon. Your actions are my dreams : 

You had a bastard by Polixenes, 
And I but dream'd it. — As you were past all shame, 
(Those of your fact are so) so past all truth. 
Which to deny concerns more than avails ; for as 
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, 
No father owning it, (which is indeed. 
More criminal in thee than it) so thou 
Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage 
Look for no less than death. 

Her. Sir, spare your threats : 

The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek. 
To me can life be no commodity : 
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, 
I do give lost -. for I do feel it gone. 
But know not how^ it went. My second joy, 
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence 
I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third comfort, 
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast. 
The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, 
Haled out to murder: myself on every post 
Proclaim'd a strumpet : with immode.^t hatred. 
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs 
To women of all fashion: lastly, hurried 
Here to this place, 'i the open air, before 
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege. 
Tell me what blessings I have here alive. 
That I should fear to die ? Therefore, proceed. 
But yet hear this ; mistake me not. — No : life, 

1 strain'd : in f. e. » Is the object at which aim is taken. ' Of 



I prize it not a straw ; but for mine honour, 
(Which I would free) if I shall be condemn'd 
Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else 
But what your jealousies awake, I tell you, 
'T is rigour, and not law. — Your honours all, 
I do refer me to the oracle : 
Apollo be my judge. 

1 Lord. This your request 

Is altogether just. Therefore, bring forth. 
And in Apollo's name, his oracle. [Exeunt Officers. 

Her. The emperor of Russia was my father : 

! that he were alive, and here beholding 
His daughter's trial ; that he did but see 
The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes 
Of pity, not revenge ! 

Re-enter OJJicers, with Cleomenes and Dion. 

Off. You here shall swear upon this sword -of justice, 
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have 
Been both at Delphos : and from thence have brought 
This seald-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd 
Of great Apollo's priest ; and that, since then, 
You have not dar'd to break the holy seal. 
Nor read the secrets in 't. 

Clco. Dion. All this we swear. 

Leon. Break up the seals, and read. 

Offi. [Reads.] " Hermione is chaste, Polixenes blame- 
less, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous tyrant, 
his innocent babe truly begotten ; and the king shall 
live without an heir, if that which is lost be not 
found." 

Lords. Now, blessed be the great Apollo ! 

Her. Praised ! 

Leon. Hast thou read truth? 

Offi. Ay. my lord; even so 

As it is here set down. 

Leon. There is no truth at all i' the oracle. 
The sessions shall proceed : this is mere falsehood. 
Enter a Servant, in haste. 

Serv. My lord the king, the king ! 

Leon. What is the business ? 

Serv. sir ! I shall be hated to report it : 
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear 
Of the queen's speed,' is gone. 

Leon. How ! gone ? 

Serv. Is dead. [Hermione swoon.'S. 

Leon. Apollo 's angry, and the heavens themselves 
Do strike at my injustice. How now there ! 

Paul, This news is mortal to the queen. — ^Look 
down. 
And see what death is doing. 

Leon. Take her hence : 

Her heart is but o'ercharg'd ; she will recover. — 

1 have too much believ'd mine own suspicion : — 
Beseech you, tenderly apply to her 
Some remedies for life. — Apollo, pardon 

[Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Herm. 
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle ! — 
I '11 reconcile me to Polixenes, 
New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo, 
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy ; 
For. being transported by my jealousies 
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose 
Camillo for the minister, to poison 
My friend Polixenes : which had been done. 
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied 
My swift command ; though I with death, and with 
Reward, did threaten and encourage him. 
Not doing it, and being done : he, most humane. 
And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest 

how the queen may speed — the i.s£ue. 



\ 



SCENE ni. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



289 



Unclasp'd my practice ; quit his fortunes here, 
Which you knew great, and to the hazard 
Of all incertainties himself commended, 
No richer than his honour. — How he glisters 
Thorough my rust ! and how his piety 
Does my deeds make the blacker ! 

Re-enter Paulina. 

Paul. Woe the while ! 

0, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it. 
Break too ! 

1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady? 

Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me ? 
What wheels ? racks ? fires ? What flaying ? burning, 

boiling 
In lead, or oil ? what old, or newer torture 
Must I receive, whose every word deserves 
To taste of thy most worst ? Tliy tyranny, 
Together working with thy jealousies, — 
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle 
For girls of nine, — ! think, what they have done. 
And then run mad, indeed ; stark mad, for all 
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. 
That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 't was nothing; 
That did but show thee of a fool, inconstant. 
And damnable ungrateful : nor was 't much. 
Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour. 
To have him kill a king : poor trespasses. 
More monstrous standing by ! wherefore I reckon 
The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter, 
To be or none, or little ; though a devil 
Would have shed water out of fire, ere don 't: 
Nor is 't directly laid to thee, the death 
Of the young prince, whose honourable thovights 
(Thoughts high for one so tender) cleft the heart 
That could conceive a gross and foolish sire 
Blemish'd his gracious dam 
Laid to thy answer : but the last, — 0. 
When I have said, cry, woe ! — the queen, the queen. 
The sweet'st, dear'st creature 's dead ; and vengeance 

for 't 
Not dropp'd down yet. 

1 Lord. The higher powers forbid ! 

Paul. I say, she 's dead ; I '11 swear 't : if word, nor 
oath. 
Prevail not, go and see. If you can bring 
Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye. 
Heat outwardly, or breath within, I '11 serve you 
As I would do the gods. — But, thou tyrant ! 
Do not repent these things, for they are heavier 
Than all thy woes can stir ; therefore, betake thee 
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees 
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, 
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter. 
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods 
To look that way thou wert. 

Leon. Go on ; go on ; 

Thou canst not speak too much : I have deserv'd 
All tongues to talk their bitterest. 

1 Lord. Say no more : 

Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault 
I' the boldness of your speech. 

Paul. I am sorry for 't : 

All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, 
I do repent. Alas ! I have show'd too much 
The rashness of a woman. He is toueh'd 
To the noble heart. — What 's gone, and what 's past help, 
Should be past grief : do not receive affliction 
At repetition,' I beseech you ; rather. 
Let me be punish'd, that have minded you 

' my petition : in f. e. s becoming : in f. e. ' -weep : in f. e. 



this is not, no, 
lords ! 



Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, 

Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman : 

The love I bore your queen, — lo, fool again ! — 

I '11 speak of her no more, nor of your children ; 

I '11 not remember you of my own lord. 

Who is lost too. Take your patience to you, 

And I '11 say nothing. 

Leon. Thou didst speak but well. 

When most the truth, which I receive much better, 
Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me 
To the dead bodies of my queen, and son. 
One grave shall be for both : upon them shall 
The causes of their death appear, unto 
Our shame perpetual. Once a day I '11 visit 
The chapel where they lie ; and tears shed there 
Shall be my recreation : so long as nature 
Will bear up with this exercise, so long 



I daily vow to use it. 
To these sorrows. 

SCENE III.— Bohemia. 



Come, and lead me 



[Exeunt. 

A Desert Country near the 
Sea. 

Enter Antigonus, with the Babe ; and a Mariner. 

Ant. Thou art perfect, then, our ship hath toueh'd upon 
The deserts of Bohemia ? 

Mar. Ay, my lord ; and fear 

We have landed in ill time : the skies look grimly, 
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, 
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry, 
And frown upon us. 

Ant. Their sacred wills be done ! — Go, get aboard j 
Look to thy bark : I '11 not be long, before 
I call upon thee. 

3Iar. Make your best haste, and go not 
Too far i' the land : 't is like to be loud weather : 
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures 
Of prey that keep upon 't. 

Ant. Go thou away : 

I '11 follow instantly. 

Mar. I am glad at heart 



To be so rid o' 
Ant. 



the business. 



Come, poor babe :- 



[Exit. 



I have heard, (but not believ'd) the spirits o' the dead 

May walk again : if such thing be, thy mother 

Appear'd to me last night, for ne'er was dream 

So like a waking. To me comes a creature. 

Sometimes her head on one side, some another ; 

I never saw a vessel of like sorrow. 

So fiU'd, and so o'er-running° : in pure white robes, 

Like very sanctity, she did approach 

My cabin where I lay, thrice bow'd before me. 

And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes 

Became two spouts : the fury spent, anon 

Did this break from her. — " Good Antigonus, 

" Since fate, against thy better disposition, 

" Hath made thy person for the thrower-out 

" Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, 

" Places remote enough are in Bohemia, 

" There wend.' and leave it crying ; and, for the babe 

'' Is counted lost for ever, Perdita 

" I pr'ythee, call 't : for this ungentle business, 

'' Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see 

" Thy wife Paulina more :" — and so, with shrieks 

She melted into air. Affrighted much, 

I did in time collect myself, and thought 

This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys j 

Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously, 

I will bo squar'd by this. I do believe, 

Hermione hath suffer'd death ; and that 



19 



290 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



ACT IV. 



Apollo would, this being indeed the issue 
Of king Polixcnes, it should here be laid, 
Either for life or death, upon the earth 
Of its right father. — Blossom, speed thee well ! 

[Laying down the Babe. 
There lie ; and there tliy character^ : there these, 

[Laying down a Bundle. 
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty. 
And still rest thine. — The storm begins. — Poor wretch ! 
That for thy mother's fault art thus cxpos'd [Thunder. 
To loss, and what may follow. — Weep I cannot, 
But my heart bleeds, and most accurs'd am I, 
To be by oath enjoin'd to this. — Farewell ! 
The day frowns more and more : thou art like to have 
A lullaby too rough. I never saw [clamour ? — 

The heavens so dim by day. [Bear roars.\ A savage 
Well may I get aboard ! — This is the chase ; 
I am gone for ever. [£xiY, pursued by a bear. 

Enter an old Shepherd. 

Shep. I would there were no age between ten and 
three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the 
rest ; for there is nothing in the between but getting 
wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, 
fighting. — Hark you now ! — Would any but these 
boiled-brains of nineteen, and two-and-twenty, hunt 
this weather ? They have scared away two of my best 
sheep : which, I fear, the wolf will sooner find, than the 
master : if any where I have them, 't is by the sea-side, 
browzing of ivy. Good luck, an 't be thy will ! what 
have wc here? [Taking up the Babe.] Mercy on 's, a 
barn ; a very pretty barn ! A boy, or a child. I wonder ? 
A pretty one ; a very pretty one. Sure some scape : 
though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gen- 
tlewoman in the scape. This lias been some stair- 
work, some trunk- work, some behind-door work : they 
were warmer that got this, than the poor thing is here. 
I '11 take it up for pity : yet I '11 tarry till my son come : 
tic hallood but even now. — Whoa, ho lioa ! 
Enter Clown. 

Clo. Hilloa, loa ! 

Shep. What ! art so near ? If thou 'It see a thing to 
talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. 
What ail'st thou, man ? 

Clo. I have seen two such sighis, by sea, and by 
land ! — but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the 
sky : betwixt the fij-mament and it you cannot thrust a 
bodkin's point. 

Shep. Why, boy, how is it ? 

Clo. I would, you did but sec how it chafes, how it 
rages, how it takes up the shore ! but that 's not to the 



point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls ! 
sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em : now the 
ship boring the moon with her mainmast ; and anon 
swallowed with yest and froth, as you 'd thrust a cork 
into a hogshead. And then for the land service : — to 
see how the bear tore out his shoulder bone : how he 
cried to me for help, and said his name was Antigo- 
nus, a nobleman. — But to make an end of the ship : 
— to see how the sea flap-dragoned it^ — but, first, how 
the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them ; — 
and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear 
mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea, or 
weather. 

Shep. Name of mercy ! when was this, boy ? 

Clo. Now, now ; I have not winked since I saw these 
sights : the men are not yet cold under water, nor the 
bear half dined on the gentleman : he 's at it now. 

Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped the old 
man ! 

Clo. I would you had been by the ship's side, to 
have helped her : there your charity would have lacked 
footing. 

Shep. Heavy matters ! heaA'y matters ! but look thee 
here, boy. Now bless thyself : thou met'st with things 
dying, I with things new born. Here 's a sight for 
thee ; look thee : a bearing-cloth for a squire's child ! 
Look thee here : take up, take up, boy ; open 't. So, 
let 's see. It was told me I should be rich by the 
fairies : this is some changeling. — Open 't : what 's 
within, boy ? 

Clo. You 're a made old man : if the sins of your 
youth are forgiven you, you 're Avell to live. Gold ! all 
gold! 

Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 't will prove so : up 
with it, keep it close ; home, home, the next way. We 
are lucky, boy ; and to be so still requires nothing but 
secrecy. — Let my sheep go. — Come, good boy, the next 
way home. 

Clo. Go you the next way with your findings : I '11 
go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, and how 
much he hath eaten : they are never curst, but when 
they are hungry. If there be any of him left, I '11 
bury it. 

Shep. That 's a good deed. If thou may'st discern 
by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to 
the sight of him. 

Clo. Marry, I will ; and you shall help to put him 
i' the ground. 

Shep. 'T is a lucky day, boy. and we '11 do good deeds 
on 't. [Excu7it. 



ACT IV. 



E^iter Time, the Chorus. 

Time. I, that please some, try all : both joy. and terror, 
Of good and bad : that make, and unfold error. 
Now take upon me, in the name of Time, 
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime 
To me, or my swift passage, that I slide 
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried 
Of that wide gap ; since it is in my power 
To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour 
To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass 
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was, 
Or what is now receiv'd : I witness to 

1 Description. ^ Swallo-wed ships as drinkers swallow flapdrngons— (small substances floating on liquor, which were swallowed burning). 



The times that brought them in ; so shall I do 

To the freshcf^t things now reigning, and make stale 

The glistering of this present, as my tale 

Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, 

I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing, 

As you had slept between. Leontes leaving 

Th' effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving 

That he shuls up himself, imagine me. 

Gentle spectators, that I now may be 

In fair Bohemia ; and remember Avell, 

I mention'd a son o' the king's, which Florizel 

I now name to you ; and with speed so pace 

To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 



SCENE II. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



291 



Equal with wondering : What of her ensueSj 

I list not prophesy ; but let Time's news 

Be known, when 't is brought forth. A shepherd's 

daughter, 
And what to her adheres, which follows after, 
Is th' argument of Time. Of this allow. 
If ever you have spent time worse ere now : 
If never, yet that Time himself doth say, 
He wishes earnestly you never may. [Exit. 

SCENE I.— The Same. A Room in the Palace of 

POLIXENES. 

Enter Polixenes and Camillo. 

Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more impor- 
tunate : 't is a sickness denying thee anything, a death 
1o grant this. 

Cam. It is fifteen years since I saAV my country : 
though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad, I 
desire to lay ray bones there. Besides, the penitent 
king, my master, hath sent for me ; to whose feeling 
sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erwcen to think 
so, which is another spur to my departure. 

Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the 
rest of thy services, by leaving me now. The need I 
have of thee, tliine own goodne.«s hath made : better 
not to have had thee, than thus to want thee. Thou, 
having made me businesses, which none without thee 
can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute 
(hc'.n thyself, or take away with thee the very services 
thou hast done j which if I have not enough considered, 
(as too much I cannot) to be more tliankful to thee 
shall be my study, and my profit therein, the heaping 
friendsliijs. Of that fatal country, Sicilia, pr'ythee 
speak no more, whose very naming punishes me with 
the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, 
and reconciled king, my brother ; whose loss of his 
most precious queen, and children, are even now to be 
afresh lamented. Say to me. when saw'st thou the 
prince Florizel, my son ? Kings are no less unhappy, 
their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing 
them when they have approved their virtues. 

Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. 
What his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown : 
but I have musingly' noted, he is of late much retired 
f:-om court, and is less frequent to his princely exer- 
cises than formerly he hath appeared. 

Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with 
some care ; so far, that I have eyes under my service, 
which look upon his removedness : from whom I have 
this intelligence ; that he is seldom from the house of 
a most homely shepherd ; a man, they say, that from 
very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neigh- 
bours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. 

Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a 
daughter of most rare note : the report of her is ex- 
tended more than can be thought to begin from such 
a cottage. 

Pol. That 's likewise part of my intelligence, but, I 
fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt 
accompany us to the place, where wo will, not appear- 
ing what we are. have some question with the shep- 
herd ; from whose simplicity, I think it not uneasy to 
get the cause of my son's resort thither. Pr'ythee, be 
my present partner in this business, and lay aside the 
thoughts of Sicilia. 

Cam. I willingly obey your command. 

Pol. My best Camillo ! — We must disguise ourselves. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE II.— The Same. A Road near the Shep- 
herd's Cottage. 

Enter Autolyccs, singing. 

When (laffodih begin to peer^ — [1 Tune.^ 

With, heigh ! the doxy over the dale. — 

Why.^ then come.s in the .sweet o' the year ; 
For the red blood reigns in the winter^ s pale. 

The U'hite sheet bleaching on the hedo-e, — 

With, heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! — 

Doth set my prigging^ tooth on edge ; 
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 

The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, — 

With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay., 
Are .summer songs for me and my aunts.. 

While we lie tumbling in the hay. 

I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, wore 
three-pile*, but now I am out of service : 

But sJiall I go mourn for that., my dear ? [2 Tune.^ 

The pale Jnoon .shines by night ; 
And when I wander here and there, 

I tlien do most go right. 

If tinkers may have leave to live, [3 Tune.'' 

And bear the sow-skin budget, 
Then my account I tvell may give, 
And in the stocks avouch it. 
My traffic is sheets ; when the kite builds, look to 
lesser linen. My father named me. Autolycus ; who, 
being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise 
a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die. and 
drab, I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is 
the silly cheat. Gallows, and knock, are too powerful 
on the highway : beating, and hanging, are terrors to 
me : for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. 
— A prize ! a prize ! 

Enter Cloim. 
Clo. Let me see : — Every 'leven wether tods' : evei-y 
tod yields — pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred 
shorn, what comes the wool to ? 

Ai't. [Aside.] If the springe hold, the cock 's mine. 

Clo. I cannot do 't without counters. — Let me see; 

what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast ? " Three 

pound of sugar ; five pound of currants : rice " — What 

will this sister of mine do with rice ? But my father 

[ hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. 

I She hath made me four-and-twenty nosegays for the 

shearers : three-man song-men* all, and very good 

ones, but they are most of them means and bases : 

but one Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to 

hornpipes. I must have saffron, to colour the warden' 

pies ; mace, — dates, none ; that 's out of my note : 

" nutmegs, seven : a race or two of ginger :" but that 

I may beg ; — " four pound of prunes, and as many of 

raisins o' the sun." 

Aut. 0, that ever I was born ! 

[Grovelling on the ground. 
Clo. V the name of me ! — 

Aut. 0, help me, help me ! pluck but off these rags, 
and then, death, death ! 

Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of more rags 
to lay on thee, rather than have these off. 
I Aid. 0, sir ! the loathsomeness of them offends me 
more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty 
: ones, and millions. 

Clo. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating may come 
to a great matter. 



• missingly : in f. e. * Not in f. e. ' p«?; 



8 Singers of songs for three voices. ' A late, hard pear. 



in f. e. * Fine velvet. ' * Not in f. e. 'A tod is twenty-eight pounds of wool. 



292 



THE WmXEK'S TALE. 



ACT rv. 



Aiit. I am robbed, sir, and beaten ; my money and 
apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put 
upon me. 

Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man ? 

Aut. A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man. 

Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the gar- 
ments he hath left with thee : if this be a horse-man's 
coat, it hath seen very hot Fcrvice. Lend me thy hand, 
I'll help thee : come, lend me thy hand. 

[Helping him up. 

Ant. O ! good sir, tenderly, O ! 

Clo. Alas, poor soul ! 

Aitt. 0, good sir ! softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my 
shonlder-liladc is out. 

Clo. How now? canst stand? 

Aut. Softly, dear sir: [Cuts his purse.^] good sir, 
softly. You ha' done me a charitable office. 

Clo. Dost lack any money ? I have a little money 
for thee. 

Aut. No, good, sweet sir : no, I beseech you, sir. I 
have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, 
unto whom I was going : I shall there have money, or 
any thing I want. Offer me no money, I pray you : 
that kills my heart. 

Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed you ? 

Aut. A follow, sir, that I have known to go about 
with trol-my-dames ;' I knew him once a servant of 
the prince. I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his 
virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the 
court. 

Clo. His vices, you would say : there 's no virtue 
whipped out of the court : they cherish it, to make it 
stay there, and yet it will no more but abide^. 

Aut. Vices I would say, sir. I know this man well : 
he hath been since an ape-bearer ; then a process- 
server, a bailiff; then he compassed a motion* of the 
prodigal son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile 
where my land and living lies: and, having flown over 
many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue : 
some call him Autolycus. 

Clo. Out upon him ! Prig, for my life, prig : he 
haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. 

Aut. Very true, sir ; he, sir. he : that 's the rogue, 
that put me into this apparel. 

Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia : 
if you had but looked big, and spit at him, he 'd have 
run. 

Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter : I 
am false of heart that way, and that he knew, I war- 
rant him. 

Clo. How do you now? 

Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was : T can 
stand, and walk. I will even take my leave of you, 
and pace softly towards my kinsman's. 

Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way ? 

Aut. No, good-faced sir; no. sweet sir. 

Clo. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for 
our .sheep-shearing. [Exit Clown. 

Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir ! — ^Your purse is not 
hot enough to purcha.«e your spice. I '11 be with you 
at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat 
bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let 
me be enrolled', and my name put in the book of 
virtue ! 

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path ivay 

And merrily hent the .ttile-a : 
A merry heart goes all the day, 

Your sad tires in a mile-a. [Exit. 

1 PicJcs his pocket : in f. e. 3 An old game resembling bagatelle. ^ Remain for a time. 
in f. e. ■> attired, sworn : in f. e. ^ in a : in ^ e. ' gentle : in f. e. 



SCENE III.— The Same. A Shepherd's Cottage. 
Enter Florizel and Perdita. 

Flo. These, your vmusual weeds, to each part of you 
Do give a life : no shepherdess, but Flora 
Peering in April's front. This, your sheep-shearing, 
Is as a meeting of the petty gods, 
And you the queen on 't. 

Per. Sure*, my gracious lord, 

To chide at your extremes it not becomes me ; 

! pardon, that I name them : your high self, 
The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscur'd 
With a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid, 
Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts 
In every mess have folly, and the feeders 
Digest it with a custom, I should blush 
To see you so attir'd, so worn', I think, ^ 
To show myself a glass. 

Flo. I bless the time, 

When my good falcon made her flight across 
Thy father's ground. 

Per. Now, Jove afford you cause ! 

To me the dilTerence forges dread ; your greatness 
Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble 
To think, your father, by some accident. 
Should pass this way, as you did. 0. the fates ! 
How would he look, to see his work, so noble. 
Vilely bound up ? What would he say ? Or how 
Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold 
The sternness of his presence ? 

Flo. Apprehend 

Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, 
Humbling their deities to love, haA'e taken 
The shapes of beasts upon them : Jupiter 
Became a bull, and bellow'd ; the green Neptune 
A ram, and bleated ; and the fire-rob'd god, 
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, 
As I seem now. Their transformations 
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, 
Nor any* way so chaste ; since my desires 
Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts 
Burn hotter than my faith. 

Per. ! but, sir, 

Your resolution cannot hold, when 't is 
Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power of the king. 
One of these two must be necessities. 
Which then will speak — that you must change this 

purpose. 
Or I my life. 

Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, 

With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythce, darken not 
The mirth o' the feast : or I '11 be thine, my fair, 
Or not my father's ; for I cannot be 
Mine own, nor any thing to any, if 

1 be not thine : to this I am most constant, 
Though destiny say, no. Be merry, girl' ; 
Strangle .such thoughts as these with any thing 
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming : 
Lift up your countenance, as 't were the day 
Of celebration of that nuptial, which 
We two have sworn shall come. 

Per. 0, lady fortune, 

Stand you aiispicious ! 
Enter Shepherd, with Polixenes and Camillo, dis- 
guised; Clown, MoPSA, Dorcas, and others. 
Flo. See, your guests approach : 

Address yourself to entertain them sprightly. 
And let 's be red with mirth. 

* A puppet-show. * unrolled : in f. e. « Sir : 



SCENE III. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



293 



Shcp. Fie, daughter ! when my old wife liv'd, upon 
This day she was both pantler, butler, cook ; 
Both dame and servant ; welcom'd all ; serv'd all ; 
Would sing her song, and dance her turn ; now here, 
At upper end o' the table, now, i' the middle , 
On his shoulder, and his ; her face o' fire 
With labour, and the thing she took to quench it, 
She would to each one sip. You are retir'd, 
As if you were a feasted one, and not 
The hostess of the meeting : pray you, bid 
These unknown friends to 's welcome ; for it is 
A way to make us better friends, more known. 
Come ; quench your blushes, and present yourself 
That which you are, mistress o' the feast : come on, 
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, 
As your good flock shall prosper. 

Per. [To Pol.] Sir, welcome. 

It is my father's will, I should take on me 
The hostess-ship o' the day: — [To Cam.] Vou 're wel- 
come, sir. — 
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. — Reverend sirs, 
For you there 's rosemary, and rue ; these keep 
Seeming and savour all the winter long : 
Grace, and remembrance, be to you both, 
And welcome to our shearing ! 

Pol. Shepherdess, 

(A fair one are you) well you fit our ages 
With flowers of winter. 

Per. Sir, the year growing ancient, — 

Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 
Of trembling winter, — the fairest flowers o' the season 
Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers' 
Which some call nature's bastards : of that kind 
Our rustic garden 's barren, and I care not 
To get slips of them. 

Pol. 
Do you neglect them ? 

Per. 

There is an art which, in their piedness, shares 
With great creating nature. 

Pol. Say, there be ; 

Yet nature is made better by no mean, 
But nature makes that mean : so, o'er that art, 
Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art 
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry 
A gentler scion to the wildest stock. 
And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
By bud of nobler race : this is an art 
Which does mend nature, — change it rather ; but 
The art itself is nature. 

Per. So it is. 

Pol. Then make your garden rich in gilly-flowers. 
And do not call them bastards. 

Per. I '11 not put 

The dibble in earth to set one slip of them . 
No more than, were I painted. I would wish 
This youth should say. 't were well, and only therefore 
Desire to breed by me. — Here 's flowers for you; 
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ; 
The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, 
And with him ri.ses weeping : these are flowers 
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given 
To men of middle age. You are very welcome. 

Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock. 
And only live by gazing. 

Per. Out, alas ! 

You 'd be so lean, that blasts of January 
Would blow you through and through. — Now, my 
fair'st friend, 



Wherefore, gentle maiden, 
For I have heard it said, 



I would, I had some flowers o' the spring, that might 

Become your time of day ; and yours, and yours, 

That wear upon your virgin branches yet 

Your maidenheads growing : — O Proserpina ! 

For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall 

From Dis's waggon ! daflbdils. 

That come before the swallow dares, and take 

The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, 

But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, 

Or Cytherea's breath; pale primrofes. 

That die unmarried ere they can behold 

Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady 

Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips, and 

The crown imperial ; lilies of all kinds. 

The flower-de-luce being one. ! these I lack, 

To make you garlands of, and, my sweet friend, 

To strew him o'er and o'er. 

Flo. What ! like a corse ? 

Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on, 
Not like a corse ; or if, — not to be buried. 
But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers. 
Methinks, I play as I have seen them do 
In Whitsun-pastorals : sure, this robe of mine 
Does change my disposition. 

Flo. What you do 

Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, 
I 'd have you do it ever : when you sing, 
I 'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; 
Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs. 
To sing them too. ^V^hen you do dance, I wish you 
A wave o' the sea, That you might ever do 
Nothing but that^ move still, still so, 
And own no otlTer function : each your doing, 
So singular in each particular, 
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, 
That all your acts are queens. 

Per. Doricles ! 

Your praises are too large : but that your youth, 
And the true blood, which peeps so fairly through it, 
Do ^plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, 
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 
You woo'd me the false way. 

Flo. I think, you have 

As little skilP to fear, as 1 have purpose 
To put you to 't. — But, come ; our dance, I pray. 
Your hand, my Perdita : so turtles pair, 
That never mean to part. 

Per. I'll swear for 'em. 

Pol. This is the pretti,^st low-born lass, that ever 
Ran on iRe green-sward : hothing she does, or says', 
But smacks of something greater than herself; 
Too noble for this place. 

Cam. He tells her something, 

That wakes her blood : — look on 't.* Good sooth, she is 
The queen of curds and cream. 

do. Come on, strike up. 

Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress : marry, garlick. 
To mend her kissing with. — 

Mop. Now, in good time — 

Clo Not a word, a word : we stand upon our man- 
ners. — 
Come, strike up. [Mttsic. 

[Here a dance of Shepherds and Shephcrde.tses. 

Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this, 
Which dances with your daughter ? 

Shcp. They call him Doricles, and boasts himself 
To have a worthy breeding : but I have it 
Upon his own report, and I believe it : 
He looks like sooth. He says, he loves my daughter : 



' Old copies ; gillyvors. a Reason. ' seems: in f. e. * That makes her blood look on't: in f. e. 



294 



THE AVINTEK'S TALE. 



ACT IV. 



I think so too ; for never gaz'd the moon 
Upon the water, as he '11 stand, and read, 
As 'twere, my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain, 
I think, there is not half a kiss to choose, 
Who loves another best. 

Pol. She dances featly. 

Shcp. So she docs any thing, thongli I report it, 
That should be silent. If young Doriclcs 
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that 
Which he not dreams of. 

Enter a Servant. 
Serv. master ! if you did but hear the pedler at 
the door, you would never dance again after a tabor 
and pipe ; no, the bagpipe could not move you. He 
sings several tunes faster than you '11 tell money ; he 
utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears 
grew to his tunes. 

Clo. He could never come better : he shall come in. 
I love a ballad but even too well ; if it bo doleful mat- 
ter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed, 
and svmg lamentably. 

Serv. He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all sizes : 
no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves. He 
has the prettiest love-songs for maids ; so without 
bawdry, which is strange : with such delicate burdens 
of "'dildos" ajid "fadings*;" "jump her and thump 
her ;" and where somestretch'd-mouth'd rascal would, 
as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul jape* in 
the matter, he makes the maid to answer, " Whoop, do 
me no harm, good man ;" puts him off, slights him 
with " Whoop, do me no harm, good man." 
Pol. This is a brave fellow. 

Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable-con- 
ceited fellow. Has he any embroided' wares ? 

Serv. He hath ribands of all the colours i' the rain- 
bow ; points,* more than all the lawyers in Bohemia 
can learnedly handle thovigh they come to him by the 
gross ; inkles,' caddisscs,^ cambrics, lawns : why he 
sings them over, as they were gods or goddesses. You 
would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to 
the sleeve-band", and the work about the square' on't. 
Clo. Pr'ytliee, bring him in, and let him approach 
singing. 

Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words 
in 's tunes. 

Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more in 
them than you 'd think, sister. 

Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. 
Enter Autolycus, singing. 
Lnivn^ as white a.v driven snow ; 
Cyprus^ black a.i e'er teas crow ; 
(ilovc.f^ as .sweet as damask roses ; 
Masks for faces, a7id for no.'ics ; 
Bvgle-bracelet, necklace amber, 
Perfume for a ladifs chamber : 
Golden qvoifs. and, stomachers, 
For my lads to give their dears ; 
Pins and poking-sticks^ of .steel, 
What maids lack from head to heel : 
Come, buy of me, come ; come buy, come buy, 
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry : 
Come, buy. 
Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst 
take no money of me ; but being enthrall'd as I am, 
it will also be the bondage of certain ribands and 
gloves. 

Mop. I was promised them against the feast, but 
they come not too late now. 



Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or 
there be liars. 

3Iop. He hath paid you all he promised you : may 
be, he has paid you more, which will shame you to 
give him again. 

Clo. Is there no manners left among maids ? will 
they -wear their plackets, where they should bear their 
faces ? Is there not milking-time when you are going 
to bed, or kiln-hole, to whisper'" off these secrets, but 
you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests ? 'T is 
well they are whispering. Charm" your tongues, and 
not a word more. 

Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a 
tawdry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. 

Clo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by 
the way, and lost all my money ? 

Atd. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners' abroad ; 
therefore, it behoves men to be wary. 

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing 
here. 

Aid. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many 
parcels of charge. 

Clo. What hast here ? ballads ? 

3Iop. Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad in print 
o'-life, for then we are sure they are true. 

Aid. Here 's one to a very doleful tune, How a 
usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money- 
bags at a burden ; and how she longed to eat adders' 
heads, and toads carbonadoed. 

Mop. Is it true, think you? 

Aid. Very true; and but a month old. 

Dor. Bless me from marrying a iisurer ! 

Aut. Here 's the midwife's name to 't, one mistress 
Taleporter, and five or six honest wives' that were 
present. Why should I carry lies abroad ? 

Mop. 'Pray you now, buy it. 

Clo. Come on, lay it by ; and let 's first see more 
ballads : we '11 buy the other things anon. 

Aut. Here 's another ballad, of a fish, that appeared 
upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, 
forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this bal- 
lad against the hard hearts of maids : it was thought 
she was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish, for 
she would not exchange flesh with one that loved her. 
The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. 

Dor. Is it true too, tliink you? 

Aut. Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses more 
than my pack will hold. 

Clo. Lay it by too : another. 

Avt. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. 

Mop. Let 's have some merry ones. 

Avt. Why this is a passing merry one, and goes to 
the tune of, " Two maids wooing a man." There 's 
scarce a maid westward but she sings it : 't is iu re- 
quest, I can tell you. 

3Iop. We can both sing it : if thou 'It bear a part, 
thou shalt hear ; 't is in three parts. 

Dor. We had the tune on 't a month ago. 

Aut. I can bear my part ; you must know, 't is my 
occupation: have at it with you. 

SONG. 

Aut. Get you hence, for I must go, 

Whither fits not you to know. 
Dor. Whither 1 
Mop. O ! whither ? 
Dor. Whither? 
Mop. It becomes thy oath full well, 

Thou to me thy secrets tell. 



1 A fading -was also a dance. ^ Jest. 
loon. ' sleeve-hand : in f. e. 8 Bosom. 



f. e. : gap. ^ nnbraided : in f, e. * Tags to the strings used to fasten dresses. » Tape. 
» Used, -when heated to set the plaits of i-uffs. i" whistle : in f. e. " Clamour : in f. e 



Gai- 



SCENE III. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



295 



Dor. Me too : let me go thither. 

Mop. Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill : 

Dor. If to either J thou dost ill. 

Aut. Neither. 

Dor. Whatj neither? 

Aut. Neither. 

Dor. Thou hast sivorn my love to be ; 

Mop. Thou hast sworn it more to me : 

Then, ichithcr go^st ? say, whither ? 
Clo. Wc '11 have this song out anon by ourselves. 
]My father and the gentlemen are in sad' talk, and 
we '11 not trouble them : come, bring away thy pack 
after me. Wenches. 1 '11 buy for you both. Pedler, 
let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. 

[Exevnt Clown, Dorcas, and Mopsa.'' 
Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. [Aside. 

Will you buy any tape, 
Or lace for your cape, 
My dainty duck, my dcar-a ? 
Any silk, any thread, 
Any toys for your head, 
Of the new\<<t, and finest, Jin' st wear-a? 
Come to the pedler ; 
Money 's a medler, 
That doth utter all men^s U'are-a. 

[Exit after them. 
Enter a ServarU. 
Scrv. Master, there is three carters, three shep- 
herds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have 
made themselves all men of hair : they call themselves 
sal tiers ; and they have a dance which the wenches say 
is a gallimaufry' of gambols, because they are not in 't; 
but they themselves are o' the mind, (if it be not too 
rough for some, that know little but bowling) it will 
please plentifully. 

Shep. Away ! we '11 none on 't : here has been too 
much homely foolery already. — I know, sir, we weary 
you. 

Pol. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let 's 
see these four threes of herdsmen. 

Serv. One three of them, by their own report, sir, 

hath danced before the king ; and not the worst of the 

three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by the square.* 

Shep. Leave your prating. Since these good men 

are pleased, let them come in : but quickly now. 

Scrv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit. 

Re-enter Servant, with Twelve Rustics habited like 

Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt. 
Pol. father ! you '11 know more of that here- 
after, — 
Is it not too far gone ? — 'T is time to part them. — 
He 's simple, and tells much. How now, fair shepherd? 
Your heart is full of something, that does take 
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young, 
And handled love as you do, I was wont 
To load my she with knacks : I would have ransack'd 
The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it 
To her acceptance ; you have let him go. 
And nothing marted with him. If your lass 
Interpretation sliould abuse, and call this 
Your lack of love, or bounty, you were straited 
For a reply, at least, if you make a care 
Of happy holding her. 



Flo. 



Old sir, I know 



She prizes not such trifles as these arc. 
The gifts she looks from me are paek'd and loek'd 
Up in my heart, which I have given already, 
But not deliver'd. — O ! hear me breathe my life 



Before this ancient sir. who, it should seem, 

Hath sometimes lov'd (1. take thy hand ; this hand, 

As soft as dove's down, and as white as it. 

Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fanu'd snow, that 's bolted 

By the northern blasts twice o'er. 

Pol. What follows this ?— 

How prettily the young swain seems to wash 
The hand, was fair before ! — I have put you out. — 
But, to your protestation : let me hear 
What you profess. 

Flo. Do, and be witness to 't. 

Pol. And this my neighbour too ? 

Flo. And he, and more 

Than he, and men ; the earth, the heavens, and all ; 
That were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, 
Thereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth 
That ever made eye swerve ; had sense,^ and knowledge. 
More than was ever man's. I would not prize them. 
Without her love : for her employ them all. 
Commend them, and condemn them, to her service, 
Or to their own perdition. 

Pol. Fairly offer'd. 

Cam. This shows a sound affection. 

Shep. But, my daughter, 

Say you the like to him ? 

Per. I cannot speak 

So well, nothing so well ; no. nor mean better : 
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out 
The purity of his. 

Shep. Take hands ; a bargain : — 

[Joini7ig their hands.^ 
you shall bear witness to 't. 
I give my daughter to him, and will make 
Her portion equal his. 

Flo. ! that must be 

I' the virtue of your daughter : one being dead, 
I shall have more than you can dream of yet : 
Enough then for your wonder. But, come on j 
Contract us 'fore these witnesses. 

Shep. Come, your hand; 

And, daughter, yours. 



And, friends unknown, 



Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you. 



Knows he of this ? 



but what of him ? 



He neither does, nor shall. 



does nothing. 



Pol. 
Have you a father? 

Flo. I have 

Pol. 

Flo. 

Pol. Methinks, a father 
Is at the nuptial of his .^^on a guest 
That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more : 
Is not your father grown incapable 
Of reasonable affairs ? is he not stupid 
With age, and altering rheums? Can he speak? hear? 
Know man from man ? dispose' his own estate ? 
Lies he not bed-rid ? and again, 
But what he did being childish ? 

Flo. No, good sir : 

He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed, 
Than most have of his age. 

Pol. By my white beard. 

You offer him, if this be so, a wrong 
Something unlilial. Reason, my son 
Should choose himself a wife ; but as good reason, 
The father, (all whose joy is nothing else 
But fair posterity) should hold some counsel 
In such a business. 

Flo. I yield all this ; 

But for some other reasons, my grave sir. 
Which 't is not fit you know, I not acquaint 



' Serious. 
a foot-rule. 



2 in f. e. these character.'? make their exit with AuTOLTCUS, after the next song, 
s force : in f. e. « Not in f. o. ' dispute : in f. e. 



' A dish made up of scraps. ♦ Fr. esqvUrre, 



296 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



ACT rv". 



My father of this business. 

Pol. Let him know 't. 

Flo. He shall not. 

Pol. Pr'ythee, let him. 

Flo. No, he must not. 

Shep. Let him, my son : he shall not need to grieve 
At knowing of thy choice 



Flo. 

Mark our contract. 
Pol. 



Come, come, he must not.- 



Mark your divorce, young sir, 

[Discovering himself. 
Whom son I dare not call : thou art too base 
To be ac'knowledg'd. Thou a sceptre's heir, 
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook .' — Thou old traitor, 
I am sorry, that by hanging thee I can Flo. 

But shorten thy life one week. — And thou fresh piece 
Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know 
The royal fool thou cop'st with — 

Per. 0, my heart ! 

Pol. I '11 have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and 
made 
More homely than thy state. — For thee, fond boy, 
If I may ever know, thou dost but. sigh 
That thou no more slialt never' see this knack, (as never 
I mean thou shall) we '11 bar thee from succession ; 
Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin, 
Far than Deucalion oif : — mark thou my words. 
Follow us to tlie court. — Thou, churl, for this time, 
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee 
From the dead blow of it. — And you, enchantment, — 
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too. 
That makes himself, but for our honour therein, 
Unworthy thee, — if ever henceforth thou 
These rural latches to his entrance open, 
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, 
I will devise a death as cruel for thee, 
As thou art tender to 't. [Exit. 

Per. Even here undone ! 

I was not much afcard ; for once, or twice, 
I was about to speak, and tell him plainly, 
The self-same sun that shines upon his court, 
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but 
Looks on alike. — Will 't please you, sir, be gone ? 

[To Florizel. 
I told you, what would come of this. Beseech you, 
Of your own state take care : this dream of mine, 
Being now awake, I '11 queen it no inch farther, 
But milk my ewes, and weep. 

Cam. Why, how now, father ? 

Speak, ere thou diest, 

Shep. I cannot speak, nor think, 

Nor dare to know that which I know. — 0, sir, 

[To Florizel. 
You have undone a man of fourscore three. 
That thought to trll his grave in quiet ; yea, 
To die upon the bed my father died, 
To lie close by his honest bones ; but now. 
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me 
Where no priest shovels in dust. — 0, cursed wretch ! 

[To Perdita. 
That kncw'st this was the prince, and wouldst adven- 
ture 
To mingle faith with him. — Undone ! undone ! 
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd 
To die when I desire. [Exit. 

Flo. Why look you so upon me ? 

I am but sorry, not afeard ; delay'd, 
But nothing alter'd. What I was, I am : 
More straining on, for plucking back : not following 

' Doubling negatives was frequent with writers of the time. 2 Love. ' Not in f. e 



My leash unwillingly. 

Cam. Gracious my lord, 

You know your father's temper : at this time 
He will allow no speech, (which, I do guess, 
You do not purpose to him) and as hardly 
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear : 
Then, till the fury of his highness settle, 
Come not before him. 

Flo. I not purpose it. 

I think, Camillo ? 

Catn. Even he, my lord. 

Per. How often have I told you 't would be thus ? 
How often said my dignity would last 
But till 'twere known? 



It cannot fail, but by 
The violation of my faith ; and then. 
Let nature crush the sides o' the earth togetlfer, 
And mar the seeds within. — Lift up thy looks : — 
From my succession wipe me, father j I 
Am heir to my affection. 

Cam. Be advis'd. 

Flo. I am ; and by my fancy* : if my reason 
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason ; 
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, 
Do bid it welcome. 

Cam. This is desperate, sir. 

Flo. So call it ; but it does fulfil my vow: 
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, 
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may 
Be thereat glean'd ; for all the sun sees, or 
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide 
In unkno\\Ti fathoms, will I break my oath 
To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you. 
As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, 
When he shall miss me. (as, in faith, I mean not 
To see him any more) cast your good counsels 
Upon his passion : let myself and fortune 
Tug for the time to come. This you may know, 
And so deliver. — I am put to sea 
With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore ; 
And, most opportune to our need, I have 
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd 
For this design. What course I mean to hold 
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor 
Concern me the reporting. 

Ca7n. O, my lord ! 

I would your spirit were easier for advice, 
Or stronger for your need. 

Flo. Hark, Perdita.— 

[ To Camillo.] I '11 hear you by and by. [ They talk apart. ^ 

Cam. He 's irremovable ; 

Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy, if 
His going I could frame to serve my turn ; 
Save him from danger, do him love and honour, 
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia, 
And that unhappy king, my master, whom 
I so much thirst to see. 

Flo. Now, good Camillo, 

I am so fraught with serious business, that 



leave out ceremony. 

Cam. 



Sir, I think. 



[Going. 



You have heard of my poor services, i' the love 
That I have borne your father ? 

Flo. Very nobly 

Have you deserv'd : it is my father's music. 
To speak your deeds ; not little of his care 
To have them recompens'd, as thought on. 

Cam. Well, my lord, 

If you may please to think I love the king, 



SCENE III. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



297 



And, through him, what's nearest to him, which is 
Your gracious self, embrace but my direction, 
(If your more ponderous and settled project 
May suffer alteration) on mine honour 
I '11 point you where you shall have such receiving 
As shall become your highness ; where you may 
Enjoy your mistress ; (from the whom, I see, 
There 's no disjunction to be made, but by. 
As heavens forefend, your ruin) marry her ; 
And (with my best endeavours in your absence) 
Your discontenting father strive to qualify, 
And bring him up to liking. 

Flo. How, Camillo, 

May this, almost a miracle, be done. 
That I may call thee something more than man, 
And, after that, trust to thee. 

Cam. Have you thought on 

A place whereto you '11 go? 

Flo. Not any yet ; 

But as th' unthought-on accident is guilty 
To what we wildly do, so we profess 
Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies 
Of every wind that blows. 

Cam. Then list to me : 

This follows. If you will not change your purpose. 
But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia, 
And there present yourself, and your fair princess, 
(For so, I see, she must be) 'fore Leontes : 
She shall be habited, as it becomes 
The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see 
Leonles, opening his free arms, and weeping 
His welcomes forth ; asks thee, the son, forgiveness. 
As 't were i' the father's person ; kisses the hands 
Of your fresh princess ; o'er and o'er divides him 
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness : th' one 
He chides to hell, and bids the other grow 
Faster than thought, or time. 

Flo. Worthy Camillo, 

What colour for my visitation shall I 
Hold up before him ? 

Cam. Sent by the king, your father, 

To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir, 
The maiuier of your bearing towards him, with 
What you, as from your father, shall deliver. 
Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down: 
The which shall point you forth at every sitting 
What you must say, that he shall not perceive, 
But that you have your father's bosom there, 
And speak his very heart. 

Flo. I am bound to you. 

There is some sap in this. 

Cam. A course more promising 

Than a wild dedication of yourselves 
To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores ; most certain, 
To miseries enough : no hope to help you, 
But, as you shake off one, to take another : 
Nothing so certain as your anchors, who 
Do their best office, if they can but stay you 
Where you '11 be loth to be. Besides, you know. 
Prosperity 's the very bond of love, 
Whose fresh complexion, and whose heart together, 
Affliction alters. 

Per. One of these is true : 

I think, affliction may subdue the cheek, 
But not take in the mind. 



She is as forward of her breeding. 
She is i' ' 



as 



Cam. 



Yea, say you so? 



There shall not, at your father's house, these seven years. 
Be born another such. 

Flo. My good Camillo, 



the rear of birth. 
Cam. I cannot say, 't is pity 

She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress 
To most that teach. 

Per. Your pardon, sir ; for this 

I '11 blush you thanks. 

Flo. My prettiest Perdita. — 

But, 0, the thorns we stand upon ! — Camillo, 
Preserver of my father, now of me, 
The medicine of our house, how shall we do ? 
We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son. 
Nor shall appear 't' in Sicily. 

Cam. My lord, 

Fear none of this. I think, you know, my fortunes 
Do all lie there : it shall be so my care 
To have you royally appointed, as if 
The scene you play were true.' For instance, sir, 
That you may know you shall not want, — one word. 

yihey talk apart. 
Enter Autolycus. 

Aut. Ha, ha ! what a fool honesty is ! and trust, his 
sworn brother, a very simple gentleman ! I have sold 
all my trumpery, not a covmterfeit-stone, not a riband, 
glass, pomander,^ brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, 
glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack 
from fasting : they thronged who should buy first ; as if 
my trinkets had been hallowed, and brought a bene- 
diction to the buyer : by which means, I saw whose 
purse was best in picture, and what I saw, to my good 
use I remembered. My clown (who wants but some- 
thing to be a reasonable man) grew so in love with the 
wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes, till 
he had both tune and words ; which so drew the rest 
of the herd to me, that all their other senses stuck in 
ears : you might have pinched a placket, it was sense- 
less ; 't was nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse ; I 
would have filed keys off, that hung in chains : no 
hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring 
the nothing of it : so that, in this time of lethargy, I 
picked and cut most of their festival purses, and had 
not the old man come in with a whoo-bub* against his 
daughter and the king's son, and scared my choughs 
from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole 
army. 

[Camillo, Florizel, and Pkrdita, come forward. 

Cam. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there 
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. 

Flo. And those that you '11 procure from king Leon- 
tes ? 

Cam. Shall satisfy your father. 

Per. Happy be you ! 

All that you speak shows fair. 

Cam. Whom have we here? — [Seeing Autolycus. 
We '11 make an instrument of this : omit 
Nothing may give us aid. 

Aut. If they have overheard me now, — ^why hanging. 

Cam. How now, good fellow ! Why shakest thou 
so ? Fear not, man ; here 's no harm intended to thee. 

Ant. I am a poor fellow, sir. 

Cam. Why, be so still ; here 's nobody will steal that 
from thee : yet, for the outside of thy poverty, we must 
make an exchange : therefore, disease thee instantly, 
thou must think, there 's a necessity in 't) and change 
garments with this gentleman. Though the penny- 
worth on his side be the worst, yet 
some boot. 

Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir.- 
well enough. 



hold thee, there 's 

[Giving money.* 

[Aside ^ I know ye 



appear in Siellia : in f. e. s mina : in f. e. 'A ball of perfumes. * Hubbub. ' Not in f. e. 



398 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



ACT IV. 



Com. Nay, pr'ytliee, dispatch : the gentleman is half 
flayed already. 

Aiit. Are you in earnest, sir? — [Aside] I s^mcll the 
trick of it. 

Flo. Dispatch. I prythce. 

Ant. liideod. 1 have had earnest ; but I cannot with 
conscience take it. 

Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle. — 

[Flo. and Autol. exchange garmoits. 
Fortunate mistress, (let my prophecy 
Come home to you !) you nuist retire yourself 
Into some covert : take your sweetheart's hat, 
And pluck it o'er your brows ; nmfflc your face j 
Dismantle you, and as you can. disliken 
The truth of your own seeming, that you may, 
(For I do fear eyes ever') to ship-board 
Get undescried. 

Per. I see. the play so lies, 

That I must bear a part. 

Cam. No remedy. — 

Have you done there ? 

Flo. Should I now meet my father, 

He would not call me son. 

Cam. Nay, you shall have no hat. 

[Gives it to Perdita.^ 
Come, lady, come. — Farewell, my friend 



Ant. 



Adieu, sir. 



Flo. Perdita ! what have we twain forgot ? 
Pray you. a word. [They talk apart. 

Cam. "What I do next shall be to tell the king 
Of this escape, and whither they are bound ; 
Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail. 
To force liim after : in whose company 
I shall review Sicilia, for whose sight 
I have a woman's longing. 

Flo. Fortune speed us ! — 

Thus we set on. Camillo, to the sea-side. 

Cam. The swifter speed, the better. 

[Exeunt Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo. 

Aut. I understand the business ; I hear it. To have 
an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is neces- 
sary for a cut-purse : a good nose is requisite also, to 
s;nell out work for the other senses. I see, this is the 
time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an ex- 
change had this been without boot ! what a boot is 
here with this exchange ! Sure, the gods do this year 
connive at us, and we may do any thing extempore. 
The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity ; stealing 
away from his father, with his clog at his heels. If I 
thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the king 
withal. I would not do "t : I hold it the more knavery to 
conceal it, and therein am I constant to my profession. 

Enter Clown and Shepherd. 
Aside, aside : — here is more matter for a hot brain. 
Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, 
yields a careful man work. 

Clo. See, see, what a man you are now ! There is 
no other way, but to tell the king she 's a changeling, 
and none of your flesh and blood. 

Shep. Nay, but hear me. 

Clo. Nay, but hear me. 

Shep. Go to, then. 

Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood, your 
flesh and blood has not offended the king ; and so your 
flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show 
those things you found about her : those secret things, 
all but what she has with her. This being done, let 
the law go whistle; I warrant you. 



Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and 
his son's pranks too ; who, I may say, is no honest man, 
neither to his lather, nor to me, to go about to make 
me the king's brother-in-law. 

Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest off" you 
could have been to him : and then yom- blood had been 
the dearer, by I know how much an. ounce. 

Aut. [Aside.] Very wisely, puppies ! 

Shep. Well, let us to the king : there is that in this 
fardel will make him scratch hi.-- beard. 

Aut. [Aside.] 1 know not what iuipcdinieiit this 
complaint may be to the flight of my master. 

Clo. Pray heartily he be at palace. 

Aut. [Aside.] Though I am not naturally honest, 
I am so sometimes by chance : — let me pocket up my 
pedler's excrement^. — [Takes off his false beard.] How 
now, rustics ! whither are you bound ? 

Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. 

Aut. Your afi'airs there ? what ? with whom ? the 
condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, 
your mimes, your ages, of what having'*, breeding, and 
any thing that is fitting to be known? discover. 

Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. 

Aut. A lie : you are rough and hairy. Let me have 
no lying: it becomes none but tradesmen, and they 
often give us soldiers the lie ; but we pay them for it 
with stamped coin, not stabbing steel : therefore, they 
do not give us the lie. 

Clo. Your worship had like to have given us one, if 
you had not taken yourself with the manner'. 

Shep. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? 

Aut. Whether it like me, or no, I am a courtier. 
Secst thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? 
hath not my gait in it the measvire of the court ? re- 
ceives not thy nose court-odour from me ? reflect I not 
on thy baseness court-contempt? Think'st thou, for 
that I insinuate, or touze* from thee ttiy business. I am 
therefore no courtier ? I am courtier, cap-a-pie ; and 
one that will either push on, or pluck back thy business 
there : whereupon, I command thee to open thy affair. 

Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. 

Aut. What advocate hast thou to him ? 

Shep. I know not, an 't like you. 

Clo. Advocate's the court- word for a pheasant^; 
say. you have none. 

Shep. None, sir : I have no pheasant, cock, nor 
hen. 

Aut. How bless'd are we that are not simple men ! 
Yet nature might have made me as these are. 
Therefore I '11 not di.«dain. 

Clo. This cannot but be a great courtier. 

Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears them not 
handsomely. 

Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being fan- 
tastical : a great man, I '11 warrant ; I know, by the 
picking on 's teeth. 

Aut. The fardel there? what's i' the fardel? Where- 
fore that box ? 

Shep. Sir, there lie such secrets in this fardel, and 
box, which none must know but the king ; and which 
he shall know within this hour, if I may come to the 
speech of him. 

Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. 

Shep. Why, sir ? 

Atd. The king is not at the palace : he is gone aboard 
a new ship to purge melancholy, and air himself: for, 
if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must know, 
the king is full of grief. 



1 Old copies : over; ever, is the MS. emendation of Lord F. Egerton's folio, IGil. " Not in f. e. ' Hair, nails, and feathers, were so 
called. * Estate. * In tlie act. ^ Full. 'A pheasant was a common present from countrymen to great people. 



SCEJTE I. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



299 



Shep. So 't is said, sir ; about his son, that should 
liave married a shepherd's daughter. 

Aid. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him 
fly: the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, 
will break the back of man, the heart of monster. 

CIo. Think you so, sir ? 

Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make 
heavy, and vengealice bitter, but those that are ger- 
mane to him, though removed fifty times, shall all come 
under the hangman : which, tliough it be great pity, 
yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a 
ram-tender, to offer to have his dauglitcr come into 
grace ! Some say, he shall be stoned ; but that death 
is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a 
sheep-cote ? all deaths are too few, the sharpest too 
easy. 

Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, 
an 't like you, sir ? 

Aut. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive, then, 
'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's 
nest : there stand, till lie be three quarters and a dram 
dead : then recovered again with aqua vitse, or some 
other hot-infusion ; then, raw as he is, and in the 
hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set 
against a brick- wall, the sun looking with a southward 
eye upon him, where he is to bcliold him witii flies 
blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly 



rascal.-^, whose 



miseries are to be smiled at, their 
offt-nces being so capital ? Tell me, (for you seem to 
be honest plain men) what you have to the king? 
being something gently considered, I '11 bring you wliere 
he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, 
whisper him in your behalfs ; and, if it be in man, 
besides the king, to effect your suits, here is man shall 
do it. 

Clo. He seems to be of great authority : close with 
him. give him gold ; and though authority be a stub- 
born bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold. 
Show the inside of your purse to the outside of his 



hand, and no more ado. Remember, stoned, and 
flayed alive ! 

Shcp. An 't please you, sir, to undertake the business 
for us, here is that gold I have : I '11 make it as much 
more, and leave this young man in pawn, till I bring 
it you. 

Aid. After I have done what I promised ? 

Shep. Ay, sir. 

Aut. Well, give me the moiety. — Are you a party 
in this business ? 

Clo. In some sort, sir : but thoiigh my case be a 
pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. 

Aid. ! that 's the case of the shepherd's son : 
hang liim, he '11 be made an example. 

Clo. Comfort, good comfort ! We must to the king, 
and show our strange sights : he must know, 't is none 
of your daughter nor my sister ; we are gone else. 
Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, when 
the business is performed ; and remain, as he says, 
your pawn, till it be brought you. 

Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea- 
side : go on the right hand : I will but look upon the 
hedge, and follow you. 

Clo. We are blessed in this man, as I may say; 
even blessed. , 

Shep. Let 's before, as he bids us. He was provided 
to do us good. [Exeimt Shepherd and Clown. 

Aid. If I had a mind to be honest, I c^e, fortune 
would not sufl!er me : she drops booties in my mouth. 
I am courted now with a double occasion — gold, and a 
means to do the prince my master good ; which, who 
knows how tliat may turn luck' to my advancement ? 
I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard 
him : if he think it fit to shore them again, and that 
the complaint they have to the king concerns him 
nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far offi- 
cious ; for I am proof against that title, and what 
shame else belongs to 't. To him will I present them : 
there may be matter in it. [Exit. 



ACT V. 



Licon. 
Her, and her virtues. 



1 back : 
eds. read 



in f. e. 
ditme. 



Sorely, to say I did : it is as bitter 

Upon thy tongue, as in my thought. Now, good now, 

Say so but seldom. 

Cleo. Not at all, good lady : 

You might have spoken a thousand things that would 
Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd 
Your kindness better. 

Paul. You are one of those, 

Would have him wed again. 

Dio7i. If you would not so, 

You pity not the state, nor the remembrance 
Of his most sovereign name- ; consider little 
What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue, 
INIay drop upon his kingdom, and devour 
Incertain lookers-on. .What were more holy, 
Tiian to rejoice the former queen is well ? 
What holier than, for royalty's repair. 
For present comfort, and for future good, 
To bless the bed of majesty again 
With a sweet fellow to 't ? 

Paul. Tliere is none worthy, 

Respecting her that 's gone. Besides, the gods 
Will have fulfiU'd their secret purposes 3 
For has not the divine Apollo said, 
' Theobald, and most mod. eds. transfer this word to the beginning of the next speech. ' So old copies ; most mod 



SCENE I. — Sicilia. ARoominthe Palace of Leontes. 

Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina, and 
Others. 

Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have perform' d 
A saint-like sorrow : no fault could you make. 
Which you have not redeem'd ; indeed, paid down 
More penitence than done trespass. At the last, 
Do, as the heavens have done, forget your evil ; 
With them, forgive yourself. 

Whilst I remember 
I cannot forget 
My blemishes in them, and so still think of 
The wrong I did myself; which was so much, 
Tliat heirless it hath made my kingdom, and 
Deslroy'd the sweet'st companion, that e'er man 
Bred his hopes out of: true.' 

Paul. Too true, my lord : 

If one by one you wedded all the world. 
Or from the all that are took something good, 
To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd 
Would be unparallcl'd. 

Leon. I think so. Kill'd ! 

She I kill'd ? I did so ; but thou strik'st me 



300 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



ACT V. 



Is 't not the tenour of his oracle, 

That king Leontes shall not have an heir, 

Till his lost child be found ? which, that it shall, 

Is all as monstrous to our human reason, 

As my Antigonus to break his grave, 

And come again to me : who, on my life. 

Did perish with the infant. "T is your counsel, 

My lord should to the heavens be contrary. 

Oppose against their wills. — Care not for issue ; 

The crown will find an heir : Great Alexander 

Left his to the worthiest, so his successor 

Was like to be the best. 

Leon. Good Paulina,— 

Who hast the memory of Hermionc, 
I know, in honour, — O, that ever I 
Had squar'd me to thy counsel ! — then, even now, 
I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes. 
Have taken treasure from her lips, — 

Paul. And left them 

More rich, for what they yielded. 

Leon. Thou speak'st truth. 

No more such wives ; therefore, no wife : one worse, 
And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit 
Again possess her corpse ; and, on this stage, 
(Where we offejiders now appear) soul-vex'd. 



Begin, "And why to me?" 



Had she such power, 



Paul 
She had just cause 

Leon. She had ; and would incense me 

To murder her I married. 

Paul. I should so : 

Were I the ghost that walk'd, I 'd bid you mark 
Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in 't 
You chose her ? then I'd shriek, that even your ears 
Should rift to hear me, and the words that foUow'd 
Should be. " Remember mine." 

Leon. Stars, stars ! 

And all eyes else dead coals. — Fear thou no wife ; 
I '11 have no wife, Paulina. 

Paul. Will you swear 

Never to marry, but by my free leave ? 

Leon. Never, Paulina ; so be bless'd my spirit ! 

Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath. 

Cleo. You tempt him over-much. 

Paul. Unless another. 

As like Hermione as is her picture, 
Affront his eye. 

Cleo. Good madam, I have done. 

Paul. Yet, if my lord will marry, — if you will, sir, 
No remedy, but you will — give me the office 
To choose you a queen. She shall not be so young 
As was your former ; but she shall be such 
As, -walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy 
To see her in your arms. 

Leon. My true Paulina, 

We shall not marry, till thou bidd'st us. 

Paul. That 

Shall be when your first queen 's again in breath : 
Never till then. 

Enter a Gentleman. 

Gent. One that gives out himself prince Florizel, 
Son of Polixenes, with his princess, (she 
The fairest I have yet beheld,) desires access 
To your high presence. 

Leon. What ! with him ? he comes not 

Like to his father's greatness : his approach. 
So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us 
'T is not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd 



By need, and accident. What train? 

Gent. But few, 

And those but mean. 

Leon. His princess, say you, with him ? 

Gc7it. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I think, 
That e'er the sun shone bright on. 

Paul. O^Hermione ! 

As every present time doth boast itself 
Above a better, gone, so mus^t thy grace' 
Give way to what 's seen now. Sir, you yourself 
Have said and WTit so, but your writing now 
Is colder than that theme — She had not been. 
Nor was not to be equall'd ; — thus your verse 
Flow'd with her beauty once : 't is shrewdly ebb'd, 
To say you have seen a better. 

Gent. Pardon, madam : 

The one I have almost forgot, (your pardon) 
The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, 
Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, 
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal 
Of all professors else, make proselytes 
Of whom she did but follow. 

Paul. How ! not women ? 

Gent. Women will love her, that she is a woman 
More worth than any man : men, that she is 
The rarest of all v/omen. 

Leon. Go, Cleomenes : 

Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends. 
Bring them to our embracement. — Still 't is strange, 

[Exeunt Cleomenes, Lords, and Gentleman. 
He should thus steal upon us. 

Paul. Had our Prince 

(Jewel of children) seen this hour, he had pair'd 
Well with this lord : there was not full a month 
Between their births. 

Leon. Pr'ythee, no more : cease ! thou know'st, 
He dies to me again, when talk'd of : sure, 
When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches 
Will bring me to consider that, which may 
Unfurnish me of reason. — They are come. — 
Re-enter Cleomenes, with Florizel, Perdita, and 
Others. 
Your mother was most true to wed-lock, prince. 
For she did print your royal father off. 
Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one. 
Your father's image is so hit in you. 
His very air, that I should call you brother, 
As I did him; and speak of something, wildly 
By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome ! 
And your fair princess, goddess ! — 0, alas ! 
I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth 
Might thus have stood, begetting wonder as, 
You, gracious couple, do. And then I lost 
(All mine own folly) the society. 
Amity too, of your brave father ; whom. 
Though bearing misery, I desire my life 
Once more to look on him. 

Flo. By his command 

Have I here touch'd Sicilia ; and from him 
Give yoii all greetings, that a king, as' friend. 
Can send his brother ; and, but infirmity 
(Which waits upon worn times) hath something seiz'd 
His wish'd ability, he had himself 
The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his 
Measur'd to look upon you, whom he loves 
(He bade me say so) more than all the sceptres, 
And those that bear them, living. 

Leon. 0, my brother ! 



1 Old copies : prave : grace, 
F. Egerton's folio, 16-23. 



s the MS. emendation of Lord F. Egerton's folio, 1023. ^ old copies : at ; as, is the MS. emendation of Lord 



k 



SCENE II. 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



301 



Good gentleman, the wrongs I have done thee stir 
Afresh within me ; and these thy offices, 
So rarely kind, are as interpreters 
Of my behind-hand slackness. — Welcome hither, 
As is the spring to th' earth. And hath he, too, 
Exposed this paragon to the fearful usage 
(At least ungentle) of the dreadful Neptune, 
To greet a man not worth her pains, much less 
Th' adventure of her person ? 

Flo. Good, my lord, 

She came from Libya. 

Leon. Where the warlike Smalus, 

That noble, honour'd lord, is fear'd, and lov'd ? 

Flo. Most royal sir, from thence ; from him, whose 
daughter 
His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her : thence 
(A prosperous south-wind friendly) we have cross'd, 
To execute the charge my father gave me. 
For vi.siting your highness. My best train 
I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd, 
Who for Bohemia bend, to signify, 
Not only my succei^s in Libya, sir, 
But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety 
Here, where we are. 

Leon. The blessed gods 

Purge all infection from our air, whilst you 
Do climate here ! You have a noble' father, 
A graceful gentleman, against whose person, 
So sacred as it is, I have done sin ; 
For which the heavens, taking angry note, 
Have left me issueless ; and your father 's bless'd 
(As he from heaven merits it) with you, 
Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, 
Miglit I a son and daughter now have look'd on. 
Such goodly things as you ? 

Enter a Lord. 

Lord. Most noble sir. 

That which I shall report will bear no credit. 
Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, 
Bohemia greets you from himself by me ; 
Desires you to attach his son, who has 
(His dignity and duty both cast off) 
Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with 
A shepherd's daughter. 

Leon. Where 's Bohemia ? speak. 

Lord. Here in your city ; I now came from him : 
I speak amazedly, and it becomes 
My marvel, and my message. To your court 
Whiles he was hastening (in the chase, it seems, 
Of this fair couple) meets he on the way 
The father of this seeming lady, and 
Her brother, having both their country quitted 
With this young prince. 

Flo. Camillo has betray'd me, 

Whese honour, and whose honesty, till now, 
Endurd all weathers. 

Lord. Lay 't so to his charge : 

He 's with the king your father. 

Leon. Who ? Camillo ? 

Lord. Camillo, sir : I spake with him, who now 
Has these poor men in question. Never saw I 
Wretches so quake : they kneel, they kiss the earth, 
Forswear themselves as often as they speak : 
Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them 
With divers deaths in death. 

Per. O, my poor father ! — 

The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have 
Our contract celebrated. 

Leon. You are married ? 

' holy : in f. e. 



Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be ; 
The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first : 
The odds for high and low 's alike. 

Leon. My lord, 

Is this the daughter of a king? 

Flo. She is. 

When once she is my wife. 

Leo7i. That once, I see, by your good father's speed, 
Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, 
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking. 
Where you were tied in duty ; and as sorry. 
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty. 
That you might well enjoy her. 

Flo. Dear, look up 

Though fortune, visible an enemy. 
Should chase us with my father, power no jot 
Hath she to change our loves. — Beseech you, sir. 
Remember since you ow'd no more to time 
Than I do now ; with thought of such affections, 
Step forth mine advocate : at your request, 
My father will grant precious things as trifles. 

Leon. Would he do so, I 'd beg your precious mis- 
tress. 
Which he counts but a trifle. 

Paul. Sir, my liege. 

Your eye hath too much youth in 't : not a month 
'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes 
Than what you look on now. 

Leon. I thought of her. 

Even in these looks I made. — But your petition 

[To Florizel. 
Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father : 
Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, 
I am a friend to them, and you ; upon which errand 
I now go toward him. Therefore, follow me, 
And mark what way I make. Come, good my lord. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.— The Same. Before the Palace. 
Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman. 

Aut. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this re- 
lation ? 

1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard 
the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it : 
whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all 
commanded out of the chamber ; only this, methought 
I heard the shepherd say, he found the child. 

Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it. 

1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the business ; 
but the changes I perceived in the king, and Camillo, 
were very notes of admiration : they seemed almost, 
with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their 
eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language 
in their very gesture ; they looked, as they had heard 
of a world ransomed, or one destroyed. A notable 
passion of wonder appeared in them : but the wisest 
beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not say, 
if the importance were joy, or sorrow, but in the ex- 
tremity of the one it must needs be. 

Enter another Gentleman. 
Here comes a gentleman, that, haply, knows more. — 
The news, Rogero? 

2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is ful- 
filled ; the king's daughter is found : such a deal of 
wonder is broken out within this hour, that ballad- 
makers cannot be able to express it. 

Enter a third Gentleman. 
Here comes the lady Paulina's steward : he can deliver 
you more. — How goes it now, sir ? This news, which 



302 



THE WINTER'S TALE. 



ACT V. 



is called true, is so like an old tale, that the verity of 
it is ill strong suspicion. Has the king found his heir? 
3 Geut. Most true, if ever truth -were pregnant by 
circumstance : that which you hear, you '11 swear you 
see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of 
queen Hermione ; — her jewel about the neck of it ; — 
the letters of Antigonus found with it, which they know 
to be his character ; — the majesty of the creature, in 
resemblance of the mother; — the affection of noble- 
ness, which nature shows above her breeding, and 
many other evidences, proclaim her with all certainty 
to be the king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of 
the two kings ? 

2 Gent. No. 

3 Gent. Then you have lost a sight, which was to 
be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have 
beheld one joy crown another ; so, and in such man- 
ner, that, it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave of them, 
for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of 
eyes, liolding up of hands, with countenance of such 
distraction, that tliey were to be known by garment, 
not by favour.' Our king, being ready to leap out of 
himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that joy 
were now become a loss, cries, '• 0, thy mother, thy mo- 
ther !" then asks Bohemia forgiveness : then embraces 
his son-in-law ; then again worries he his daughter 
with clipping" her : now he thanks the old shepherd, 
which stands by, like a weather-beaten^ conduit of 
many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another 
encounter, which laines report to follow it, and undoes 
description to show* it. 

2 Gent. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that 
carried hence the child ? 

3 Gent. Like an okl tale still, which will have mat- 
ter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not an ear 
open. He was torn to pieces with a bear: this avou- 
ches the shepherd's son, who has not only his inno- 
cence (which seems much) to justify him, but a hand- 
kerchief, and rings of his that Paulina knows. 

1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his followers ? 

3 Gent. Wrecked, the same instant of their master's 
death, and in the view of the shepherd : so that all the 
instruments, which aided to expose the child, were even 
then lost, when it was found. But, ! the noble com- 
bat, that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina ! 
She had one eye declined for the loss of her husband, 
another elevated that the oracle was fulfilled : she 
lifted the princess from the earth, and so locks her in 
embracing, as if she would pin lier to her heart, that 
she might no more be in danger of losing her. 

1 Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the audi- 
ence of kings and princes, for by such was it acted. 

3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that 
which angled for mine eyes (caught the water, though 
not the fish) was, when at the relation of the qvieen's 
death, (with the manner how she came to 't. heavily* 
confessed, and lamented by the king) liow attentiveness 
wounded his daughter: till, from one sign of dolour to 
another, she did, with an alas ! I would fain say, 
bleed tears: for, lam sure, my heart wept blood. Who 
was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, 
all soiTowed : if all the world could have seen it, the 
woe had been universal. 

1 Gent. Are they returned to the court? 

3 Gent. No : the princess hearing of her mother's 
statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina, — a piece 
many years in doing, and now newly performed by 



that rare Italian master, Julio Romano ; 



who, had he 



himself eternity and could put breath into his work, 
would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is 
her ape : he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione, 
that, they say, one would speak to her, and stand in 
hope of answer. Thither with all greediness of affec- 
tion, are they gone, and there they intend to sup. 

2 Gent. I thought, she liad some great matter there 
in hand, for she hath privately, twice or thrice a day, 
ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed 
house. Shall we thither, and with our company piece 
the rejoicing ? 

1 Gent. Who would be thence, that has the benefit 
of access ? every wink of an eye, some new grace will 
be born : our absence makes us unthrifty to our know- 
ledge. Let 's along. [Exeunt Gentlemen. 

Aiit. Now, had I not the dash of my former life iu 
me, would preferment drop on my head. 'I brought 
the old man and his son aboard tlie prince : told him 
I heard them talk of a fardel, and I know not what ; 
but he at that time, over-fond of the shepherd's daugh- 
ter, (so he then took her to be) who began to be much 
sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather 
continuing, this mystery remained undiscovered. But 
't is all one to me ; for had I been the finder out of 
this secret, it would not have relished among my other 
discrediis. 

Enter Shepherd and Cloicn.^ in new apparel. 
Here come those I have done good to against my will, 
and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. 

Shcp. Come, boy ; I am past more children ; bvit thy 
sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. 

Clo. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with 
me this other day, because I was no gentleman born : 
see you these clothes ? say, you see them not, and think 
me still no gentleman born : you were best say, these 
robes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do, 
and try whether I am not now a gentleman born. 

Aid. I know, you are now, sir, a gentleman born. 

Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. 

Shcp. And so have T, boy. 

Clo. So you have ; — but I was a gentleman born 
before my father, for the king's son took me by the 
hand, and called me, brother; and then the two kings 
called my father, brother ; and then the prince, my 
brother, and the princess, my sifter, called my father, 
father ; and so we wept : and there was the first gen- 
tleman-like tears that ever we shed. 

Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. 

Clo. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so pre- 
posterous estate as m'c are. 

Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all 
the faults I have committed to your worship, and to 
give me your good report to the prince my master. 

Shep. Pr'ythee, son, do ; for we must be gentle, now 
we are gentlemen. 

Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life? 

Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship. 

Clo. Give me thy hand : I will swear to the prince, 
thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. 

Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. 

Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let 
boors and franklins say it, I '11 swear it. 

Shcp. How if it be false, son ? 

Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may 
swear it in the behalf of his friend : — And I '11 swear 
to the prince, thou art a talP fellow of thy hands, and 
that thou wilt not be drunk ; but I know, thou art no 
tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunk ; 



1 Countenance. 
' Brave, fine. 



3 EmbrarAng. 3 weather-bitten : in f. e. < do : in f. e. ' bravely : in f. e. * The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 



SCENE III. 



THE WmTER'S TALE. 



303 



but I '11 swear it, and I would thou wouldst be a tall 
fellow of thy hands. 

Aid. I will prove so, sir, to my power. 

Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow : if I do 
not wonder how thou darest venture to be drunk, not 
being a tall fellow, trust me not. — [Trumpets}] Hark ! 
the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see 
the queen's picture. Come, follow us : wc '11 be thy 
good masters. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. A Chapel in Paulina's 

House. 

Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, 

Camillo, Paulina, Lords, and Attendants. 

Leon. ! grave and good Paulina, the great comfort 
That I have had of thee ! 

Paul. What, sovereign sir, 

I did not well, I meant well. AH my services. 
You have paid home ; but that you liave vouchsaf'd. 
With your crown'd brother, and these your contracted 
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, 
It is a surplus of your grace, which never 
My life may last to answer. 

Leon. Paulina ! 

We honour you with trouble. But we came 
To see the statue of our queen : your gallery 
Have we pass'd through, not witliout much content 
In many singularities, but we saw not 
That which my daughter came to look upon, 
The statue of her mother. 

Paul. As she liv'd peerless, 

So her dead likeness, I do well believe, 
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon. 
Or hand of man hath done ; therefore I keep it 
Lonely, apart. But here it is : prepare 
To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever 
Still sleep mock'd death : behold ! and say, 't is well. 

[Paulina undraws a curtain, and discovers a statue.^ 
Music playing. — A pause. 
I like your silence : it tlie more shov/s off 
Your wonder; but yet speak: — first you, my liege. 
Comes it not something near ? 

Leon. Her natural posture. — 

Chide me, dear stone, that I may say, indeed, 
Thou art Herraione ; or, rather, thou art she 
In thy not chiding, for ghe was as tender 
As infancy, and grace. — But yet, Paulina, 
Herinione was not so much wrinkled • nothing 
So aged, as this seems. 

Pol. ! not by much. 

Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence ; 
Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her 
As she liv'd now. 

Leon. As now she might have done, 

So much to my good comfort, as it is 
Now piercing to my soul. O ! thus she stood, 
Even with such life of majesty, (warm life, 
As now it coldly stands) when first I woo'd her. 
I am asham'd : does not the stone rebuke me, 
For being more stone than it ? — 0, royal piece ! 
Tlicre 's magic in thy majesty, which has 
My evils conjur'd to remembrance ; and 
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, 
Standing like stone with thee. 

Per. And give me leave. 

And do not say 't is superstition, that [Kneeling.^ 

kneel, and thus implore her blessing. — Lady, 
Dear queen, that ended when I but began, 
Give me that hand of yours to kiss. 



Paul. O, patience ! 

The statue is but newly fix'd ; the colour 's 
Not dry. 

Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on. 
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away. 
So many summers dry : scarce any joy 
Did ever so long live ; no sorrow, 
But kill'd itself much sooner. 

Pol. Dear my brother. 

Let him that was the cause of this, have power 
To take off so much grief from you, as he 
Will piece up in himself. 

Paul. Indeed, my lord. 

If I had thought, the sight of my poor image 
Would thus have wrought you, (tor the stone is mine) 
I 'd not have show'd it. [Offers to draw.^ 

Leon. Do not draw the curtain. 

Paul. No longer shall you gaze on 't. lest your fancy 
May think anon it moves. 

Leon. Let be. let be ! 

Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already 
I am but dead, stone looking upon stone '^. — 
What was he that did make it ? — See. my lord. 
Would you not deem it breath' d, and that those veins 
Did verily bear blood ? 

Pol. Masterly done : 

The very life seems warm upon her lip. 

Leon. The fixture of her eve has motion in 't, 
As we are mock'd with art. 

Paul. I '11 draw the curtain. 

My lord 's almost so far transported, that 

[Offers again to draw.* 
He '11 think anon it lives. 

Leon. 0, sweet Paulina ! 

Make me to think so twenty years together: 
No settled senses of the world can match 
The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone. 

Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you ; but 
I could afflict you farther. 

Leon. Do, Paulina, 

For this affliction has a taste as sweet 
As any cordial comfort. — Still, methinks. 
There is an air comes from her : what fine chisel 
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me. 
For I vnll kiss her. 

Paul. Good my lord, forbear. [She stays him.'' 

The ruddiness upon her lip is wet : 
You '11 mar it, if you kiss it : stain your own 
With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain? 

Leon. No, not these twenty years. 

Per. So long could I 

Stand by, a looker on. 

Paul. Either forbear. 

Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you 
For more amazen;ent. If you can behold it, 
I '11 make the statue move indeed ; descend, 
And take you by the hand ; but then you '11 think, 
(Which I protest against) I am assisted 
I3y wicked powers. 

Leon. Wliat you can make her do, 

I am content to look on : what to speak, 
I am content to hear ; for 't is as easy 
To make her speak, as move. 

Paul. It is requir'd. 

You do awake your faith. Then, all stand still. 
On, those that think it is unlawful business 
I am about ; let them depart. 



Leon. 
No foot shall stir. 



Proceed : 



> Not in f. e. » The rest of this direction is not in f. e ' •» Not in f. e. 5 This line is not in f. e. « ' These directions are not in f. e. 



304 



THE WINTEK'S TALE. 



ACT V. 



Paid. Music awake her. Strike ! — [Music. 

'T is time ; descend ; be stone no more : approach ; 
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; 
I '11 fill yoiir grave up : stir : nay, come away ; 
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him 
Dear life redeems you. — You perceive, she stirs. 

[Hermionk descends slowly from the pedestal. 
Start not : her actions shall be holy, as 
You hear my spell is lawful : do not shun her, 
Until you see her die again, for then 
You kill her double. Nay, present your hand : 
When she was young you woo'd her ; now, in age, 
Is she become the suitor ? 

Leon. O ! she 's warm. [Embracing her. 

If this be magic, let it be an art 
Lawful as eating. 

Pol. She embraces him. 

Cam. She hangs about his neck. 
If she pertain to life, let her speak too. 

Pol. Ay : and make it manifest where she has liv'd. 
Or how stol'n from the dead ? 

Paid. That she is living, 

Were it but told you, should be hooted at 
Like an old tale ; but it appears she lives, 
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. — 
Please you to interpose, fair madam : kneel, 
And pray your mother's blessing. — Turn, good lady. 
Our Perdita is found. [Perdita kneels to Hermione. 



Her. 



You gods, look down. 



And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
Upon my daughter's head ! — Tell me, mine own, 
Where hast thou been preserv'd ? where liv'd ? how 
found 

I Take her by the hand : in f. e. 



Thy father's court ? for thou shalt hear, that I, 
Knowing by Paulina that the oracle 
Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd 
Myself to see the issue. 

Paul. There 's time enough for that, 

Lest they desire upon this push to trouble 
Your joys with like relation. — Go together, 
You precious winners all : your exultation 
Partake to every one. I, an old turtle. 
Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there, 
My mate, that 's never to be found again, 
Lament till I am lost. 

Leo7i. O peace, Paulina ! 

Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent. 
As [ by thine, a wife : this is a match, 
And made between 's by vows. Thou hast found mine; 
But how is to be question'd, for I saw her, 
As I thought, dead ; and have in vain said many 
A prayer upon her grave : I '11 not seek far 
(For him, I partly know his mind) to find thee 
An honourable husband. — Come, Camillo, 
And take her hand,' whose worth, and honesty, 
Is richly noted, and here justified 
By us, a pair of kings. — Let 's from this place. — 
What ! — Look upon my brother : — both your pardons, 
That e'er I put between your holy looks 
My ill-suspicion. — This your son-in-law, 
And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing) 
[s troth-plight to your daughter. — Good Paulina, 
Lead us from lience, where we may leisurely 
Each one demand, and answer to his part 
Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first 
We were dissever'd. Hastily lead away. [Exeunt. 



t 



KING JOHN. 



DEAMATIS PERSONS. 



King John 

Prince Henry, his Son. 

Arthur, Duke of Bretagne. 

William Mareshall, Earl of Pembroke. 

Geffrey Fitz-Peter, Earl of Es.sex. 

William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury. 

Robert Bit.ot. Earl of Norfolk. 

Hubert De Burgh, Chamberlain to the King. 

PiOBERT FaULCONBRIDGE. 

Philip Faulcoxbridge. 

James Gurney, Servant to Lady Faulconbridge. 

Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, 

SCENE, sometimes in England, 



Peter of Pomfret. 

Philip, King of France. 

JjEwis, the Dauphin. 

Archduke of Austria. 

Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope's Legate. 

Melun, a French Lord. 

Chatillon, Ambassador from France. 

Elinor, Widow of King Henry H. 

Constance, Mother to Arthur. 

Blanch, Daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile. 

Lady Faulconbridge. 

Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants. 

and sometimes in France. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L — Northampton. A Room of State in the 

Palace. 

Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Pembroke, Essex, 
Salisbury, and Others^ with Chatillon. 

K. John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France 
with us? 

Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the king of France, 
In my behaviour, to the majesty, 
The borrow'd majesty, of England here. 

Eli. A strange beginning! — borrow'd majesty? 

K. John. Silence, good mother: hear the embassy. 

Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf 
Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, 
Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim 
To thi.s fair island, and the territories. 
To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine ) 
Desiring thee to lay aside the sword 
Which sways usurpingly these several titles, 
And put the same into young Arthur's hand. 
Thy nephew, and right royal sovereign. 

K. John. What follows, if we disallow of this? 

Chat. The proud control of fierce and bloody war, 
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. 

K. John. Here have we war for war, and blood for 
blood, 
Controlment for controlment : so answer France. 

Chat. Tlicn take my king's defiance from my mouth, 
The farthest limit of my embassy. 

A'. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace. 
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France ; 
For ere tliou canst report I will be there, 
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard. 
So, hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath. 
And sudden' presage of your own decay. — 
An honourable conduct let him have : 
Pembroke, look to "t. Farewell, Chatillon. 

\Exeunt Chatillon and Pembroke. 



Eli. What now, my son ? have I not ever said, 
How that ambitious Constance would not cease. 
Till she had kindled France, and all the world, 
Upon the right and party of her son ? 
This might have been prevented, and made whole. 
With very easy arguments of love. 
Which now the manage' of two kingdoms must 
With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. 

K. John. Our strong possession, and our right for us. 

Eli. Your strong possession, much more than your 
right. 
Or else it must go wrong with you, and me : 
So much my conscience whispers in your ear, 
Which none but heaven, and you, and I, shall hear. 
Enter the Sheriff of Northamptonshire, who whispers 
Essex. 

Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy, 
Come from the country to be judg'd by you. 
That e'er I lieard : shall I produce the men? 

K. John. Let them approach. — [Exit Sheriff. 

Our abbeys, and our priories, shall pay 

Re-enter Sheriffs with Robert Faulconbridge, and 
Philip, his ba.ftard Brother. 
This expedition's charge. — What men are you? 

Bast. Your faithful subject I ; a gentleman 
Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son. 
As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge, 
A soldier, by the honour-giving hand 
Of Cceur-de-lion knighted in the field. 

K. John. What art thou ? 

Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. 

K. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir ? 
You came not of one mother, then, it seems. 

Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty king ; 
That is well known, and, as I think, one father : 
But, for the certain knowledge of that truth, 
I put you o'er to heaven, and to my mother : 
Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. 



' sullen : in f. e. 2 Conduct. 



20 



306 



KING JOHN. 



ACT I. 



Your father's heir must have your father's land. 

Rob. Shall, then, my father's will be of no force 
To dispossess that child which is not his ? 

Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, 
Than was his will to get me, as I think. 

Eli. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge, 
And, like thy brother, to enjoy thy land. 
Or the reputed son of Cccur-de-lion, 
Lord of thy presence, and no land beside ? 

Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape, 
And I had his, sir Robert his,' like him ; 
And if my legs were two such riding-rods, 
My arms such eel-skins stuff 'd ; my face so thin, 
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose, 
Lest men should say, '• Look, where three-farthings 



goes 



V* 



Eli. Out on thee, rude man ! thou dost shame thy 
mother. 
And wound her honour with this diffidence. 

Bast. I, madam ? no, I have no rea.son for it : 
That is my brother's plea, and none of mine; 
The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out 
At lea.?t from fair five hundred pound a year. 
Heaven guard my mother's honour, and my land ! 

K. John. A good blunt fellow. — Why, being younger 
born, 
Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance ? 

Bast. I know not why, except to get the land. 
But once he slander'd me with bastardy : 
IJut whe'r I be as true begot, or no. 
That still I lay upon my mother's head; 
But, that I am as well begot, my liege, 
(Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me !) 
Compare our faces, and be judge yourself. 
If old sir Robert did beget us both. 
And were our father, and this son like him, 

! old sir Robert, father, on my knee 

1 give heaven thanks, I was not like to thee. 

K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us 
here ! 

Eli. He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face ; 
The accent of his tongue affeeteth him. 
Do you not read some tokens of my son 
In the large composition of this man ? 

K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts, 
And finds them perfect Richard. — Sirrah, speak; 
What doth move you to claim your brother's land? 

Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my father, 
With that half-face^ would he have all my land : 
A half-fac'd groat' five hundred pound a year ! 

Rob. My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd. 
Your brother did employ my father much. 

Bast. Well, sir ; by this you cannot get my land : 
Your tale must be, how he employ'd my mother. 

Rob. And once despatch'd him in an embassy 
To Germany, there, with the emperor, 
To treat of high affairs touching that time. 
The advantage of his absence took the king, 
And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's ; 
Where how he did prevail I shame to speak, 
But truth is truth : large lengths of seas and shores 
Between my father and my mother lay. 
As I have heard my father speak himself, 
When this same lusty gentleman was got. 
Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd 
His lands to me ; and took it, on his death, 
That this, my mother's son, was none of his : 
And, if he were, he came into the world 
Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. 
Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, 
My father's land, as was my father's will. 

K. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate : 
Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him ; 
And if she did play false, the fault was hers, 
Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands 
That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother 
Who, as you say, took pains to get this son. 
Had of your father claim'd this son for his ? 
In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept 
This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world ; 
In sooth, he might : then, if he were my brother's, 
My brother might not claim him, nor your father, 
Being none of his, refuse him. — This concludes, — 
My mother's son did get your father's heir ; 

1 Folio : half that face. » The groat of Henry VII., -with the sovereign's head in profile, then a new practice, on it. 
Ter coin of Elizabeth, very thin, with a rose at the back of the ear. ^ Head. « Not in f. e. t Evening. 



And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, ^ 
Would I might never stir from off this place, 
I 'd give it every foot to have this face : 
I would not be sir Nob* in any case. 

Eli. I like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy fortune. 
Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me ? 
I am a soldier, and now bound to France. 

Bast. Brother, take you my land, I '11 take my chance. 
Your face hath got five hundred pounds a year. 
Yet sell your face for five pence, and 't is dear. — 
Madam, I '11 follow you unto the death. 

Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me, thither. 

Bast. Our country manners give our betters way. 

K. John. What is thy name? 

Bast. Philip, my liege ; so is my name begun ; 
Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. 

K. John. From henceforth bear his name whose 
form thou bearest. 
Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great : 

[Bast, kneels and rises.* 
Arise sir Richard, and Plantagenet. 

Bast. Brother, by the mother's side, give me your 
hand : 
My father gave me honour, yours gave land, 
Now blessed be the hour, by night or day. 
When I was got Sir Robert was away. 

Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet ! — 
I am thy grandame, Richard : call me so. 

Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth : what 
though ? 
Something about, a little from the right. 

In at the window, or else o'er the hatch : 
Who dares not stir by day. must walk by night. 

And have is have, however men do catch. 
Near or far off, well won is still well shot. 
And I am I, howe'er I was begot. 

K. John. Go, Faulconbridge: now hast thou thy 
desire ; 
A landless knight makes thee a landed 'squire. — 
Come, madam, and come, Richard : we must speed 
For France, for France, for it is more than need. 

Bast. Brother, adieu : good fortune come to thee, 
For thou wast got i' the way of honesty. 

[Exe^lnt all but the Bastard. 
A foot of honour better than I was, 
But many, ah, many foot of land the worse. 
Well, now can I make any Joan a lady : — 
" Good den^ sir Richard."—" God-a-mercy, fellow ;" 
And if his name be George, I '11 call him Peter ; 
For new-made honour doth forget men's names : 
'T is too respective, and too sociable. 
For your diversion, now, your traveller, 

s Robert's. ♦ A sil- 



SCENE I. 



KING JOHN, 



307 



He and his tooth-pick' at my worsliip's mess ; 

And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd, 

Why then I suck my teeth, and catechize 

My picked' man of countries : — " My dear sir," 

Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin, 

" I shall beseech you" — that is question now • 

And then comes answer like an ABC-book : — 

"O sir," says answer, " at your best command; 

At your employment ; at your service, sir :" — 

" No, sir," says question, " I, sweet sir, at yours :" 

And so, ere answer knows what question would, 

Saving in dialogue of compliment, 

And talking of the Alps, and Apennines, 

The Pyreneans, and the river Po, 

It draws toward supper, in conclusion so. 

But this is worshipful society. 

And fits a mounting spirit, like myself; 

For he is but a bastard to the time, 

That doth not smack of observation ; 

And so am I, whether I smack, or no ; 

And not alone in habit and device. 

Exterior form, outward accoutrement, 

But from the inward motion to deliver 

Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth : 

Which, though I will not practise to deceive, 

Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn, 

For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. — 

But who comes in such haste, in riding robes ? 

What woman-post is this ? hath she no husband, 

That will take pains to blow a horn before her ? 

Enter Lady Faulconbridge atid James Gurney. 
O me ! it is my mother. — How no, good lady ! 
What brings you here to court so hastily ? 

Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother ? where is he, 
That holds in chase mine honour up and down ? 

Baxt. My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son? 
Colbrand' the giant, that same mighty man? 
Is it Sir Robert's son, that you seek so ? 

Lady F. Sir Robert's son ! Ay, thou unreverend boy, 
Sir Robert's son: why scorn'st thou at sir Robert? 
He is sir Robert's son, and so art thou. 

Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile ? 

Gur. Good leave, good Philip. 

Bast. Philip?* — sparrow! — Jaraes, 

There 's toys abroad : anon I '11 tell thee more. 

[Exit Gurney. 



Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son : 

Sir Robert might have eat his part in me 

Upon Good-Friday, and ne'er broke his fast. 

Sir Robert could do well : marry, to confess, 

Could not get me f sir Robert could not do it : 

We know his handy-work. — Therefore, good mother, 

To whom am I beholding for these limbs ? 

Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. 

Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy brother, too, 
That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour? 
What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave ? 

Bast. Knight, knight, good mother, — Basilisco-' 
like. 
What ! I am dubb'd ; I have it on my shoulder. 
But, mother. I am not sir Robert's son ; 
I have disclaim'd sir Robert, and my land; 
Legitimation, name, and all is gone. 
Then, good my mother let me know my father : 
Some proper man, I hope ; who was it, mother ? 

Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge ? 

Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil. 

Lady F. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father. 
By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd 
To make room for liim in my husband's bed. — 
Heaven ! lay not my transgression to my charge. 
Thou' art the issue of my dear offence. 
Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence. 

Bast. Now, by this light, were I to get again, 
Madam, I would not wish a better father. 
Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, 
And so doth yours ; your fault was not your folly : 
Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, 
Subjected tribute to commanding love. 
Against whose fury and unmatched force 
The aweless lion could not wage the fight. 
Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. 
He, that perforce robs lions of their hearts. 
May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, 
With all my heart I thank thee for my father. 
Who lives, and dares but say thou didst not well 
When I was got, I '11 send his soul to hell. 
Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin ; 

And they shall say, when Richard me begot, 
If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin : 

Who says it was, he lies : I say, 't was not. 

[Exeunt, 



ACT II 



SCENE I.— France. Before the Walls of Angiers. 

Enter, on one side, the Archduke of Austria, and 
Forces ; on the other. Philip, King of France, and 
Forces; Lewis, Cosstance, Ahthvr, and Attendants. 
Lew. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. — 

Arthur, that great fore-runner of thy blood, 

Richard, that robbd the lion of his heart, 

And fought the holy wars in Palestine, 

By this brave duke came early to his grave : 

And. for amends to his posterity. 

At our importance* hither is he come. 

To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf; 

And to rebuke the usurpation 

Of thy unnatural uncle, English John : 



Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. 

Arth. God shall forgive you Cceur-de-lion's death, 
The rather, that you give his offspring life, 
Shadowing his right under your wings of war. 
I give you welcome with a powerless hand. 
But with a heart full of unstrained' love : 
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. 

Lciv. A noble boy ! Who would not do thee right ? 

Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, 
As seal to this indenture of my love ; 
That to my home I will no more return, 
Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France, 
Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore, 
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides, 
And coops from other lands her islanders. 



J Not in general use in Encland, when the play was written. ' Spruce, trim. » The Danish giant, whom Guy of Warwick cliscom 
fited in the presence of King Athelstan. ♦ An old name given to a sparrow. * Could he get me : in f. e. 'A braggadocio character in 
Boliraan and Persida, a play of the time. He is often alluded to by old writers. "> Folio : That. » Importunity. » unstained : in f. e. 



308 



KING JOHN. 



ACT n. 



Even till that England, hedg'd in Math Ihe main, 
That water-walled bulwark, still secure 
And confident from i'oreiizn purposes, 
Even till that utmost corner of the west 
Salute thee for her king : till then, fair boy, 
Will I not think of home, but follow arms. 

Const. ! take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, 
Till your strong hand t^hall help to give him strength, 
To make a more requital to your love. 

Aust The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift their 
swords 
In such a just and charitable war. 

K. Phi. Well then, to work. Our cannon shall be 
Against the brows of this resisting towTi : — [bent 

Call for our chicfest men of dii cipline, 
To cull the plots of best advantages. 
We '11 lay before this town our royal bones, 
Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood. 
But we will make it subject to this boy. 

Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy, 
Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood. 
My lord Chatillon may from England bring 
That right in peace which here we urge in war ; 
And then we shall I'cpent each drop of blood, 
That hot rash haste so indiscreetly^ shed. 
Enter Chatillon. 

K. Phi. A wonder, lady ! — lo, upon thy wish. 
Our messenger, Chatillon. is arriv'd. — 
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord ; 
We coldly pause for thee : Chatillon, speak. 

Chat. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege, 
And stir them up against a mightier task. 
England, impatient of your just demands, 
Hath put himself in arms : the adverse winds, 
Whose leisure I have stay"d, have given him time 
To land his legions all as soon as I. 
His marches are expedient^ to this town ; . 
His forces strong, his soldiers confident. 
With hijn along is come the mother-queen, 
As^ Ate stirring him to blood and strife : 
With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain; 
With them a bastard of the king's deceased, 
And all th' unsettled humours of the land : 
Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, 
With ladies' faces, and ilerce dragons' spleens. 
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, 
Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs. 
To make a hazard of new fortunes here. 
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, 
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er. 
Did never float upon the swelling tide, 
To do oflence and scath in Christendom. 

\Drums heard. 
The interruption of their churlish drums 
Cuts oS'more circumstance: they are at hand, 
To parley, or to fight ; therefore, prepare. 

K. Phi. How much unlook'd for is this expedition ! 

Aiist. By how much unexpected, by so much 
We must awake endeavour for defence, 
For courage momiteth with occasion : 
Let them be welcome, then ; we are prepared. 

Enter King John, Elinor, Blanch, the Bastardy 
Pembroke, and Forces. 
K. John. Peace be to France, if France in peace 
permit 
Our just and lineal entrance to our own : 
If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven ; 
Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct 



Their proud contempt that beats his peace to heaven. 

K. Phi. Peace be to England, if that war return 
From France to England, there to live in peace. 
England we love ; and. for that England's sake, 
With burden of our armour here we sweat. 
This toil of ours should be a work of thine ; 
But thou from loving England art so far. 
That thou hast vmder-wrought her lawful king, 
Cut ofi"the sequence of posterity. 
Outfaced infant state, and done a rape 
Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. 
Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face : 

{Pointing to Arthur.* 
These eyes, thete brows, were moulded out of his : 
This little abstract doth contain that large. 
Which died in Geflfrey, and the hand of time 
Shall draw tliis brief into as huge a volume. ^ 
That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, 
And this his son : England was Geff'rey's right. 
And this is Geffrey's.'* In the name of God, 
How comes it, then, that thou art calld a king, 
W^lien living blood doth in these temples beat. 
Which owe the crown that thou o'crmasterest ? 

K. John. From whom hast thou this great commis- 
sion, France, 
To draw my answer from thy articles ? 

K. Phi. From that supernal Judge, that stirs good 
thoughts 
In any breast of strong authority. 
To look into the blots and stains of right. 
That Judge hath made me guardian to this boy; 
Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong, 
And by whose help I mean to chastise it. 

K. John. Alack ! thou dost usurp authority. 

K. Phi. Excuse : it is to beat usurping down. 

Eli. Who is it. thou dost call usurper. France ? 

Con.st. Let me make answer : — thy usurping son. 

Eli. Out, insolent ! thy bastard shall be king, 
That thou may'st be a queen, and check the world ! 

Con.^t. My bed was ever to thy son as true, 
As thine was to thy husband, and this boy 
Liker in feature to his father Geffrey, 
Than thou and Jolin, in manners being as like, 
As I'ain to water, or devil to his dam. 
My boy a bastard ! By my soul, I think. 
His father never was .'^o true begot : 
It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. 

Eli. There 's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father. 

Co7i.sf. There 's a good grandam, boy, that would 
blot thee. 

Aust. Peace ! 

Bast. Hear the crier. 

Aust. What the devil art thou ? 

Bast. One that will play the devil, sir. with you, 
An 'a may catch your hide and you alone. 
You are the hare of whom the proverb goes. 
Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard. 
I '11 smoke your skin-coat, and I catch you right : 
Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i' faith. 

Blanch. ! well did he become that lion's robe, 
That did disrobe the lion of that robe. 

Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him. 
As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass. — 
But, ass, I '11 take that burden from your back, 
Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. 

Aust. What cracker is this same, that deafs our ears 
With this abundance of superfluous breath ? 

K. Phi. Lewis, determine what we shall do straight.* 



1 indirectly : in f. e. 2 Expeditious. 
line is given to Austria, in the folio. 



^ An : in f. e. * Not in f. e. ' The old copies continue the sentence to the end of the line. ^ This 



SCENE I. 



KING JOHK 



309 



Lew. Women and fools, break off your conference. — 
King John, this is the very sum of all : 
England, and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, 
In right of Arthur do I claim of thee. 
Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms ? 

Jti John. My life as soon : I do defy thee, France. — 
Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand. 
And out of my dear love I '11 give thee more, 
Than e'er the coward hand of France can win : 
Submit thee, boy. 

Eli. Come to thy grandam, child. 

Const. Do, child, go to it' grandam, child : 
Give grandam kingdom, and it' grandam will 
Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig : 
There 's a good grandam. 

Arth. Good my mother, peace ! 

I would that I were low laid in my grave : [Weeping} 
I am not worth this coil that 's made for me. 

Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. 

Const. Now shame upon you, whe'r she does, or no ! 
His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, 
Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes. 
Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee : 
Ay, with these crystal beads shall heaven be brib'd 
To do him justice, and revenge on you. 

Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth ! 

Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth ! 
Call not me slanderer : thou, and thine, usurp 
The dominations, royalties, and rights, 
Of this oppressed boy.* thy eld'st son's son, 
Iiifortunate in nothing but in thee : 
Thy sins are visited on this poor child ; 
The canon of the law is laid on him. 
Being but tlie second generation 
Removed from Ihy sin-conceiving womb. 

K. John. Bedlam, have done. 

Con.st. I have but this to say, — 

That he is not only plagued for her sin. 
But God hath made her sin and her. the plague 
On this removed issue, plagu'd for her, 
And with her plague her sin : his injury 
Her injury the beadle to her sin, 
All punish'd in the person of this child, 
And all for her, a plague upon her ! 

Eli. Thou unadvised scold. I can produce 
A will, that bars the title of tliy son. 

Const. Ay, who doubts that ? a will ! a wicked "will; 
A woman's will ; a canker'd grandam's will ! 

K. Phi. Peace, lady ! pause, or be more temperate. 
It ill beseems t!iis presence, to cry aim^ 
To these ill-tuned repetitions. — 
Some trumpet summon hither to the walls 
These men of Angiers : let us hear them speak, 
Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. 

Tnnnpets sovnd. Enter Citizen.-^ upon the ivalls. 

Cit. Who is it, that hath warn'd* us to the walls ? 

K. Phi. 'Tis France, for England. 

K. John. England, for itself. 

You men of Angiers. and my loving subjects, — 

A'. Phi. Youlovingmenof Angiers. Arthur's subjects, 
Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle. 

K.John. For our advantage; therefore, hear us first. — 
These flags of France, that are advanced here 
B'^forc the eye and prospect of your town, 
Have hither march'd to your endamagement : 
The cannons have their bowels full of wrath. 
And ready mounted are they, to spit forth 
Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls : 



All preparation for a bloody siege, 

And merciless proceeding by these French, 

Come 'fore' your city's eyes, your winking gates; 

And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones. 

That as a waist do girdle you about, 

By the compulsion of their ordnance 

By this time from their fixed beds of lime 

Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made 

For bloody power to rush upon your peace. 

But, on the sight of us, your lawful king. 

Who painfully, with much expedient march. 

Have brought a countercheck before your gates. 

To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks. 

Behold, tlie French amaz'd vouchsafe a parle; 

And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, 

To make a shaking fever in your walls. 

They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke, 

To make a faithless error in your ears : 

Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, 

And let us in, your king ; whose labour'd spirits, 

Forwearicd in this action of swift speed, 

Crave harbourage within your city walls. 

K. Phi. When I have said, make answer to us both. 
Lo ! in this right hand, whose protection 
Is most divinely vow'd upon the right 
Of him it holds, .stands young Plantagenet, 
Son to the elder brother of this man. 
And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys. 
For this down-trodden equity, we tread 
In warlike march these greens before your town; 
Being no farther enemy to you, . \ 

Than the constraint of hospitable zeal, 
In the relief of this oppressed child, 
Religiously provokes. Be pleased, then. 
To pay that duty which you truly owe, 
To him that owes" it, namely, this young prince ; 
And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear. 
Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up : 
Our cannon's malice vainly shall be spent 
Against th' invulnerable clouds of heaven ; 
And with a blessed and unvex'd retire, 
With unhack'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd, 
We will bear home that lusty blood again. 
Which here we came to spout against your town, 
And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace. 
But if you fondly pass our profTer'd offer, 
'T is not the roundure' of your old-fae'd walls 
Can hide you from our messengers of war, 
Tliough all these English, and their discipline. 
Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. 
Then, tell us ; shall your city call us lord. 
In tliat belialf which we have challeng'd it. 
Or shall we give the signal to our rage, 
And stalk in blood to our possession ? 

Cit. In brief, we are the king of England's subjects : 
For him, and in his right, we hold this to^^^^. 

K. John. Acknowledge then the king, and let me in. 

Cit. That can we not : but he that proves the king. 
To him will wo prove loyal : till that time. 
Have we ramm'd up our gates against tlie world. 

K. John. Doth not the crown of England prove the 
And, if not that, I bring you witnesses, [king ? 

Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed. — 

Ba.<it. Bastards, and else. [Aside.^ 

K. John. To verify our title with their lives. 

K. Phi. As many, and as well-born bloods as those, — 

Bast. Some bastards, too. [Aside.^ 

K. Phi. Stand in his face to contradict his claim. 



1 Not in f. e. 
e 9 Not in f. e. 



a f. e. insert : This is 3 Give the word, to take aim. * Summoned. 5 Comfort : in f. e. « Owns. ' Folio : rounder 



/ 



310 



KING JOHN. 



ACT ir. 



Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, 
We for the worthiest hold the right from both. 

K. John. Then God forgive the sins of all those souls, 
That to their everlasting residence 
Before the dew of evening fall shall fleet, 
In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king ! 

K. Phi. Amen, Amen. — Mount, chevaliers ! to arms ! 

Bast. St. George, that swing'd the dragon, and e'er 
since, 
Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door. 
Teach us some fence ! [To Austria.] Sirrah, were I 

at home, 
At your den, sirrah, with your lioness, 
I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide, 
And make a monster of you. 

Aitft. Peace ! no more. 

Bast. ! tremble, for vou hear the lion roar. 

K. John. Up higher to the plain ; where we '11 set 
forth 
In best appointment all our regiments. 

Bast. Speed, then, to take advantage of the field. 

K. Phi. It shall be so j — [To Lewis.] and at the 
other hill 
Command the rest to stand. — God and our right ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. 

Alarums and Excursions ; then a Retreat. Enter a 

French Herald^ with trumpets, to the gates. 

F. Her. You men of Angicrs, open wide your gates. 
And let young Arthur, duke of Brctagne, in. 
Who by the hand of France this day hath made 
Much work for tears in many an English mother. 
Whose sons lie scatter'd on tlie bleeding ground : 
Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, 
Coldly embracing the diseoloiir'd earth, 
And victory, with little loss, doth play 
Upon the dancing banners of the French, 
Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd. 
To enter conquerors, and to proclaim 
Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours. 
Enter an English Herald, icith trumpets. 

E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells : 
King John, your king and England's, doth approach. 
Commander of this hot malicious day. 
Their armours, that marchd hence so silver-bright, 
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood. 
There stuck no plume in any English crest, 
That is removed by any staff of France : 
Our colours do return in those same hands. 
That did display them when we first march'd forth ; 
And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come 
Oar lusty English, all with purpled hands, 
Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes. 
Open your gates, and give the A'ictors way. 

Cit.^ Heralds, from off our towers we might behold. 
From first to last, the onset and retire 
Of both your armies ; whose equality 
By our best eyes cannot be censured ; 
Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd blows; 
Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted 

power : 
Both are alike ; and both alike we like. 
One must prove greatest : while they weigh so even, 
We hold our town for neither, yet for both. 
Enter, at one side, King John, tvith his poiver, Elinor, 

Blanch, and the Bastard ; at the other, King Philip, 

Lewis, Austria, and forces. 



K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast 
away ? 
Say, shall the current of our right roam on ? 
Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, 
Sliall leave his native channel, and o'er-swell 
With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, 
Unless thou let his silver waters keep 
A peaceful progress to the ocean. [blood, 

K. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of 
In this hot trial, more than we of France ; 
K ather, lost more : and by this hand I swear, 
That sways the earth this climate overlooks, 
Before we will lay down our just-borne arms. 
We '11 put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear, 
Or add a royal number to the dead, 
Gracing the scroll, that tells of this wars loss-, 
With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. 

Bast. Ha ! majesty, how high thy glory towers. 
When the rich blood of kings is set on fire. 

! now doth death line his dead chaps with steel ; 
The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs • 
And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men. 

In undctermin'd differences of kings. — 

Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus ? 

Cry, havock, kings ! back to the stained field, 

Yovx equal potent, firey-kindled spirits ! 

Then let confusion of one part confirm 

The other's peace ; till then, blows, blood, and death ! 

K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? 

K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England who 's your 
king ? 

Cit. The king of England, when we know the king. 

K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his right. 

K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy. 
And bear procession of our person here ; 
Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. 

Cit. A greater power than we denies all this : 
And, till it be undoubted, we do lock 
Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates, 
Kings of our fear : until our fear, resolv'd, 
Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd. 

Bast. By heaven, these scroyles* of Angiers flout 
you. kings, 
And stand securely on their battlements. 
As in a theatre, whence they gape and point 
At your industrious scenes and acts of death. 
Your royal presences be rul'd by me : 
Do like the mutincs^ of Jerusalem, 
Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend 
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town. 
By east and west let France and England mount 
Their battering cannon, charg'd to the mouths, 
Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down 
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city : 

1 'd play incessantly upon these jades, 
Even till unfenced desolation 

Leave them as naked as the ^ailgar air. 

That done, dissever your united strengths, 

And part your mingled colours once again : 

Turn face to face, and bloody point to point ; 

Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth 

Out of one side her happy minion. 

To whom in favour she shall give the day, 

And kiss him with a glorious victory. 

How like you this wild counsel, mighty states ? 

Smacks it not something of the policy ? 

K. John. Now. by the sky that hangs above our heads, 
I like it well. — France, shall we knit our powers. 



' The folio fives this and the other speeches with the prefix Cit. to Hubert. 

the siege by Titus. 



2 Fr. escrouilles. scabs. ^ The mutineers or factions dnring 



SCENE ir. 



KING JOHN. 



311 



And lay this Anglers even with the ground, 
Then, after, fight who shall be king of it ? 

Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, 
Being wrong'd as we are by this peevish town, 
Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, 
As we will ours, against these saucy walls ; 
And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, 
Why, then defy each other, and pell-mell, 
Make work upon ourselves for heaven, or hell. 

K. Phi. Let it be so. — Say, where will you assault. 

K. John. We from the west will send destruction 
Into this city's bosom. 

Aust. I from the north. 

K. Phi. Our thunder from the south, 

Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. 

Bast. 0, prudent discipline ! From north to south, 
Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth. 

[Aside. 
I '11 stir them to it. — Come, away, away ! 

Cit. Hear us, great kings : vouchsafe a while to stay. 
And I shall show you peace, and fair-fac'd league ; 
Win you this city without stroke, or wound : 
Ilescue those breathing lives to die in beds, 
That here come sacrifices for the field. 
Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. 

K. John. Speak on, with favour: we are bent to hear. 

Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the lady Blanch, 
Is niece' to England : look upon the years 
Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid. 
If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, 
Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch ? 
[f zealous love should go in search of virtue, 
Where should he find it purer than in Blancli ? 
If love ambitious sought a match of birth. 
Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch? 
Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, 
Is the young Dauphin eveiy way complete : 
If not complete of,^ say, he is not she ; 
And she again wants nothing, to name want. 
If want it be not, that she is not he : 
He is the half part of a blessed man, 
Left to be finished by such a^ she ; 
And she a fair divided excellence, 
Wliose fulness of perfection lies in him. 
O ! two such silver currents, when they join, 
Do glorify the banks that bound them in : 
And two such sliores to two such streams made one, 
Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings. 
To these two princes, if you marry them. 
This union shall do more than battery can 
To our fast-closed gates ; for, at this match, 
With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, 
The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope. 
And give you entrance ; but, without this match, 
The sea enraged is not half so deaf, 
Lions more confident, mountains and rocks 
More free from motion : no, not death himself 
In mortal fury half so peremptory, 
As we to keep this city. 

Bast. Here 's a stay. 

That shakes the rotten carcase of old death 
Out of liis rags ! Here 's a large mouth, indeed. 
That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and seas ; 
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions. 
As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs. 
What cannoneer begot this lusty blood ? 
He speaks plain cannon-fire, and smoke, and bounce ; 
He gives the bastinado with his tongue : 
Our ears arc cudgell'd ; not a word of hi.s, 

1 near : in f. e. ^ Complete in the qualities. 3 as : in f. e. 



But buffets better than a fist of France. 
Zounds ! I was never so bethump'd wdth words, 
Since I first call'd my brother's father dad. 

Eli. Son, list to this conjunction; make this match; 
Give with our niece a dowry large enough, 
For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie 
Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown. 
That yond' green boy shall have no sun to ripe 
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. 
I see a yielding in the looks of France ; 
Mark, how they whisper : urge them while their souls 
Are capable of this ambition. 
Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath 
Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse. 
Cool and congeal again to what it was. 

Cit. Why answer not the double majesties 
This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town ? 

K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been forward 
first 
To speak unto this city : what say you ? 

K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, 
Can in this book of beauty read, I love. 
Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen : 
For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, 
And all that we upon this side the sea, 
(Except this city now by us besieg'd) 
Find liable to our crown and dignity. 
Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich 
In titles, honours, and promotions. 
As she in beauty, education, blood. 
Holds hand with any princess of the world. [face, 

K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy ? look in the lady's 

Lew. I do, my lord ; and in her eye I find 
A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, 
The shadow of myself form'd in her eye. 
Which, being but the shadow of your son. 
Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow. 
I do protest, I 've never lov'd myself. 
Till now infixed I behold myself 
Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. 

[ Whispers tvith Blanch. 

Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye, 
Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow. 
And quarter'd in her heart, he doth espy 

Himself love's traitor : this is pity now. 
That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there should be. 
In such a love, so vile a lout as he. 

Blanch. My uncle's will in this respect is mine : 
If he see aught in you, that makes him like. 
That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, 
I can with ease translate it to my will ; 
Or if you will, to speak more properly, 
I will enforce it easily to my love. 
Fartlier I will not flatter you, my lord, 
That all I see in you is worthy love. 
Than this, — tliat nothing do I see in you. 
Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your 

judge. 
That I can find should merit any hate. 

K. John. What say these young ones ? What say 
you, my niece ? 

Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do 
Wliat you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. 

A'. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin : can you love 
this lady ? 

Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love, 
For I do love her most unfeignedly. 

K. John. Then do I give Volque.<sen, Touraine, Maine, 
Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces, 



312 



KING JOHN. 



ACT in. 



With her to thee ; and this addition more, 
Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. — 
Philip of Fiance, if thou be pleasM withal, 
Command thy son a,nd daiighter to join hands. 

K. Phi. It likes us well. — Young princes, close 
your hands. [They join hands} 

Aust. And your lips too ; for, I am wcll-assur'd, 
That I did so, when I was finst assur'd^ 

K. Phi. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates, 
Let in that amity which you have made; 
For at saint Mary's chapel presently 
The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd. — 
Is not the lady Constance in this troop? 
I know, she is not ; for this match, made up. 
Her presence would have interrupted much. 
Where is she and her son ? tell me, who knows. 

Lew. She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent. 

K. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we have 
Will give her sadness very little cure. — [made. 

Brother of England, how may we content 
This widow'd lady ? In her right we came, 
Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, 
To our own vantage. 

K. John. We will heal up all ; 

For we '11 create young Arthur duke of Bretagne, 
And earl of Richmond, and this rich fair town 
We make him lord of. — Call the lady Constance: 
Some speedy messenger bid her repair 
To our solemnity. — I trust we shall, 
If not fill up the measure of her will. 
Yet in some measure satisfy her so. 
That we shall stop her exclamation. 
Go we, as well as haste will suffer us. 
To this imlook'd for, unprepared pomp. 

[Exeunt all but the Bastard. — The Citizens retire 
from the ivalls. 

Bast. Mad world ! mad kings ! mad composition ! 



John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, 

Hath willingly departed with a part ; 

And France, whose armour conscience buckled oil; 

Whom zeal and charity brought to the field, 

As God's own soldier, rounded^ in the ear 

With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil, 

That broker that still breaks the pate of faith. 

That daily break-vow, he that w^ins of all, 

Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids, — 

Who having no external thing to lose 

But the word maid. — cheats the poor maid of that ; 

That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling commodity, — 

Commodity, the bias of the world ; 

The world, who of itself is poised well, 

Made to run even, upon even ground. 

Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias, 

This sway of motion, this commodity. 

Makes it take head from all indifferency. 

From all direction, purpose, course, intent : 

And this same bias, this commodity. 

This bawd, this broker, this all -changing word, 

Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, 

Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aim*, 

From a resolv'd and honourable war, 

To a most base and vile-concluded peace. 

And why rail I on this commodity : 

But for because he hath not woo'd me yet : 

Not that I have no'* power to clutch my hand, 

When his fair angels would salute my palm ; 

But for my hand, as unattempted yet. 

Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. 

Well, whiles 1 am a beggar, I will rail, 

And say, there is no sin, but to be rich ; 

And being rich, my virtue then shall be. 

To say. there is no vice but beggary. 

Since kings break faith upon commodity. 

Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee. [Exit. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— The Same. The French King's Tent. 

Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury. 
Con.<<t. Gone to be married ? gone to swear a peace ? 
False blood to false blood join'd ! Gone to be friends ? 
Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces? 
[t is not so : thou hast misspoke, misheard : 
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again : 
It cannot be ; thou dost but say 't is so. 
I trust, I may not trust thee, for thy word 
Is but the vain breath of a common man : 
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man : 
I have a king's oath to the contrary. 
Thou shalt be punij^h'd for thus frighting me, 
For I am sick, and capable of fears ; 
Oppressed with wrongs, and therefore full of fears : 
A widow. hu.sbandless, subject to fears ; 
A woman, naturally born to fears ; 
And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest, 
With my vcx'd spirits, I cannot take a truce. 
But they will quake and tremble all this day. 
What dost tliou mean by shaking of thy head ? 
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ? 
What means that hand upon that breast of thine ? 
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, 
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds ? 



Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words ? 
Then speak again ; not all thy former tale. 
But this one word, whether thy tale be true. 

Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false, 
That give you cause to prove my saying true. 

Const. O ! if thou teach me to believe this sorroWj 
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die; 
And let belief and life encounter so. 
As doth the fury of two desperate men, 
Which in the very meeting fall, and die. — 
Lewis marry Blanch ! 0. boy ! then where art thou ? 
France friend with England ! what becomes of me ? — 
Fellow, be gone ; I cannot brook thy sight : 
This new%s liath made thee a most ugly man. 

Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done, 
But spoke the harm that is by others done ? 

Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is, 
As it makes harmful all that speak of il. 

Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content. 

Const. If thou, that bidd'st me be content, wert 
grim, 
Ugly, and slanderous to thy mother's womb. 
Full of unpleasing blots, unsightly* stains, 
Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious. 
Pateh'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks, 
I would not care. I then w^ould be content ; 



I Not in f. e. 2 Betrothed. ^ Whispered. *aid : in f. e. * the : in f. e. ^ and sightless : in f. e. 



SCEKE I. 



KING JOHN". 



313 



For then I should not love thee ; no, nor thou 
Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. 
But thou art fair ; and at thy birth, dear boy, 
Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great : 
Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast, 
And with the half-blown rose. But fortune, ! 
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee : 
Sh' adulterates hourly with thine uncle John; 
And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France 
To tread down fair respect of sovereignty. 
And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. 
France is a bawd to fortune, and king John ; 
That strumpet fortune, that usurping John ! — 
Tell me. thou fellow, is not France forsworn? 
Envenom him with words, or get thee gone, 
And leave those woes alone, which I alone 
Am bound to under-bear. 

Sal. Pardon me, madam, 

I may not go without you to the kings. 

Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt : I will not go with 
thee. 
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud, 
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop. 
To me. and to the state of my great grief. 
Lot kings assemble ; for my grief 's so great, 
That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
Can hold it up : here I and sorrows sit ; 
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 

[She sits on the ground. 

Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch, 
Elinor, Bastard., Austria, and Attendants. 

K. Phi. 'T is true, fair daughter; and this blessed 
Ever in France shall be kept festival : [day. 

To solemnize this day, the glorious sun 
Stays in his course, and plays the alchymist. 
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye. 
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold : 
The yearly course, that brings this day about, 
Shall never see it but a holyday. 

Const. A wicked day, and not a holy day ! [Rising. 
What hath this day deserv'd ? what hath it done. 
That it in golden letters should be set, 
Among the high tides, in the calendar ? 
Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week ; 
This day of shame, oppression, perjury : 
Or if it must stand still, let wives with child 
Piay, that their burdens may not fall this day. 
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd : 
But on^ this day, let seamen fear no WTCck ; 
No bargains break, tliat are not this day made j 
This day all things begun come to ill end ; 
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change ! 

K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause 
To curse the fair proceedings of this day. 
Plave I not pawn'd to you my majesty? 

Const. You have bcguil'd me with a counterfeit. 
Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and tried. 
Proves valueless. You are forsworn, forsworn ; 
You came in arms to spill mine enciuies' blood. 
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours : 
The grappling vigour, and rough frown of war, 
Is cold in amity ami faint in' peace. 
And our oppression hath made up this league. — 
Arm. arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings ! 
A widow cries : be husband to me, heavens ! 
Let not the hovirs of this ungodly day 
Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset, 
Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings ! 
Hear me ! 0, hear me ! 

I Except on. > painted : in f. e. ' him : in f. e. 



Ar(st. Lady Constance, peace ! 

Const. War ! war ! no peace ! peace is to me a war. 
O, Lymoges ! 0, Austria ! thou dost shame 
That bloody spoil : thou slave, thou wretch, thou 

coward ; 
Thou little valiant, great in villainy ! 
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 
Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight 
But when her humorous ladyship is by 
To teach thee safety ! thou art perjur'd too. 
And sooth' st up greatness. What a fool art thou, 
A ramping fool, to brag, and stamp, and swear. 
Upon my party ! Thou cold-blooded slave. 
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side ? 
Been sworn my soldier ? bidding me depend 
L^pon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength ? 
And dost thou now fall over to my foes ? 
Thou wear a lion's hide ! doff it for shame. 
And hang a ealf's-skin on those recreant limbs. 

Attst. O. that a man should speak those words to me ! 

Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. 

Aiist. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life. 

Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. 

K. John. We like not this : thou dost forget thyself. 
Enter Pandulph. 

K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. 

Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven. 
To thee, king John, my holy errand is. 
1 Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal. 
And from Pope Innocent the legate here, 
Do in his name religiously demand. 
Why thou against the church, our holy mother, 
So wilfully dost spurn ; and, force perforce, 
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop 
Of Canterbury, from that holy see ? 
This, in our 'foresaid holy father's name, 
Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. 

K. John. What earthly name to interrogatories 
Can task the free breath of a sacred king ? 
Thovi canst not, cardinal, devise a name 
So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous. 
To charge me to an answer, as the pope. 
Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of England, 
Add thus much more. — that no Italian priest 
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions ; 
But as we under heaven are supreme head. 
So, under heaven,^ that great supremacy. 
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold. 
Without th' assistance of a mortal hand. 
So tell the pope ; all reverence set apart 
To him, and his usurp'd authority. 

K. Phi. Brotlier of England, you blaspheme in this. 

K. John. Though you, and all the kings of Christen- 
dom, 
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest. 
Dreading the curse that money may buy out, 
And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust. 
Purchase corrupted pardon of a man. 
Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself; 
Though you, and all tlie rest, so grossly led, 
This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish, 
Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose 
Against the pope, and count his friends my foes. 

Pand. Then, by the lawful powder that I have, 
Thou shalt stand eurs'd, and excommunicate : 
And blessed .shall he be, that doth revolt 
From his allegiance to an heretic ; 
And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, 
Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint, 



314 



KING JOHN. 



ACT in. 



That takes away by any secret course 
Thy hateful life. 

Const. ! lawful let it be, 

That I have room with Rome to curse awhile. 
Good father Cardinal, cry thou amen 
To my keen curses ; for without my wrong 
There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. 

Pand. There s law and warrant, lady, for my curse. 

Const. And for mine loo : when law can do no right, 
Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong. 
Law cannot give my child his kingdom here. 
For he that holds his kingdom holds the law : 
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong. 
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse ? 

Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse. 
Let go the hand of that arch-heretic. 
And raise the power of France upon his head, 
Unless he do submit himself to Rome. 

Eli. Look'st thou pale, France ? do not let go thy 
hand. 

Const. Look to that, devil, lest that France repent, 
And by disjoining hands hell lose a soul. 

Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. 

Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs. 

Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs. 
Because — 

Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. 

K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal ? 

Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal ? 

Lew. Bethink you, father ; for the difference 
Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, 
Or the light loss of England for a friend : 
Forego the easier. 

Blanch. That 's the curse of Rome. 

Const. Lewis, stand fast ! the devil tempts thee 
here, 
[n likene.'s of a new uptrimmed' bride. 

Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from her faith, 
But from her need. 

Const. ! if thou grant my need, 

Which only lives but by the death of faith. 
That need must needs infer this principle, 
That faith would live again by death of need : 
! then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up ; 
Keep my need up. and faith is trodden down. 

K. John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to this. 

Const. O ! be remov'd from him, and answer well. 

Atist. Do so, king Philip : hang no more in doubt. 

Bast. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout. 

K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say. 

Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee 
more, 
If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd ? 

K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person yours. 
And tell me how you would bestow yourself. 
This royal hand and mine are newly knit, 
And the conjunction of our inward souls 
Married in league, coupled and link'd together 
With all religious strength of sacred vows ; 
The latest breath that gave the sound of words, 
Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love, 
Between our kingdoms, and our royal selves ; 
And even before this truce, but new before. 
No loiiger than we well could wash our hands, 
To clap this royal bargain up of peace. 
Heaven knows, they were besmeared and overstain'd 
With slaughter's pencil ; where revenge did paint 
The fearful difference of incensed kings : 
And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood. 
1 untrimmed : in f. e. ; -which Dyce defines, virgiti. 



So newly join'd in love, so strong in both. 

Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regrect ? 

Play fast and loose with faith ? so jest with heaven, 

Make such unconstant children of ourselves. 

As now again to snatch our palm from palm ; 

Unswear faith sworn ; and on the marriage bed 

Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, 

And make a riot on the gentle brow 

Of true sincerity ? O! holy sir, 

My reverend father, let it not be so : 

Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose 

Some gentle order, and then we shall be bless'd 

To do your pleasure, and continue friends. 

Pand. All form is formless, order orderless, 
Save what is opposite to England's love. 
Therefore, to arms ! be champion of our church, 
Or let the church, our mother, breathe her ctlrse, 
A mother's curse, on her revolting son. 
France, thou niay'st hold a serpent by the tongue, 
A caged^ lion by the mortal paw, 
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, 
Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. 

A'. Phi. 1 may disjoin my hand, but not my faith, 
y Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith; 
And, like a civil war, set'st oath to oath. 
Thy tongue against thy tongue. O ! let thy a^ow 
First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd ; 
That is, to be the champion of our church. 
What since thou swor'st is sworn against thyself, 
And may not be performed by thyself: 
For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss, 
Is not amiss when it is truly done ; 
And being not done, where doing tends to ill, 
The truth is then most done not doing it. 
The better act of purposes mistook 
Is to mistake again : though indirect, 
Yet indirection thereby grows direct. 
And falsehood falsehood cures ; as fire cools fire 
Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd. 
It is religion that doth make vows kept. 
But thou hast sworn against religion, 
By what thou swear'st, against the thing tliou swear'st, 
And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth, 
Against an oath : the truth, thou art unsure 
To swear, swears only not to be forsworn ; 
Else, what a mockery should it be to swear? 
But thou dost swear only to be forsworn ; 
And most forsworn, to keep wliat thou dost swear. 
Therefore, thy later vows, against thy first, 
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself; 
And better conquest never canst thou make, 
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts 
Against these giddy loose suggestions : 
Upon which better part our prayers come in, 
If thou vouchsafe them ; but, if not, then know, 
The peril of our curses lights on thee. 
So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off, 
But in despair die under their black weight. 

Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion ! 

Bast. ' Will'tnotbe? 

Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine ? 

hew. Father, to arms ! 

Blanch. Upon thy wedding day? 

Against the blood that thou hast married ? 
What ! shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men? 
Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums, 
Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp? 
O husband, hear me ! — ah, alack ! how new 
Is husband in my mouth ! — even for that name. 



' cased : in f. e. Dyce suggests chafed. 



SCENE nr. 



KING JOHN. 



315 



Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, 
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms [Kneeling} 

Against mine uncle. 

Coiust. ! upon my knee, [Kneeling.^ 

Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, 
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom 
Fore-thought by heaven. 

Blanch. Now shall I see thy love. What motive may 
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife ? 

Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds, 
His honour. O ! thine honour, Lewis, thine honour. 

Lew. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold. 
When such profound respects do pull you on. 

Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. 

K. Phi. Thou shalt not need. — England, I '11 fall 

Const. 0, fair return of banish'd majesty ! [from thee. 

Eli. 0, foul revolt of French inconstancy ! 

K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within 
this hour. 

Bast. Old Ti me the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time, 
Is it as he will ? well then, France shall rue. 

Blanch. The sun 's o'ercast with blood : fair day. 
Which is the side that I must go withal ? [adieu ! 

I am with both : each army hath a hand, 
And in their rage, I having hold of both. 
They whirl asunder, and dismember me. 
Husband, I cannot pray that thou may'st win ; 
Uncle. I needs must pray that thou may'st lose ; 
Father, I may not wish the fortune thine ; 
Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive ; 
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ; 
Assured loss, before the match be play'd. 

Lew. Lady, \\\W\ me ; with me thy fortune lies. 

Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my life 
dies. 

K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance together. — 

\Exit Bastard. 
France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath ; 
A rage, whose heat hath this condition. 
That nothing can allay, nothing but blood. 
The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood of France. 

K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt 
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire. [turn 
Look to thyself: fhou art in jeopardy. 

A'. John. No more than he that threats. — To arms 
let 's hie ! \Exeunt. 

SCENE n.— The Same. Plains near Anglers. 
Alarums^ Excursions. Enter the Bastard with 
Austria's Head. 
Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot : 
Some fiery^ devil hovers in the sky. 
And pours down mischief. Austria's head, lie there, 
While Philip breathes. 

Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert. 
K. John. Hubert, keep this boy. — Philip, make up : 
My mother is assailed in our tent. 
And ta'cn, I fear. 

Bast. My lord, I rescued her ; 

Her highness is in safety, fear you not : 
But on, my liege ; for very little pains 
Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HL— The Same. 
Alarums; Excursions; Retreat. Enter King John, 
Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and Lords. 
K. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay 



behind. 



1 " Not in f. e. 



[To Elinor. 



So strongly guarded. — Cousin, look not sad: 

[To Arthur. 
Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will 
As dear be to thee as thy father was. 

Arth. ! this will make my mother die with grief. 

K. John. Cousin, [To the Bastard.] away for Eng- 
land : haste before ; 
And ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
Of hoarding abbots ; their* imprison' d angels 
Set at liberty : the fat ribs of peace 
Must by the hungry now be fed upon : 
Use our commission in his utmost force. 

Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back, 
When gold and silver becks me to come on. 
I leave your highness. — Grandam, I will pray 
(If ever I remember to be holy,) 
For your fair safety: so I ki,ss your hand. 

Eli. Farewell, gentle cousin. 

K. John. Coz, farewell. [Exit Bastard. 

Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word. 

[She talks apart with Arthur.' 

K. John. Come hither, Hubert. ! my gentle Hubert, 
We owe thee much : within this wall of flesh 
There is a soul counts thee her creditor, 
And with advantage means to pay thy love : 
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath 
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. 
Give me thy hand. 1 had a thing to say, — 
But I will fit it with some better time. 
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd 
To say what good respect I have of thee. 

Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty. [yet; 

K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so 
But thou shalt have : and creep time ne'er so slow, 
Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. 
I had a thing to say, — but let it go. 
The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, 
Attended with the pleasures of the world, 
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds. 
To give me audience : — if the midnight bell 
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
Sound on into the drowsy ear* of night : 
If this same were a churchyard where we stand, 
And thou possessed with a thousand WTongs ) 
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy. 
Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick, 
(Which, else, runs tingling' up and down the veins, 
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes. 
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
A passion hateful to my purposes.) 
Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes. 
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
Without a tongue, using conceit alone. 
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words, 
Then, in despite of the' broad' watchful day, 
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts. 
But ah ! I will not : — yet I love thee well : 
And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'st me well. 

Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake, 
Though that my death were adjunct to my act. 
By heaven, I would do it. 

K. John. Do not I know, thou wouldst? 

Good Hubert ! Hubert — Hubert, throw thine eye 
On yond' young boy: I '11 tell thee what, my friend, 
He is a very serpent in my way ; 
And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, 
He lies before me. Dost thou understand me ? 
Thou art his keeper. 



airy 



" This word is not in f. e, 



: in f. e. 
' brooded 



♦ This word not in f. e. 
in f. e. 



» She takes Arthur aside: in f. e. « race : in f. e. ' tickling : in f. e 



/ 



316 



KING JOHN. 



ACT in. 



Hub. And I '11 keep him so, 

That he shall not. offend your majesty. 

K. John. Death. 

Huh. My lord ? 

A'. Johu. A grave. 

Hub. He shall not live. 

A". John. Enough. 

I eonUl be merry now. Hubert, I love thee ; 
Well. 1 "11 not ^^ay what 1 intend for thee: 
Ileniembcr. — INIadam. fare you well : 
1 '11 send those jiowcis o'er to your majesty. 

Eli. l\ly blessing go with thee ! 

A". .Mm. For Entjland, cousin: go. 

Hubert shall be your man, all end on you 
With all true duty. — On towards Calais, ho! [E.xcu)it. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. The French King's Tent. 
Enter King Puii.ip. Lewis, VAywhFn, and AHe7idants. 

K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, 
A whole armado of convented' sail 
Is seattcr'd, and disjoined from fellowship. 

Pand. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet go well. 

A'. Phi. W^hat can go well, when we have run so ill? 
Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? 
Arthur ta"en prisoner ? divers dear friends slain ? 
And bloody England into England gone, 
O'erbearing interruption, spile of France? 

IjCW. What he hath Mon, that hath he fortified : 
So hot a speed witli such advice dispos'd. 
Such temperate order in so tierce a cause. 
Doth want example. Who hath read, or heard, 
Of any kindred action like to this? 

A. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this praise, 
So we could find some pattern of our shame. 

Enter Constance. 
Look, who comes here? a grave unto a soul ; 
Holding th' eternal spirit, against her will, 
In the vile prison of afflicted breath. — 
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. 

Con.-!t. Lo now; now .see the issue of your peace ! 

K. Phi. Patience, good lady : comfort, gentle Con- 
stance. 

Con.it. No, I defy all counsel, all redress, 
But that which ends all counsel, true redress. 
Death, death. — 0, amiable lovely death ! 
Thou odoriferous stench ! sound rottenness ! 
Arise from forth the couch of lasting night, 
Thou hate and terror to prosperity, 
And 1 will kiss thy detestable bones; 
And put my eye-balls in thy vanity brows; 
And ring these fingers with thy household worms; 
And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust. 
And be a carrion monster like thyself: 
Come, grin on me : and I will th.ink thou smil'st, 
And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery's love. 
O, come to me ! 

A. Phi. O, fair affliction, peace ! 

Con.st. No. no, I will not. liaA-ing breath to cry. — 
O ! that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth ; 
Then with what^" passion I would shake the world, 
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, 
Wliicli cannot hear a lady's feeble A'oice 
Wliieh scorns a widow's' invocation. 

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. 

Coivtt. Thou art not holy to belie mc so. 
I am not mad : this hair I tear, is mine ; 
My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's wife ; 
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost ! 
I am not mad : — I would to heaven, I were ; 

1 convicted : in f. e. = a : in f. e. a modern : in f. e. ■» Not in f. 



For then, 't is like I should forget myself: 
O, if I could, what grief should I forget ! — 
Preach some philosophy to make me mad. 
And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal : 
For, being not mad. but sensible of grief, 
My reasonable part produces reason 
How I may be deliver'd of these woes, 
And teaches me to kill or hang myself: 
If I were mad, 1 should forget my son, 
Or madly think a babe of clouts were he. 
I am not mad : too well, too well I feel 
The ditlerent plague of each calamity. 

A'. Phi. Hind up those tresses. ! what love I note 
In the fair multitude of those her hairs ! 
Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, 
p]ven to that drop ten thousand wiry friends^ 
Do glue themselves in sociable grief; 
Like true, inseparable, faithful lovers, 
Sticking together in calamity. 

Con.'it. To England, if you will. 

K. Phi. Bind up your hairs. 

Con.'tt. Yes, that I will : and wherefore will I do it? 
I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud, 
" 0, that these hands could .«o redeem my son. 
As they have given these hairs their lilierty !" 
But now, I envy at their liberty. 
And will again commit them to their bonds. 
Because my poor child is a prisoner. — 
And, father cardinal, I have heard you say. 
That we shall sec and know our friends in heaven: 
If that be true. I shall see my boy again ; 
For, since the birth of Cain, the lirst male child. 
To him that did but yesterday suspire, 
There was not such a gracious creature born. 
But now will canker sorrow cat my bud. 
And chase the native beauty from his cheek, 
And he will look as hollow as a ghost, 
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit. 



•) 



lain. 



And so he '11 die ; and, rising so a^i...^, 
When I shall meet him in the coiu't of heaven 



I shall not know him: therefore never, never 
Must I bcliold my pretty Arthur more. 

Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. 

Con.'<t. lie talks to me, that never had a son. 

A'. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. 

Con.it. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, 
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; 
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
Remembers me of all his gracious parts, 
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form : 
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. 
Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, 
I could give better comfort than you do. — 
I will not keep this form upon my head, 

[ Tearing her hair.* 
When there is such disorder in my wit. 
lord ! my boy, my Arthur, my fair .son ! 
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world, 
INIy widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure ! 

A'. Phi. I fear sonic outrage, and I "11 follow her. 

[E.xit. 

Lew. There 's nothing in this world can make me 
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, [joy: 

Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; 
And bitter shame hath spoild the sweet world's taste, 
That it yields nought, but shame, and bitterness. 

Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, 
Even in the instant of repair and health. 
The fit is strongest : evils that take leave, 



[Exit. 



SCENE I. 



KING JOHK 



817 



On their departure most of all show evil. 
What have you lost by losing of this day ? 
' Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. 

Pand. If you had won it, certainly, you had. 
No, no : when fortune means to men most good, 
She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 
'T is strange, to think how much king John hath lost 
In this which he accounts so clearly won. 
Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner? 

Lcu\ As heartily, as he is glad he hath him. 

Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. 
Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit ; 
For even ihe breath of what I mean to speak 
Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub, 
Out of the path which shall directly lead 
Thy foot to England's throne ; and therefore mark. 
John hath seiz'd Arthur ; and it cannot be, 
Tliat whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins, 
Tlie misplac'd John should entertain one hour. 
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest. 
A sceptre, snatch'd with an unruly hand. 
Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd ; 
And he, that stands upon a slippery place, 
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up : 
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall ; 
So be it, for it cannot be but so. 

Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall ? 

Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your wife, 
May then make all the claim that Arthur did. 

Lew. And lose it. life and all, as Arthur did. 

Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this old 
world ! 
John lays you plots ; the times conspire with you. 
For he that steeps his safety in true blood 
Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. 



This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts 

Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal, 

That none so small advantage shall step forth 

To check his reign, but they will cherLsh it : 

No natural exhalation in the sky. 

No scape^ of nature, no distemper'd day. 

No common wind, no customed event. 

But they will pluck away his natural cause. 

And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs. 

Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven, 

Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. 

Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life, 
But hold himself safe in his prisonment. 

Pand. O ! sir, when he shall hear of your approach, 
If that young Arthur be not gone already, 
Even at that news he dies ; and then the hearts 
Of all his people shall revolt from him. 
And kiss the lips of unacquainted change ; 
And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath, 
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. 
Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot : 
And; O ! what better matter breeds for you. 
Than I have nam'd. — The bastard Faulconbridge 
Is now in England ransacking the church. 
Offending charity : if but a dozen French 
Were there in arms, they wovxld be as a call 
To train ten thousand English to their side ; 
Or as a little snow, tumbled about, 
Anon becomes a mountain. O, noble Dauphin ! 
Go with me to the king. 'T is wonderful. 
What may be wrought out of their discontent. 
Now that their souls are topfull of offence. 
For England go ; I will whet on the king. 

Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions. Let us go : 
If you say, ay, the king will not say, no. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV 



SCENE I. — Northampton. A Room in the Castle. 
Enter Hubert and tu'o Attendants. 

Hub. Heat me these irons hot; and, look thou stand 
Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth. 
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 
Fast to the chair: be heedful. Hence, and watch. 

1 Attend. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. 

Hub. Uncleanly scruples : fear not you : look to 't. — 

[Exeunt Attendants. 
Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 
Enter Arthur. 

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. 

Hub. Good morrow, little prince. 

Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
To be more prince,) as may be. — You are sad. 

Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 

Arth. Mercy on me ! 

Methinks, no body should be sad but I : 
Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night. 
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
I should be merry as the day is long ; 
And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
My uncle practises more, harm to mc : 
He is afraid of me, and I of him. 
Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ? 

• scope : in f. e. 



No, indeed, is 't not ; and I would to heaven, 
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 

Huh. [Aside] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. 

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to-day. 
In sooth, I would you were a little sick ; 
That I might sit all night, and watch -with you: 
I warrant, I love you more than you do me. 

Hub. [Aside.] His words do take possession of my 
bosom. — 

Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] 
[Aside.] How now, foolish rheum ! 
Turning dispiteous torture out of door ? 
I must be brief; lest resolution drop 
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears. — 
Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ? 

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect. 
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ? 

Hub. Young boy, I must. 

Arth. And will you ? 

Hub. And I wall. 

Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did 
but ache, 
I knit my handkerchief about your brows, 
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) 
And I did never ask it you again : 
And with my hand at midnight held your head, 
And, like the watcliful minutes to the hour, 



318 



KING JOHI^. 



ACT IV. 



Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time, 

Saying, What lack you ? and, Where lies your grief ? 

Or, What good love may I perform for you ? 

Many a poor man's son would have lain still, 

And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 

But you at your sick service had a prince. 

Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, 

And call it cunning : do, an if you will. 

If heaven be pleas'd that you will use me ill, 

Why, then you must — Will you put out mine eyes ? 

These eyes, that never did, nor never shall 

So much as frown on you ? 

Hub. I have sworn to do it, 

And with hot irons must I burn them out. 

Arth. Ah ! none but in this iron age would do it. 
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot. 
Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears, 
And quench this' fiery indignation. 
Even in the matter of mine innocence : 
. Nay, after that, consume away in rust. 
But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron ? 
An if an angel should have come to me. 
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
I would not have believ'd him : no tongue but Hubert's. 

Hub. Come forth. [Stamps. 

Re-enter Attendants., with Cord^ Irons, ^c. 
Do as I bid you do. 

Arth. O ! save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are out, 
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 

Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 

\Taking it.'' 

Arth. Alas ! what need you be so boisterous-rough ? 
I will not struggle ; I will stand stone-still. 
For heaven's sake. Hubert, let me not be bound. 
Nay, hear me, Hubert : drive these men away. 
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
Nor look upon the iron angcrly. 
Thrust but these meii away, and I '11 forgive you, 
Whatever torment you do put me to. 

Hub. Go, stand within : let me alone with him. 

1 Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. 

[Exeunt Attendants. 

Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend; 
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart, — 
Let him come back, that his compassion may 
Give life to yours. 

Hib. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 

Arth. Is there no remedy ? 

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 

Arthj O heaven ! — that there were but a mote in 
yours, 
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, 
Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, 
Your vile intent must needs seem liorrible. 

Hub. Ls this your promi.se? go to; hold your tongue. 

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
Must needs want pleadmg for a pair of eyes : 
Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert : 
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. 
So I may keep mine eyes. O ! spare mine eyes ; 
Though to no use, but still to look on you. 
Lo ! by my troth, the instrument is cold. 
And would not harm me. 

Hub. I can heat it, boy. 

Arth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief, 
Beingf create for comfort, to be us'd 



In undeserv'd extremes : see else yourself; 
There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 
And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. 

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 

Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush. 
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert : 
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; 
And like a dog that is compell'd to fight, 
Snatch at his master that doth tarre^ him on. 
All things that you should use to do me wrong, 
Deny their oflice : only you do lack 
That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron. extei;id, 
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. 

Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine eyes 
For all the treasures that thine uncle owes : 
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, ^ 
With this same very iron to burn them out. 

Arth. ! now you look like Hubert : all this while 
You were disguised. 

Hub. Peace ! no more. Adieu. 

Yovir uncle must not know but you are dead : 
I '11 fill these dogged spies with false reports ; 
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 
That Hubert for the wealth of all the world 
Will not offend thee. 

Arth. heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert. 

Hub. Silence ! no more. Go closely in with me ; 
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Room of State in the 

Palace. 

Enter King John, crowned; Pembroke, Salisbury, 

and other Lords. The King takes his State. 

K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd, 
And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. 

Pern. This once again, but that your highness pleas'd, 
Was once superfluous : you were crown'd before. 
And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; 
The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt ; 
Fresh expectation troubled not the land, 
With any long'd-for change, or better state. 

Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, 
To guard* a title that was rich before, 
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
To throw a perfume on the violet. 
To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish. 
Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. 

Pern. But that your royal pleasure must be done, 
This act is as an ancient tale new told. 
And in the last repeating troublesome, 
Being urged at a time unseasonable. 

Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face 
Of plain old form is much disfigured ; 
And, like a shifted wind unto a sail. 
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about. 
Startles and frights consideration, 
Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, 
For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. 

Pcm. When workmen strive to do better than well, 
They do confound their skill in covetousness ; 
And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault 
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse : 
As patches, set upon a little breach. 
Discredit more in hiding of the fault. 
Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. 

Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd, 



> So the folio; most eds. read : his. ' Not in f. e. ' Excitt. * Ornament. 



SCENE II. 



KING JOHN. 



319 



We breath'd our counsel ; but it pleas'd your highness 
To overbear it, and we are all well-pleas'd ; 
Since all and every part of w^hat we would, 
Doth make a stand at what your highness will. 

K. John. Some reasons of this double coronation 
t have possessed you with, and think them strong ; 
And more, more strong, thus lessening' my fear, 
I shall indue you with : mean time, but ask 
What you would have reform'd that is not well, 
And well shall you perceive, how willingly 
I will both hear and grant you your requests. 

Pern. Then I. as one that am the tongue of these, 
To sound the purposes of all their hearts, 
Both for myself and them, but, chief of all. 
Your safety, for the which myself and they 
Bend their best studies, heartily request 
Th' enfranchisement of Arthur ; whose restraint 
Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent 
To break into this dangerous argument : — 
If what in rest you have, in right you hold, 
Why should' your fears, which, as they say, attend 
The steps of wrong, then^ move you to mew up 
Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days 
With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth 
The rich advantage of good exercise ! — 
That the time's enemies may not have this 
To grace occasions, let it be our suit, 
That you have bid us ask his liberty ; 
Which for our goods we do no farther ask, 
Than whereupon our weal, on yours depending, 
Counts it your weal he have his liberty. 

K. John. Let it be so : I do commit his youth 
Enter Hubert. 
To your direction. — Hubert, what news with you ? 

[Hubert talks apart with the King. 

Pern. This is the man should do the bloody deed : 
He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine. 
The image of a wicked heinous fault 
Lives in his eye : that close aspect of his 
Doth show the mood of a much-troubled breast ; 
And I do fearfully believe 't is done, 
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. 

Sal. The colour of the king doth come and go, 
Between his purpose and his conscience. 
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set : 
His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. 

Pent. And when it breaks, I fear, will issue thence 
The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. 

K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand. — 
Good lords, although my will to give is living, 
The suit Avhich you demand is gone and dead : 
He tells u.s, Arthur is deceas'd to-night. 

Sal. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past cure. 

Pcm. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was, 
Before the child himself felt he was sick. 
This must be answer'd either here, or hence. 

K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me ? 
Think you. I bear the shears of destiny ? 
Have I commandment on the pulse of life ? 

Sal. It is apparent foul play; and 't is shame, 
That greatness should so grossly offer it. 
So thrive it in your game : and so farewell. 

Pern. Stay yet. lord Salisbury, I '11 go with thee, 
And find th' inheritance of this poor child, 
His little kingdom of a forced grave. 
That blood which ow'd the breadth of all this isle, 
Three foot of it doth hold : bad world the while. 
This must not be thus borne : this will break out 
To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt. \^Exeunt Lords. 

1 than lesser is : in f. e. ' then : in f e. ^ should : in f. e. 



K. John. They burn in indignation. I repent : 
There is no sure foundation set on blood, 
No certain life achiev'd by others' death. 

Enter a Messenger. 
A fearful eye thou hast : where is that blood, 
That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks ? 
So foul a sky clears not without a storm : 
Pour down thy weather. — How goes all in France ? 

Mess. From France to England. — Never such a power 
For any foreign preparation, 
Was levied in the body of a land. 
The copy of your speed is learn'd by them j 
For, when you should be told they do prepare, 
The tidings come that they are all arriv'd. 

K. John. O ! where hath our intelligence been drunk? 
Where hath it slept ? Where is my mother's care. 
That such an army could be drawn in France, 
And she not hear of it ? 

Mess. My liege, her ear 

Is stopp'd with dust : the first of April, died 
Your noble mother ; and, as I hear, my lord. 
The lady Constance in a frenzy died 
Three days before : but this from rumour's tongue 
I idly heard ; if true, or false, I know not. 

K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful Occasion ! 

! make a league with me, till I have pleas'd 
My discontented peers. — What ! mother dead? 
How wildly, then, walks my estate in France ! — 
Under whose conduct come those powers of France, 
That thou for truth giv'st out are landed here ? 

3Iess. Under the Dauphin. 

Enter the Bastard, and Peter of Pomfret. 

K. John. Thou hast made me giddy 

With these ill-tidings. — Now, what says the world 
To your proceedings ? do not seek to stuff 
My head with more ill news, for it is full. 

Bast. But if you be afeard to hear the worst. 
Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. 

K. John. Bear with me, cousin, for I was amaz'd 
Under the tide ; but now I breathe again 
Aloft the flood, and can give audience 
To any tongue, speak it of what it will. 

Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen, 
The sums I have collected shall express : 
But as I travell'd hither through the land, 

1 find the people strangely fantasied ; 
Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams, 
Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear ; 
And here 's a prophet, that I brought with me 
From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found 
With many hundreds treading on his heels ; 

To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, 
That ere the next Ascension-day at noon, 
Your highness should deliver up your crown. 

K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so? 

Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so. 

K. John. Hubert, away with him : imprison him ; 
And on that day at noon, whereon, he says, 
I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd. 
Deliver him to safety, and return, 
For I must use thee. — my gentle cousin ! 

[Exit Hubert, with Peter. 
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd ? 

Ba.st. The French, my lord ; men's mouths are full 
Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury, [of it : 
With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire, 
And others more, going to seek the grave 
Of Arthur, who. they say, is kill'd to-night 
On your suggestion. 



320 



KING JOHN. 



ACT IV. 



K. John. Gentle kinsman, go, 

And tlirust thyself into their companies. 
I have a way to win their loves again : 
Bring them before me. 

Bast. I will seek them out. 

K. John. Nay, but make haste; the better foot 
before. — 

! let me have no subject enemies. 
When adverse foreigners affright my towns 
With dreadful pomp of stout invasion. 

Be Mercury ; set feathers to thy heels, 
And fly like thought from them to me again. 

Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. 

[Exit. 

K. John. Spoke like a spritcful, noble gentleman. — 
Go after hiin ; for he, perhaps, shall need 
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers. 
And be thou he. 

Mess. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit. 

K. John. My mother dead ! 

Re-enter Hubert. 

Hub. My lord, they say, five moons were seen to-night : 
Four fixed : and the fifth did whirl about 
The other four in wonderous motion. 

K. John. Five moons ? 

Hub. Old men, and beldames, in the streets 

Do prophesy upon it dangerously. 
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths. 
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, 
And whisper one another in the ear : 
And he that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist. 
Whilst he that hears, makes fearful action, 
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. 

1 saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, 
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool. 
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ; 
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste 
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet) 

Told of a many thousand warlike French, 
That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent. 
Another lean, unwash'd artificer 
Guts off his tale, and talks of Arthurs death. 

K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these 
fears ? 
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death ? 
Thy hand hath murder'd him : I had a mighty cause 
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 

Hub. Had none, my lord ! why, did you not provoke 
me ? 

K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended 
By slaves, that take their humours for a warrant 
To break into the bloody house of life ; 
And, on the winking of authority, 
To understand a law ; to know the meaning 
Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns 
More upon humour than advis'd respect. 

Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. 

K. John. ! when the last account 'twixt heaven 
and earth 
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
Witness against us to damnation. 
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, 
Makes ill deeds done' ! Hadst not thou been by, 
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd. 
Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, 
This murder had not come into my mind ; 
But. taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, 
Finding thee fit for bloody villainy, 



Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger, 
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; 
And thou, to be endeared to a king. 
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 

Hub. My lord,— 

K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a 
When I spake darkly what I purposed ; [pause, 

Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face, 
Or''' bid me tell my tale in express words. 
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off. 
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me : 
But thou didst understand me by my signs. 
And didst in signs again parley with sign^ : 
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent. 
And consequently thy rude hand to act 
The deed which both our tongues held vile to name. 
Out of my sight, and never see me more ! 
My nobles leave me ; and my state is brav'd. 
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers : 
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, 
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
Hostility and civil tumult reigns ^ 

Between my conscience, and my cousin's death. 

Hub. Arm you again.st your other enemies, 
I '11 make a peace between your soul and you. 
Young Arthur is alive : this hand of mine 
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand. 
Not painted with the crimson .spots of blood. 
Within this bosom never entcr'd yet 
The dreadful motion of a murderous thought. 
And you have slander'd nature in my form; 
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, 
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind. 
Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 

K. John. Doth Arthur live ? O ! haste thee to the 
peers : 
Throw this report on their incensed rage. 
And make them tame to their obedience. 
Forgive tlie comment that my passion made 
Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind. 
And foul imaginary eyes of blood 
Presented thee more hideous than thou art. 

! answer not ; but to my closet bring 
The angry lords, with all expedient haste : 

1 conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. 



[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. Before the Castle. 
Enter Arthur, on the Walls. 
Arth. The wall is high ; and yet will I leap down. — 
Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not ! — 
There 's few, or none, do know me ; if they did. 



1 deeds ill done : in f. e. a As : in f. e. ^ j 



inf. 



This ship-boy's semblance hath dii^guis'd me quite. 
I am afraid ; and yet I '11 venture it. 
If I get down, and do not break my limbs, 
I '11 find a thousand .shifts to get away : 
As good to die and go, as die and stay. [Leaps down. 
O me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones. — 
Heaventake my soul, and England keep my bones. [Dies. 
Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot. 

Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmvmd's Bury : 
It is our safety, and we must embrace 
This gentle offer of the perilous time. 

Pern. Who brought that letter from the cardinal ? 

Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France ; 
Whose private missive* of the Dauphin's love, 
Is much more general than these lines import. 

Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. 

Sal. Or, rather then set forward : for 't will be 
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. 

* with me : in f. e. 



\ 



SCENB in. 



KmG JOHN. 



321 



^ Enter the Bastard. 

Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords. 
The king by me requests your presence straight. 

Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us : 
We will not line his sin-bestained' cloak 
With our pure honours, nor attend the foot 
That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it walks. 
Return, and tell him so : we know the worst. 

Bast. Whatc'er you think, good words, I think, were 
best. 

Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. 

Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; 
Therefore, 't were reason you had manners now. 

Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath liis privilege. 

Bast. 'T is true; to hurt his master, no man else. 

Sal. This is the prison. What is he lies here ? 

[Seeing Arthur. 

Pern. death ! made proud with pure and princely 
beauty, 
The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. 

Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, 
Doth lay it open to urge on revenge. 

Big. Or when lie doom'd this beauty to a grave, 
Found it too precious-princely for a grave. 

Sal. Sir Richard, what think you ? Have you beheld. 
Or have you read, or heard? or could you think? 
Or do you almost think, although you see. 
That you do see ? could thought, without this object. 
Form such another ? 'I'his is the very top, 
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest. 
Of murder's arms : this is the bloodiest shame, 
The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke. 
That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage. 
Presented to the tears of soft remorse. 

Pc7n. All murders past do stand excus'd in this ; 
And this, so sole and so unmatchable. 
Shall give a holiness, a purity. 
To the yet unbegotten sin of times ; 
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, 
Exampled by this heinous spectacle. 

Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work ; 
The graceless action of a heavy hand. 
If that it be the work of any hand. 

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ? — 
We had a kind of light, what would ensue : 
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ; 
The practice, and the purpose, of the king : 
From whose obedience I forbid my soul. 
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life. 
And breathing to his breatliless excellence 
The incense of a vow, a holy vow. 
Never to taste the pleasures of the world, 
Never to be infected with delight, 
Nor conversant with ease and idleness, 
Till I have set a glory to this head^, 
By giving it the worship of revenge. 

Pcm. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words. 
Enter Hubert. 

Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you. 
Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you. 

Sal. O ! he is bold, and blushes not at death. — 
Avaunt. thou hateful villain ! get thee gone. 

Hub. I am no villain. 

Sal. Must I rob the law ? [Draunng his sword. 

Bast. Your sword is bright, sir : put it up again. 

Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin. 

Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbiu-y; stand back, I say: 
By heaven, I think, my sword 's as sharp as yours. 
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, 



Nor tempt the danger of my true defence ; 
Lest I, by marking but your rage, forget 
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. 

Big. Out, dunghill I»dar'st thou brave a nobleman? 

Hub. Not for my life ; but yet I dare defend 
My innocent life against an cmpcrcr. 

Sal. Thou art a murderer. 

Hub. Do not prove me so : 

Yet, I am none. Whose tongue soe'er speaks fal.'e, 
Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lies. 

Pemh. Cut him to pieces. 

Bast. Keep the peace, I say. 

Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. 

Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury : 
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot. 
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, 
I '11 strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime, 
Or I '11 so maul you and your toasting-iron. 
That you sliall think the devil is come from hell. 

Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge? 
Second a villain, and a murderer. 

Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. 

Big. Who killd this prince ? {Pointing to Arthur.' 

Hub. 'T is not an hour since I left him well : 
I honour'd him, I lov'd him ; and will weep 
My date of life out for his sweet life's lo.ss. 

Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, 
For villainy is not without such rheum ; 
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem 
Like rivers of remorse and innocency. 
Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor 
Th' uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house. 
For I am stifled with this smell of sin. 

Big. Away, toward Bury: to the Dauphin there ! 

Pern. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out. 

[Exeunt Lords. 

Bast. Here 's a good world ! — ^Knew you of this fair 
work ? 
Beyond the infinite and boundless reach 
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, 
Art thou damn'd, Hubert. 

Hub. Do but hear me, sir. 

Bast. Ha ! I '11 tell thee what ; 
Thou art damn'd as black — nay, nothing is so black ; 
Thou art more deep damn'd than prince Lucifer : 
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell 
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. 

Hub. Upon my soul, — 

Ba.st. If thou didst but consent 

To this most cruel act, do but despair ; 
And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread 
That ever spider twisted from her womb 
Will serve to strangle thee ; a rush will be a beam 
To hang thee on : or wouldst thou drown thyself, 
Put but a little water in a spoon. 
And it shall be as all the ocean, 
Enough to stifle such a villain up. 
I do suspect thee very grievously. 

Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought 
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath. 
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay. 
Let hell want pains enough to torture me. 
I left him well. 

Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms. — 

I am amaz'd, methinks ; and lose my way 
Among the thorns and dangers of this world. — 

[Hubert takes up Arthur.* 
How easy dost thou take all England up ! 
From forth this morsel of dead royalty, 



> thin 'bestained : in f. e. 2 hand : In f. e. ^ * Not in f. e. 



21 



322 



KING JOHN. 



ACT V. 



The life, the right, and truth of all this realm 
Is fled to heaven : and England now is left 
To tug and scramble, and to part by the teeth 
The unowed interest of proud swelling state. 
Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty 
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, 
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace : 
Now powers from home, and diseontents at home. 
Meet in one line : and vast confusion waits, 



As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast, 
The inuninent decay of wrested pomp. 
Now happy he, wliose cloak and cincture can 
Hold out this tempest. — Bear away that child, 
And follow me with speed : I '11 to the king. 
A thousand businesses are brief in hand, 
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. 

[Exeunt : Hubert bearing out Arthur's body} 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— The Same. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King John, Pandulph with the Crown, and 
Attendants. 

K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand 
The circle of my glory. 

Paml. Take again [Giving John the Crown. 

From this my hand, as holding of the pope, 
Your sovereign greatness and authority. 

K. John. Now keep your holy word : go meet the 
French ; 
And from his holiness use all your power 
To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflam'd. 
Our discontented counties do revolt, 
Our people quarrel with obedience, 
Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, 
To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. 
This inundation of mistemper'd humour 
Piests by you only to be qualified : 
Then pause not ; for the present time 's so sick, 
That present medicine must be minister'd, 
Or overthrow incurable ensues. 

Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempest up. 
Upon your stubborn usage of the pope ; 
But since you are a gentle convertite, 
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, 
And make fair weather in your blustering land. 
On this Ascension-day, remember well. 
Upon your oath of service to the pope,' 
Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [Exit. 

K. John. Is this Ascension-day ? Did not the prophet 
Say that before Ascension-day at noon. 
My crown I should give off? Even so I have. 
I did suppose it should be on constraint ; 
But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. 

Enter the Bastard. [out, 

Bast. All Kent hath yielded ; nothing there holds 
But Dover castle : London hath received, 
Like a kind ho.-t, the Dauphin and his powers. 
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone 
To offer service to your enemy : 
And wild amazement liurries up and down 
The little number of your doubtful friends. 

K. John. Would not my lords return to me again, 
After they heard young Arthur was alive ? 

Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the streets ; 
An empty casket, where the jewel of life 
By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away. 

A". John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. 

Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for ausht he knew. 
But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? 
Be great in act, as you have been in thought ; 
Let not the world see fear, and blank'' distrust, 
Govern the motion of a kingly eye : 

I Exeunt : in f. e. 2 sad : in f. e. 3 be ; in f. e. * Forage : in f. e. s orders : in f. e. 



Be stirring as the time ; meet^ fire with fire ; 

Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow 

Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes. 

That borrow their behaviours from the great, 

Grow great by your example, and put on 

The dauntless spirit of resolution. 

Away ! and glister like the god of war. 

When he intendeth to become the field : 

Show boldness, and aspiring confidence. 

What ! shall they seek the lion in his den. 

And fright him there? and make him tremble there? 

! let it not be said. — Courage*, and run 
To meet displeasure further from the doors, 
And grapple with him ere he come so nigh. 

K. John. The legate of the pope hath been with me. 
And I have made a happy peace with him ; 
And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers 
Led by the Dauphin. 

Bast. 0, inglorious league ! 

Shall we, upon the footing of our land, 
Send fair-play offers', and make compromise, 
Insinuation, parley, and base truce, 
To arms invasive ? shall a beardless boy, 
A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields. 
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil. 
Mocking the air with colours idly spread. 
And find no check ? Let us, my liege, to arms : 
Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace ; 
Or if he do, let it at least be said, 
They saw we had a purpose of defence. 

K. John. Have thou the ordering of tliis present 
time. 

Bast. Away then, with good courage : yet I know. 
Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— A Plain, near St. Edmund's Bury. 

Enter, in arms, Lewis, Salisbury, Melun, Pembroke, 

Bigot, and Soldiers. 

Lew. My lord Melun, let this be copied out. 
And keep it safe for our remembrance. 
Return the precedent to these lords again ; 
That, having our fair order written down. 
Both they, and we, perusing o'er these notes. 
May know wherefore we took the sacrament. 
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. 

Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. 
And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear 
A voluntary zeal, and an unurg'd faith. 
To your proceedings : yet, believe me, prince, 

1 am not glad that such a sore of time 
Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt. 
And heal the inveterate canker of one wound. 
By making many. O ! it grieves my soul, 
That I must draw this metal from my side 



SCENE II. 



KING JOHN. 



323 



To be a widow-maker : O ! and there. 

Where honourable rescue, and defence, 

Cries out upon tlie name of Salisbury. 

But such is the infection of the lime, 

That, for the health and physic of our right, 

We cannot deal but with the very hand 

Of stern inju.-^tice and confused wrong. — 

And is 't not pity, O, my grieved friends ! 

That we, the sons and children of this isle. 

Were born to see so sad an hour as this ; 

Wherein we step after a stranger, march 

Upon her genlle bosom, and fill up 

Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw, and weep 

Upon the thought' of this enforced cause) 

To grace the gentry of a land remote. 

And follow unacquainted coiour.s here ? 

What, here ? — nation, that thou couldst remove ! 

Tiiat Neptune's arms, who clippeth" thee about. 

Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself, 

And grapple thee unto a pagan shore ; 

Where thci-e two Christian armies might combine 

The blood of malice in a vein of league, 

And not to spend it so unneighbourly ! 

Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in thisj 
And great aifections wrestling in thy bosom 
Do make an earthquake of nobility. 
! what a noble combat hast thou fought. 
Between compulsion, and a brave re.«pect ! 
Let me wipe off this honovu-able dew, 
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks. 
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears. 
Being an ordinary inundation ; 
But this effasion of such manly drops. 
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, 
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd 



Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven 

Figur'd quite o'er with urning meteors. 

Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, 

And with a great heart heave away this storm : 

Commend these waters to those baby eyes. 

That never saw the giant- world enrag'd ; 

Nor met with fortune other than at feasts. 

Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gofsiping. 

Come, come : for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep 

Into the purse of rich prosperity. 

As Lewis himself : — so. nobles, shall you all. 

That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. 

Enter Pandulph, attended. 
And even there, metliiiiks, an angel spake : 
Look, where the holy legate comes apace. 
To give us warrant from the hand of heaven. 
And on our actions set the name of right 
With holy breath. 

Pand. Hail, noble prince of France. 

The next is this : — king John hath reconcil'd 
Himself to R>ome ; his spirit is come in. 
That so stood out against the holy church, 
The great metropolis and see of Home : 
Therefore, thy threat'ning colours now wind up, 
And tame the savage spirit of wild war, 
That, like a lion foster'd up at hand, 
It may lie gently at the foot of peace. 
And be no farther harmful than iu show. 

Lew. Your grace shall pardon me ; I will not back 
I am too high-born to be propertied, 
To bo a secondary at control. 
Or useful serving-man, and instrument. 
To any sovereign state throughout the world. 



Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars 

Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself. 

And brought in matter that should feed this fire ; 

And now 't is far too huge to be blown out 

With that same weak wind which enkindled it. 

You taught me how to know the face of right, 

Acquainted me with interest to this land. 

Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart. 

And come ye now to tell me, John hath made 

His peace with Rome ? What is that peace to me ? 

I, by the honour of my marriage-bed, 

After young Arthur, claim this land for mine ; 

And now it is half-conquer'd, must I back. 

Because that John hath made his peace with Rome ? 

Am I Rome's slave ? What penny hath Rome borne, 

What men provided, what munition sent, 

To underprop this action ? is't not I, 

That undergo this charge ? who else but I, 

And such as to my claim are liable. 

Sweat in this business, and maintain this war ? 

Have I not heard these islanders shout out, 

Vive le roy ! as I have bank'd their towns ? 

Have I not here the best ca.rds for the game, 

To win this easy match, play'd for a crown, 

And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? 

No, on my soul, it never shall be said. 

Pand. You look but on the outside of this work. 
Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return 
Till my attempt so much be glorified. 
As to my ample hope was promised 
Before I drew this gallant head of war. 
And cuU'd these fiery spirits from the world. 
To outlook conquest, and to win renown 
Even in the jaws of danger and of death. — 

[Trumpet sounds. 
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us ? 
Enter the Bastardy attemlcd. 
Bast. According to the fair play of the world, 
Let me have audience : I am sent to speak. — 
My holy lord of Milan, from the king 
I come, to learn how you have dealt for him ; 
And, as you answer, I do know the scope 
And warrant limited unto my tongue. 

Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, 
And will not temporize with my entreaties : 
He flatly says, he '11 not lay down his arms. 

Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd. 
The youth says well. — Now, hear our English king, 
For thus his royalty doth speak in me. 
He is prepar'd ; and reason, too, he should : 
This apish and unmannerly approach. 
This harncss'd masque, and unadvised revel, 
This unheard^ sauciness of* boyish troops, 
The king doth smile at ; and is well prepar'd 
To whip this dwarfi.sh war, these pigmy arms, 
From out the circle of his territories. 
That hand, which had the strength, even at your door, 
To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch ; 
To dive like buckets in concealed wells : 
To crouch in litter of your stable planks ; 
To lie like pawns lock"d up in chests and trunks ; 
To hug with swine ; to seek sweet safety out 
In vaults and prisons, and to thrill, and shake, 
: ! Even at the crowing* of your nation's cock", 
Thinking his voice an armed Englishman: 
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here. 
That in your chambers gave you chastisement ? 



No ! Know, the gallant monarch is in arms ; 



1 spot : in f. e. * Embraceth. 
in f. e. ' crow : in f. e. 



3 So the folios ; Theobald, and most eds. read : unhair'd (i. e. unbearded). * and : in f. e. » CTjing : 



324 



KINCi JOHN. 



Acr V. 



And like an eagle o'er his aiery towers, 

To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. — 

And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts. 

Vou bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb 

Of your dear mother England, blush for shame : 

i'^or your own ladies, and pale-visag'd maids, 

Like Amazons come tripping after drums; 

Their thimbles into armed gauntlets chang'd, 

Their needl's to lances, and their gentle hearts 

To fierce and bloody inclination. 

Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace : 
We grant thou canst outscold us. Fare thee well : 
.Ve hold our time too precious to be spent 
With such a brabbler. 

Panel. Give me leave to speak. 

Bast. No, I will speak. 

Lew. We will attend to neither. — 

Strike up the drums ! and let the tongue of war 
Plead for our interest, and our being here. 

Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out ; 
And so shall you. being beaten. Do but start 
An echo with the clamour of thy drum. 
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd, 
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine; 
Sound but another, and another shall. 
As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear, 
And mock the deep-niouthd thunder: for at hand 
(Not tru.sting to tlii.s halting legate here. 
Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need) 
Is warlike John ; and in his forehead sits 
A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day 
To feast upon whole thousands of the French. 

Leiv. Strike up our drums to find this danger out. 

Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. A Field of Battle. 
Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert. 
K. John. How goes the day with us ? O ! tell 

Hubert. 
Hub. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty ? 
K. John. 
Lies heavy on me : ! my heart is sick. 
Enter a Me.f.'tenger. 
Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman. Faulconbridge, 
Desires your majesty to leave the field, 
And send him word by me which way you go. 

K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey 

there. 
Mess. Be of good comfort ; for the great supply, 
That was expected by the Dauphin here. 
Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands : 
This news was brought to liichard but even now. 
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. 

K. John. Ah me ! this tyrant fever burns me up. 
And will not let me welcome this good news. 
Set on toward Swinstead ; to my litter straight : 
Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. Another part of the Same. 

Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, Bigot, and Others. 

Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with friends. 

Pern. Up once again ; put spirit in the French : 
If they miscarry, we miscarry too. 

Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, 
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. 

Pern. They say, king John sore sick hath left the field. 
Ejiter Melun wounded, and led by Soldiers. 

Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. 

' Unthread the rude eye : in f. e. 2 Bissolveth, 3 Right : in f. e. 



me, 



This fever, that hath troubled me so long, 



Sal. When we were happy we had other names. 

Pern. It is the count Melun. 

Sal. Wounded to death. 

Mel. Fly, noble English; you are bought and sold: 
Untread the road-way' of rebellion. 
And welcome home again discarded faith. 
Seek out king John, and fall before his feet : 
For if the French be lords of this loud day, 
He means to recompense the pains you take, 
By cutting off your heads. Thus hath he sworn, 
And I with him. and many more with me, 
Upon the altar at Saint Edmund's Buryj 
Even on that altar, where we swore to you 
Dear amity and everlasting love. 

Sal. May this be possible? may this be true? 

Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view, 
Retaining but a quantity of life, ^ 

Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax 
Resolveth^ from his figure 'gainst the fire ? 
What in the world should make me now deceive. 
Since I must lose the use of all deceit ? 
Why should I then be false, since it is true 
That I must die here, and live hence by truth ? 
I say again, if Lewis do win the day. 
He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours 
Behold another day break in the east: 
But even this night, whose black contagious breath 
Already smokes about the burning crest 
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, 
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire, 
Paying the fine of rated treachery. 
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, 
If Lewis by your assistance win the day. 
Commend me to one Hubert, with your king ; 
The love of him, — and this respect besides. 
For that my grandsire was an Englishman, — 
Awakes my conscience to confess all this. 
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence 
From forth the noise and rumour of the field ; 
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts 
In peace, and part this body and my soul 
With contemplation and devout desires. 

Sal. We do believe thee, and beshrew my soul, 
But I do love the favour and the form 
Of this most fair occasion, by the which 
We will untread the steps of damned flight : 
And, like a bated and retired flood, 
Leaving our rankncss and irregular course. 
Stoop low within those bounds \fe have o'erlook'd, 
And calmly run on in obedience. 
Even to our ocean, to our great king John. — 
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence. 
For I do see the cruel pangs of death 
Bright^ in thine eye. — Away, my friends ! New flight, 
And happy newness, that intends old right. 

[Exeunt, leading off Melun. 

SCENE v.— The Same. The French Camp. 
Enter Lewis and his Train. 
Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set, 
But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush. 
When English measur'd backward their own ground. 
In faint retire. O ! bravely came we off. 
When with a volley of our needless shot. 
After such bloody toil we bid good night, 
And wound our tattered colours closely up.* 
Last in the field, and almost lords of it ! 
Enter a Messenger. 
Me.'!s. Where is my prince, the Dauphin? 

4 tattering colours clearly up : in f. e. 



SCENE VII. 



KING JOHN. 



325 



Lew. Here. — What news ? 

Mess. The count Melun is slain : the English lords, 
By his persuasion, arc again fallen off; 
And your supplies, which you have wish'd so long, 
Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. 

Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news ! — Beshrew thy very 
heart ! 
I did not think to be so sad to-night, 
As this hath made me. — Who was he, that said. 
King John did fly an hour or two before 
The stumbling night did part our weary powers? 

Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is trvxe, my lord. 

Leic. Well ; keep good quarter, and good care to-night : 
The day shall not be up so soon as I, 
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — An open Place in the Neighbourhood 
of Swinstead- Abbey. 

Enter the Bastard and Hubert, severally. 

Huh. Who 's there ? speak, ho ! speak quickly, or I 
shoot. 

Bast. A friend. — What art thou ? 

Huh. Of the part of England. 

Bast. Whither dost thou go ? 

Hub. What 's that to thee ? Why may not I demand 
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine ? 

Bast. Hubert, I think. 

Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought : 

I will, upon all hazards, well believe 
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well. 
Who art thou ? 

Bast. Who thou wilt : and, if thou please, 

Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think 
I come one way of the Plantagenets. 

Huh. Unkind remembrance ! thou, and eyeless' night, 
Have done mc shame. — Brave soldier, pardon me, 
That any accent breaking from thy tongue 
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. 

Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news 
abroad ? 

Huh. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night, 
To find you out. 

Bast. Brief, then ; and what 's the news ? 

Hub. ! my sweet sir, news fitting to the night. 
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. 

Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news : 
I am no woman ; I '11 not swoon at it. 

Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : 
I left him almost speechless, and broke out 
To acquaint you with this evil, that you might 
The better arm you to the sudden time. 
Than if you had at leisure known of this. 

Bast. How did he take it ? who did taste to him ? 

Huh. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved villain, 
Whose bowels suddenly burst out : the king 
Yet speak.s, and, pcradvcnture, may recover. 

Ba.'it. Whom didst thou leave to tend his majesty? 

Huh. Why, know you not? the lords are all come back. 
And brought prince Henry in their company; 
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, 
And they arc all about his majesty. 

Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, 
And tempt vis not to bear above our power. 
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night, 
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide: 
These Lincoln washes have devoured them : 
Myself well-mounted hardly have escap'd. 
Away, before : conduct mc to the king; 
t doubt, he will be dead or ere I come. \Exeunt. 



SCENE VII.— The Orchard of Swinstead-Abbey. 
Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. 

P. Hen. It is too late : the life of all his blood 
Is touch'd corruptibly ; and his pure brain 
(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house) 
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, 
Foretel the ending of mortality. 

Enter Pembroke. 

Pern. His highness yet doth speak ; and holds belie ' 
That being brought into the open air. 
It would allay the burning quality 
Of that fell poison which assaileth him. 

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here. — 
Doth he still rage ? [Exit Bigot. 

Pern. He is more patient 

Than when you left him : even now he sving. 

P. Hen. O, vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes 
In their continuance will not feel themselves. 
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, 
Leaves them unvisited" ; and his siege is now 
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds 
With many legions of strange fantasies. 
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, 
Confound themselves. 'T is strange that death shoul.l 

sing. 
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan. 
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, 
And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings 
His soul and body to their lasting rest. 

Sal. Be of good comfort, prince, for you are born 
To set a form upon that indigest. 
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. 
Re-enter Bigot and Attendants: King John hrougl: 
in in a Chair. 

K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room : 
It would not out at windows, nor at doors. 
There is so hot a summer in my bosom. 
That all my bowels crumble up to dust : 
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen 
Upon a parchment, and against this fire 
Do I shrink up. 

P. Hen. How fares your majesty? 

K. John. Poison'd, — ill-fare ; — dead, forsook, cast ofT. 
And none of you will bid the winter come, 
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw ; 
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course 
Through my burn'd bosom ; nor entreat the north 
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, 
And comfort me with cold. — I do not ask you much: 
I beg cold comfort : and you are so strait, 
And so ingrateful, you deny me that. 

P. Hen. 0, that there were some virtue in my tears. 
That might relieve you ! 

K. John. The salt in them is hot. — 

Within me is a hell ; and there the poison 
Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize 
On unreprievable condemned blood. 
Enter the Bastard. 

Bast. ! I am scalded with my violent motion, 
And spleen of speed to see your majesty. 

K. John. O cousin ! thou art come to set mine eye. 
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd ; 
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail. 
Are turned to one thread, one little hair : 
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, 
Which holds but till thy news be uttered, 
And then all this thou seest is but a* clod, 
And model of confounded royalty. 



' endless : in f. e. Theobald made the same change. * invisible : in f. e. 



326 



KING JOHN. 



ACT V. 



Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, 
Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him ; 
For, in a night, the best part of my power. 
As I upon advantage did remove, 
"Were in the washes, all unwarily, 
Devoured by the unexpected flood. [King John dies. 

Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear. — 
My liesc ! my lord ! — But now a king, now thus. 

P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. 
What surety of the world, what hope, wliat stay, 
When this was now a king, and now is clay ? 

Bast. Art thou gone so ? I do but stay behind, 
To do tlie office for thee of revenge, 
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven. 
As it on earth hath been thy servant still. — 
Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres. 
Where be your powers ? Show now your mended faiths, 
And instantly return with me again. 
To push destruction, and perpetual shame, 
Out of the weak door of our fainting land. 
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought : 
The Dauphin rages at our very heels. 

Sal. It seems you know not, then, so much as we. 
The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest. 
Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin, 
And brings from him such offers of our peace 
As we with honour and respect may take, 
With purpose presently to leave this war. 

Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees 
Ourselves well sinew'd to our own defence. 

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already ; 



For many carriages he hath despatch'd 

To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel 

To the disposing of the cardinal : 

With whom yourself, myself, and other lords. 

If you think meet, this afternoon will post 

To consummate this business happily. 

Bast. Let it be so. — And you, my noble prince, 
With other princes that may best be spar'd, 
Shall wait upon your father's funeral. 

P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd ; 
For so he will'd it. 

Ba.st. Thither shall it then. 

And happily may your sweet self put on 
The lineal state and glory of the land : 
To whom, with all submission, on my knee, 
I do bequeath my faithful services. 
And true subjection everlastingly. " 

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, 
To rest without a spot for evermore. 

P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you thanlis. 
And knows not how to do it, but with tears. 

Bast. O ! let us pay the time but needful woe. 
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. — 
This England never did, nor never shall. 
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, 
liut when it first did help to wound itself. 
Now these, her princes, are come home again, 
Come the three corners of the world in arms, 
And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, 
If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt. 



THE LIFE AND DEATH 



OF 



KING RICHARD II 



DEAMATIS PERSONS. 



King Richard the Second. 
Edmund of Lancley, Duke of York. 
John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. 
Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford. 
Duke of Aumerle, Son to the Duke of York 
Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. 
Duke of Surrey. 

Earl of Salisbury. Earl Berkley. 
Bushy, ) 



Bagot, > Creatures to King Richard. 

Green, ) 

Earl of Northumberland. 



Henry Percy, his Son. 

Lord Ross. Lord Willoughby. Lord Fitz- 

water. 
Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of Westminster. 
Lord Marshal ; and another Lord. 
Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen Scroop. 
Captain of a Band of Welchmen. 



Queen to King Richard. 
Duchess of Gloucester. 
Duchess of York. 
Lady attending the Queen. 

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. 

SCENE, dispersedly in England and Wales. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Richard, attended ; John of Gaunt, and 
other NobleSj with him. 

K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honourd Lancas- 
ter, 
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,^ 
P>rought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son, 
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal. 
Which then our leisure ^vould not let us liear, 
Agfiinst the duke of Norfolk, Thomas JNIowbray ? 

Gaunt. I have, my liege. 

A'. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him. 
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice, 
Or worthily, as a good .subject should, 
On some known ground of trcacliery in him ? 

Gaunt. As near as I could sift fiim on that argument. 
On some apparent danger seen in him. 
Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice. 

A'. Rich. Then call them to our presence : face to 
face, 
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear 
Th' accuser, and th' accused, freely speak. — 

[E.reunt .some Attendants. 
High stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, 
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. 
Re-enter Attendants, u'ith Bolin(;broke and Norfolk. 

lioliug. FulP many years of ha|)py days befal 
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege ! 

Nor. Each day still better other's happiness; 
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, 
Add an immortal title to your crown ! 



K. Rich. We thank you both : yet one but flatters us, 
As well appcarcth by the cause you come ; 
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. — 
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object 
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? 

Baling. First, heaven be the record to my speech ! 
In the devotion of a subject's love. 
Tendering the precious safety of my prince. 
And free from \\Tath or^ misbegotten hate, 
Come I appellant to this princely presence. — 
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee. 
And mark my greeting well ; for what I speak. 
My body shall make good upon this earth, 
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. 
Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant ; 
Too good to be so, and too bad to live. 
Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, 
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. 
Once more, the more to aggravate the note. 
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat : 
And wish, (so please my sovereign) ere I move. 
What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may 
proA'c. 

Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal. 
'T is not the trial of a woman's war. 
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues. 
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain : 
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this ; 
Yet can I not of such taine patience boast. 
As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say. 
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs mc 
From giving rein and spur* to my free speech, 



1 bani and bond are used indifferently. * This word is not in f. c. ' from other : in f. e. * reins and spurs : in f. e. 



828 



KING PJCHAED II. 



ACT I. 



Which else would post, until it had return'd 

These terms of treason doubled dow-n his throat. 

Setting aside his high blood's royalty, 

And let him be no kinsman to my liege, 

I do defy him, and I spit at him ; 

Call him a slanderous coward, and a villain : 

Which to maintain I would allow him odds, 

And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot 

P^ven to the frozen ridges of the Alps, 

Or any other ground inhabitable' 

Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. 

Mean time, let this defend my loyalty : — 

By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. 

Baling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my 
Disclaiming here the kindred of the king ; [gage. 

And lay aside my high blood's royalty. 
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except : 
If guilty dread have left thee so much strength, 
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop. 
By that and all the rites of knighthood else, 
Will I make good again.st thee, arm to arm. 
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse- devise. 

Nor. I take it up ; and, by that sword I swear. 
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, 
I '11 answer thee in any fair degree, 
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial : 
And, when I mount, alive may I not light, 
If I be traitor, or unjustly fight ! 

K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's 
charge ? 
It must be great, that can inherit us 
So much as of a thought of ill in him. 

Boling. Look, what I speak^, my life shall prove it 
true : — 
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, 
In name of tendings for your highness' soldiers, 
The which he hath detain'd for lewd* employments, 
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain. 
Besides, I say, and will in battle prove. 
Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge 
That ever was survey'd by English eye, 
That all the treasons, for these eighteen years 
Complotted and contrived in this land. 
Fetch from false Mowbray their first liead and spring. 
Farther, I say, and farther will maintain 
Upon his bad life to make all this good. 
That he did plot the duke of Glcster's death ; 
Suggest* his soon-believing adversaries, 
And, consequently, like a traitor-coward, 
I Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood : 
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, 
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, 
To me for justice, and rough chastisement ; 
And, by the glorious worth of my descent, 
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. 

K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars ! — 
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this ? 

Nor. ! let my sovereign turn away his face, 
And bid his ears a little while be deaf. 
Till I have told this slander of his blood, 
How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. 

K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes, and ears : 
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, 
As he is but my father's larother's son, 
Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow, 
Sucli neighbour nearness to our sacred blood 
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize 
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul. 



1 Uninhabitable : often so used by contemporary writers. 2 From the quarto, 1597. 3 go the folio 
* Incite. « From the quarto, 1597. ' dear : in f. e. 8 Norfolk's crest was a golden leopard. 



He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou : 
Free speech and fearless, I to thee allow. 

Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, 
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. 
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, 
Disburs'd J duly^ to his highness' soldiers: 
The other part reserv'd I by consent ; 
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt. 
Upon remainder of a clear' account, 
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen. 
Now, swallow down that lie. — For Gloster's death, 
I slew him not ; but to mine own disgrace. 
Neglected my sworn duty in that case. — 
For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, 
The honourable father to my foe, 
Once did I lay an ambush for your life, 
A trespass that doth vex my grieved sou! ; " 
But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, 
I did confess it, and exactly begg'd 
Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it. 
This is my fault : as for the rest appeal'd, 
It issues from the rancour of a villain, 
A recreant and most degenerate traitor ; 
Which in myself I boldly will defend, 
And interchangeably hurl down my gage 
Upon this overweening traitor's foot. 
To prove myself a loyal gentleman 
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. 
In haste whereof, most heartily I pray 
Your highness to assign our trial day. 

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me. 
Let 's purge this choler without letting blood : 
This we prescribe, though no physician ; 
Deep malice makes too deep incision. 
Forget, forgive ; conclude, and be agreed ; 
Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. — 
Good uncle, let this end where it begun; 
We '11 calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. 

Gannt. To be a make-peace shall become my age. — 
Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage. 

A'. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw doMTi his. 

Gaunt. When, Harry? when? 

Obedience bids, I should not bid again. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down ; we bid ; there is no 
boot. 

Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot, 
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame : 
The one my duty owes ; but my fair name. 
Despite of death that lives upon my grave, 
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. 
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here ; 
Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear ; 
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood 
Which breath'd this poison. 

K. Rich. Rage must be withstood. 

Give me his gage : — lions make leopards* tame. 

Nor. Yea, but not change his spots : take but my 
shame, 
And I resign my gage. My dear, dear lord, 
The purest treasure mortal times afford 
Is spotless reputation ; that away, 
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. 
A jewel in a ten times barr'd-up chest 
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 
Mine honour is my life : both ^row in one : 
Take honour from me, and my life is done. 
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; 
In that I live, and for that will I die. 

quarto, 1597 : said. * Wicked. 



SCENE III. 



KING EICHAED U. 



329 



K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage : do you 
begin. 

Boling. ! God defend my soul from such deep' sin. 
Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight ? 
Or with pale boggar-fcar impeach my height 
Before this outdar'd dastard ? Ere my tongue 
Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong, 
Or sound so base a parle. my teeth shall tear 
The slavish motive of recanting fear, 
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, 
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. 

[Exit Gaunt. 

K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to command : 
Which since we cannot do to make you friends. 
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, 
At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day. 
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate 
The swelling difference of your settled hate : 
Since we cannot atone'^ you, we shall see 
Justice design^ the victor's chivalry. — 
Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms. 
Be ready to direct these home-alarms. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IL— The same. A Room in the Duke of 
Lancaster's Palace. 
Enter Gaunt, ami Duchcs.f o/Gloster. 

Gaunt. Alas ! the part I had in Gloster's blood* 
Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims, 
To stir against the butchers of his life : 
But since correction lieth in those hands. 
Which made the fault that we cannot correct. 
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ; 
Who when they^ see the hours ripe on earth. 
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. 

Duch. Finds brotherhood in tliee no sharper spur ? 
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ? 
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, 
Were as seven phials of his sacred blood. 
Or seven fair branches springing from one root : 
Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, 
Some of those branches by the destinies cut ; 
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gioster, 
One phial full of Edward's sacred blood. 
One flourishing branch of his most royal root, 
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt; 
Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, 
By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. 
Ah ! Gaunt, his blood was thine : that bed, that womb. 
That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee. 
Made him a man: and though thou liv'st, and breath'st. 
Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent 
In some large measure to thy father's death, 
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, 
Who was the model of thy father's life. 
Call it not patience. Gaunt ; it is despair : 
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, 
Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life, 
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee. 
That which in mean men wc entitle patience, 
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. 
What shall I say ? to safeguard thine own life, 
The best way is to venge my Gloster's death. 

Gaunt. Gods is the quarrel ; for God"s substitute. 
His deputy anointed in his sight, 
Hath caus'd his death ; the which, if wrongfully, 
Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift 
An angry arm against his minister. 

DhcA. Where then, alas ! may I complain myself? 



Gaunt. To God, the widow's champion and defence, 
Duch. Why tlien, I will. — Farewell, farewell," old 
Gaunt. 
Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold 
Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight. 

! sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, 
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast ; 

Or if misfortune I miss the first career. 

Be Mowbray's sins so hea^^ in his bosom. 

That they may break his foaming courser's back, 

And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 

A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford. 

Farewell, old Gaunt : thy sometime brother's wife 

With her companion grief must end her life. 

Gaunt. Sister, farewell : I must to Coventry. 
As much good stay with thee, as go with me ! 

Duch. Yet one word more. — Grief boundeth where 
it falls, 
Not with the empty holloAvness, but weight : 

1 take my leave before I have begun. 

For sorrow ends not when it scemeth done. 

Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. 

Lo ! this is all : — nay, yet depart not so ; 

Though this be all, do not so quickly go ; 

I shall remember more. Bid him — ! what? — 

With all good speed at Plashy visit me. 

Alack ! and what shall good old York there see, 

But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls. 

Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones ? 

And what hear' there for welcome, but my groans ? 

Therefore commend me : let him not come there, 

To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. 

Desolate, desperate,* vdU I hence, and die : 

The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Eoceunt. 

SCENE III. — Gosford Green, near Coventry. 

Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, ^c, attending. 

Enter the Lord Marshal, and Aumerle. 

Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd ? 

Aum. Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in. 

Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, 
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. 

Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and 
stay 
For nothing but his majesty's approach. 
Flourish. Enter King Richard, who takes his seat on 

his Throne ; Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green, and 

others, who take their places. A Trumpet is sounded, 

and ansivered by another Trumpet within. Then enter 

Norfolk in armour, preceded by a Herald. 

K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion 
The cause of his arrival here in arms : 
Ask him his name ; and orderly proceed 
To .swear him in the justice of his cause. 

Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who thou 
art. 
And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in arms : 
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel. 
Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thine oath, 
As so defend thee heaven, and thy valour ! 

Nor. Mv name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Nor- 
folk ; 
Who hither come engaged by my oath, 
(Which, God defend, a knight should violate!) 
Both to defend my loyalty and truth. 
To God, my king, and my' succeeding issue, 
Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me; 
And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, 



1 So the quartos ; the folios : foul. 2 ^t one. reconcile. ' Designate. * My relationship to him. ' So all the old copies ; mod. eds. read : 
he sees. ° Kot in f. e. ' So all old copies j mod. eds. read : cheer. ^ desolate : in f. e. <> So the quartos ; the folio : his. 



330 



KING KICHARD H. 



ACT I. 



To prove him, in defending of myself, 
A traitor to my God, my king, and me : 
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 

Trumpets sound. Enter Bolingbroke, in armour.^ 
preceded by a Herald. 

K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, 
Both who he is, and why he cometh hither 
Thus plated in habiliments of war ; 
And foniially, according to our law. 
Depose him in the justice of his cause. 

Mar. What is thy name, and wherefore com'st thou 
hither. 
Before King Kichard in his royal lists? 
Against whom com'st thou ? and what is thy quarrel ? 
Speak like a true knight : so defend thee heaven ! 

Baling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms, 
To prove by God's grace, and my body's valour, 
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, 
That he 's a traitor, foul and dangerous, 
To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me : 
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 

Mar. On jiain of death no person be so bold, 
Or daring hardy, as to touch the lists ; 
Except the marshal, and such officers 
Appointed to direct these fair designs. 

Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's 
And bow my knee before his majesty : [hand. 

For Mowbray and myself are like two men 
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage ; 
Then let us take a ceremonious leave. 
And loving farewell of our several friends. 

Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your highness. 
And craves to kiss your hand, and take liis leave. 

A'. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms. 
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right. 
So be thy fortune in this royal fight. 
Farewell, my blood ; which if to-day thou shed. 
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. 

Boling. ! let no noble eye profane a tear 
For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear. 
As confident as is the falcon's flight 
Against a bird, do I witli Mowbray fight. — 
My loving lord, I take my leave of you ; — 
Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerlc ; — 
Not sick, although I have to do with death, 
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. 
Lo ! as at English feasts, so I regrect 
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet : 
! thou, [To Gaunt.] the earthly author of my 
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, [blood, — 

Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up 
To reach at victory above my head. 
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers ; 
And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, 
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat. 
And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt, 
Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son. 

Gaunt. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous ! 
Be swift like lightning in the execution; 
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled. 
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque 
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy : 
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. 

Boling. Mine innocence, and Saint; George to thrive ! 

Nor. However God, or fortune, cast my lot. 
There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne, 
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman. 



Never did captive with a freer heart 

Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace 

His golden uncontroU'd enfranchisement. 

More than my dancing soul doth celebrate 

This feast of battle with mine adversary. — 

Most mighty liege, and my companion peers. 

Take from my mouth the wish of happy years : 

As gentle and as jocund, as to jest,' 

Go I to fight. Truth hath a quiet breast. 

K. Rich. Farewell, my lord : securely I espy 
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. — 
Order the trial, marshal, and begin. 

3Iar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Receive thy lance; and God defend the^ right ! 

Boling. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry, amen. 

31ar. Go bear this lance [To an Officer.] to Thomas, 
duke of Norfolk. 

1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Stands here for God, his sovereign, and liimself. 

On pain to be found false and recreant. 

To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, 

A traitor to his God, his king, and liim ; 

And dares him to set forward to the fight. 

2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of 

Norfolk, 
On pain to be found false and recreant, 
Both to defend himself, and to approve 
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal; 
Courageously, and with a free desire, 
Attending but the signal to begin. 

Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. 

[A Charge sounded. 
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder^ down. 

A'. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their 
spears, 
And both return back to their chairs again. — 
Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound, 
While we return these dukes what we decree. — 

[A long flourish. 
Draw near, [7b the Combatants.] and list, what with 

our council we have done. 
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soii'd 
With that dear blood which it hath fostered ; 
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 
Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords; 
And for we think the eagle-winged pride* 
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, 
With rival-hating envy, set on you 
To Make our peace, which in our country's cradle 
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; 
Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums, 
With harsh rebounding trumpets' dreadful bray, 
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms. 
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace, 
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood : 
Therefore, we banish you our territories : 
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life*, 
Till twice five summers have enrieh'd our fields, 
Shall not regreet our fair dominions. 
But tread the stranger paths of banishment. 

Boling. Your will be done. This must my comfort be, 
That sun that warms you here shall shine on me ; 
And those his golden beams, to you here lent, 
Shall point on me, and gild my banishment. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, 
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce : 
The fly'-slow hours shall not determinate 



> Jest often means a mask entertainment. » So the quarto, 1597; other eds. : thy. ^ Truncheon. * This and the four following lines 
are omitted in the folio. * So the quarto ; the folio : death. « sly : in f e. 



SCENE III. 



KING RICHAED II. 



331 



The dateless limit of thy dear exile. 
The hopelcFS word of — never to return 
Breathe I against tliee, upon pain of life. 

Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, 
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth : 
A dearer merit', not so deep a maim* 
As to be cast forth in the common air, 
Have I dcscrv'd at your highness' hands. 
The language I have learn'd these forty years, 
My native English, now I must forego ; 
And now my tongue's use is to me no more, 
Than an unstringed viol, or a harp ; 
Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up, 
Or, being open, put into his hands 
Tiiat knows no touch to tune the harmony. 
Within my mouth you have enjail'd my tongue. 
Doubly porteuUis'd, with my teeth and lips; 
And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance 
Is made my jailor to attend on me. 
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse. 
Too far in years to be a pupil now; 
What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death. 
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath ? 

K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate : 
After our sentence plaining comes too late. 

Nor. Then, thus I turn me from my country's light. 
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. [Retiring. 

K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. 
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; 
Swear by the duty that ye owe to God, 
(Our part therein we banish with younselves) 
To keep the oath that we administer : — 
You never shall (so help you truth and God !) 
Embrace each other's love in banishment ; 
Nor never^ look upon each other's face ; 
Nor never^ write, regreet, nor reconcile 
This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate ; 
Nor never by advised purpose meet, 
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, 
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 

Baling. I swear. 

Nor. And I, to keep all this. 

[They ki.s.s the king's sword.* 

Boling. Norfolk, so fare', as to mine enemy. — 
By this time, had the king permitted us, 
One of our souls had wander'd in the air, 
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh. 
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land : 
Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm ; 
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along 
The clogging burden of a guilty soul. 

Nor. No, Bolingbroke : if ever I were traitor, 
My name be blotted from the book of life. 
And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence. 
But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; 
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. — 
Farewell, my liege. — Now no way can I stray : 
Save back to England, all the world 's my way. [Exit. 

K. Rich. Uncle, even in tlie glas.ses of thine eyes 
I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect 
Hath from the number of his banished years 
Pluck'd four away. — [To Bolingbroke] Six frozen 

winters spent. 
Return with welcome home from banishment. 

Boling. How long a time lies in one little word ! 
Four lagging winters and four wanton springs, 
End in a word : such is the breath of kings. 

Gaunt. I thank my liege, that in regard of me 



He shortens four years of my son's exile ; 

But little vantage shall I reap thereby. 

For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend, 

Can change their moons, and bring their times about, 

My oil-dried lamp, and time-bcwasted light, 

Shall be extinct witli age and endless night : 

My inch of taper will be burnt and done. 

And blindfold death not let me see my son. 

K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. 

Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: 
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, 
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow. 
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, 
But stop no wrinkle in iiis pilgrimage : 
Thy word is current with him for my death. 
But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. 

K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, 
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave : 
Why at our justice seem'st thou, then, to lower? 

Gaunt. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. 
You urg'd me as a judge ; but I had rather. 
You would have bid me argue like a father. 

! had it been a stranger, not my child,' 

To smooth his fault I should have been more mild : 

A partial slander sought I to avoid. 

And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. 

Alas ! I look'd when some of you should say, 

1 was too strict to make mine own away ; 
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue. 
Against my will to do myself this wrong. 

K. Rich. Cousin, farewell ; — and, uncle, bid him so: 
Six years we banish him, and he shall go. 

[Flovrish. Exeunt King Richard, and Train. 

Aum. Cousin, farewell : what presence must not 
know, 
From where do you remain, let paper show. 

Mar. My lord, no leave take I ; for I will ride, 
As far as land will let me, by your side. 

Gaunt. O ! to what purpose dost thou hoard thy 
words. 
That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends ? 

Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you, 
When the tongue's office should be prodigal 
To breathe th' abundant dolour of the heart. 

Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. 

Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. 

Gaunt. What is six winters ? they are quickly gone. 

Boling. To men in joy ; but grief makes one hour 
ten. 

Gaunt. Call it a travel, that thou tak'st for pleasure, 

Boling. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so. 
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. 

Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps 
Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set 
The precious jewel of thy home-return. 

Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make^ 
Will but remember me, what a deal of world 
I wander from the jewels that I love. 
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood 
To foreign passages, and in the end. 
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else 
But that I was a journeyman to grief ? 

Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits, 
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. 
Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; 
There is no virtue like necessity : 
Think not the king did banish thee, 
But thou the king : woe doth the heavier sit, 



I Rewnrd. '3 So the quartos ; the folio : ever. * Not in f. e. * So the old copies ; the 2d folio, and mod. eds. read : far. 
the two following lines are omitted in the folio. '' This and the next speech are omitted in the folio. 



« This and 



332 



KYNG RICHARD H. 



ACT II. 



Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 

Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour, 

And not the king exil'd thee ; or suppose. 

Devouring pestilence hangs in our air, 

And thou art flying to a fresher clime : 

Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 

To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st : 

Suppose the singing birds musicians, 

The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd. 

The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more 

Than a delightful measure, or a dance ; 

For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite 

The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. 

Baling. O ! who can hold a fire in his hand, 
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ? 
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite. 
By bare imagination of a feast ? 
Or wallow naked in December snow. 
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat ? 
O ! no : the apprehension of the good, 
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse : 
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more, 
Than when it^ bites, but lanceth not the sore. 

Gavnt. Come, come, my son, I '11 bring thee on thy 
way: 
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay, 

Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell : sweet 
soil, adieu ; 
My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet ! 
Where-e'er I wander, boast of this [ can. 
Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. A Room in the King's 

Castle. 

Enter King Richard, Bagot, and Green, at one door ; 
AuMERLE at another. 
K. Rich. We did observe. — Cousin Aumerle, 
How far brought you high Hereford on his way ? 

Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so. 
But to the next highway, and there I left him. 

K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were 

shed ? 
Aum. 'Faith, none for me; except the north-east 
wind. 
Which then blew bitterly against our faces, 
Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so by chance 
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. 

K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted 

with him ? 
Aum. Farewell : and, for my heart disdain'd my 
tongue 
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft 
To counterfeit oppression of such grief. 
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. 



Marry, would the word " farewell " have lengthen'd 

hours, 
And added years to his short banishment. 
He should have had a volume of farewells ; 
But, since it would not, he had none of me. 

K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin ; but 't is doubt. 
When time shall call him home from banishment, 
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. 
Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, 
Observed his courtship to the common people : 
How he did seem to dive into their hearts, 
With humble and familiar courtesy ; 
What reverence he did throw away on slaves ; 
Wooing poor craft.«men with the craft of smiles. 
And patient underbearing of his fortune. 
As 't were to banish their affects with him. 
Off" goes his bonnet to an oyster wench ; 
A brace of draymen bid God speed him well, 
And had the tribute of his supple knee 
With — "Thanks, my countrymen, my loving 

friends ;" — 
As were our England in reversion his, 
And he our subjects' next degree in hope. 

Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these 
thoughts. 
Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland, 
Expedient^ manage must be made, my liege. 
Ere farther leisure yield them farther means. 
For their advantage, and your highness' loss. 

K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war : 
And, for our coffers with too great a court. 
And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, 
We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm ; 
The revenue whereof shall furnish us 
For our affairs in hand. If that come short. 
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters ; 
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, 
They shall subscribe them for largs sums of gold, 
And send them after to supply our wants. 
For we vsdll make for Ireland presently. 

Enter Bushy. 
Bushy, what news ? 

Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord. 
Suddenly taken, and hath sent post-haste. 
To entreat your majesty to visit him. 

K. Rich. Where lies he now ? 

Bushy. At Ely-house, my liege. 

K. Rich. Now put it, God, in his physician's mind, 
To help him to his grave immediately ! 
The lining of his coffers shall make coats 
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. — 
Come, gentlemen, let 's all go visit him : 
Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late ! 

{Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — London. An Apartment in Ely-house. 

Gaunt on a Couch ; the Duke of York, and Others, 

standing by him. 
Gaunt. Will the king come, that I may breathe my 
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth ? [last 

York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath ; 
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. 

Gaunt. ! but they say, the tongues of dying men 
Enforce attention like deep harmony : 



Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain ; 
For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. 
He that no more may say is listen'd more. 

Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose ; 
More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before. 

The setting sun and music at' the close, 
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, 
Writ in remembrance more than things long past. 
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, 
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. 



I The quarto, 1597, has : he. 2 Expeditious. ^ So the quartos ; the folios : is. 



SCENE I. 



KINO KICHAKD II. 



333 



York. No ; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, 
As praises of his state : then, there are found' 
Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound 
The open ear of youth doth always listen : 
Report of fashions in proud Italy ; 
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation 
Limps after, in base imitation. 
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, 
So it be new there 's no respect how vile, 
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears ? 
Then, all too late comes counsel to be heard. 
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. 
Direct not him, whose way himself will choose : 
'T is breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou 
lose. 

Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd, 
And thus, expiring, do foretell of him. 
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, 
For violent fires soon burn out themselves ; 
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; 
He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes • 
With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder : 
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant. 
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. 
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, 
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
This other Eden, demi-paradise ; 
This fortress, built by nature for herself, 
Against infection, and the hand of war ; 
This happy breed of men, this little world, 
This precious stone set in the silver sea. 
Which serves it in the oflice of a wall, 
Or as a moat defensive to a house, 
Against the envy of less happier lands ; 
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, 
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
Fear'd by their breed, and famous by^ their birth, 
Renowned for their deeds as far from home, 
For Christian service and true chivalry, 
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry 
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son : 
This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land. 
Dear for her reputation through the world, 
Is now leas'd out, I die pronouncing it, 
Like to a tenement, or pelting^ farm. 
England, bound in with the triumphant sea, 
Whoso rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame. 
With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds : 
That England, that was wont to conquer others, 
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. 
Ah ! would the scandal vanish with my life, 
How happy then were my ensuing death. 
Enter King Richard, and Queen ; Aumerle, Bushy, 
Greex. Bagot, Ross, and Willoughby. 

York. The king is come : deal midly with his youth ; 
For young hot colts, being urg'd*, do rage the more. 

Queen. How fares our noble vuicle, Lancaster ? 

K. Rich. What, comfort, man ! How is 't with aged 
Gaunt ? 

Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition ! 
Old Gaunt, indeed ; and gaunt in being old : 
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast ; 
And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt ? 
For sleeping England long time havfe I watch'd ; 
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt : 



The pleasure that some fathers feed upon 
Is my strict fast, I mean my children's looks ; 
And therein fasting hast thou made me gaunt. 
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave. 
Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. 

K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their 
names ? 

Gaunt. No : misery makes sport to mock itself: 
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, 
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. 

K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with^ those that 
live ? 

Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die. 

A'. Rich. Thou, nowa-dying. say'st — thou flat ter'st me. 

Gaunt. O ! no; thou diest, though I the sicker be. 

K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. 

Gaunt. Now, He that made me knows I see thee ill; 
111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. 
Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land, 
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick ; 
And thou, too careless patient as thou art, 
Commit'st thy 'nointed body to the cure 
Of those physicians that first wounded thee. 
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, 
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head, 
And yet, incaged in so small a verge. 
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. 
O I had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye. 
Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons. 
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, 
Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd. 
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. 
Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, 
It were a shame to let this land by lease ; 
But for thy world enjoying but this land. 
Is it not more than shame to shame it so ? 
Landlord of England art thou now*, not king: 
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law, 
And thou — ' 

K. Rich. A lunatic lean-witted fool. 
Presuming on an ague's privilege, 
Dar'st with thy frozen admonition 
Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood 
With fury from his native residence. 
Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, 
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son. 
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head, 
Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders. 

Gaunt. ! spare me not, my brother Edward's son, 
For that I was his father Edward's son : 
That blood already, like the pelican, 
Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd. 
My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul. 
Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls. 
May be a precedent and witness good, 
That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood. 
Join with the present sickness that I have. 
And thy unkindness be like crooked age. 
To crop at once a too-long withered flower. 
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee : 
These words hereafter thy tormentors be. — 
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave : 
Love they to live, that love and honour have. 

[Exit, borne out by his Attendants. 

K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sullens have, 
For both hast thou, and both become the grave. 



I The quarto, 1503, reads ; As praises, of •nrliose taste the ^vise are foiincJ (fond). - Folio, 1G23 : for. 3 Petty. * rag'd : in f. e. « The folio 
omits : with. * The folio : and. ' So the quartos j the folio and most mod .eds. : 

And— 
K. Rich. And thou a lunatic, &c. 



334 



KING EICHARD n. 



ACT 11. 



York. I do beseech your majesty, impute his words 
To wayward sickliness and age in him : 
He loves }ou, on my life, and holds you dear 
As Harry, duke of Hereford, were he here. 

K. Rich. Right, you say true • as Hereford's love, 
so his : 
As theirs, so mine : and all be as it is. 
Enter Northumberland. 

North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your 
majesty. 

A'. Rich. What says he? 

North. Nay, nothing ; all is said. 
His tongue is now a stringless instrument : 
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. 

York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so ! 
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. 

A'. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he: 
His lime is spent ; our pilgrimage must be. 
So much for that. — Now for our Irish wars. 
We must supplant those rough rug-lieaded kerns, 
Which live like venom, where no venom else, 
But only they, hath privilege to live : 
And for these great aflairs do ask some charge, 
Towards our assistance we do seize to us 
The plate, coin, revenues, and movables. 
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. 

York. How long shall I be patient? Ah ! how long 
Sliall tender duty make me suffer wrong? 
Not Gloster's death, nor Heretbrd's banishment, 
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, 
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke 
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace. 
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek. 
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. 
I am the last of noble Edward's sons. 
Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first : 
In war was never lion rag'd more fierce. 
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, 
Than was that young and princely gentleman. 
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, 
Accoinplish'd with the number of thy hours ; 
But when he frown'd. it M-as against the French, 
And not again.'^t his friends : liis noble hand 
Did win what lie did spend, and spent not that 
Which his triumphant father's hand had won : 
His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, 
But bloody with the enemies of his kin. 
0. liichard ! York is too far gone witli grief, 
Oi- else he iieA'cr would compare between. 

K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter? 

York. 0, my liege ! 

Pardon me, if you please ; if not, I. pleas'd 
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. 
Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands, 
Tlie royaliies and rights of banish'd Hereford? 
Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live ? 
Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? 
Did not the one deserve to have an heir ? 
Is not his heir a well-deserving son ? 
Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time 
His charters and his customary rights ; 
Let not to-morrow, then, ensue to-day; 
Be not thyself; for how art thou a king, 
But by fair sequence and succession ? 
Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true !) 
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights. 



Call in the letters patents that he hath 

By his attornies-general to sue 

His livery,^ and deny his ofTer'd homage, 

You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, 

You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts. 

And prick my tender patience to those thoughts 

Which honour and allegiance cannot think. 

A. Rich. Think what you will : we seize into our 
hands 
His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. 

York. I '11 not be by the while. My liege, farewell: 
What will ensue hereof, there 's none can tell ; 
But by bad courses may be understood. 
That their events can never fall out good. [Exit. 

K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight: 
Bid him repair to us to Ely-house, 
To see this business. To-morrow next -' 

We will for Ireland ; and 't is time, I trow : 
And we create, in absence of ourself. 
Our uncle York lord governor of England, 
For he is just, and always lov'd us well. — 
Come on, our qvieen : to-morrow must we part ; 
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. [Flourish. 

[Exeunt, King, Quken, Bushy. Aumerle, 
Green, and Bagot. 

North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead. 

Ro.s.";. And living too, for now his son is duke. 

Willo. Barely in title, not in revenues. 

North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. 

Ros.s. My heart is great ; but it must break with silence. 
Ere "t be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. 

North. Nay, speak thy mind ; and let him ne'er 
speak more. 
That speaks thy words again to do thee harm ! 

WiUn. Tends that thou 'dst speak, to the duke of 
Hereford ? 
If it be so, out with it boldly, man : 
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. 

Ross. No good at all that I can do for him, 
Unless you call it good to pity him. 
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. 

North. Now, afore God, 't is shame such WTongs are 
borne 
In him, a royal prince, and many more 
Of noble blood in this declining land. 
The king is not himself, but basely led 
By flatterers ; and what they will inform, 
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all. 
That will the king severely prosecute, 
'Gainst us, our wives^, our children, and our heirs. 

Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous 
taxes. 
And quite lost their hearts ; the nobles hath he fin'd 
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. 

Willo. And daily new' exactions are deA-is"d ; 
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what : 
But what, o' God's name, doth become of this ? 

North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath 
not. 
But basely yielded upon compromise 
That which his noble' ancestors achiev'd with blows : 
]\Iore hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. 

Ross The earl of W^iltshire hath the realm in farm. 

Willo. The king 's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. 

North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him. 

Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars. 



1 On the death of every person who held by Knijht's ser\'ice. the escheator of the court summoned a jury, -n-ho inqxiired what estate he 
died seized, or possessed of, and what a<re his next heir was. If he was under age, he became a ward of the king' ; if of full age, he had a 
right to sue out a writ of omter la tnain, that is, his livery, that the king's hand might be taken off, and the land delivered to him. — Malone. 
2 lives : in f. e. 3 Not in the folio. 



SCENE n. 



KING RICHARD II. 



335 



His burdenous taxations notwithstandiiiji, 
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. 

North. His noble kinsman : most degenerate king ! 
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, 
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm : 
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails. 
And yet we strike not, but securely perish. 

Ross. We see the very wreek that we must suffer; 
And unavoided is the danger now. 
For suffering so the causes of our wreck. 

North. Not so: even through the hollow eyes of 
death, 
I spy life peering ; but I dare not say 
How near the tidings of our comfort is. 

Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost 
ours. 

Ross. Be contident to speak. Northumberland : 
We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, 
Thy words are but our^ thoughts : therefore, be bold. 

North. Then thus. — I have from Port le Blanc, a bay 
In B.ittany, receiv'd intelligence. 
That Harry duke of Hereford, Reginald lord Cobham, 
That late broke from the duke of Exeter, 
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury, 
Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramslon, 
Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis 

Quoint, 
All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, 
With eight tall sliips, three thousand men of war, 
Are making hither with all due expedience. 
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore : 
Perhaps, they had ere this, but that they stay 
The first departing of the king for Ireland. 
If, then, we shall shake off our slavish yoke. 
Imp* out our drooping country's broken wing. 
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown. 
Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter's gilt, 
And make high majesty look like itself, 
Away with me in post to Ravenspurg ; 
But if you faint, as fearing to do so, 
Stay and be secret, and myself will go. 

Ross. To horse, to horse ! urge doubts to them that 
fear. 

Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE XL— The Same. An Apartment in the 

Palace. 

Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. 

Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad : 
You promis'd, when you parted with the king, 
To lay aside life'-harming heaviness, 
And entertain a cheerful disposition. 

Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please myself, 
I cannot do it ; yet I know no cause 
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief. 
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest 
As my sweet Richard. Yet, again, methinks, 
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, 
Is coming towards me ; and my inward soul 
With nothing trembles : at some thing it grieves, 
INIore than with parting from my lord, the king. 

Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty sha- 
dows. 
Which show like grief itself, but are not so : 
For sorrows eye. glazed with blinding tears, 



Divides one thing entire to many objects ; 
Like perspectives*, which, rightly gaz'd upon, 
Show nothing but confusion : ey'd awry, 
Distinguish form : so your .sweet majesty. 
Looking awry upon your lords departure. 
Finds shapes of grief more than himself to wail; 
Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows 
or what it is not. Then, thrice gracious queen. 
More than j'our lord's departure weep not : more 's 

not seen ; 
Or if it be, 't is with false sorrow's eye, 
Wliich for things true weeps things imaginary. 

Queen. It may be so : but yet my inward soul 
Persuades me, it is otherwise : howe'er it be, 
I cannot but be sad : so heavy sad. 
As, though unthinking^ on no thought I think, 
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. 

Bushy. "T is nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. 

Queen. 'T is nothing less : conceit is still deriv'd 
From some forefather grief; mine is not so, 
For nothing hath begot my something woe' ; 
Or something hath the nothing that I guess' : 
'Tis in reversion that I do pof-sess. 
But what it is, tliat is not yet known, what 
I cannot name ; 't is nameless woe, I wot. 
Enter Green. 

Green. God save your majesty : — and well met, 
gentlemen. — 
I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. 

Queen. Why hop'st thou so V 'tis better hope he is, 
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope ; 
Then, wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd ? 

Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his 
power, 
And driven into despair an enemy's hope. 
Who strongly hath set footing in this land. 
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, 
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd 
At Ravenspurg. 

Queen. Now, God in heaven forbid ! 

Green. Ah ! madam, 't is too true ; and what is worse, 
The lord Northumberland, his son young'* Henry Percy, 
The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, 
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. 

Bushy. Why have you not proelaim'd Northum- 
berland, 
And all the rest of the revolted faction, traitors ? 

Green. We have : whereupon the earl of Worcester 
Hath broken his staff, resign'd his stewardship. 
And all the household servants fled with him 
To Bolingbroke. 

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe. 
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir : 
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, 
And J, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, 
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. 

Bu.shy. Despair not, madam. 

Queen. Who shall hinder me ? 

I will despair, and be at enmity 
With cozening hope : he is a flatterer, 
A parasite, a keeper-back of death. 
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, 
Which false hope lingers in extremity. 

Enter the Duke of York, part-armed.^ 

Green. Here comes the duke of York. 

Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck. 



1 ail : in f. e. ' In.?ert. a new feather in plaee of a brolfen one. ^ So the quartos ; the folios : self. * Knisht says, these " perspectives^ 
are pictures painted on a board, so cut as to present a number of sides or Hats, when viewed obliquely. "When '• rightly gazed upon." i. e 
in front, nothing can be seen ; eyed awry, the picture is visible. * in thinking : in f. e. ' g-'ief : in f. e. ' grieve : in f. e. •* So the 
quartos ; the folio : his young son. ' Not in f. e. 



336 



KING EICHAED II. 



ACT n. 



! full of careful business are his looks. — 
Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. 

York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts : 
Comfort 's in heaven ; and we are on the earth. 
Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. 
Your husband, he is gone to save far off, 
Whilst others come to make him lose at home : 
Here am I left to underprop his land. 
Who. weak with age, cannot support myself. 
Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made ; 
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. 
Enter a Servant. 

Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. 

York. He was ? — Why, so : — go all which way it 
will. — 
The nobles they are fled, the commons cold. 
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. — 
Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster; 
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound. 
Hold • take my ring. 

Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship : 
To-day, as I came by, I called there ; 
But I shall grieve you to report the rest. 

York. What is 't, knave ? 

Serv. An hour before I came the duchess died. 

York. God for his mercy ! what a tide of woes 
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once ! 

1 know not what to do : — I would to God, 
(So my untruth had not provok'd him to it) 

The king had cut off my head with my brother's. — 
What ! are there no' posts dispatch'd for Ireland ? — 
How shall we do for money for these wars ? — 
Come, sLster, — cousin, I would say : pray, pardon me. — 
Go, fellow, [7b the Servant.] get thee home : provide 

some carts, 
And bring away the armour that is there. — 

[Exit Servant. 
Gentlemen, will you go muster men ? 
If I know how, or which way, fo order these affairs, 
Thus disorderly thrus-t into my hands, 
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen : 
Th' one is my sovereign, whom both my oath 
And duty bids defend ; th' other again. 
Is my near° kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd, 
Whom con.science and my kindred bids to right. 
Well, somewhat we must do. — Come, cousin, [men, 
I '11 dispose of you. — Gentlemen, go muster up your 
And meet me presently at Berkley^. 
I should to Plashy too, 
But time will not permit. — All is uneven, 
And every thing is left at si.K and seven. 

[Exeunt York and Queen. 

Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go for Ireland, 
But none returns. For us to levy power, 
Proportionable to the enemy, 
Is all impossible. 

Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love 
Is near the hate of those love not the king. 

And that 's the wavering commons • for their 
love 

Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them. 
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. 

Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con- 
demn'd. 

Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we. 
Because we ever have been near the king. 

Green. Well, I '11 for refuge straight to Bristol castle : 
The earl of Wiltshire is already there. 

Bushy. Thither will I with you ; for little office 



Bas:ot. 



Will the hateful commons perform for us, 
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. — 
Will you go along with us ? 

Bagot. No : I will to Ireland to his majesty. 
Farewell : if heart's presages be not vain, 
We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. 

Bushy. That 's as York thrives to beat back Boling- 
broke. 

Green. Alas, poor duke ! the task he undertakes 
Is numbering sands, and drinking oceans dry : 
Where o)ie on his side fights, thousands will fly. 
Farewell at once ; for once, for all, and ever. 

BiLshy. Well, we may meet again. 

Bagot. I fear me, never. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Wilds in Gloster-shire. 
Enter Bolingbroke anrf Northumberland, 
with Forces. 
Baling. How far is it. my lord, to Berkley now ? 
North. Believe me, noble lord, 
I am a stranger here in Glostershire. 
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, 
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome ; 
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, 
Making the hard way sweet and delectable. 
But, I bethink me, what a weary way 
From Ravenspurg to Cotswold will be found 
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company. 
Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd 
The tediousncss and process of my travel : 
But theirs is sweetcn'd with the hope to have 
The present benefit which I possess ; 
And hope to joy is little less in joy. 
Than hope enjoy'd : by this the weary lords 
Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath been 
By sight of what I have, your company. 

Baling. Of much less value is my company, 
Than your good words. But who comes here ? 
Enter Harry Percy. 
North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, 
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. — 
Harry, how fares your uncle ? 

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his 

health of yovi. 
North. Why, is he not with the queen ? 
Percy. No, my good lord : he hath forsook the 
court. 
Broken his staff of oflice, and dispers'd 
The household of the king. 

North. What was his reason ? 

He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake 
Together. 

Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. 
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, 
To offer service to the duke of Hereford ; 
And sent me over by Berkley, to discover 
What power the duke of York had levied there j 
Then, with directions to repair to Ravenspurg. 

North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy ? 
Percy. No, my good lord ; for that is not forgot, 
Which ne'er I did remember : to my knowledge, 
I never in my life did look on him. 

North. Then learn to know him now : this is the duke. 
Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, 
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young. 
Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm 
To more approved service and desert. 

Baling. I thank thee, gentle Percy ; and be sure, 
I count myself in nothing else so happy, 



1 Not in the folio. 2 This word is not in f. e. 3 The folio : Berkley castle. 



SCENE ir. 



KING EICHAED H. 



337 



As in a soul remembering my good friends ; 

And as my fortune ripens with thy love, 

It shall be still thy true love's recompense : 

My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. 

North. How far is it to Berkley ? And what stir 
Keeps good old York tliere, with his men of war ? 

Percy. There stands the castle, by yond' tuft of trees, 
Mann'd with three hundred men. as I have heard ; 
And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour ; 
None else of name, and noble estimate. 

Enter Ross and Willoitghby. 

North. Here come the lords of Ross and Wil- 
loughby, 
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. 

Boling. Welcome, my lords. I wot, your love pursues 
A banish'd traitor : all my treasury 
Is but yet unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd. 
Shall be your love and labour's recompense. 

Ro.'is. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. 

Willo. And far sui'mounts our labour to attain it. 

Boling. Evermore thanks, th' exchequer of the poor : 
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years. 
Stands for my bounty. But Mho comes here ? 
Enter Berkley. 

North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. 

Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you. 

Boling. My lord, my answer is — to Lancaster, 
And I am come to seek that name in England ; 
And I must find that title in your tongue, 
Before I make reply to aught you say. 

Berk. Mistake me not, my lord : 't is not my meaning. 
To raze one title of your honour out. 
To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will. 
From the most gracious' regent of this land. 
The duke of York, to know what pricks you on 
To take advantage of the absent time. 
And fright our native peace with self-borne arms. 
Enter York attended. 

Boling. I shall not need transport my words by you : 
Here comes his grace in person. — My noble uncle. 

[Kneels. 

York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, 
Whose duty is deccivable^ and false. 

Boling. My gracious vuicle — 

York. Tut. tut ! Grace me no grace, nor uncle me 
no uncle^ : 
I am no traitor's uncle : and that word " grace," 
In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. 
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs 
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground ? 
But more than that,* — why have they dar'd to march 
So many miles upon our peaceful bosom, 
Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war, 
And ostentation of despoiling" arms? 
Coin'st thou because th' anointed king is hence? 
Wliy, tbolisli boy, the king is left behind, 
And in my loyal bosom lies his power. 
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth, 
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself, 
Iicscucd the Black Prince, that young Mars of men. 
From forth the ranks of many thousand French, 
! then, how quickly should this arm of mine, 
Now prisoner to the palsy, diastise thee, 
And minister correction to thy fault ! 

Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault : 
On what condition stands it. and wherein? 

York. Even in condition of the worst degree ; 
In gross rebellion, and detested treason : 



Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come 

Before the expiration of thy time, 

In braving arms against thy sovereign. 

Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford j 
But as I come, I come for Lancaster. 
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace, 
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye : 
You are my father, for, methinks, in you 
I see old Gaunt alive : O ! then, my father. 
Will you permit that I shall stand eondemn'd 
A wandering vagabond, my rights and royalties 
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away 
To upstart unthrifts ? Wherefore was I born? 
If that my cousin king be king of England, 
It must be granted I am duke of Lancaster. 
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman ; 
Had you first died, and he been thus trod dowTi, 
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, 
To rouse his wrongers, chase them to the bay. 
I am denied to sue my livery here, 
And yet my letters patent give me leave : 
My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold; 
And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. 
What would you have me do ? I am a subject, 
And challenge law: attornies are denied me. 
And therefore per.sonally I lay my claim 
To my inheritance of free descent. 

North. The noble duke hath been too much abused. 

Ro.^s. It stands your grace upon to do him right. 

Willo. Base men by liis endowments are made great. 

York. My lords of England, let me tell you this : 
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, 
And labour' d all I could to do him right ; 
But in this kind to come : in braving arms, 
Be his own carver, and cut out his way, 
To find out right with wrong, — it may not be : 
And you, that do abet him in this kind, 
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. 

North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is 
But for his own : and for the right of that, 
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid, 
And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath. 

York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms. 
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, 
Because my power is weak, and all ill left ] 
But if I could, by him that gave me life, 
I would attach you all, and make you stoop 
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king : 
But since I cannot, be it known unto you, 
I do remain as neuter. So, farewell ; 
LTnlcss you please to enter in the castle, 
And there, my lords, repose you for this night. 

Boling. An ofier, uncle, that we will accept : 
But we must win your grace, to go with us 
To Bristol castle ; which, they say, is held 
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices. 
The caterpillars of the commonwealth. 
Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. 

York. It may be I will go with you ; — but yet I '11 
pause. 
For I am loath to break our country's laws. 
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are : 
Things past redress are now with me past care. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— A Camp in Wales. 
Enter Salisbury, aiid a Welsh Captain. 
Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days, 
And hardly kept our countrymen together, 



' Po the quarto, IHQ' 
* despised : in f. e. 



the others and the folio : glorious. 



3 Deceptive. 

22 



' " no uncle" is not in the folio. ♦ then, more why : in f. e. 



338 



KING KICPIARD II. 



AOT m. 



And yet wc hear no tidings from the king ; 
Therefore, we will disperse ourselves. Farewell. 

Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman : 
The king repcseth all his confidence in thee. 

Cap. '"T is thought, the king is dead : we will not stay. 
The bay-trees in our country arc all wither'd, 
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven ; 
The palc-fac'd moon locks bloody on the earth, 
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change: 
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, 
The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, 



The other to enjoy by rage and war : 

These signs forerun the death or fall' of kings. 

Farewell : our countrymen are gone and fled, 

As well assur'd Richard, their king, is dead. [Exit. 

Sal. Ah, Richard ! with the eyes of heavy mind, 
I see thy glory, like a .«hooting star, 
Fall to the base earth from the firmament. 
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west. 
Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest : 
Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes, 
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit. 



ACT III 



SCENE I. — Bolingbroke's Camp at Bri.stol. 
Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Percy, 

WiLLouGHBY, Ross : BusHY a7id Green, prisoners. 

Baling. Bring forth these men. — 

[Bushy and Green stand forward.^ 
Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls. 
Since presently your souls must part your bodies. 
With too much urging your pernicious lives, 
For 't were no charity : yet, to wash your blood 
From off my hands, here in the view of men 
I will unfold some cau.ses of your deaths. 
You have misled a prince, a royal king, 
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, 
By you unliappied and disfigur'd clean : 
You have, in manner, with your sinful hours. 
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him, 
Broke the possession of a royal bed. 
And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks 
With tears, drawn trom her eyes by your foul wrongs. 
Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth. 
Near to the king in blood, and near in love. 
Till you did make him misinterpret me. 
Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries. 
And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds. 
Eating the bitter bread of banishment, 
Whilst you have fed upon my signories, 
Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods, 
From mine own windows torn my household coat, 
Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign, 
Save men's opinions, and my living blood. 
To show the world I am a gentleman. 
This and much more, much more than twice all this. 
Condemns you to the death. — See them deliver'd over 
To execution, and the hand of death. 

Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me. 
Than Bolingbroke to England. — Lords, farewell''. 

Green. My comfort is, that heaven will take our souls, 
And plague injustice with the pains of hell. 

Baling. My lord Northumberland, see them dis- 
patch'd. 
[Exeunt Northumberland and Others, with Bvsuy and 
Uncle, you say the queen is at your house; [Green. 
For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated : 
Tell her I send to her my kind commends ; 
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. 

York. A gentleman of mine I have dispatth'd 
With letters of your love to her at large. 

Baling. Thanks, gentle uncle. — Come, my lords. 
To fight with Glendower and his complices : [away, j 
Awhile to work, and after holiday. [Exeunt. I 



SCENE II.— The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view. 

Flourish : Drums and Trumpets. Enter King Richard, 

Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, find Soldiers. 

K. Rich. Barkloughly Castle call they this at hand? 

Aum. Yea, my good* lord. How brooks your grace 
the air. 
After late' tossing on the breaking seas ? 

K. Rich. Needs must I like it well : I weep for joy. 
To stand upon my kingdom once again. — 
Dear earth, I do salute thee with ray hand. 
Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs : 
As a long parted mother with her child 
Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting, 
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth. 
And do thee favour with my royal hand. 
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth. 
Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense j 
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, 
And hea\'y-gaited toads, lie in their way, 
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet. 
Which with usurping steps do trample thee. 
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies : 
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, 
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder. 
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch 
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. — 
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords : 
This earth shall haA^e a feeling, and these stones 
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king 
Shall falter vuider foul rebellion's arms. 

Bishop. Fear not, my lord : that power that made 
you king, 
Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all.* 
The means that heavens yield must be embrac'd, 
And not neglected ; else, if heaven would. 
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse. 
The proffer'd means of succour and redress. 

Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; 
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, 
Grows strong and great in substance, and in power. 

K. Rich. Discomfortable covisin ! know'st thou not, 
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid 
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world. 
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, 
In murders and in outrage, boldly' here ; 
But when from under this terrestrial ball 
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines. 
And darts his light through every guilty hole. 
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, 
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, 



S The folio omits : or fall. 2 Not in f. e. 3 These two words are not in the folios. * Not in f. e. * your late : in f. e. 
the speech is not in the folio. ' So quarto, 1597; all other old copies and mod. eds. read : bloody. 



6 The rest of 



SCENE II. 



KING KICHARD II. 



339 



Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves ? 

So when this thief, this traitor Bolingbroke, 

Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,' 

Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, 

Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, 

His treasons will sit blushing in his face. 

Not able to endure the siglit of day, 

But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin. 

Not all the water in the rough rude sea 

Can wasli tiie balm from an anointed king : 

The breath of worldly men cannot depose 

The deputy elected by the Lord. 

For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd. 

To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, 

God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 

A glorious angel : then, if angels fight, 

Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right. 

Enter Salisbtry. 
Welcome, my lord. How far off' lies your power ? 

Sal. Nor near, nor farther off, my gracious lord. 
Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue 
And bids me speak of nothing but despair. 
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord. 
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth. 
! call back yesterday, bid time return. 
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men : 
To-day, to-day, unhappy day too late, 
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state ; 
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead. 
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispcrs'd, or fled. 

Aum. Comfort, my liege ! why looks your grace so 
pale? 

K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand men 
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled ; 
And till so much blood thither come again. 

Have I not reason to look pale and dead ? 
All souls that will be safe, fly from my side ; 
For time hath set a blot upon my pride. 

Aum. Comfort, my liege ! remember who you are. 

K. Rich. I had forgot myself. Am, I not king? 
Awake, thou coward^ majesty ! thou sleepest. 
Is not the king's narne twenty* thousand names ? 
Arm, arm, my name ! a puny subject strikes 
At thy great glory. — Look not to the ground. 
Ye faA'ourites of a king : are we not high ? 
High be our thoughts. I know, my uncle York 
Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes 
here ? 

Enter Scroop. 

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege, 
Than can my care-tvm'd tongue deliver him. 

K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd : 
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. 
Say. is my kingdom lost? why, 't was my carej 
And what loss is it to be rid of care ? 
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we ? 
Greater he shall not be : if he serve God, 
We '11 serve him too, and be his fellow so. 
lievolt our subjects? that we cannot mend; 
They break their faith to God, as well as us. 
Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay. 
The worst is death, and death will have his day. 

Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd 
To bear the tidings of calamity. 
Like an unseasonable stormy day, 
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, 
As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears ; 



So high above his limits swells the rage 

Of' Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land 

With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. 

White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps 

Against thy majesty; and boys, with women's voices, 

Strive to speak big. and clasp* their feeble* joints 

In stiff unwieldy armour 'gainst' thy crown : 

Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows 

Of double-fatal yew against thy state ; 

Yea, distaff- women manage rusty bills 

Against thy seat : both young and old rebel, 

And all goes worse than I have power to tell. 

K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tcll'st a tale so ill. 
Where is the earl of Wiltshire? whore is Bagot? 
What is become of Bushy ? where is Green? 
That they have let the dangerous enemy 
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps ? 
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. 
I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. 

Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, my 
lord. 

K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemp- 
tion ! 
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! 
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart ! 
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas ! 
Would they make peace ? terrible hell make war 
Upon their spotted souls for this offence !' 

Scroop. Sweet love. I see. changing his property, 
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate. 
Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made 
With heads and not with hands : these whom you curse 
Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound*, 
And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. 

Aiim. Is Bushy, Green, andtheearlof Wiltshire, dead? 

Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. 

Aum. Where is the duke, my father, with his power ? 

K. Rich. No matter where. Of comfort no man speak : 
Let's talk of graves, of worm. s, and epitaphs; 
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 
Let 's choose execvitors, and talk of wills : 
And yet not so, — for what can we bequeath. 
Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? 
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, 
And nothing can we call our own but death. 
And that small model of the barren earth. 
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, 
And tell sad stories of the death of kings : 
How some have been depos'd, some slain in war, 
Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd. 
Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd. 
All murder'd ; — for within the hollow crown. 
That rounds the mortal temples of a king. 
Keeps death his court, and there the antick sits', 
Scofling his state, and grinning at his pomp ; 
Allowing liim a breath, a little scene, 
To monarchize, be fear'd. and kill with looks; 
Infusing him with self and vain conceit. 
As if this flesh, which walls about our life. 
Were brass impregnable : and. humour'd thus, 
Comes at the la.st, and with a little pin 
Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell king ! 
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 
With solemn reverence: throw away respect, 
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, 



1 This line is not in the folio. ' .So the quarto."; ; the folio : sluppard. ^ go the quartos : the folio : forty. * clap : in f. e. * female : in 
f e. ' arms a{;ainst : in f. e. ' This word is added in the folio. * The folio : hand. * This image may have been taken from the seventh 
of the " Imagines Mortis " a series of designs in the style of Holbein's Dance of Be&th. It is in Knight's Pictorial Shakspere. 



340 



KING EICHAKD 11. 



ACT in. 



For you have but mistook me all this while : 
I live with bread like you, feel want, 
Taste grief, need friends : subjected thus, 
How can you say to me — 1 am a king ? 

Bishop. My lord, wise men ne'er sit and' wail their 
But presently prevent the ways to wail. [woes, 

To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, 
Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe. 
And so your follies fight against yourself." 
Fear, and be slain : no worse can come to fight : 
And fight and die is death destroying death ; 
Where fearing dying pays death servile breath. 

Aiim. My father hath a power, enquire of him. 
And learn to make a body of a limb. 

K. Rich. Thou chid"st me well. — Proud Bolingbroke, 
I come 
To change blows with thee for our day of doom. 
Tiiis ague-fit of fear is over-blown: 
An easy task it is, to win our own. — 
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power ? 
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. 

Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky 

The state and inclination of the day ; 
So may you by my dull and heavy eye, 

My tongue hath but a lieavier tale to say. 
1 play the torturer, by small and small. 
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken. 
Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke ; 
And all your northern eastles yielded up. 
And all your southern gentlemen in arms 
Upon his party^. 

K. Rich. Thou liast said enough. — 
Beshrew thee, cousin, [To Aumerle.] which didst lead 

me forth 
Of that sweet way I was in to despair ! 
Wliat say you now ? What comfort have we now ? 
By heaven, I '11 hate him everlastingly, 
That bids me be of comfort any more. 
Go to Flint castle : there I'll pine away ; 
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 
That power I have, discharge ; and let them go 
To ear* the land that hath some hope to grow, 
For I have none. — Let no man speak again 
To alter this, for counsel is but vain. 

Aum. My liege, one word. 

K. Rich. He does me double wrong. 

That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. 
Discharge my followers : let them hence away, 
From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— Wales. A Plain before Flint Castle. 

Enter, xoith Drum and Colours, Bolingbroke and 
Forces ; York, Northumberland, a)id Others. 

Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn, 
The Welshmen are dispcrs'd ; and Salisbury 
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed 
With some few private friends upon this coast. 

North. The news is very fair and good, my lord : 
Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head. 

York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, 
To say, king Richard : — Alack, the heaA^ day. 
When such a sacred king should hide his head ! 

North. Your grace mistakes me ; only to be brief, 
Left I his title out. 

York. The time hath been, 

Would you have been so brief with him, he would 



Have been so brief with you, to shorten you. 
For taking so the head, your whole head's length. 

Boling. Mistake not, uncle, farther Ihan you should. 
York. Take not, good cou.^^in, farther than you should, 
Lest you mistake : the heavens are o'er our heads.* 

Boling. I know it, uncle ; and oppose not myself 
Against their will. — But who comes here? 

Enter Percy. 
Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield? 

Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, 
Against thy entrance. 

Boling. Royally ? 
Why, it contains no king. 

Percy. Yes, my good lord ; 

It doth contain a king: king Richard lies 
Within the limits of yond' lime and stone ; 
And with him are the lord Amnerle, lord Salisbury, 
Sir Stephen Scroop ; besides a clergyman 
Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn. 

North. ! belike it is the bishop of Carlisle. 

Boling. Noble lord, [To North. 

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ; 
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle 
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver: 
Henry Bolingbroke 

On both his knees doth kiss king Richard's hand, 
And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart. 
To his most royal person; hither come 
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power. 
Provided that, my banishment repeal'd. 
And lands restor'd again, be freely granted. 
If not, I '11 use th' advantage of my power, 
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood, 
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen: 
The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke 
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench 
The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land, 
My stooping duty tenderly shall show. 
Go ; signify as much, while here we march 
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. 
Let 's march without the noise of threat'ning drum, 
That from the castle's tatter'd'^ battlements 
Our fair appointments may be well pertis'd. 
Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet 
With no less terror than the elements 
Of fire and water, when their thundering shock' 
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. 
Be he the fire, I '11 be the yielding water : 
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain 
My waters ; on the earth, and not on him. — 
March on, and mark king Richard how he looks. 
A parley sounded, and answered by a Trumpet within. 

Flourish. Enter on the walls King Bichard, the 

Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop, arui Salisbury. 

Boling. See, see, king Richard doth himself appear. 
As doth the blushing discontented sun 
From out the fiery portal of the east, 
When he perceives the envious clouds are bent 
To dim his glory, and to stain the track 
Of his bright passage to the Occident. 

York. Yet looks he like a king : behold, his eye, 
As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth 
Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe. 
That any storm* should stain so fair a show ! 

K. Rich. We are amaz'd ; and tluis long have we 
stood [To Northumberland. 

To watch the faithful' bending of thy knee. 



1 These two words are not in the folio. 2 This line is not in the folio. ^ go the quarto ; the folio : faction. ♦ Plough ; it is often so used, 
s So the qviartos, the folio : your head. « Po the folio ; part of the quaitos read : tottered ; both have the meaning of ragged. ' So the 
quarto, 1597 ; the folio : smoke. « harm : in f. e. 9 fearful : in f. e. 



SCENE III. 



KING EICHAED n. 



341 



Because we thought oursclf thy lawful king : 

And if we be, how dare thy joints forget 

To pay their awful duty to our presence ? 

If we be not. show us the hand of God 

That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship : 

For well we know, no hand of blood and bone 

Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre. 

Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. 

And though you think that all, as you have done, 

Have torn their souls by turning them from us, 

And we are barren and bereft of friends, 

Yet know, my master, God omnipotent. 

Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf 

Armies of pestilence ; and they shall strike 

Your children yet unborn, and unbegot. 

That lift your vassal liands against my head, 

And threat the glory of my precious crown. 

Tell Bolingbroke. for yond', methinks, he stands, 

That every stride he makes upon my land 

Is dangerous treason. He is come to ope 

The purple testament of bleeding war ; 

But ere the crown he looks for live in peace. 

Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons 

Shall ill become the flower of England's face, 

Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace 

To scarlet indignation, and bedew 

Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. 

North. The King of heaven forbid, our lord the king 
Should so with civil and uncivil arms 
Bo rush'd upon. Thy thrice-noble cousin. 
Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand ; 
And by the honourable tomb he swears. 
That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones. 
And by the royalties of both your bloods. 
Currents that spring from one most gracious head, 
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, 
And by the worth and honour of himself, 
Comprising all that may be sworn or said. 
His coming hither hath no farther scope, 
Thau for his lineal rovalties, and to beg 
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees : 
Wliich on thy royal party granted once. 
His glittering arms he -will commend to rust, 
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
To faithful service of your majesty. 
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just, 
And, as a gentleman, I credit him. 

K. Rich. Northumberland, say, — thus the king re- 
His noble cousin is right welcome hither; [turns: 

And all the number of his fair demands 
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction. 
With all the gracioiis utterance thou hast. 
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. — 

[Northumberland retires to Bolingbroke. 
We do debase ourself, cousin, [To Aumerle.] do we not, 
To look so poorly, and to speak so fair ? 
Shall wc call back Northumberland, and send 
Defiance to the traitor, and so die ? 

Aum. No. good my lord : let 's fight with gentle words. 
Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords. 

K. Rich. God ! O God ! that e'er this tongue of mine, 
That laid the sentence of dread banishment 
On yond' proud man, should take it off again 
With words of sooth. O ! that I were as great 
As is my grief, or lesser than my name. 
Or that 1 could forget what I have been. 
Or not remember what I must be now. 
Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to 
beat, [Unbuttoning.^ 

1 Not in f. e. 2 basse cour. lower court. 



Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. 

Aum. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke, 

A'. Rich. What must the king do now ? Must he 
submit ? 
The king shall do it. Must he be depos'd ? 
The king shall be contented. Must he lose 
The name of king ? o' God's name, let it go : 
I '11 give my jewels for a set of beads, 
My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, 
My gay apparel for an alms-man's gown, 
My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood. 
My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff, 
My subjects for a pair of carved saints. 
And my large kingdom for a little grave, 
A little little grave, an obscure grave: 
Or I '11 be buried in the king's highway, 
Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet 
May hourly trample on their sovereign's head ; 
For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live, 
And, buried once, why not upon my head ? — 
Aumerle, thou weep'st ; my tender-hearted cousin ! — 
We '11 make foul weather with despised tears ; 
Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn. 
And make a dearth in this revolting land : 
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes. 
And make some pretty match with shedding tears ? 
As thus ; — to drop them still upon one place. 
Till they have fretted us a pair of graves 
Within the earth ; and, therein laid, there lies 
Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes. 
Would not this ill do well ?— Well, well, I see 
I talk but idly, and you mock at me. — 
Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, 
What says king Bolingbroke ? will his majesty 
Give Ilichard leave to live till Richard die ? 
You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay. 

North. My lord, in the base court^ he doth attend 
To speak with you : may 't please you to come down? 

K. Rich. Down, down, I come ; like glistering 
Phffiton, 
Wanting the manage of unruly jades. 

[North, retires again to Boling. 
In the base court ? Base court, where kings grow 

base. 
To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. 
In the base court ? Come do\^ai ? dovvii, court ! do\\Ti, 

king ! 
For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should 
f'ing- [Exeunt, from above. 

Boling. What says his majesty ? 

North. Sorrow and grief of heart 

Make him speak fondly, like a frantic man : 
Yet he is come. 

Enter King Richard, and his Attendants, belmv. 

Boling. Stand all apart, 
And show fair duty to his majesty. — 
My gracious lord, — [Kneeling. 

K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee, 
To make the base earth proud with kissing it : 
Me rather had. my heart might feel your love, 
Than my unpleas'd eye sec your courtesy. 
Up, cousin, up : your heart is up, I know. 
Thus high at least, although your knee be low. 

Boling. My gracious lord. I come but for mine own. 

K. Rich. Your own is yours ; and I am yours, and all. 

Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, 
As my true service sliall deserve your love. 

K. Rich. Well you deserve : — they well deserve to 
have, 



342 



KING RICHARD II. 



ACT ni. 



That know the strong'st and surest way to get. — 
Uncle, give me your hand : nay, dry your eyes ; 
Tears show their love, but want their remedies. — 
Cousin, I am too young to be your father, 
Though you arc old enough to be my heir. 
What you will have I '11 give, and willing too, 
For do we must wiiut force will have us do. — 
Set on towards London. — Cou.sin, is it so ? 

Boling. Yea, my good lord. 

K. Rich. Then. I mu.«t not say no. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Langlcy. The Duke of York's Garden. 
Enter the Queen, and two Ladies. 

Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this 
garden, 
To drive away the heavy thought of care ? 

1 Lady. Madam, we '11 play at bowls. 

Queen. 'T will make me think the world is full of rubs. 
And that my fortune runs against the bias. 

1 Lady. Madam, we '11 dance. 

Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight. 
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief : 
Therefore, no dancing, girl ; some other sport. 

1 Lady. Madam, we '11 tell tales. 

Queen. Oi sorrow, or of joy ?' 

1 Lady. Of eilher, madam. 

Queen. Of neither, girl; 
For if of joy, being altogether wanting. 
It doth remember me the more of sorrow ) 
Or if of grief, being altogether had. 
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy ; 
For what I have I need not to repeat, 
And what I want it boots not to complain. 

1 Lady. Madam, I '11 sing. 

Queen. 'T is well that thou hast cause . 

But thou sliouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep. 

1 Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do yon good, 

Qwen. And I could sing, would weeping do me good. 
And never borrow any tear of thee. 
But stay, here come tlie gardeners : 
Let 's step into the shadow of these trees. — 
My wretchedne.'-s unto a row of pins. 
They '11 talk of state : for every one doth so 
Against a change. Woe is forerun with woe. 

[(JuEicN an/I Ladies retire. 
Enter a Gardener and two Servants. 

Gard. Go, bind thou up yond' dangling apricocks, 
Which, like unruly children, make their sire 
Stoop with oppri'Sf-icn of their prodigal weight: 
Give SDine sui)portance to the bending twigs. — 
Go thcu, and like an executioner, 
Cut off the heads of two-fast-srowing sprays, 
That look too lofty in our commonwealth : 
All must be even in our government. — 
Ycu thus employ'd, I will go root away 
The noisome weeds, that without profit suck 
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. 

1 Serv. Why should wc, in the compass of a pale, 
Keep law, and form, and due proportion, 
Showing, as in a model, our firm estate. 
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, 
Is full of weeds : her fairest flowers ehokd up, 
Her fruit-trees all unprun'd. her hedges ruin'd. 
Her knots'-' disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs 
Swarming with caterpillars ? 



Gard. Hold thy peace. 

He that hath suffcr'd this disorder'd spring, 
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf; 
The weeds that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, 
That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, 
Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke ; 
I mean, the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. 

1 Serv. What ! are they dead ? 

Gard. They are ; and Bolingbroke 

Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. — What^ pity is it, 
Tliat lie had not so trimm'd and dre.'s'd his land, 
As we this garden. At the time of year 
We wound* the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees, 
Lest, being over-proud in' sap and blood. 
With too much riches it confound itself : 
Had he done so to great and growing men. 
They might have liv'd to bear, and he to tast€ 
Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches 
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live : 
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown. 
Which waste and idle hours have quite thrown down. 

1 Serv. What ! think you, then, the king shall be 
dcpos'd ? 

Gard. Depress'd he is already ; and dcpos'd, 
'T is dovibt, he will be : letters came last night 
To a dear friend of the good duke of York's, 
That tell black tidings. 

Queen. O ! I am press'd to death, through want of 
speaking. [ Coming fonvard. 

Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to drees this garden, 
How dares thy harsh, rude tongue sound this unpleasing 
What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee [news ? 
To make a second fall of cursed man ? 
Why dost thou say king Bichard is dcpos'd ? 
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth, 
Divine liis downfall ? Say, where, when, and how, 
Cam'st thou by these ill tidings? speak, thou wretch. 

Gard. Pardon me, madam : little joy have I. 
To breathe these news, yet what I say is true. 
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold 
Of Bolingbroke : their fortunes both are weigh'd : 
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself. 
And some few vanities that make him light ; 
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke. 
Besides himself, are all the English peers, 
And with that odds he Aveighs king Richard down. 
Post you to London, and you '11 find it so: 
I speak no more than evei-y one doth know. 

Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot. 
Doth not thy embassage belong to me. 
And am I last that knows it ? ! thou think'st 
To serve me last, that I may longest keep 
Thy sorrow in my breast. — Come, ladies, go 
To meet at London London's king in woe. — 
What ! was I born to this, that my sad look 
Should grace the trium})h of great Bolingbroke ? — 
Gardener, for telling me these news of woe. 
Pray God, the plants thou graft'st may never grow. 

[Exeunt Quken and Ladies. 

Gard. Poor queen ! so that thy state might be no 
worse, 
I would my skill were subject to thy curse. 
Here did she fall" a tear ; here, in this place, 
I '11 set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace :' 
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen. 
In the remembrance of a weeping queen. [Exeunt. 



1 All the old copies read : grief; Pope made the change. = Thejiguref: formpd by the flower-beds in the old formal gardens. ^ Q ! what. 
&c. : in f. e. * We at time of year 

Do -n'ound, &c. : in f. e. 
* So the quarto, 1597 ; all other old cop. : with. « So the quarto, 1507 ; the other quartos and folio : drop. 'Also so called in Hamlet, A. IV., S.II. 



SCENE I. 



KING RICHAED II. 



343 



ACT IV 



Princes, and noble lords, 



SCENE I.— London. Westminster Hall. 

The Lords spiritual on the right side of the Throne ;, 
the Lords temporal on the left ; the Commons below. 
Enter Bolincbroke, Aumkrle, Surrey, Northum- 
berland, Percy, Fitzwater, another Lord, the 
Bishop of Carlisle, the Abbot of Westminster, and 
Attendants} 

Boling. Call forth Bagot. — 

Enter Bagot. guarded} 
Now, Bagot, freely speak tliy inind, 
What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death ; 
Wlio wrought it with the king, and who perform'd 
The bloody offiee of his timeless end. 

Bagot. Then, set before my face the lord Aumerle. 

Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look ujiou that man. 

Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue 
Scorns to unsay what once it hath delivered. 
In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, 
I heard you say, — "' Is not my arm of length, 
That reacheth from the restful English court, 
As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head ?" 
Amongst much other talk, (hat very time, 
I heard you say, that you had rather refuse 
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns, 
Tlian Bolingbroke's return to England : 
Adding witbal, how blest this land would be 
In this your cousin's death. 

Aum. 
What answer shall I make to this base man ? 
Shall I so nmch dishonour my fair stars. 
On equal terms to give him chastisement ? 
Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd 
With the attainder of his slanderous lips. — 
There is my gage, the manual seal of death, 
That marks thee out for hell : I say, thou liest, 
And will maintain what thou hast said is false 
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base 
To stain the temper of my knightly sword. 

Boling. Bagot, forbear : thou shall not take it up. 

Aum. Exce])ting one, I would he were the best 
In all this presence, that hath mov'd mc so. 

Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathy^, 
There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine. 
By th.at fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st. 
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, 
That thou wcrt cause of noble Gloster's death. 
If tliou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest; 
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart. 
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. 

Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. 

Fitz. Now, by my soul. I would it were this hour. 

Aum. Fitzwater, thou art dainn'd to hell for this. 

Percy. Aumerle, tliou Host ; his honour is as true 
In this ap])eal, as thou art all unjust ; 
And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage, 
To prove it on thee to th' extremest point 
Of mortal breatliing. Seize it if thou dar'st. 

Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, 
And never brandish more revengeful steel 
Over the glittering helmet of my foe ! 

Lord. I task the eartli to the like, forsworn Aumerle;* 
And spur thee on with full as many lies 



As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear 
From sun to sun. There is my honour's pawn : 
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 

Aum. Who sets me else ? by heaven, I '11 throw at all. 
I have a thousand spirits in one breast, 
To answer twenty thousand such as you. 

Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well 
The very time Aumerle and you did talk. 

Fitz. 'T is very true : you were in presence then; 
And you can witness with me this is true. 

Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. 

Fitz. Surrey, tliou liest. 

Surrey. Dishonourable boy ! 

That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, 
That it shall render vengeance and revenge. 
Till ihou, the lie-giver, and that lie. do lie 
In earth as quiet as thy father's skull. 
In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn: 
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 

Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse ! 
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, 
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness. 
And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies, 
And lies, and lies. There is iny bond of faith, 
To tie tlies to my strong correction. 
As I intend to thrive in this new world, 
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal : 
Besides, I heard the banislfd Norfolk say. 
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men 
To execute the noble duke at Calais. 

Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage. 
That Norfolk lies, here do I throw down this. 
If he may be ropeal'd to try his honour. 

Boling. These differences shall all rest under gage, 
Till Norfolk be repcal'd : repeal'd he shall be, 
And, though mine enemy, restor'd again 
To all his lands and signories. When he 's return'd, 
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. 

Bishop. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. 
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought 
For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, 
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross 
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens : 
And toild with works of war, retird himself 
To Italy, and there, at Venice, gave 
His body to that pleasant country's earth, 
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, 
Under whose colours he had fought so long. 

Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead ? 

Bishop. As surely as I live, ray lord. 

Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the 
bosom 
Of good old Abraham ! — Lords appellants, 
Your differences shall all rest under gage. 
Till we assign to you your days of trial. 
Enter York, attended. 

York. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee 
From plume-pluck'd Richard, who with willing soul 
Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields 
To the possession of thy royal hand. 
Ascend his throne, descending now from him. 
And long live Henry, of that name the fourth ! 

Boling. In God's name I '11 ascend the regal throne. 

Bishop. Marry, God foi'bid ! — 



■ f. e. add : Offirer.i behind, with Bagot. 
the quarto of 1597, read : take. 



2 Not in f. e. ^ Equality of rank. * This and the next speech are not in the folio ; all, but 



344 



KING KICHAED II. 



ACT rv. 



Worst in this royal presence may I speak, 

Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. 

Would God, that any in this noble presence 

Were enough noble to be upright judge 

Of noble Richard : then true iiobless' would 

Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. 

What subject can give sentence on his king ? 

And who sits here that is not Richard's subject ? 

Thieves are not judg'd but they are by to hear, 

Although apparent guilt be seen in them ; 

And shall tlie figure of God's majesty, 

His captain, steward, deputy elect, 

Anointed, crowned, planted many years, 

Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath, 

And he not'' present ! O ! forefend" it, God, 

That, in a Christian climate, souls rclin'd 

Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed ! 

I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 

Stirr'd up by God thus boldly for his king. 

My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king. 

Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king; 

And if you crown him, let me prophesy 

The blood of English sliali manure the ground, 

And future ages groan for this foul act : 

Peace shall go sleep w^ith Turks and infidels, 

And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars 

Shall kin wilh kin, and kind with kind confound; 

Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, 

Shall here inhabit, and this land be eall'd 

The field of Golgotha, and dead men's .'ikulls. 

O ! if you raise* this house against this house, 

It will the woefullest division prove, 

That ever fell upon this cursed earth. 

Prevent,* resist it, let it be not so, 

Lest child, child's children, cry against you — woe ! 

North. Well have you argued, sir ; and, for your pains. 
Of capital treason we arrest you here. — 
My lord of Westminster, be it your charge 
To keep him safely till his day of trial. 
May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit.' 

Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view 
He may surrender : so we shall proceed 
Without suspicion. 

York. I will be his conduct. [Exit. 

Boling. Lords, you that here are under our arrest. 
Procure your sureties for your days of answer. — 
Little are we beholding to your love. [To the Bishop. 
And look for little at your helping hands. 
Re-enter York, ivith King Ricii.^nD, and Officers bear- 
ing the Crown J cVc. 

K. Rich. Alack ! why am I sent for to a king. 
Before I have shook off the regal thoughts 
Wherewith I reign'd ? I hardly yet have learn d 
To insinuate, ilatter, bow, and bend my limbs : 
Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me 
To this submission. Yet I well remember 
The favours' of these men : were they not mine ? 
Did they not sometime cry, All hail ! to me ? 
So Judas did to Christ ; but he, in twelve, 
Found tnith in all, but one : I, in twelve thousand, none. 
God save the king ! — Will no man say, amen ? 
Am I both priest and clerk ? well then. amen. 
God save the king ! although I be not he ; 
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. — 
To do what service am I sent for hither ? 

York. To do that oflfiee of thine own good will, 
Which tired majesty did make thee ofler ; 



The resignation of thy state and crown 
To Harry Bolingbroke. 

K. Rich. Give me the crown. — Here, cousin, seize 

the crown; [Crown brought. " 

Here, cousin, on this side my hand, and on that side, 

yours. 
Now is tliis golden crown like a deep well. 
That owes' two buckets, filling one another; 
The emptier ever dancing in the air. 
The other down, unseen, and full of water : 
That bucket down, and full ot tears, am I, 
Drinking my grief, whilst you mount up on high. 

Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign. 

K. Rich. My crown, I am ; but still my griefs are mine. 
You may my glories and my state depose. 
But not my griefs : still am I king of those. [crown. 

Baling. Part of your cares you give me yfiih your 

K. Rich. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares 
down. 
My care is loss of care, by old care done ; 
Your care is gain of care, by new care won : 
Tlic cares I give. I have, though given away; 
They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. 

Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown ? 

K. Rich. Ay, no : — no, ay ; — for I must nothing be ; 
Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. 
Now mark me how 1 will undo myself. — 
I give this heavy weight from ofl'my head. 
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, 
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart : 
With mine own tears I wash away my balm, 
With mine own hands I give away my crown, 
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, 
With mine own breath release all duties, rites"*: 
All pomp and majesty I do forswear; 
My manois. rents, revenues, I forego ; 
My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny : 
God pardon all oaths that are broke to me ! 
God keep all vows unbrokc that swear" to thee ! 
Make me. that nothing have, with nothing griev'd. 
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd ! 
Long may'st thou live in IJichard's seat to sit. 
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit ! 
God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says, 
And send him many years of sunshine days ! — 
What more remains ? 

North. No more, but that you read [Offering a paper. 
These accusations, and these grievous crimes. 
Committed by your person and your followers, 
Against the state and profit of this land; 
That, by confessing them, the souls of men 
May deem that you are worthily depos'd. 

A'. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out 
My Aveav'd up folly ? Gentle Northumberland, 
If thy oflenees were upon record. 
Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop, 
To read a lecture of them ? If thou wouldst, 
There shouldst thou find one heinous article, 
Containing the deposing of a king. 
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, 
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven. — 
Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me. 
Whilst that my WTctchcdness doth bait myself. 
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, 
Showing an outward pity ; yet you Pilatcs 
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, 
And water cannot wash away your sin. 



1 So the quarto, 1.^97 ; all other editions : nobleness. » And he himself not, &c. : in f. e. 3 So all the quartos ; the folio : forbid. * So 
the quartos; the folio : rear. » The folio inserts : and. ^ This line, and all that follows to RtCRARo's exit, were first printed in the quarto 
of 1003. T Features. 8 ^^^j ^jj £ ^ 9 Owns, i" The folio : duteous oaths, ii The folio : are made. 



SCENE I. 



KING PJCHARD IL 



345 



North. My lord, dispatch : read o'er these articles. 

K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, 1 caimot see j 
And yet salt water blinds them not so much, 
But they can see a sort' of traitors here. 
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, 
I find my.self a traitor with the rest ; 
For I have £?iven here my soul's consent, 
To undeck the pompous body of a king ; 
Made glory base, and" sovereignty a slave, 
Proud majesty a subject ; state a peasant. 

North. My lord. — 

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thouhaught, in.sulting man. 
Nor no man's lord : I have no name, no title, 
No, not that name was given me at the font, 
But 't is usurp'd. — Alack, the heavy day ! 
That I have worn so many winters out. 
And know not now what name to call myself. 

! that I were a mockery king of snow, 
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, 
To melt myself away in water drops ! — 

Good king, — great king, — and yet not greatly good, 
And if my name' be sterling yet in England, 
Let it command a mirror hither straight. 
That it may show me what a face I have, 
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 

Holing. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-glass. 

[fJxit an Attendant. 

North. Reado'erthis paper, while theglassdoth come. 

K. Rich. Fiend ! thou torment' st me ere I come to liell. 

Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland. 

North. The commons will not then be satisfied. 

K.Rich. They shall be satisfied: I '11 read enough, 
When I do see the very book indeed. 
Where all my sins are writ, and that '.s — myself. 

Re-enter Attendant with a Glass. 
Give me the glass* and therein will I read. — 
No deeper wrinkles yet ? Hath sorrow struck 
So many blows upon this face of mine. 
And made no deeper wounds ? — O, flattering glass ! 
Like to my followers in prosperity. 
Thou dost beguile me. Was this face the face, 
Tliat every day under his household roof 

1 )id keep ten thousand men ? Was this the face, 
Tiiat like the sun did make beholder's wink?' 
Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies. 
And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke ? 

A brittle glory shineth in this face : 
As brittle as the glory is the face ; 

[Dashes the Glass against the ground. 
For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. — 



and I thank thee, king, 



Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport : 
How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. 

Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd 
The shadow of your face. 

K. Rich. Say that again. 

The shadow of my sorrow ? Ha ! let 's see : — 
'T is very true, my grief lies all within; 
And these external manners of lament 
Are merely shadows to the luiscen grief. 
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul ; 
There lies the sub.stanee : 
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'.st 
Me cause to wail, but teachcst me the way 
How to lament the cause. I '11 beg one boon, 
And then begone and trouble you no more. 
Shall I obtain it ? 

Boling. Name it, fair cousin. 

K. Rich. Fair cousin ! I am greater than a king ; 
For, when I was a king, my flatterers 
Were then but subjects : being now a subject, 
I have a king here to my flatterer. 
Being so great, I have no need to beg. 

Boling. Yet a.sk. 

K. Rich. And shall I have it ? 

Boling. You shall. 

K. Rich. Why then give me leave to go. 

Boling. Whither ? 

A'. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. 

Boling. Go. some of you ; convey him to the Tower. 

K. Rich. 0, good ! Convey? — Conveyers'' are you all, 
That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. 

[Exeunt K. Rich.\rd. and Guard. 

Boling. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down 
Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves. 

[Exeunt all but ths Abbot., Bishop of Carlisle, and 

AUMERLE. 

Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. 

Bishop. The woe 's to come : the children yet unborn 
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. 

Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot 
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot ? 

Abbot. My lord, before I freely speak my mind 
herein, 
You shall not only take the sacrament 
To bury mine intents, but also to effect 
Whatever I shall happen to devise. 
I see your brows are full of discontent. 
Your liearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears : 
Come home with me to supper ; I will lay 
A plot, shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt. 



ACT V 



SCENE I.— London. A Street leading to the Tower. 
Enter Queen, and Attendants. 

Queen. This way the king will come : tliis is the Vv'ay 
To Julius Cajsar's ill-erected tower. 
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord 
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke. 
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth 
Have any resting for her true king's queen. 
Enter King Richard, aiid Guard. 
But soft, but sec, or rather do not see, 
My fair rose wither : yet look up, behold. 



That you in pity may dissolve to dew, 
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. — 
Ah ! thou, the model where old Troy did stand ; 
Thou map of honour ; thou king Richard's tomb, 
And not king Richard ; thou most beauteous inn, 
Why sliould hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, 
When triumph is become an alehouse guest ? 

K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, 
To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul, 
To think our former state a happy dream ; 
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are 
Shows us but this. I am sworn brother, sweet, 



> Set, or company. 2 The folio : a. 3 The folio : -word. ■» The rest of the line is added in the folio, 
folio. " This word was applied to lawyers, or conveyancers, and thieves 



6 This sentence -was added in the 



346 



KING RICHARD II. 



ACT V. 



To grim necessity ; and he and I 

Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, 

And cloister thee in some religious house : 

Oar holy lives must win a new world's crown, 

Which our profane hours here have stricken dowTi. 

Queen. Wliat ! is my Hichard both in shape and mind 
Transtbrm'd and wcakcn'd ? Hath this' Bolingbroke 
D.'pos'd thine intellect ? hath he been in thy heart ? 
The lion, dying, thrustcth forth his paw, 
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage 
To be o'erpowcr'd ; and wilt thou, pupil-like. 
Take thy correction mildly ? kiss the rod. 
And fawni on rage with base humility. 
Which art a lion, and a king of beasts ? 

A'. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed ; if aught but beasts, 
I had been still a happy king of men. 
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France : 
Think I am dead : and that even here thou tak'st, 
As from my death-bed, my la,st living leave. 
In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire 
With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales 
Of woeful ages long ago betid ; 
And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, 
Tell thou the lamentable tale'^ of me. 
And send the hearers weeping to their beds. 
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize 
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue. 
And in compassion weep the fire out ; 
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, 
For the deposing of a rightful king. 

E^iter NoRTHi'.MBERLAND, attended. 

North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd : 
You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. — 
And, madam, there is order ta'en for you : 
With all swift speed you must away to France. 

K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder, wherewithal 
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, 
The time shall not be many hours of age 
More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head 
Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think. 
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half, 
It is too little, helping him to all : 
And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way 
To plant imrightful kings, wilt know again, 
Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way 
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. 
The love of wicked friends converts to fear ; 
That fear to hate ; and hate turns one, or both, 
To worthy danger and deserved death. 

North. My guilt bg on my head, and there an end. 
Take leave, and part, for you must part tbrthwith. 

A'. Rich. Doubly divore'd ! — Bad men, ye violate 
A twofold marriage ; 'twixt my crown and me, 
And then, betwixt me and my married wife. — 
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me : 

[They embrace.^ 
And yet not so, for with a kiss 't was made.* 
Part us, Northumberland : I towards the north. 
Where shivering cold and sickness pine the clime ; 
My wife^ to France : from whence, set forth in pomp, 
She came adorned hither like sweet May, 
Sent back like Hallowmas.' or shortest day. 

Queen. And must we be divided ? must we part ? 

K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart 
from heart. 

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. 

North. That were some love, but little policy. 

QtM:en. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. 



K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe. 
Weep tliou for me in France, I for thee here • 
Better far oft', than near, being ne'er the near. 
Go ; count thy way with sighs, I mine with groans. 

Qneen. So longest way shall have the longest moans. 

A. Rich. Twice for one step I '11 groan, the way 
being short, 
And piece the way out with a heavy heart. 
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let 's be brief. 
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. 
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part : 
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart, yi'hey kiss. 

Queen. Give me mine own again ; 't were no good part, 
To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. 

[They kiss again. 
So, now I have mine own again, begone, 
That I may strive to kill it with a groan. ^ 

K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay . 
Once more, adieu : the rest let sorrow say. \^Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Room in the Duke 

of York's Palace. 

Enter York, and the Duchess. 

Duch. My lord, you told me. you would tell the rest, 
When weeping made you break the story off, 
Of our two cousins coining into London. 

York. Where did I leave ? 

Duch. At that sad stop, my lord. 

Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops. 
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. 

York. Tlien, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, 
Mounted upon a hot and tiery steed. 
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, 
With slow but stately pace kept on his course, 
While all tongues eried- 

broke !" 

You would have thought the very windows spake, 
So many greedy looks of young and old 
Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
Upon his visage : and that all the walls 
With painted imagery had said at once, — 
" Jesu preserve thee ! welcome, Bolingbroke !" 
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning. 
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
Bespake them thus, — •' I thank you, countrymen :'* 
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 

Duch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rode he the whilst ? 

York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men. 
After a well-grae'd actor leaves the stage. 
Are idly bent on him that enters next. 
Thinking his prattle to be tedious ; 
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 
Did scowl on gentle' Richard : no man cried, God save 

him ; 
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home ; 
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head, 
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook oif, 
His face still combating with tears and smiles. 
The badges of his grief and patience. 
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd 
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, 
And barbarism itself have pitied him. 
But heaven hath a hand in these events. 
To whose high will we bound our calm contents. 
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now. 
Whose state and honour I for aye allow. 

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. 

York. Aumerle that was ; 



God save thee, Boling- 



1 Not in f. e. 2 The folio : fall. 
'Not in the folio. 



3 Not in f. e. * A kiss formed part of the ceremony of betrothal. ' Folio : queen. « November 1. 



SCENE IIT. 



KING RICHARD 11. 



347 



But that is lost for being Richard's friend, 
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now. 
I am in parliament pledge for his truth, 
And lasting fealty to the new-made king. 
Enter Aumerle. 
Duch. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now. 
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring ? 

Aiim. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not : 
God knows, I had as lief be none, as one. 

York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time. 
Lest you be ci-opp'd before you come to prime. 
Wiiat news from Oxford ? hold those justs and triumphs ? 
Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. 
York. You will be there, T know. 
Aitm. If God prevent it not, I purpose so. 
York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy 
bosom ? 
Yea, look'st thou pale ? let me then' see the writing. 
Aum. My lord, 't is nothing. 

York. No matter, then, who sees it : 

I will be satisfied, let me see the writing. 

Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me. 
It is a matter of small consequence, 
Which for some reasons I would not have seen. 

York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. 
I fear, I fear, — 

Duch. What should you fear ? 

'T is nothing but some bond he 's^ entcr'd into 
For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day. 

York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond 
That he is bound to ? Wife, thou art a fool. — 
Boy, let me see the writing. 

Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me : I may not 

show it. 
York. I will be satisfied : let me see it, I say, 

[Snatches it and reads. 
Treason ! foul treason ! — villain ! traitor ! slave ! 
Duch. What is the matter, my lord ? 
York. Ho ! who is within there ? Saddle my horse. 
God for his mercy ! what treachery is here ! 
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ? 
York. Give me my boots, I say : saddle my horse. — 
Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, 
I will appeach the villain. 

Duch. What 's the matter ? 

York. Peace, foolish woman. 

Duch. I will not peace. — What is the matter, 

Aumerle ? 
Aum. Good mother, be content: it is no more 
Than my poor life must answer. 

Duch. Thy life answer? 

York. Bring me my boots ! I will unto the king. 

Enter Servant with boots. 
Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. — Poor boy, thou art 
amaz'd. — 
Hence, villain ! never more come in my sight. — 

[Exit Servant. 
York. Give me my boots, I say. 
Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do ? 
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own ? 
Have we more sons, or are we like to have ? 
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time. 
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age. 
And rob me of a happy mother's name ? 
Is he not like thee? is he not thine own? 

York. Tliou fond', mad woman, 
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy ? 
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, 
And interchangeably set down their hands, 

1 Not in f. e. > that he is : in f. c. 3 Foolish. 



To kill the king at Oxford. 

Duch. He shall be none ; 

We '11 keep him here : then, what is that to him ? 

York. Away, fond woman ! were he twenty times 
My son, I would appeach him. 

Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him, 

As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. 
But now I know thy mind : thou dost suspect, 
That I have been disloyal to thy bed. 
And that he is a bastard, not thy son. 
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind : 
He is as like thee as a man may be, 
Not like to me, nor any of my kin, 
And yet I love him. 

York. Make way, unruly woman. [Exit. 

Duch. After, Aumerle ! Mount thee upon his horse : 
Spur, post, and get before him to the king, 
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. 
I '11 not be long behind : though I be old, 
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York : 
And never will I rise up from the ground. 
Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away ! begone. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Windsor. A Room in the Castle. 
Enter Bolingbroke as King ; Percy, and other Lords. 

Boling. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty sou ? 
'T is full three months, since I did see him last: 
If any plague hang over us, 't is he. 
I would to God, my lords, he might be found. 
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, 
For there they say, he daily doth frequent, 
With unrestrained loose companions ; 
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, 
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers; 
While he, young wanton, and effeminate boy, 
Takes on the point of honour to support 
So dissolute a crew. 

Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince, 
And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. 

Baling. And what said the gallant? 

Percy. His answer was. — he would unto the stews ; 
And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, 
And wear it as a favour ; and with that 
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. 

Baling. As dissolute, as desperate : yet through both 
I see some sparks of better hope, which elder days 
May happily bring forth. But who comes here ? 
Enter Aumerle. in great haste. 

Aum. Where is the king ? 

Baling. What means our cousin, that he stares and 
looks 
So wildly ? 

Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your 
majesty. 
To have some conference with your grace alone. 

Baling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here 
alone. — [Exeunt Percy aiul Lords. 

Wliat is the matter with our cousin now ? 

Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth. 

[Kruels. 
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, 
Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak. 

Baling. Intended, or committed, was this fault ? 
If on the first, how heinous e'er it be, 
To win thy after love I pardon thee. 

Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key. 
That no man enter till my tale be done. 

Baling. Have thy desire. [Aumerle locks the door. 



348 



KING KICHAED U. 



ACT V. 



York. [Within.] My liege, beware ! look to thyself: 
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 

Boling. Villain, I '11 make thee safe. [Drawing. 
Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand : thou hast no cause 

to fear. 
York. [Within] Open the door, secure, fool-hardy 
king: 
Shall I for love speak treason to thy face ? 
Open the door, or I will break it open. 

[BoLiNGBROKE opcn.s the door^^ and locks it again. 
Enter York. 
Boling. What is the matter, uncle ? speak ; 
Recover breath : tell ixs how near is danger, 
That we may arm us to encounter it. 

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know 
The treason that my haste forbids me show. 

Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past. 
I do repent me ; read not my name there : 
My heart is not confederate with my hand. 

York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. — 
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king : 
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence. 
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove 
A serpent that will sting thee to the lieart. 

Boling. O, heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy ! — 
O, loyal father of a treacherous son ! 
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, 
From whence this stream through muddy passages 
Hath held^ his current, and defil'd himself ! 
Thy overflow of good converts to bad ; 
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse 
This deadly blot in thy digressing son. 

York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd, 
And he shall spend mine honour with his .shame, 
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. 
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, 
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies : 
Thou kill'st me in his life: giving him breath, 
The traitor lives, the true man 's put to dealli. 

Duch. [Within.] What ho ! my liege ! for God's sake 

let me in. 
Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this 

eager cry ? 
Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king ; 't is I. 
Speak with me, pity me, open the door : 
A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. 

Boling. Our scene is altered, from a serious thing, 
And now chang'd to "The Beggar and the King."^ — 
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in : 
I know, she 's come to pray for your foul sin. 

York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray. 
More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. 
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound ; 
This, let alone, will all the rest confound. 
Enter Duchess. 
Duch. O king ! believe not this hard-hearted man : 
Love, loving not itself, none other can. 

York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make 
here ? 
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear ? 

Duch. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle 
liege. [Kneels. 

Boling. Rise up, good aunt. 

Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech : 

For ever will I walk* upon my knees, 
And never see day that the happy sees, 
Till thou give joy ; until thou bid me joy, 
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. 



Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my knee. 

[Kneels, 
York. Against them both, my true joints bended be. 

[Kneels. 
Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace !* 

Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face ; 
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest ; 
His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast : 
He prays but faintly, and would be denied ; 
We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside : 
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know ; 
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow: 
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; 
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. 
Our prayers do out-pray his ; then, let them have 
That mercy which true prayers ought to have. 
Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duch. Nay, do not say — stand up ; 

But, pardon first, and afterwards, stand up. 
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, 
Pardon shovild be the first word of thy speech. 
I never long'd to hear a word till now ; 
Say — pardon, king : let pity teach thee how : 
The word is short, but not so short as sweet ; 
No word like pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. 

York. Speak it in French, king: say, pardonncz-moi. 
Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? 
Ah, my sour liusband, my hard-hearted lord. 
That set'st the word itself against the word ! 
Speak, pardon, as 't is current in our land ; 
The chopping' French we do not understand. 
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there, 
Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear, 
That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, 
Pity may move thee pardon to rehearse. 
Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duch . I do not sue to stand : 

Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 

Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. 
Duch. O. happy vantage of a kneeling knee ! 
Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again ; 
Twice saying pardon doth not pardon twain, 
But makes one pardon strong. 

Boling. I pardon him with all my heart. 
Duch. A god on earth thou art. [Rises.'' 

Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, and the 
abbot, 
With all the rest of that consorted crew. 
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. — 
Good uncle, help to order several powers 
To Oxford, or where else* these traitors be :' 
They shall not live within this world, I swear, 
But I will have them, so'" I once know where. 
Uncle, farewell. — and cousin mine' ^, adieu: 
Your motlier well hath pray'd, and prove you true. 
Duch. Come, my old oon : I pray God make thee 
new. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. 
Enter Sir Pierce of Exton, and a Servant. 
Exton. Didf?t thou not mark the king, what words 
he spake ? 
" Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear ?" 
Was it not so ? 

Serv. Those were his very words. [twice, 

Exton. " Have I no friend ?" quoth he : he spake it 
And urg'd it twice together, did he not? 
Serv. He did. 



1 The rest of this stage direction is not in f. e. ' Folio : had. ^ a popular ballad. * Folio : kneel. * This line is not in the folio. 
6 Changing. ^ Not in f. e. « where'er : in f. e. 9 are : in f. e. »» if : in f. e. " too : in f. e. 



SCENE V, 



KING RICHARD n. 



349 



Exton. And, speaking it. he wislitly' look'd on mc; 
As who should say, — I would thou wert the man 
That would divorce this terror from my heart; 
Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let 's go : 
I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exevnt. 

SCENE v.— Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle. 
Enter King Richard. 

K. Rich. I have been studying how [ may compare^ 
This prison, where I live, unto the world : 
And for because the world is populous. 
And here is not a creature but myself, 
I cannot do it : yet I '11 hammer 't out. 
My brain I '11 prove the female to my soul ; 
My soul, the father : and these two beget 
A generation of still-breeding thoughts, 
And these same thoughts people this little world; 
In humours like the people of this world, 
For no thought is contented. The better sort. 
As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd 
With scruples, and do set the word'' itself 
Against the word :* 

As thus, — " Come, little ones;" and then again, — 
" It is as hard to come, as for a camel 
To thread the postern of a small' needle's eye." 
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot 
Unlikely wonders : how these vain weak nails 
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs 
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls ; 
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. 
Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves. 
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, 
Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars. 
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame 
That many have, and others must sit there : 
And in this thought they find a kind of ease, 
Bearing their own misfortune on the back 
Of such as have before endur'd the like. 
Thus play I, in one person, many people, 
And none contented : sometimes am I king ; 
Then, treason makes me wish myself a beggar. 
And so I am : then, crushing penury 
Persuades me I was better when a king : 
Then, am I king'd again ; and, by and by. 
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, 
And sftaight am nothing. — But whate'er I am, 
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, 
Willi nothing .shall be plea.s'd, till he be eas'd 
With being nothing. — Music do I hear? [Music. 

Ha, ha ! keep time. — How sour sweet music is, 
When time is broke, and no proportion kept ! 
So is it in the music of men's lives : 
And hero have I the daintiness of ear, 
To check time broke in a disorder'd string, 
But for the concord of my state and time. 
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. 
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me ; 
For now hath time made me his numbering clock; 
My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar^, 
Their watches on unto mine eyes the outward watch,' 
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, 
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. 
Now, for the sound, that tells what hour it is. 
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart, 
Which is the bell : so sighs, and tears, and groans, 
Show minutes, times, and hours ; but my time 
Ituns posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, 



While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock.* 
This music mads me : let it sound no more. 
For though it halh holpe madmen to their wits, 
In me, it seems, it will make wise men mad. 
Yet, blessing on his heart that gives it me ! 
For 't is a sign of love, and love to Richard 
Is a strange brooch' in this all-hating world. 
Enter Groom. 

Groom. Hail, royal prince ! 

K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer ; 

The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. 
What art thou ? and how comcst thou hither. 
Where no man never comes, but that sad'° dog 
That brings me food to make misfortune live ? 

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, 
When thou wert king ; who. travelling towards York, 
With much ado, at length have gotten leave 
To look upon my sometime royal master's face. 
O ! how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld 
In London streets that coronation day. 
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary ! 
That horse that thou so often liast bestrid. 
That horse that I so carefully have dress'd 

K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me, gentle friend, 
How went he under him ? 

Groom. So proud, as if he had disdain'd the ground. 

K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back? 
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand ; 
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. 
Would he not stumble ? Would he not fall down, 
(Since pride must have a fall) and break the neck 
Of that proud man that did usurp his back? 
Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee. 
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man. 
Wast born to bear ? I was not made a horse j 
And yet I bear a burden like an ass, 
Spur-gall'd and tir'd by jauncing Bolingbroke. 
Enter Keeper, with a Dish. 

Keep. Fellow, give place : here is no longer stay. 

[To the Groom. 

K. Rich. If thou love me, 't is time thou w^ert away. 

Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart 
shall say. [Exit. 

Keep. My lord, will 't please you to fall to ? 

K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. 

Keep. My lord, I dare not : Sir Pierce of Exton, who 
lately came from the king, commands the contrary. 

K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee ! 
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. 

[Strikes the Keeper. 

Keep. Help, help, help ! 

Enter Sir Pierce of Exton, and Servants, armed. 

K. Rich. How now ! what means death in this rude 
assault ? 
Villain, thine own hand yields thy death's instrument. 
[Snatching a weapon, and killing one. 
Go thou and fill another room in hell. 

[He kills another : Exton strikes him down. 
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, 
That staggers thus my person. — Exton, thy fierce hand 
Hath with the king's blood staiird the king's own land. 
Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on high. 
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies. 

Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood : 
Both have I spilt : O. would the deed were good ! 
For now the devil, that told me I did well, 
Says that tliis deed is chronicled in hell. 



' So the quartos, 1597 and 8 ; two later ones and folio : wistly. ^ So the quarto, 1597 ; other eds. : " how to compare." ^ * So the quartos ; 
the folio : faith ' Not in folio ; needle is to be pronounced, as it often was. as one syllable. ' Tick. ' Dial-plate. ^ Tihejisure that strucE 
the hours in old clocks. ' An allusion, say the commentators', to these ornaments being out of fashion. '" Grave. 



350 



KING EICIIARD H. 



Acr V. 



This dead king to the living king I '11 bear. — 
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. 

[Exeunt with the bodies. 

SCENE "VI.— Windsor. An Apartment in the Castle. 

Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, and York, with Lords 
and Attendants. 

Baling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear 
Is, that the rebels have consum'd with fire 
Our town of Cicctcr in Glo.stersliirc ; 
But whether they be ta'en. or slain, we hear not. 

Enter Northumberland. 
Welcome, my lord. What is the news with you ?' 

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness : 
The next news is, — I have to London sent 
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent : 
The manner of their taking may appear 
At large discoursed in this paper here. 

[Presenting a Paper. 

Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains, 
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. 
Enter Fitzwater. 

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London 
The heads of Biocas, and Sir Bennet Secly, 
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors. 
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. 

Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; 
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. 

Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. 

Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster, 
With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, 
Hath yielded up his body to the grave ; 



But here is Carlisle living, to abide 

Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. 

Boling. Bishop of Carlisle, this shall be your doom^ : — 
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, 
More than thou hast, and w:ith it joy" thy life ; 
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife : 
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, 
Pligh sparks of honour in thee have I seen. 

Enter Exton, with Attendants hearing a Coffin. 

Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present 
Thy buried fear : herein all breathle.<^s lies 
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, 
H icliard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. 

Baling. Exton, I thank thee not ; for thou hast wrought 
A deed of slander^ with thy fatal hand 
Upon my head, and all this famous land. [deed. 

Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this 

Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, 
Nor do I thee : though I did wish him dead, 
I hate the murderer, Ioa'c him murdered. 
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour. 
But neither my good word, nor princely favour : 
With Cain go wander through the shade of night, 
And never show thy head by day nor light. — 
Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe. 
That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow: 
Come, mourn with me for that I do lament, 
And pvit on sullen black. Incontinent 
I '11 make a voyage to the Holy land. 
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. 
March sadly after : grace my mourning here, 



In weeping after this untimely bier. 



[Exeunt. 



I These two words are not in f. e. = Carlisle, this is your doom : in f. e. ^ go the quarto, 1597 ; the others, and folio : slaughter. 



THE FIRST PART 



OF 



KING IIENEY IV. 



DKAMATIS PERSONS. 



King Henry the Fourth. 

Henry, Prince of Wales. 

Prince John of Lancaster. 

Earl of Westmoreland. 

Sir Walter Blunt. 

Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester. 

Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland : 

Henry Pi::1icY, surnamcd Hotspur, his Son. 

Ed.'mund Mortimer. Earl of March. 

Scroop, Archbishop of York. 

Archibald, Earl of Douglas. 

Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, 

SCENE, 



Owen Glendower. 

Sir Richard Vernon. 

Sir John Falstaff. 

Sir Michael, a friend of the Archbishop of York. 

PoiNs. 

Gadshill. 

Peto. 

Bardolph. 

Lady Percy, Wife to Hotspur. 

Lady Mortimer, Daughter to Glendower. 

Mrs. Quickly, Hostess of a Tavern in Eastcheap. 

Drawers, Carriers, Tj^vellers, and Attendants. 

England. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — London. An Apartment in the Palace. 
Enter King Henry, Westmoreland. Sir Walter 
Blunt, and Others. 
K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, 
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, 
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils 
To be commenced in stronds afar remote. 
No more the thirsty entrance' of this soil 
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood j 
No more shall trenching war cliannel her fields. 
Nor bruise her fiowrets with the armed hoofs 
Of hostile paces ; those opposed eyes. 
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven. 
All of one nature, of one substance bred. 
Did lately meet in the intestine shock 
And furious close of civil butchery. 
Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks, 
March all one way, and be no more oppos'd 
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies : 
The edge of war, like an ill-shcathed knife, 
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, 
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, 
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross, 
We are impressed, and engag'd to fight, 
Fortliwitli a power of English shall we levy. 
Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb, 
To chase these pagans, in those holy fields, 
Over whose acres walk'd tliose blessed feet. 
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd 
For our advantage on the bitter cross. 
But this our purpose is a twelve-month old, 



And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go : 
Therefore we meet not now. — Then, let me hear 
Of you, my gentle covisin Westmoreland, 
What yesternight our council did decree, 
In forwarding this dear expedience". 

West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, 
And many limits of the charge^ set down 
But yesternight : when, all athwart, there came 
A post from Wales loaden with heavy news; 
Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer, 
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight 
Against the irregular and wild Glendower, 
Was by the rude hands of that Welchman taken, 
A thousand of his people butchered ; 
Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse, 
Such beastly, shameless transformation. 
By those Welchwomen done, as may not be 
Witliout much shame re-told or spoken of. 

K. Hen. It seems, tlien, that the tidings of this broil 
Brake off our business for the Holy Land. 

West. This, match'd with otlier, did.* my gracious 
lord ; 
For' more vineven and unwelcome news 
Came from the north, and thus it did import. 
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, 
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald. 
That ever-valiant and approved Scot, 
At Holmcdon met ; 

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour. 
As by discharge of their artillery, 
And shape of likelihood, the news was told ; 
For he that brought them, in the very heat 



' Coleridne adopts Theobald's view, that the -'dry penetrability" of the soil of England was referred to. ' Expedition. ' Calculations 
of the expense. ♦ The folio : like, s The folio : Far. 



352 



FIRST PAET OF 



ACT I. 



And pride of their con'ention did take horse, 
Uncertain of the issue any way. 

K. Hen. Here is a dear, a true-industrious friend, 
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, 
Stain'd with the variation of each soil 
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours : 
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. 
The earl of Douglas is discomfited ; 
Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights, 
Balk'd' in their own blood, did Sir Walter see 
On Holmedon's plains : of prisoners, Hotspur took 
Mordakc earl of Fife, and eldest son 
To beaten Douglas, and the earl of Alhol, 
Of Murray, Angus, and the bold^ Mcnteith ; 
And is not this an honourable spoil ? 
A gallant prize ? ha ! cousin, is it not ? 

West. 'Faith, 't is' a conquest for a prince to boast of. 

K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad. and mak'st 
me sin. 
In envy that my lord Northumberland 
Should be the father to so blest a son : 
A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue ; 
Amongst a grove the very straightest plant ; 
Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride : 
Whilst T, by looking on the praise of him, 
See riot and dishonour stain the brow 
Of my young Harry. ! that it could be prov'd. 
That somp night-tripping fairy had cxchang'd 
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay. 
And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet : 
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. 
But let him from my thoughts. — What think you, coz, 
Of this young Percy's pride ? the prisoners, 
Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd, 
To his own use he keeps* and sends me word, 
I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife. 

West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, 
Malevolent to you in all aspects ; 
Which makes him prune liimself, and bristle up 
The crest of youth against your dignity. 

K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this ; 
And for this cause awhile we must neglect 
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. 
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we 
Will hold at Windsor : so inform the lords ; 
But come yourself with speed to us again. 
For more is to be said, and to be done, 
Than out of anger can be uttered. 

West. I will, my liege. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. Another Apartment in the 

Palace. 
Enter Henry, Prince of Wales, and Falstaff. 

Fal. Now, Hal ; what time of day is it, lad ? 

P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old 
sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping 
upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to 
demand that truly, which thou wouldst truly know. 
What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the 
day ? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes 
capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the 
signs of leaping-houscs, and the blessed sun himself a 
fair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffeta, I see no reason 
why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the 
time of the day. 



1 Raised in ridges, heaped. 2 These two words are not in f. e. 



Fal. Indeed you come near me, now, Hal ; for we, 
that take purses, go by the moon and the seven stars, 
and not by PhcEbus, — he, " that wandering knight so 
fair."* And, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, when thou art 
king, — as, God save thy gi-ace, — majesty, I should say, 
for grace thou wilt have none, — 

P. Hen. What, none ? 

Fal. No, by my troth ; not so much as will serve to 
be prologue to an egg and butter. 

P. Hen. Well, how then ? come, roundly, roundly. 

Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let 
not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called 
thieves of the day's beauty : let us be Diana's foresters, 
gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon ; and let 
men say, we be men of good government, being go- 
verned as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress 
the moon, under whose countenance we steal. " 

P. Hen. Thou say'st well, and it holds well, too; for 
the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb 
and flow like the sea, being governed as the sea is, by 
the moon. As for proof now : a purse of gold most 
resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most disso- 
lutely spent on Tuesday morning ; got with swearing — 
lay by ; and spent with crying — bring in; now, in as 
low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and, by and by, 
in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. 

Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not 
my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench ? 

P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the 
castle.' And is not a buff jerkin* a most sweet robe of 
durance ? 

Fal. How now, how now. mad wag ? what, in thy 
quips, and thy quiddities ? what a plague have I to do 
with a buff jerkin ? 

P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my 
hostess of the tavern ? 

Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many 
a time and oft. 

P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? 

Fal. No : I 'II give thee thy due ; thou hast paid all 
there. 

P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would 
stretch ; and, where it would not, I haAX used my 
credit. 

Fal. Yea, and so used it, that it is' here apparent 
that thou art heir apparent. — But, I pr'ythee, sweet 
wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when 
thou art king, and resolution thus fobbed, as it is, with 
the rusty curlD of old father antick, the law ? Do not 
thou, when thou art a king, hang a thief. 

P. Hen. No : thou shalt. 

Fal. Shall I ? rare ! By the Lord, I '11 be a brave 
judge. 

P. Hen. Thou judgest false already : I mean, thou 
shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a 
rare hangman. 

Fal. Well, Hal, well ; and in some sort it jumps 
with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can 
tell you. 

P. Hen. For obtaining of suits ? 

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hang- 
man hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melan- 
choly as a gib^-cat, or a lugged bear. 

P. Hen. Or an old lion : or a lover's lute. 

Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.' 



3 in f. e. : 

In faith, 
It is, Sec. 
* The Knight of the Sun. whose romantic adventures were translated and published in 1585. * An allusion to the name of Oldcastle, which 
Falstaff appears to have orifrinally borne. Farmer says it is from, lad of Castile. ^ This was the dress of constables at the time of tho play 
' were it not here : in f. e. " Gib, was an old name for a tom-cat. " The Lincolnshire bagpipe is often mentioned by old writers. 



SCENE II. 



KING HENEY IV. 



353 



P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melan- 1 
choly of Moor-ditch ?' 

Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes ; and art, 
indeed, the most comparative, rascallest, sweet young 
prince. — But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with 
vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew where a 
commodity of good names were to be bought. An old 
lord of the council rated me the other day in the street 
about you, sir ; but I marked him not : and yet he 
talked very wisely ; but I regarded him not, and yet 
he talked wi.«ely, and in the street too. 

P. Hen. Thou didst well ; for wisdom cries out in 
the streets, and no man regards it. 

Fal. O ! thou hast damnable iteration, and art, in- 
deed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much 
harm upon me, Hal : — God forgive tiiee for it. Before 
I knew thee, Hal, I knew notliing; and now am I, if 
a man should speak truly, little better than one of the 
wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it 
over ; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain : 1 '11 be 
damned for never a king's son in Cliristendom. 

P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, 
Jack ? 

Fal. Zounds ! where thou wilt, lad, I '11 make one ; 
an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me. 

P. Hrn. I see a good amendment of life in thee ; 
from praying, to purse-taking. 

Enter Poins, at a distance. 

Fal. Why, Hal, 't is my vocation, Hal : 't is no sin for 
a man to labour in his vocation. Poins ! — Now shall 
we know if Gadshill have set a mateh^. — ! if men 
were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot 
enough for him ? This is the most omnipotent villain, 
that ever cried, Stand ! to a true man. 

P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned. 

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. — What says mon- 
sieur Remorse ? What says Sir John Sack^-and-Sugar ? 
Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, 
that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, for a cup 
of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg? 

P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word : the devil shall 
have his bargain, for he was never yet a breaker of 
proverbs ; he will give the devil his due. 

Poins. Then, art thou damned for keeping thy word 
with the devil. 

P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the 
devil. 

Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, 
by four o'clock, early at Gadshill. There are pilgrims 
going to Canterbury with rich oifc rings, and traders 
riding to London with fat purses : I have visors for you 
all, you have horses for yourselves. Gadsliill lies to- 
night in Rochester ; I have bespoke supper to-morrow 
night in Easteheap : we may do it as secure as sleep. 
If you will go, I wll stuff your purses full of crowns: 
if you will not, tarry at home, and be hanged. 

Fal. Hear ye, Yedward : if I tarry at home, and go 
not, I '11 hang you for going. 

Poins. You will, chops ? 

Fal. Hal, wilt thovr make one ? 

P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. 

Fal. There 's neither honesty, manhood, nor good 
fellowship in thee, nor thou cam'.st not of the blood 
royal, if thou darcst not stand for ten shillings*. 

P. Hen. Well then, once in my days I '11 be a madcap. 

Fal. Why, tliat 's well said. 



P. Hen. Well, come what will, I '11 tarry at home. 

Fal. By the Lord, I '11 be a traitor then, when thou 
art king. 

P. Hen. I care not. 

Pains. Sir John. I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me 
alone : I will lay him down such reasons for this ad- 
venture, that he shall go. 

Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, 
and him the ears of profiting, that what thou spcakest 
may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the 
true prince may (for recreation sake) prove a false 
thief; for the poor abuses of the time want counte- 
nance. Farewell : you shall find me in Easteheap. 

P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring ! Farewell, 
All-hallown' summer ! [Exit Falstaff. 

Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us 
to-morrow : I have a jest to execute, that I cannot 
manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolpli, Peto, and Gadshill, 
shall rob those men that we have already way-laid : 
yourself and I will not be there : and when they have 
the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head 
off from my shoulders. 

P. Hen. How shall we part with them in setting forth ? 

Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, 
and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at 
our pleasure to fail ; and then "will they adventure 
upon the exploit themselves, which they shall have no 
sooner achieved, but we '11 set upon them. 

P. Hen. Yea, but 't is like, that they will know us, 
by our horses, by our habits, and by every other 
appointment, to he ourselves. 

Poins. Tut I our horses they shall not sec ; I '11 tie 
them in the wood : our visors we will change, after we 
leave them ; and, sirrah', I have cases of buckram for 
the nonce,' to inmask our noted outward garments. 

P. Hen. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us. 

Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as 
true-bred cowards as ever turned back ; and for the 
third, if he '11 fight longer than he sees reason, I '11 for- 
swear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incom- 
prehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us. 
when we meet at supper : how thirty at least he fought 
with ; what wards, what blows, what extremities he 
endured ; and in the reproof of this lies the jest. 

P. Hen. Well, I '11 go with thee : provide us all 
things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in 
Easteheap, there I'll sup. Farewell. 

Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit Poins. 

P. Hen. I know you all, and will a while uphold 
The unyok'd humour of your idleness : 
Yet herein will I imitate the sun. 
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
To smother up his beauty from the world. 
That when he please again to be himself. 
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, 
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him. 
If all the year were playing holidays, 
To sport would be as tedious as to work ; 
But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come 
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off. 
And pay the debt I never promised. 
By how much better than my word I am, 
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes ; 
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground. 



1 A filthy and stagnant ditch, with a mora.«s on one side, and Bedlam Hospital on the other, extending between Bishopsgate and Cripple- 
gate. ^ Folio : watch ; to " set a match" wa.s, to make an appointment. ^ Shnrri.i sac, appears to have been dry Sherry. * Such was the 
value of a coin called a roynl. * AU-hallown, or All-Saints' day, occurs on the first of November. ' This word was often used, as here, to 
persons not inferiors. " Sir, ha!" is supposed to be the derivation. ' Derived ixom, " for the once." — Gifford. 

23 



354 



FIRST PART OF 



ACT I. 



And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 
Was paniiaceti for an inward bruise ; 
And that it was great pity, so it was, 
This' villainous salt-petre should be digg'd 
Oat of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 
So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns, 
He would himself have been a soldier. 
This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord, 
I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; 
And, I beseech you, let not his report 
Come current for an accusation. 
Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 

Blunt. The circumstance considered, good my lord, 
Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said, 
To such a person, and in such a place, 
At such a time, with all the rest re-told. 
May reasonably die, and never rise 
To do him wrong, or any way impeach 
What then he said, so he unsay it now. 

K. Hen. W^hy, yet he doth deny his prisoners, 
But with proviso, and exception. 
That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight 
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer ; 
Wlio. on my soul, hath wilfully bctray'd 
The lives of those that he did lead to fight 
Against that great magician, damn'd Glcndower, 
Whose daughter, as we fear, that earl of JNIarch 
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then, 
Be emptied to redeem a traitor home ? 
Shall we buy treason, and indent' with foes''. 
When they have lost and forfeited themselves ? 
No, on the barren mountains let him starve ; 
For I shall never hold tliat man my friend, 
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost, 
To ransom home revolted Mortimer. 

Hot. llevolted Mortimer ! 
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, 
But by the chance of war : to prove that true. 
Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds. 
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, 
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, 
Tn single opposition, hand to hand. 
He did confound the best part of an hour 
In changing hardiment with great Glendower. 
Three times they breath'd, and three times did they 

drink, 
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ; 
Wliu then, affrighted with their bloody looks, 
Han fearfully among the trembling reeds. 
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank 
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. 
Never did base and rotten policy 
Colour her working with such deadly wounds : 
Nor never could the noble Mortimer 
licceive so many, and all willingly: 
Then, let him not be slandcr'd with revolt. 

K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie 
him : 
He never did encounter with Glendower. 
I tell thee. 

He durst as well have met the devil alone. 
As Owen Glendower for an enemy. 
Art thou not asham'd ? But, sirrah, henceforth 
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer. 
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means. 
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
As will displease you. — My lord Northumberland, 

1 2 This word is not in f. e. ^ A. term of military defence, here used in the sense of opposition. * A box of open work containing essences. 
6 Folio : That. » Make an indenture., agree. * fears : in f. e. 



My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, 

Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes. 

Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 

I '11 so offend, to make offence a skill. 

Redeeming time, when men think least I will. [Exit. 

SCENE HL — The Same. Another Apartment in 
the Palace. 
Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, 
Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and Others. 
K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and temperate, 
Unapt to stir at these indignities. 
And you have found me : for, accordingly. 
You tread upon my patience : but, be sure, 
I will from henceforth rather be myself. 
Mighty, and to be feared, than my condition. 
Which hath been smooth as oil. soft as young down, 
And therefore lost that title of respect. 
Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. 

Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves 
Tlie scourge of greatness to be used on it : 
And that same greatness, too, which ovir own hands 
Have holp to make so portly. 
North. My good' lord, — 

K. Hen. Lord^ Worcester, get thee gone ; for I do see 
Danger and disobedience in thine eye. 
0, sir ! your presence is too bold and peremptory, 
And majesty might never yet endure 
The moody frontier^ of a servant brow. 
You have good leave to leave us : when we need 
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. — 

[Exit Worcester. 
You were about to speak. [To North. 

North. Yea, my good lord. 

Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded. 
Which Harry Percy, here, at Holmedon took. 
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied 
As is deliver'd to your majesty : 
Either envy, therefore, or misprision 
Ls guilty of this fault, and not my son. 

Hot. My liege. I did deny no prisoners : 
But, I remember, when the fight was done, 
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, 
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword. 
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd. 
Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reap'd, 
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home : 
lie was perfumed like a milliner. 
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
A pouncet*-box, which ever and anon 
He gave his nose, and took 't away again ; 
Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, 
Took it in snuff: — and still he smil'd, and talk'd ; 
And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 
He calTd them untaught knaves, unmannerly. 
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 
With many holiday and lady terms 
He question'd me : among the rest, demanded 
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 
I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold. 
To be so pester'd with a popinjay, 
Out of my grief and my impatience, 
Answer'd neglectingly, I know not vAiiat, 
He should, or he should not ; for he made me mad. 
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, 
Of guns, and drums, and wounds, God save the mark ! 



SCEKE III. 



KING HENRY IV. 



355 



We license yovir departure with your Fon. — 
Send us your prisoners, or you '11 hear of it. 

[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train. 

Hot. And it' the devil come and roar for them, 
I will not send them — I will after straight. 
And tell him so : for I will ease my heart, 
Albeit I make a hazard' of my head. [Offers to go.' 

North. What ! druuk with oholer ? stay, and pause 
awhile : 
Here comes your uncle. 

Re-enter Worcester. 

Hot. Speak of Mortimer ! 

'Zounds ! I will speak of him : and let my soul 
Want mercy, if I do not join with him : 
Yea. on his part"*. I '11 empty all these veins. 
And sliod my dear blood drop by drop i' the dust, 
But I will lift the down-trod jMortimcr 
As hiyh i' the air .is this unthankful king, 
As this iugrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. 

North. Brother, [To Worcester.] the king hath 
made your nephew mad. 

Wor. Who strvick this heat up after I was gone ? 

Hut. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners ; 
And when I urg'd the ransom once again 
or my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale, 
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death. 
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 

Wor. I cannot blame him. Was he not proclaim'd, 
By Richard, that dead is, the next of blood ? 

North. He was : I heard the proclamation : 
And then it was when the unhappy king 
(Who!-e wrongs in us God pardon !) did set forth 
Upon his Irish expedition ; 
From whence he intercepted did return 
To be depos'd, and shortly murdered. 

Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide 
mouth 
Live scandaliz'd. and foully spoken of. 

Hot. But, soft ! I pray you, did king Richard, then. 
Proclaim my brother Edtnund Mortimer 
Heir to the crown? 

North. He did : myself did hear it. 

Hot. Nay, then, I cannot blame his cousin king, 
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve. 
But shall it be, that you, that set the crown 
Upon the head of this forgetful man. 
And for his sake wear the detested blot 
Of murdrniis subornation, shall it be, 
That you a world of cur.«es undergo. 
Being the agents, or base second means, 
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather ? — 
! pardon me*, that I descend so low. 
To .'^liow the line, and the predicament. 
Wherein you range under this subtle king. 
Shall it for shame be spoken in these days, 
Or fill up chronicles in time to come, 
That men of your nobility and power. 
Did gage tliem both in an unjust behalf, 
(As both of you. God pardon it ! have done) 
To i)ut down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, 
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? 
And shall it. in more shame, be farther spoken, 
Tii.nt yon nre fooi'd. discarded, and shook off 
By him, for whom these shames ye underwent? 
No ! yet time serves, wherein you may redeem 
Your tarnisli'd* honours, and restore yourselves 
Into the good thouirhts of the Avorid again. 



Revenge 1lie jeering, and disdain'd contempt. 
Of this proud king; who studies day and night 
To answer all the debt he owes to you. 
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. 
Therefore, I say, — 



Wor. 



Peace, 



cousin ! say no more. 



And now I will unclasp a secret book. 
And to your quiek-eonceiving discontents 
I '11 read you matter deep and dangerous ; 
As full of peril and adventurous spirit, 
As to o'erwalk a current, roaring loud, 
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 

Hot. If he fall in, good night !— or sink or swim, 
Send danger from the east unto the west, 
So honour cross it, from the north to south, 
And let them grapple : — O ! the blood more stirs, 
To rouse a lion, than to start a hare. 

North. Imagination of some great exploit 
Drives him beyond the bovmds of patience. 

Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap. 
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon ; 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep. 
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, 
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks. 
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear 
Without corrival all her dignities : 
But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship ! 

Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here. 
But not the form of what he should attend. — 
Good cousin, give me audience for a while.* 

Hot. I cry you mercy. 

Wor. Those same noble Scots, 

That are your prisoners, — 

Hot. I '11 keep them all. 

By God, he shall not have a Scot of them : 
! No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not. 
I '11 keep them, by this hand. 

Wor. You start away, 

And lend no ear unto my purposes. 
Those prisoners you shall keep. 

Hot. Nay, I will ; that 's flat. 

He said he would not ransom Mortimer; 
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; 
But I will find him when he lies asleep, 
And in his car I 'II holla — Mortimer ! 
Nay, I '11 have a starling shall be taught to speak 
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him. 
To keep his anger still in motion. 

Wor. Hear you, cousin, a word. 

Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, 
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke ; 
And that same sword-and-buckler' prince of Wales, 
But that I think his father loves him not, 
And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
I would have him poison'd* with a pot of ale. 

Ifor. Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to you. 
When you are better temper'd to attend. 

North. Why, what a wasp-stung' and impatient fool 
Art thou to break into this womans mood, 
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own ! 

Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with 
rods, 
Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear 
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 
In Richard's time, — what do ye call the place ? — 
A plague upon 't— it is in Gloucestershire ; — 
'T was where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept, 



1 Folio: Althouffh it be with hazard. = Not in f. e. 3 Folio : Tn his behalf. * Folio : if. 5 banished : in f. e. 6 The folio insertt 
here as a separate line : '"And list to me." ^ Servants and riotous persons were thus accoutred " Folio : poison d him. • » I-olio : wasp- 
tongued. 



356 



FIKST PART OF 



ACT II. 



His uncle York, — where I first bow'd my knee 

Unto this king of smiles, tliis Bolingbroke, 

' Sblood ! when you and he came back from Ravcnspurg. 

North. At Berkley castle. 

Hot. You say true. — 
Why, what a candied deal of courtesy 
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me ! 
Look, — " when his infant fortune came to age," 
And,— "gentle Harry Percy,"— and, "kind cousin,"— 
O, the devil take such cozeners ! — God forgive me ! — 
Good uncle, tell your tale : P have done. 

Wor. Nay, if you have not. to 't again, 
We '11 stay your leisure. 

]Joi_ I have done, i' faith. 

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. 
Deliver tliem up without their ransom straight. 
And make the Douglas' son your only mean 
For powers in Scotland ; which, for divers reasons 
Which I shall send you written, be assur'd. 
Will easily be granted you. — My lord, 

\To Northumberland. 
Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, 
Sliall secretly into the bosom creep 
Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, 
The archbishop. 

Hot. Of York, is it not? 

Wor. True ; who bears hard 
His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop. 
I .speak not this in estimation, 
As what I think might be, but what I know 
Is ruminated, plotted, and set down ; 
And only stays but to behold the face 



Of that occasion that shall bring it on. 

Hot. I smell it : 
Upon my life, it will do wondrous well. 

North. Before the game 's afoot, thou still let'st slip. 

Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot. — 
And then the power of Scotland, and of York, 
To join with Mortimer, ha ? 

Wor. And so they shall. 

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 

Wor. And 't is no little reason bids us speed, 
To save our heads by raising of a head ; 
For, bear ourselves as even as we can. 
The king will always think him in our debt, 
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied. 
Till he hath found a time to pay us home : 
And see already how he doth begin 
To make us strangers to his looks of love. ■' 

Hot. He does, he does : we '11 be reveng'd on him. 

Wor. Cousin, farewell. — No farther go in. this. 
Than I by letters shall direct your course. 
When time is ripe, (which will be suddenly) 
I '11 steal to Glendower, and lord Mortimer ; 
Where you. and Douglas, and ovir powers at once. 
As I will fashion it, shall happily meet, 
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms. 
Which now we liold at much uncertainty. 

North. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I 
trust. 

Hot. Uncle, adieu. — ! let the hours be short, 
Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT II 



SCENE I. — Rochester. An Inn Yard. 
Enter a Carrier, tvith a Lantern in his hand. 
1 Car. Heigh ho ! An 't be not four by the day, I '11 
be hanged : Charles' wain is over the new chimney, 
and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler ! 
Cst. [Within.] Anon, anon. 

1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few 
flocks in the point ; the poor jade is wrung in the 
withers out of all cess-. 

Enter another Carrier. 

2 Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, 
and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots : 
this house is turned upside down since Robin ostler 
died. 

1 Car. Poor fellow ! he never joyed since the price 
of oats rose : it was the death of liim. 

2 Car. I think, this be the most villainous house in 
all London road for fleas : I am stung like a tench. 

1 Cur. Like a tench ? by the mass, there is ne'er a 
king in Christendom could be better bit than I have 
been since the first cock. 

2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a Jordan, and 
then we leak in the chimney ; and your chamber-lie 
breeds fieas like a loach. 

1 Car. What, ostler ! come away and be hanged : 
come away. 

2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes^ 
of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross. 

1 Car. 'Odsbody ! the turkeys in my pannier are 
quite starved. — What, ostler ! — A plague on thee ! hast 

1 Folio : for I. 2 Measure. ' Roots. * A proverb of the time. 



thou never an eye in thy head ? canst not hear ? An 
't were not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate 
of thee, I am a very villain. — Come, and be hanged : — 
hast no faith in thee ? 

Enter Gadshill. 

Gad.s. Good morrow, carriers. What 's o'clock? 

1 Car. I tliink it be two o'clock. 

Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my 
gelding in the stable. 

1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye : I know a trick worth 
two of that, i' faith. 

Gad.s. I pr'ythee, lend me thine. 

2 Car. Ay, when? canst tell ? — Lend me thy lantern, 
quoth a ? — marry, I '11 see thee hanged first. 

Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to 
come to London ? 

2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I 
warrant thee. — Come, neighbour Mugs, we '11 call up 
the gentlemen : they will along with company, for they 
have great charge. [Exeunt Carriers. 

Gads. What, ho ! chamberlain ! 

Cham. [Within.] At hand, quoth pick-purse*. 

Gads. That 's even as fair as — at hand, quoth the 
chamberlain ; for thou variest no more from picking of 
purses, than giving direction doth from labouring; thou 
lay'st the plot how. 

Enter Chamberlain. 

Cham. Good morrow, master Gadshill. It holds 
current, that I told you yesternight : there 's a franklin 
in the wild of Kent, hath brought three hundred marks 
with him in gold : I heard him tell it to one of his 



SCENE 11. 



KLNG HENKY IV. 



357 



comjiany, last night at supper ; a kind of auditor; one 
that hath abundance of cliarge too. God knows what. 
They are up already, and call for eggs and butter : they 
will away presently. 

Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicholas' 
clerks', I "11 give thee this neck. 

Cham. No, I "11 none of it: I pr'ythee, keep that for 
the hangman ; for, I know thou wor.ship'st saint Nicho- 
las as truly as a man of falsehood may. 

Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman ? if 
I hang, I '11 make a fat pair of gallows; for, if I hang, 
old sir John hangs with me, and thou knowest he 's no 
starveling. Tut ! there are other Trojans that thou 
dreamest not of, the which, for sport sake, are content 
to do the profession some grace, that would, if matters 
should be looked into, for their own credit sake, make 
all whole. I am joined with no foot land-rakcrs, no 
long-staff", sixpenny strikers: none of these mad, mus- 
tachio purple-hued malt-worms; but with nobility and 
sanguinity- ; burgomasters, and great ones — yes,' such 
as can hold in ; such as will strike sooner tlian speak ; 
and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than 
pray : and yet I lie : for they pray continually to their 
saint, the commonw^ealth ; or, rather, not pray to her, 
but prey on her, for they ride up and down on her, and 
make her their boots. 

Cliam. What ! the commonwealth their boots ? will 
she hold out water in foul way? 

Gads. She will, she will ; justice hath liquored her. 
We steal as in a castle, cock-sure ; we have the receipt 
of fern-seed,* we walk invisible. 

Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are more 
beholding to the night, than to fern-seed, for your 
walking invisible. 

Gads. Give me thy hand : thou shalt have a share in 
our purchase,^ as I am a true man. 

Cham. Nay, rather let mc have it, as you are a false 
thief. 

Gads. Go to ; homo is a common name to all men. 
Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. 
Farewell, you muddy knave. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Road by Gadshill. 

Enter Prince Henry, and Poins ; BARnoLPH and Peto, 

at some distance. 

Po/)i,f. Come, shelter, shelter : I have removed Fal- 
stafl"'s iiorsc, and he frets like a gummed velvet. ° 

P. Hen. Stand close. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Poins ! Poins, and be hanged ! Poins ! 

P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-kidncyed rascal ! What a 
brawling dost thou keep? 

Fal. Where 's Poins, Hal ? 

P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of the hill : I '11 
go seek him. [Pretends to seek Poixs. 

Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's company: 
the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know 
not where. If I travel but four foot by the squire^ 
further afoot I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt 
not but to die a fair death for all this, if I 'scape hang- 
ing for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his com- 
pany liourly any time this Iwo-and-twenty years, and 
yet I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the 
rascal have not given me medicines to make me love 
him. I' 11 be hanged; it could not be else : I have drunk 
medicines. — Poins ! — Hal ! — a plague upon you both ! 
— Rardolph ! — Peto ! — I '11 starve, ere I '11 rob a foot 
further. An "t were not as good a deed as drink, to 



thou art not colted, thou art 



turn true man. and leave these rogues, I am the veriest 
varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of 
uneven ground is three score and ten miles afoot with 
me. and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough. 
A plague upon 't, when thieves cannot be true to one 
another ! [They whistle.] Whew ! — A plague upon you 
all ! Give me my horse, you rogues : give me my 
horse, and be hanged. 

P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-guts ! lie down : lay thine ear 
close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the 
tread of travellers. 

Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, being 
down? 'Sblood ! I '11 not bear mine own tiesh so far 
afoot again, for ail the coin in thy father's exchequer. 
What a plague mean ye to colt' mc thus ? 

P. Hen. Thou liest 
uncolted. 

Fal. I pr"ythec, good prince Hal, help me to my 
horse: good king's son. 

P. Hen. Out, "you rogue ! shall I be your ostler ? 

Fal. Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent 
garters ! If I be ta'en, I '11 peach for this. An I have 
not ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, 
let a cup of sack be my poison : when a jest is so for- 
ward, and afoot too, — I hate it. 

Enter Gadshill. 

Gads. Stand. 

Fal. So I do, against my will. 

Poins. O ! 't is our setter : I know his voice. 
Enter Bardolph. 

Bard. What news ? 

Gads. Case ye, case ye ; on with your visors : there 's 
money of the king's coming down the hill ; 't is going 
to the king's exchequer. 

Fal. You lie, you rogue : 't is going to the king's 
tavern . 

Gads. There 's enough to make us all. 

Fal. To be hanged. 

P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the nar- 
row lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower: if they 
'scape from your encounter, then they light on us. 

Peto. But how many be there of them ? 

Gads. Some eight, or ten. 

Fal. Zounds ! will they not rob us ? 

P. Hen. What, a coward, sir John Paunch? 

Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grand- 
father ; but yet no coward, Hal. 

P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof. 

Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the 
hedge : when thou needest him, there thou shalt find 
him. Farewell, and stand fast. 

Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged. 

P. Hen. Ned, [Aside to Poins.] where are our dis- 
guises ? 

Poins. Here, hard by: stand close. 

[Exeunt P. Henry and Poins. 

Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole', say 
I : every man to his business. 

Enter Travellers. 

1 Trav. Come, neighbour : the boy shall lead our 
horses down the hill ; we 'II walk afoot awhile, and 
case our legs. 

Thieves. Stand ! 

Trav Jcsu bless us ! 

Fal. Strike ; down with them ; cut the villains' 
throats. Ah, whor.«on caterpillars ! bacon-fed knaves ! 
they hate us youth : down with them ; fleece them. 

1 Trav. ! we are undone, both we and ours, for ever. 



1 A cant name for robbers. ^ tranquillity : in f. e. ^ great oneyers : in f. e. * Of old, believed to be invisible, from its very minute size. 
^ A cant term, in frequent use, for booty. ^ A gummed velvet, being very stiff, fretted, or wore rapidly. ' Foot-rule. * Trick. ' Lot. 



358 



FIRST PAET OF 



ACl' II. 



Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves. Are ye undone? 

No, ye fat chuffs ; I would, your store were here. On, 

bacons, on ! What ! ye knaves, young men must live. 

You are grand-jurors are ye? We '11 jure ye, i' faith. 

[Exeunt Fal. tVc. driving the Travellers out. 

Re-enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men. 
Now could thou and I rob the tliievcs, and go merrily 
to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter 
for a month, and a good jest for ever. 

Poins. Stand close : I hear them coming. 
Re-enter Tli ieves. 

Fal. Come, my masters; let us share, and then to 
horse before day. An the prince and Poins be not two 
arrant cowards, tlicre 's no equity stirring: there 's no 
more valour in that Poins. than in a wild duck. 

P. Hen. Your money. [Rushing out upon them. 

Poins. Villains. 
[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set iipon 

them. They all run'away, and Falstaff, after a blow 

or tivo, runs away too. leaving the booty behind them.] 

P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse : 
The tliievcs are scatter'd. and possessed wilh fear 
So strongly, that they dare not meet each other; 
Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, • 
And larJs the lean earth as he walks along : 
Wer 't not for laughing. I should pity him. 

Poins. How the rogue roar'd ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— Warkworth. A Room in the Castle. 

E7itcr Hotspur, reading a Letter. 
— " But for mine own part, my lord, I could be well 
contented to be there, in respect of the love 1 bear 
your house." — He could be contented, — why is he not 
then? In respect of the love he bears our house : — 
he shows in this, he loves his own barn better than he 
loves our house. Let me see some more. " The pur- 
pose you undertake, is dangerous :" — Why, that 's cer- 
tain : 't is dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink ; 
but 1 tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, 
we '11 pluck this flower, safety. " The purpose you 
undertake, is dangerous ; the friends you have named, 
uncertain ; the time itself unsorted, and your whole 
plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposi- 
tion." — Say you so, say you so ? I say unto you again, 
you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What 
a lackbrain is this ! By the Lord, our plot is a good 
plot as ever was laid : our friends true and constant : 
a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation : an 
excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty- 
spirited rogue is this ? Why, my lord of York com- 
mends the plot, and the general course of the action. 
'Zounds ! and I were now by this rascal, I could brain 
him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my 
uncle, and myself? lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord 
of York, and Owen Glendower ? Is there not, besides, 
the Douglas ? Have I not all their letters, to meet 
me in arms by the ninth of the next month, and are 
they not, some of them, set forward already ? What a 
pagan rascal is this ! an infidel ! Ha ! you shall see 
now. in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he 
to the king, and lay open all our proceedings. Oh ! 1 
could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such 

a dish of skimmed milk with so honourable an action. 

Hang him ! let him tell the king : we are prepared. 

I will set forward to-night. 



Enter Lady Percy. 
How now, Kate ? I must leave you within these two 
hours. 

Lady. 0, my good lord ! why are you thus alone ? 
For what offence have I this fortnight been 
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed ? 
Tell me, sweet lord, what is 't that takes from thee 
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep ? 
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth, 
And start so often when thou sit'st alone ? 
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks, 
And given my treasures, and my rights of thee, 
To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy ? 
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd, 
And heard thee murmur talcs of iron wars ; 
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed ; 
Cry, " Courage ! — to the field !" And thou liast talk'd 
Of sallies, and retires; of trenches, tents, 
Of palisadocs, frontiers,' parapets ; 
Of basilisk.s^ of cannon,^ culverin ;* 
Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain, 
And all th' occurrents^ of a heady fight. 
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, 
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, 
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, 
Like bubbles on a late disturbed stream : 
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd, 
Such as we see when men restrain their breath 
On some great sudden best.' ! what portents are 
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, [these ? 
And I must know it, else he loves me not. 

Hot. What, ho ! is Gilliams with the packet gone ? 
Enter Servant. 

Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. 

Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the 
sheriff? 

Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. 

Hot. What horse ? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not ? 

Serv. It is, my lord. 

Hot. That roan shall be my throne. 

Well, I will back him straight : O, esperance .'' 
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. [Exit Servant. 

Lady. But hear you. my lord. 

Hot. What say'st thou, my lady ? 

Lady. What is it carries you away ? 

Hot. Why my liorse, 
My love, my horse. 

Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape ! 

A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen, 
As you are are toss'd with. In faith, 
I '11 know your business, Harry, that I will. 
I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir 
About his title ; and hath sent for you. 
To line his enterprise : but if you go — 

Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. 

Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me 
Directly unto this question that I ask. 
In faith, I '11 break thy little finger, Harry, 
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. 

Hot. Away ! 
Away, you trifler ! — Love ? — I love thee not, 
I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world, 
To play with mammets,* and to tilt with lips : 
We must have bloody noses, and crack'd crowns, 
And pass them current too. — Gods me, my horse ! — 
What say'st thou, Kate ? what wouldst thou have with 
me ? 



• The fortificntions protecting frontiers. " Weighed aine thousand pounds and carried a ball of sixty. ^ Weighed seven thou.sand, and 
carried a ball of sixty. * Weighed four thousand, and carried a ball of eighteen. ^ currents : in f. e, « So the quarto ; the folio : haste. 
' The motto of the Percy family. 8 Puppets, dolls. 



SCENE IV. 



KING HENRY IV. 



359 



Lady. Do you not love me ? do you not, indeed ? 
Well, do not then ; for since you love me not, 
I will not love myself. Do you not love me ? 
Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no ? 

Hot Come, to the park, Kate' ; wilt thou see me ride ? 
And when I am o' horseback, I will swear 
I love thee infinitely. Bat hark you, Kate ; 
I must not have you henceforth question me 
Willi her I go, nor reason wlicreabout. 
Whither I must, I must : and, to conclude, 
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. 
I know you wise ; but yet no fartlicr wise 
Than Harry Percy's wife : constant you are ; 
But yet a woman : and for secrecy. 
No lady closer ; for I well believe 
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know ] 
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate. 

Lady. How ! so far ? 

Hot. Not an inch farther. But hark you, Kate ? 
Whither I go, thither shall you go too; 
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. 
Will this content you, Kate ? 

Lady. It must, of force. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar's 

Head Tavern. 

Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

P. Hen. Ned, pr'ytlice, come out of that fat room, 
and lend me thy hand to lausih a little. 

Poin.s. Where hast been. Hal ? 

P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst 
three or four-score hogsheads. I have sounded the 
very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn 
brother to a leash of drawers, and can call them all by 
their Christian names, as — Tom, Dick, and Francis. 
They take it already upon their salvation, that though 
I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of cour- 
tesy, and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Fal- 
stafl"; but a Corintliian, a lad of mottle, a good boy, 
(by the lord, so they call me,) and when I am king of 
England. I shall command all the good lads in East- 
cheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet ; and 
when you breatlie in your watering" they cry hem ! and 
bid you play it off. — To conclude, I am so good a pro- 
ficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with 
any tinker in his own langviage during my life. I tell 
thee, 



Ned, thou hast 



lost much honour that thou wert 
not with me in this action. But. sweet Ned, — to 
sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this penny- 
worth of sugar, clapped even now into my hand by an 
inider-.'kiiiker^ : one that never spake otlier English in 
his life, than — " Eight shillings and sixpence," and — 
" You are welcome ;" with this shrill addition, — " Anon, 
anon, sir ! Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon," 
or so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till FalstafFjthe drawer? come, what's the issue 



P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis ? 

Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to — 

Poiii.s. [Within] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. Five years ! by 'r lady, a long lease for the 
clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so 
valiant, as to play thf3 coward with thy indenture, and 
to sliow it a fair pair of heels, and run from it ? 

Fran. lord, sir ! I '11 be sworn upon all the books 
in England, I could find it in my heart. 

Poins. [Within.] Francis ! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. How old art thou. 



Fran. Let me see, — about 



Francis ? [be — 

Michaelmas next I sliall 



Poins. [IViihin.] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, sir. — Pray you, stay a little, my lord. 

P. Hen. Nay. but hark you, Francis. For the sugar 
thou gavcst me, — 't was a pennyworth, was 't not ? 

Fran. lord, sir ! I would it had been two. 

P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound : 
ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. 

Poins. [Within.] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon. 

P. Hen. Anon, Francis ? No, Francis ; but to-mor- 



row, Francis; 



or, Francis, 



on 
But, 



Thursday ; 
Francis — 



or, indeed, 



Francis, wlien thou wilt. 

Fran. My lord ? 

P. Hen. Wilt thou rob tliis leathern-jerkin, crystal- 
button, knot-pated,* agate-ring, puke'-stocking, caddis'- 
garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-povich, — 

Fran. O lord, sir, who do you mean ? 

P. Hen. Why then, your brown bastard' is your only 
drink : for, look you, Francis, your white canvas dou- 
blet will sully. In Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so 
much. 

Frail. What, sir? 

Poins. [Within.] Francis! 

P. Hen. Away, you rogue : Dost not thou hear 
them call ? 

[Here they both call him ; the Drawer stands amazed^ 
not knowing which way to go. 
Enter Vintner. 

Vint. Wliat ! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a 
calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit Fran.] 
My lord, old sir John, with half a dozen more, are at 
the door : shall I let them in ? 

P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open the 
door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins ! 

Re-enter Poins. 

Poins. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. Sirrah. Falstaff and the rest of the thieves 
are at the door. Shall we be merry? 

Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; 
what cunning match have you made with this jest of 



come, I pr'ythee, do thou stand in .some by-room, while 
I question my puny drawer to what end he gave me 
the sugar ; and do thou never leave calling — Francis ! 
that his tale to me may be nothing but — anon. Step 
aside, and I '11 show tlice a precedent. 

Poins. Francis ! 

P. Hen. Thou art perfect 

Poins. Francis ! [Exit Poins. 

Enter Francis. 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. — Look down into the Pome- 
granate, Ralph. 

P. Hen. Coine hither, Francis. 

Fran. Mv lord. 



P. Hen. I am now of all liumours, that have show'd 
themselves humours, since the old days of goodman 
Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock 
at miilnight. [Re-enter Francis, with Wine.] What 's 
o'clock, Francis ? 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. [Exit. 

P. Hen. That ever this fellow .should have fewer 
words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman ! His 
industry is — up-stairs, and down-stairs; his eloquence, 
the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's 
mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me 
some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes 
his hands, and says to his wife, — " Fie upon this quiet 



' to the park, Kate : not in f. e. " take breath in your drinking. ' One who serves drink, a rfmwer. * Having the hair cut close. 
' Galloon. ' A strong and sweet Spanish wine. It was both brown and white. 



4 Puce. 



360 



FIRST PART OF 



ACT n. 



life ? I want work." " O my sweet Harry," says she, 
" How many hast thou killed to-day ?" " Give my roan 
horse a drench," says he. and answers, '" Some four- 
teen," an hour after; "a trifle, a trifle." — I pr'ythee, 
call in FalstalF; I '11 play Percy, and that damned brawn 
shall play dame Mortimer his wife. " Rivo !" says the 
drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. 

Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto. 

Poins. Welcome, .Tack. Where hast thou been? 

FaL A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance 
too ! marry, and amen ! — Give me a cup of sack, boy. 
— Ere I lead this life long, I '11 sew nctlicr-stocks, and 
mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all 
cowards ! — Give me a cup of sack, rogue. — Is there no 
virtue extant ? [He drinks. 

P. Hen. Didst 1hou never see Titan kiss a dish of 
butter ? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet 
tale of the sun ! if thou didst, then behold that com- 
pound. 

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: there 
is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man : 
yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in 
it; a villainous coward. — Go thy ways, old Jack: die 
when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not for- 
got upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten 
herring^ There live not three good men unhanged in 
England, and one of them is fat, and grows old : God 
help the while ! a bad world, I say. I would I were a 
weaver; I could sing psalms or any thing. A plague 
of all cowards, I say still. 

P. Hen. How now, wool-sack ! what mutter you? 

Fal. A king's son ! If I do not beat thee out of thy 
kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all tliy sub- 
jects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I '11 never 
wear hair on my face more. You prince of Wales ! 

P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man, what 's the 
matter ! 

Fal. Are you not a coward ? answer me to that ? 
and Poins there ? 

Pom.'!. 'Zounds ! ye fat paunch, and ye call me cow- 
ard, I '11 stab thee. 

Fal. I call thee coward ! I '11 see thee damned ere I 
call thee coward ; but I would give a thousand pound. 
I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight 
enough in the shoulders ; you care not who sees your 
back. Call you that backing of your friends? A 
plague upon such backing ! give me them that will 
face me. — Give me a cup of sack : I am a rogue, if I 
drunk to-day. 

P. Hen. villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped since 
thou drunk' st last. 

Fal. All 's one for that. [He drinks.] A plague of all 
cowards, still say I. 



P. Hen. What 's the matter ? 



here 



Fal. What 's the matter ? there be four of us 
have ta'en a thousand pound this day morning'. 

P. Hen. Where is it, Jack ! where is it? 

Fal. Where is it ? taken from us it is : a hundred 
upon poor four of us'. 

P. Hen. What, a hundred, man? 

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with 
a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scaped by 
miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet : 
four through the hose : my buckler cut through and 
through ; my sword hacked like a hand-saw : ecce sig- 



of 



sharing, some six or seven fresh 



num. [Drawing it.^] I never dealt better since I was a 
man : all would not do. A plague of all cowards ! — 
Let them speak : if they speak more or less than truth, 
they are villains, and the sons of darkness. 

P. Hen. Speak, sirs : how was it ? 

Bard. We four set upon some dozen, — 

Fal. Sixteen, at least, my lord. 

Bard. And bound them. 

Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 

Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man 
them ; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jfew. 

Bard. As we were 
•men set upon us, — 

Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the 
other. 

P. Hen. What ! fought ye with them all ? 

Fal. All ? I know not what ye call all ; -but if I 
fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish ; 
if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old 
Jack, then am I no two-legged creature. 

P. Hen.^ Pray God, you have not murdered some of 
them . 

Fal. Nay, that 's past praying for : I have peppered 
two of them : two, I am sure, I have paid ; two' rogues 
in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, — if I tell 
thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou know- 
est my old ward : — here I lay, and thus I bore my point. 
Four rogues in buckram let drive at me, — 

P. Hen. What, four ? thou saidst but two even now. 

Fal. Four, Hal ; I told thee four. 

Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. 

Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust 
at me. I made me no more ado, but took all their 
seven points in my target, thus. 

P. Hen. Seven ? why, there were but four even 
now. 

Fal. In buckram. 

Poins. Ay, four in buckram suits. 

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. 

P. Hen. Pr'ythee, let him alone : we shall have more 
anon. [To Poms.® 

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal ? 

P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too. Jack. 

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These 
nine in buckram, that I told thee of, — 

P. Hen. So, two more already. 

Fal. Their points being broken, — 

Poins. Down fell their hose.' 

Fal. Began to give me ground ; but I followed me 
close, came in, foot and hand, and with a thought, 
seven of the eleven I paid. 

P. Hen . O monstrous ! eleven buckram men grown 
out of two. 

Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegot- 
ten knaves, in Kendal-green, came at my back, and let 
drive at me ; — for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst 
not see (hy hand. 

P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets 
them; gross as a mountain; open, palpable. Why, 
thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou 
whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-keech.* — 

Fal. What ! art thou mad ? art thou mad ? is not 
the truth, the truth ? 

P. He7i. Why, how couldst thou know these men in 
Kendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst not 



1 One that has cast his spawn. ^ go the first two quartos; the folios omit : day. The phrase is still in use in the eastern counties of 
England. ^ go all old copies; many mod. eds. omit : of. * Not in f. e. ■"'All the quartos but the last, give this speech to P. Henry; the 
last quarto, and the folio, to Poins. ' Not in f. e. ' Points is taken by Poins in the sense of lags, or strings, by which the clothes were 
fa.<tened. 8 old copies : catch ; changed by some editions to "'ketch," a tub, and by others to- '"keech," the f 'it of an animal rolled up in a 
ball. 



• J 



SCENE IV. 



KIXG HENPtY lY. 



361 



see thy hajid ? come, tell us your reason : what sayest 
thou to this ? 

Pains. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. 

Fal. Wliat, upon compulsion ? No ; were I at the 
strappado^ or all the racks in the world, I would not 
tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compul- 
sion ! if reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I would 
give no man a reason U]ion compulsion, I. 

P. Ilcn. I "11 be no longer guilty of this sin : this san- 
guine coward, this bcd-presser, this horse-back-breaker, 
this huge hill of flesh : — 

Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin*, you dried 
neat's-tongue, bull's pizzle. you stock-fisli. — O, for 
breath to utter what is like thee ! — you tailor's yard, 
you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing-tuck : — 

P. Hen. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again; 
and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, 
hear me speak but this. 

Poin.i. Mark, Jack. 

P. Hen. We tvvo saw you four set on four ; you 
bound thein, and were masters of their wealth. — Mark 
now, how plain a tale shall put you down. — Then did 
we two set on you four, and, with a word, out-fae'd you 
from your prize, and have it : yea, and can show it you 
here in the house. — And. Falstaft", you carried your guts 
away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for 
mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard bull- 
calf. W!iat a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou 
hast done, and then say, it was in light ! What trick, 
what device, what starting-hole, canst thou now find 
out. to hide thee from this open and apparent shame ? 

Poins. Come, let 's hear, Jack: what trick hast thou 
now ? 

Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye., as well as he that 
made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters : was it for me 
to kill the heir apparent ? Should I turn upon the true 
prince ? Why, thou knowest, I am as valiant as Her- 
cules : but beware instinct : the lion will not touch the 
true prince. Instinct is a great matter ; I was a cow- 
ard on instinct. I shall think the better of myself and 
thee, during my life ; I, for a valiant lion, and thou for 
a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you 
have the money. — Hostess, clap to the doors : watch 
to-night, pray to-morrow. — Gallants, lads, boys, hearts 
of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you ! 
What ! shall we be merry ? shall we have a play ex- 
tempore ? 

P. Hen. Content: — and the argrument shall be. thy 
running away. 

Fal. Ah ! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me. 
Enter Hostess. 

Host. Jesu ! My lord the prince, — 

P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess ! what say'st 
thou to me ? 

Ho.st. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the 
court at door would speak with you: he says, he comes 
from your father. 

P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a royal 
man', and send him back again to my mother. 

Fal. What manner of man is he ? 

Host. An old man. 

Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? 
— Shall I cive liim his answer? 

P. //fjj.'^Pr'ythce. do, Jack. 

Fal. 'Faith, and I '11 send him packing. \Exit. 

P. Hen. Now. sirs; by'r lady, you fought fair; — so 
did you. Peto; — so did you, Bardolph : you are lions 

■ This punishment consists in drawing the sulTerer up to an elevation, by a strap passed under his elbows, and then lettinghim drop sud- 
denly— usually dislocating his shoulder blade. - Hanrner suRKests eel-skin. ^ ^ play upon the names of coin.s. the noble, US. 8d, and the 
royal, \0s. «' In the fact. » Cotton-icool, u.sed for stuffing dresses. ^ A pike, with a hook below its point. — Knight. 



too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not touch 
the true prince, no : — fie ! 

Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. 

P. Hen. 'Faith, tell me now in earnest: how came 
FaLstaffs sword so hacked ? 

Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger, and said, 
he would swear truth out of England, but he would 
make you believe it was done in fight ; and persuaded 
us to do the like. 

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear grass, 
to make them bleed : and then to beslubber our gar- 
ments with it, and to swear it was the blood of true 
men. I did that I did not this seven year before; I 
blu.shed to hear his monstrous devices. 

P. Hen. villain ! thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen 
years ago, and wert taken with the manner*, and ever 
since thou hast blushed extempore. Thou hadst fire 
and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran'st away : what 
instinct hadst thou for it ? 

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors ? do yoti 
behold these exhalations? 

P. Hen. I do. 

Bard. What think you they portend ? 

P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses. 

Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 

P. Hen. No. if rightly taken, halter. 
Re-enter Falstaff. 
Here comes lean Jack ; here comes bare-bone. How 
noM", my sweet creature of bombast !' How long is 't 
ago. Jack, since thou sawest thy own knee ? 

Fal. My own knee ? when I was about thy years, 
Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist ; I could 
have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring : a plague 
of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder. 
There 's villainous news abroad : here was sir John 
Bracy from your father : you must to the court in the 
morning. That same mad fellow of the north, Percy ; 
and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the bastinado, 
and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his 
true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook', — what, 
a plague, call you him ? — 

Poins. ! Glcndower. 

Fal. Owen, Owen : the same ; and his son-in-law, 
Mortimer ; and old Northumberland: and that sprightly 
Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o' horseback up a hill 
perpendicular. 

P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with his 
pistol kills a sparrow flying. 

Fal. You have hit it. 

P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. 

Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him : he 
will not run. 

P. Hin. Why, what a rascal art thou, then, to praise 
him so for running ? 

Fal. 0' horseback, ye cuckoo ! but, afoot, he will 
not budge a foot. 

P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 

Fal. I grant ye. upon instinct. Well, he is there 
too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more. 
Worcester is stolen away to-night ; thy father's beard 
is turned white with the news : you may buy land now 
as cheap as stinking mackarel. 

P. Hen. Why then, it is like, if there come a hot 
June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy 
maidcnlieads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundred. 

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true ; it is like, 
we shall have good trading that way. — But, tell me, 



362 



FIRST PART OF 



ACT II. 



Hal, 



thou 



being 
three 



heir ' 
such 



i, art thou not horribly afcard ? 
apparent, could the world pick thee out 
enemies again, as that ticud Douglas, that spirit Percy, 
and that devil Glendower ? Art thou not horribly 
afraid ? doth not tliy blood thrill at it ? 

P. Hen. Not a whit, i' faith : I lack some of thy 
instinct. 

Ful. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, 
when thou comest to thy father : if thou love me, 
practisLi an answer. 

P. lleti. Do thou stand for my father, and examine 
me upon tlie particulars of my life. 

Fa/. Shall I? content. — This chair shall be my state, 
this dasuer my sceptre, and this cushion my crown. 

P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy 
golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious 
rich crown for a pitiful bald crown ! 

Fill. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of 
thee, now shalt thou be moved. — Give me a cup of 
sack, to make mine eyes look red. that it may be 
thought I have wept ; for I must speak in passion, and 
I will do it in king Cambyses"' vein. 
P. Hen. Well, here is my leg.'' 
Fal. And here is my speech. — Stand aside, nobility. 
Ho.st. 0, Jesu ! this is excellent sport, i' faith. 
Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are 
vain. 

Ho.st. 0. the father ! how he holds his countenance. 
Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristfuP queen, 
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 

Ho.-it. O, Jesu ! he doth it as like one of these har- 
lotry players as ever I see. 

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot ! peace, good tickle-brain ! 
— Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest 
thy time, but also how thou art accompanied : for 
though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the 
faster it grows, so* youth, the more it is wasted, the 
sooner it wears. That Ihou art my son, I have partly 
thy mother's word, partly my own opinion ; but chiefly. 
a villainous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of 
thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If, then, thou 
be son to me, here lies the point — why, being son to 
me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of 
heaven prove a micher*, and eat blackberries ? a ques- 
tion not to be asked. Shall the sun of England prove 
a thief, and take pur,<cs? a question to be asked. 
There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard 
of, and it is known to many in our land by the name 
of pitch : this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth 
defile : so doth the company thou kccpest ; for, Harry, 
now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears ; 
not in pleasure, but in passion ; not in words only, but 
in woes also. — And yet there is a virtuous man, whom 
I have often noted iu thy company, but I know not his 
name. 

P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your 
majesty? 

Fal. A goodly^ portly man i' faith, and a corpulent: 
of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble 
carriage: and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r 
lady, inclining to threescore, and now I remember me, 
his name is Falstaff": if that man should be lewdly 
given, he deceiveth me ; for, Harry, 1 see virtue in his 
looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as 
the fruit by the tree, then peremptorily I speak it, 
there is virtue in that FalstaflT: him keep with, the 



rest banish. And tell me, now, thou naughty varlet, 
tell me. where hast thou been this month ? 

P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king ? Do thou 
stand for me, and I '11 play my father. 

Fal. Depose me ? if thou dost it half so gravely, so 
majestically, bolh in word and matter, hang me up by 
the heels for a rabbit-sucker', or a poulterer's hare. 

P. Hen. Weil, liere I am set. 

Fal. And here I stand. — Judge, my masters. 

P. Hen. Now, Harry ! whence come you? 

Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 

P. Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. 

Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false. — Nay, I '11 
tickle thee for a young prince, i' faith. 

P. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy ? henceforth 
ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away 
from grace : there is a devil haunts thee, in ^he like- 
ness of a fat old man : a tun of man is thy companion. 
Why dost thou converse with that hulk^ of humours, 
that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swoln parcel of 
dropsies, that huge bombard' of sack, that stuffed 
cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree-ox'", with 



that 



grey 




the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, 
iniquity* that father ruffian, that vanity in years 
Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it ? 
wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and 
eat it? wherein cunning"', but in craft ? wherein crafty, 
but in villainy ? wherein villainous, but in all things ? 
wherein worthy, but in nothing ? 

Fal. I would your grace would take me with you ;' ' 
whom means your grace ? 

P. Hen. Tliat villainous abominable misleader of 
youth, FalstaflT, that old white-bearded Satan. 

Fal. My lord, the man I know. 

P. Hen. I know thou dost. 

Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than in 
myself, were to say more than I know. That he is 
old, the more the pity, his white hairs do witness it : 
but that he is. saving your reverence, a whoremaster, 
that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God 
help the wicked ! If to be old and merry be a sin, 
then many an old host that I know, is damned : if to 
be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to 
be loved. No, my good lord : banish Peto. banish 
Bardolph. banish Poins ; but for sweet Jack FalstaflT, 
kind Jack Falstafi', true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack 
Falstaff", and, therefore more valiant, being, as he is, 
old Jack Falstaff", banish not him thy Harry's company, 
banish not him thy Harry's company: banish plump 
Jack, and banish all the world. 

P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard. 

[Exeunt Hostes.';^ Francis, and Bardolph. 
Re-enter Bardolph, running. 

Bard. O ! my lord, my lord ! tlie sheriff, with a most 
monstrous watch, is at the door. 

Fal. Out, you rogue ! play out the play : I have 
much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. 
Re-enter Hostess. 

Host. O Jesu ! my lord, my lord ! — 

P. Hen. Heigh, heigh ! the devil rides upon a fiddle- 
stick. What 's the matter? 

Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door : 
they are come to search the house. Shall I let them in? 

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? never call a true piece of 
gold a counterfeit : thou art essentially mad, without 
seeming so. 



■jeisance. 3 Old copies : trustful; Rowe made 
' So the old copies ; Malone changed the word 
sel. iO An allusion to the Manningtree Fair. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY IV. 



363 



P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without instinct. 

Fnl. I deny your major. If you will deny the 
sheriff, so ; if not, let him enter : if I become not a 
cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing 
up. I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter 
as another. 

P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras' : — the rest 
walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face, and 
a good conscience. 

Fal. Both which I have had ; but their date is out, 
and therefore I '11 hide me. 

[ExetDit all but the Prince and Peto.° 

P. Hen. Call in the sherifF. 

Enter Sheriff and Carrier. 
Now, master sheriff, what 's your will with me? 

Shcr. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry 
Hatii follow'd certain men unto this house. 

P. Hen. What men ? 

Shcr. One of tliem is well known, my gracious lord ; 
A gross fat man. 

Car. As fat as butter. 

P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here, 
For I myself at this time have employ'd him. 
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee, 
That I M^ill, by to-morrow dinner-time. 
Send him to an.swcr thee, or any man. 
For any thing he shall be charg'd withal : 
And so, let me entreat you. leave the house. 

Shcr. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen 
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. 



if he have robb'd these men, 
and so, farewell. 



P. Hen. It may be so 

He shall be answerable ; 

Sher. Good night, my noble lord. 

P. Hen. I tiiink it is good morrow, is it not ? 

Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. 

[Exetmt Sheriff and Carrier. 

P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. 
Go, call him forth. 

Peto. Falstaff! — fast asleep behind the arras, and 
snorting like a horse. 

P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search 
his pockets. [Peto .searches.] What hast thou found'? 

Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord. 

P. Hen. Let 's see what they be : read them. 

Peto. [Reads.] Item, A capon, 2^. 

Item, Sauce 

Item, Sack, two gallons 



55. 

25. 



2d. 
Act. 
Bd. 
6d. 
ob.^ 



Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper. 

Item, Bread, 

P. Hen. O monstrous ! but one half-pennyworth of 
bread to this intolerable deal of sack ! — What there is 
else, keep close : we '11 read it at more advantage. There 
let him sleep till day. I '11 to the court in the morning : 
we must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honour- 
able. I '11 procure this fat rogue a charge of foot ; and, 
I know, his death will be a march of twelve-score. 
The money shall be paid back again with advantage. 
Be with me betimes in the morning ; and so good mor- 



row. 



Peto. 



Peto. Good morrow, good my lord. 



[Exeunt. 



ACT III 



SCENE I. — Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon's 

House. 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and Glen- 
dower. 

3Iort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, 
And our induction* full of prosperous hope. 

Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower, will 
you sit down ? — And, uncle Worcester. — A plague 
upon it ! I have forgot the map. 

Glcnd. No, here it is. 

Sit, cousin Percy ; sit, good cousin Hotspur ; 
For by that name as oft as Lancaster 
Doth speak of you. 

His cheek looks pale, and with a rising sigh 
He wisheth you in heaven. 

Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears Owen 
Glendower spoke of. 

Glcnd. I cannot blame him : at my nativity, 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes. 
Of burning cressets* ; and at my birth. 
The frame and huge' foundation of the earth 
Shiik'd like a coward. 

Hot. Wliy, so it would have done at the same season, 
if your mother'.^ cat h^d but kitten'd, though yourself 
had never been born. 

Glcnd. I say, the earth did sliake when I was born. 

Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind, 
If you suppose as fearing you it shook. 

Glcnd. The heavens were all on fire; the earth did 
tremble. 



Hot. ! then the earth shook to see the heavens on 
fire, 
And not in fear of your nativity. 
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
In strange eruptions : oft the teeming earth 
Is with a kind of cholic pinch'd and vex'd 
By the imprisoning of unruly wind 
Within her womb : which, for enlargement striving, 
Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down 
Steeples, and moss-grovm towers. At your birth. 
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature, 
In pas.sion shook. 

Glcnd. Cousin, of many men 

I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
To tell you once again, — that at my birth, 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ; 
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 
Were strangely clamorous in the frighted fields. 
These sign^ have mark'd me extraordinary, 
And all the courses of my life do show, 
I am not in the roll of common men. 
Where is he living, — clipp'd in with the sea 
That chides the banks of England. Scotland, Wales — 
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me ? 
And bring him out, that is but woman's son, 
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, 
And hold me pace in deep experiments. 

Hot. I think, there is no man speaks better Welsh. 
I Ml to dinner. 

Mort. Peace, cousin Percy ! you will make him mad. 

Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 



» The arraa wa.<! usually hunj; at ."iome distance from the wall. > There i.^s no direction in the old copie.?, except Exit. Subsequent 
dialogue IV.TO takes part: mod. eds. cliange the name here and in the rest of the scene, to Poixs. ^ Qtolum. the old mode of noting a 
half-penny. * Iiilrntliirihin. ^ A. small frame-work of iron filled with some flaming substance, and raised on a pole as a 6eacon, or a 
torch. ' From the quarto. lijOS. 



364 



FIRST PART OF 



ACT III. 



Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man ; 
But will they come, when you do call for them ? 

Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command 
the devil. 

Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil. 
By telling truth : tell truth, and shame the devil. — 
If thcu have power to raise him, bring him hither. 
And ['11 be sworn, I have power to shame him hence. 
! while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. 

Mori. Come, come ; 
No more of this unprofitable chat. 

Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made 
head 
Against my power : thrice from the banks of Wye. 
And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him 
Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. 

Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too ! 
How 'scap'd he agues, in the devil's name ? 

Glend. Come, here 's the map : shall we divide our 
right, 
According to our three-fold order ta'en ? 

Mori. The archdeacon hath divided it 
Into three limits, very equally. 
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, 
By south and east is to my part assign'd : 
All westward, Wales, beyond the Severn shore, 
And all the fertile land within that bound, 
To Owen Glendower : — and, dear coz, to you 
The i-enuiant northward, lying off from Trent. 
And our indentures tripartite are drawn, 
Which being sealed interchangeably, 
(A business that this night may execute) 
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I, 
And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth, 
To meet your father, and the Scottish power, 
As is appointed us, at Shrew.sbury. 
My father Glendower is not ready yet. 
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days. — 
Within that space you may have drawn together 

\To Glendower. 
Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. 

Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords; 
And in my conduct shall your ladies come : 
From whom you now must steal, and take no leave; 
For there will be a world of M'ater shed. 
Upon the parting of your wives and you. 

Hot. Methinks. my moiety', north from Burton here, 
In quantity equals not one of yours. 
See, how this river comes me cranking in, 
And cuts me from the best of all my land 
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle^ out. 
I '11 have the current in this place damm'd up. 
And here the snug and silver Trent shall run, 
In a new channel, fair and evenly : 
It shall not wind with such a deep indent, * 
To rob me of so rich a bottom here. 

G/fntZ. Not wind ? it shall; it must: you see, it doth. 

Mort. Yea, but mark, how he bears his course, and 
runs me up 
With like advantage on the other side; 
Gelding the opposed continent, as much 
As on the other side it takes from you. 

Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here, 
And on this north side win this cape of land ; 
And then he runs all straight and evenly^. 

Hot. I '11 have it so : a little charge will do it. 



Glend. I will not have it alter'd. 

Hot. Will not you ? 

Glend. No, nor you shall not. 

Hot. Who shall say me nay ? 

Glend. Why, that will I. 

Hot. Let me not understand you then : 

Speak it in Welsh. 

Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you, 
For I was train'd up in the English court ; 
Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
Many an English ditty, lovely well, 
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament ; 
A virtue that was never seen in you. 

Hot. Marry, and I 'm glad of it with all my heart. 
I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew, 
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers : 
I had rather hear a brazen can'stick* turn'd, ^ 
Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree ; 
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, 
Nothing so much as mincing poetry. 
'T is like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. 

Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. 

Hot. I do not care. 

I '11 give thrice so much land to any well-deserving 

friend ; 
But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me, 
I '11 cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 
Are the indentures dra^vn ? shall we be gone ? 

Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by night : 
I '11 haste the writer, and withal, I '11 break 
With your young wives* of your departure hence. 
I am afraid my daughter will run mad. 
So much she doteth on her Mortimer. [Exit. 

Mort. Fie, cousin Percy ! how you cross my father. 

Hot. I cannot choose : sometime he angers me 
With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant. 
Of the dreamer Merlin and liis prophecies ; 
And of a dragon, and a finless fish, 
A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven, 
A couching lion, and a ramping cat, 
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff 
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what, — 
He held me, last night, at the least nine hours. 
In reckoning up the several devils' names, 
That were his lackeys: I cried, "humph," and "well," 

" go to," 
But mark'd him not a word. ! he 's as tedious 
As a tired horse, a railing wife ; 
Worse than a smoky house : I had rather live 
With cheese and garlick in a windmill, far, 
Than feed on cates, and have liim talk to me, 
In any summer-house in Christendom. 

Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman ; 
Exceedingly well read, and profited 
In strange concealments : valiant as a lion. 
And wondrous affable, and as bountiful 
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? 
He holds your temper in a high respect. 
And curbs himself even of his natural scope, 
When you do cross his humour ; 'faith, he does. 
I warrant you, that man is not alive, 
Might so have tempted him as you have done, 
Without the taste of danger and reproof : 
But do not use it oft. let me entreat you. 

Wor. In faith, my wilful lord, you are to blame,^ 
And since your coming hither have done enough 



1 Often used, as here, as a general term for share. ' Portion. ^ runs straight and even : in f. e. * candle-stick : in folio. ' In f. e. 

and withal, 
Break ■with your wives, &o. 
6 In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame : in f. e. 



SCENE n. 



KING HENRY lY. 



365 



To put him quite beside his patience. 

You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault : 

Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood, 

And that 's the secret grace it renders you, 

Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, 

Defect of manners, want of government. 

Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain : 

The least of which, liaunting a nobleman, 

Lo^^eth men's hearts, and leaves behind a stain 

Upon the beauty of all parts besides, 

Beguiling them of commendation. 

Hot. Well, I am school'd : good manners be your 
speed. 
Here come our wives, and let us take our leave. 
Re-enter Glendower, U'ith the Ladies. 

Mart. This is the deadly spite that angers me ; 
My wife can speak no English. I no Welsh. 

Glend. My daughter weeps : she will not part with 
She '11 be a soldier too ; she '11 to the wars. [you ; 

Mort. Good father, tell her, that she, and my aunt 
Percy, 
Shall follow in your conduct speedily. 

[Glendower speaks to her in Welsh., and she 
answers him in the same. 

Glend. She 's desperate here ; 
A peevish' self-will'd harlotry, and one 
That no persuasion can do good upon. 

[She ."ipcaks to Mortimer in Welsh. 

Mort. I understand thy looks : that pretty Welsh 
Which thou pour'st down from these welling heavens, 
f am too perfect in ; and, but for shame. 
In such a parley would I answer thee. 

[She .speaks again. 
I imdcrstand thy kisses, and thou mine, 
And that 's a feeling disputation : 
Rut I will never be a truant, love, 
Till I have learn'd thy language ; for thy tongue 
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd. 
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, 
With ravisliing divi,*ion, to her lute. 

Glend. Nay, if thou melt, then will she e'en run mad. 

[She speaks again. 

Mort. ! I am ignorance itself in this. 

Glend. She bids you on the wanton rushes^ lay you 
And rest your gentle head upon her lap, [down. 

And she will sing the song that plcaseth you, 
And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep, 
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness; 
Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep, 
As is the difference betwixt day and night, 
The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team 
Begins liis golden progress in the east. 

Mort. With all my heart I '11 sit, and hear her sing : 
By that time will our book', I think, be drawn. 

Glend. Do so ; 
And those musicians that shall play to you. 
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence ; 
And straight they shall be here. Sit, and attend. 

Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down : 
Come, qiiick, quick ; tliat I may lay my head in thy 
lap. 

Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. [The mnsic plays. 

Hot. Now I perceive, tlie devil understands Welsh ; 
And 't is no marvel, he is so humorous. 
By 'r lady, he 's a good musician. 

Lady P. Then, should you be nothing but musical, 
For you are altogether governed by humours. 
Lie still, yc thief, and hear the lady sing 

^ Silly. 2 Jiusiigj -^-ere strewn on floors as a covering. 3 Often used, as here, for an nyrirfOT^ni. * Small hound. * Velvet-guards, oi 
edges, seem to have been a distinguishing peculiarity of the dress of London city wives. — Knight. ' Come, come : in f. e. ' then : in f. e. 



In Welsh. 

Hot. I had rather hear, lady, my brach*, howl in 
Irish. 

Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken ? 

Hot. No. 

Lady P. Then be still. 

Hot. Neither; 't is a woman's fault. 

Lady P. Now, God help thee ! 

Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. 

Lady P. What 's that ? 

Hot. Peace ? she sings. [A Welsh Song by Lady M. 

Hot. Come, Kate, I '11 haA^e your song too. 

Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. 

Hot. Not yours, in good sooth ! 'Heart ! 
You swear like to a comfit-maker's wife. 
Not yours, in good sooth ; and, as true as I live; 
As God shall mend me ; and. as sure as day: 
And giv'st such sarcenet siu-ety for thy oaths. 
As if thou never walk'dst farther than Finsbury. 
Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, 
A good-mouth-filling oath ; and leave in sooth, 
And such protests of pepper-gingerbread, 
To velvet-guards,' and Sunday-citizens. 
Come, sing. 

Lady P. I will not sing. 

Hot. 'T is the next way to turn tailor, or be red- 
breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I '11 
away within these two hours ; and so come in when 
ye will. [Exit. 

Glend. Come on*, lord INIortimer ; you are as slow, 
As hot lord Percy is on fire to go. 
By this our book is drawn : we '11 seal, and part' 
To horse immediately. 

Mort. With all my heart. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales., and Lords. 

K. Hen. Lords, give us leave. The Prince of Wales 

and I, 
Mvist have some private conference : but be near at 

hand, 
For we shall presently have need of you. — 

[Exeunt Lords. 
I know not whether God will have it so, 
For some displeasing service I have done, 
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood 
He '11 breed revengement and a scourge for me ; 
But thou dost, in thy passages of life, 
Make me believe, that thou art only mark'd 
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven. 
To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else. 
Could such inordinate, and low desires. 
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts, 
Such barren pleasures, rude society, 
As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to. 
Accompany the greatness of thy blood, 
And hold tiicir level with thy princely heart ? 

P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could 
Quit all offences with as clear excuse 
As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge 
Myself of many I am charg'd withal : 
Yet such extenuation let me beg, 
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd. 
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear 
By smiling pick-thanks and bai?e newsmongers, 
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth 
Hath faulty wander'd, and irregular. 
Find pardon on my true submission. 



366 



FIRST PAET OF 



ACT in. 



K. Hen. God pardon thee ! — yet let me wonder, 
At thy affections:, which do hoJd a wing [Harry, 

Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. 
Tliy place in council thou hast rudely lost, 
Which by thy younger brother is supplied; 
And art almost an alien to the hearts 
Of all the court, and princes of my blood : 
The hope and expectation of thy time 
Is ruin'd ; and the soul of every man 
Prophetically doth fore-think thy fall. 
Had I so lavish of my presence been, 
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men, 
So stale and cheap to vulgar company, 
Opinion, that did help me to the crown, 
Had still kept loyal to possession, 
And left me in reputelei^s banishment, 
A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. 
By being seldom seen, I could not stir, 
But like a comet I was wonder'd at : 
That men would tell their children, " This is he :" 
Others would say, — '' Where ? which is BoUngbroke ?"' 
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven. 
And dress"d myself in such humility, 
Tliat I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, 
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths. 
Even in the presence of the crowned king. 
Thus did I keep my person fresh, and new; 
My presence, like a robe pontifical. 
Ne'er seen but wonder'd at : and so my state, 
Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast, ' 
And won by rareness such solemnity. 
The skipping king, he ambled up and down 
With shallow jesters, and rash bavin' wits, 
Soon kindled, and soon burn'd ; discarded state f 
Mingled his royalty with carping fools ; 
Had his great name profaned with their scorns ; 
And gave his countenance, against his name, 
To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push 
Of every beardless vain comparative : 
Grew a companion to the common streets, 
Enfeoff'd himself to popularity : 
That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes. 
They surfeited with honey; and began 
To loatlie the taste of sweetness, whereof a little 
More than a little is by much too much. 
So, when he had occasion to be seen, 
He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 
Heard, not regarded : seen, but with such eyes, 
As, sick and blunted with community, 
Afford no extraordinary gaze, 
Such as is bent on sun-like majesty. 
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes: 
But ra,thcr drowz'd, and hung their eyelids down. 
Slept in his face, and renderd such aspect 
As cloudy men use to their adversaries. 
Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full. 
And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou ; 
For tliou hast lost thy princely privilege, 
With vile particijiation : not an eye 
But is a- weary of thy common sight. 
Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more; 
Which now doth that I would not have it do, 
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. 

P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, 
Be more myself. 

K. Hen. For all the world. 

As thou art to this hour, was Richard then, 
When I from France set foot at Ravcnspurg; 

1 A fas^nt of brushwood. 
i. e. J features. 



And even as I was then is Percy now. 

Now by my scepter, and my soul to boot,'. 

He hath more worthy interest to the state, 

Than thou the shadow of succession : 

For of no right, nor colour like to right, 

He doth fill fields with harness in the realm. 

Turns head against the lion's armed jaws. 

And, being no more in debt to years than thou, 

Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on 

To bloody battles, and to bruising arms. 

What never-dying honour hath he got 

Against renowned Douglas; whose high deeds, 

Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms. 

Holds from all soldiers chief majority. 

And military title capital, 

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ. 

Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathing ciothes, 

This infant warrior, in his enterprises 

Discomfited great Douglas ; ta'en him once. 

Enlarged hijn, and made a friend of him. 

To fill the mouth of deep defiance up. 

And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 

And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, 

The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, 

Capitulate-^ against us, and are up. 

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee ? 

Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes. 

Which art my near'st and dearest enemy ? 

Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear, 

Base inclination, and the start of spleen. 

To fight again.st me under Percy's pay. 

To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns. 

To show how much thou art degenerate. 

P. Hen. Do not think so ; you shall not find it so : 
And God forgive them, that so much have sway'd 
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me ! 
I will redeem all this on Percy's head, 
And in the closing of some glorious day. 
Be bold to tell you that I am your son ; 
When I will wear a garment all of blood. 
And stain my favour* in a bloody mask, 
Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it. 
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights. 
That this same child of honour and renown, 
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, 
And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet. 
For every honour sitting on his helm, 
'Would they were multitudes ; and on my head 
My shames redoubled ! for the time will come, 
That I shall make this northern youth excliange 
His glorious deeds for my indignities. 
Percy is but my factor, good my lord, 
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; 
And I will call him to so strict account, 
That he shall render every glory up. 
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, 
Or I will tear the reckoning from liis heart. 
This, in the name of God, I promise here : 
The which, if he be pleas'd I shall perform, 
I do beseech your majesty, may salve 
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance : 
If not, the end of life cancels all bands ; 
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths, 
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 

K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this ! 
Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust herein. 

Enter Blunt. 
How now, good Blunt ? thy looks are full of speed. 

2 carded his state : in f. e. ^ They draw up articles, or capita. * Countenance. The old copies : favours, 



SCENE III. 



KING HENRY IV. 



367 



salamander of yours with fire any time this two and 
thirty years : God reward me for it ! 

Bard. "Sblood ! I would my face were in your belly. 

Fal. God-a-mercy ! so should I be sure to be heart- 
burned. 

Enter Hostess. 
How now, dame Partlet the hen ? have you inquired 
yet who picked my pocket ? 

Ho.st. Why, sir John, what do you think, sir John ? 
Do you think I keep thieves in my liouse ? I have 
searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man by 
man. boy by boy, servant by servant : the titlie of a 
hair was never lost in my house before. 

Fal. You lie, hostej-s : Bardolph was shaved, and 
lost many a hair ; and I '11 be sworn, my jjockct was 
picked. Go to, vou are a woman ; go. 

Ho.st Who I?' No. I defy thee: God's light! I 
was never called so in mine own house before. 

Fal. Go to : I know you well enough. 

Ho.st. No, sir John ; you do not know mc, sir John : 
I know you. sir John : you owe me money, sir John, 
and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it. I 
bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. 

Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas : I have given them away 
to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them. 

Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight 
shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir 
John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent 
you, four and twenty povuid. 

Fal. He had iiis part of it : let him pay. 

Ho.tt He ■? alas ! he is poor : he hath nothing. 

Fal. How ! poor ? look upon his face ; what call you 
rich ? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks. 
I '11 not pay a denier. W^hat, will you make a younker 



of me ? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but 



I 



Blunt. So is" the business that I come to speak of. 
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word, 
That Douglas, and the English rebels met, 
The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury. 
A mighty and a fearful head they are, 
If promises be kept on every hand. 
As ever ofTer'd foul play in a state. 

K. Hcti. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day. 
With him my son, lord John of Lancaster ; 
For this advertisement is five days old. — 
On Wednesday next. Harry, you shall set forward ; 
On Thursday we ourselves will march : 
Our meeting is Bi-idgnorth : and, Ihirry, you 
Shall march through Glostershirc ; by which account, 
Our business valued, some twelve days hence 
Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet. 
Our hands are full of business : let 's away : 
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HL— Eastchcap. A Room in the Boar's 

Head Tavern. 

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since 
this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? — 
Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose 
gown : I am wither'd like an old apple-John. Well, 
I 'II repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some 
liking^ ; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I 
shall have no strength to repent. An I have not for- 
gotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a 
pepper-corn, a brewer's horse. The inside of a church ! 
Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil 
of me. 

Bard. Sir John, you arc so fretful, you cannot live 
long. 

Fal. Why, there is it. — Come, sing me a bawdy 
song ; make me merry. I was as virtuously given as a 
gentleman need to be ; virtuous enough : swore little ; 
diced not above seven times a week ; went to a 
bawdy-house not above once in a quarter — of an hour ; 
paid money that I borrowed three or four times : lived 
well, and in good compa.ss ; and now I live out of all 
order, out of all compass. 

Bard. Why. you are so fat, sir John, that you must 
needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable 
compass, sir John. 

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I "11 amend my 
life. Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern 
not^ in the poop. — but 't is in the nose of thee : thou 
art the knight of the burning lamp. 

Bard. Why. sir John, my face does you no harm. 

Fal. No : I '11 be sworn. I make as good use of it as 
many a man doth of a death's head, or a mrmentomori: 
I never sec thy face, but I think upon hell-lire, and 
Dives that lived in purple ; for there he is in his robes, 
burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to vir- 
tue, I would swear by thy face: my oath should be. 
By this fire, that 's Gods angel : but thou art alto- 
gether given over, and wert, indeed, but for the light 
in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou 
ran'st up Gadshill in the night to catch my horse, if I 
did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuiis. or a ball 
of wild-tire, there s no purchase in money. ! thou 
art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light. 

Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is, and said, he 
torches, walking with thee in tlie night betwixt tavern | would cudgel you. 
and tavern : but the sack that thou hast drunk me, 1 P. Hen. What ! he did not ? 

would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood 
dearest chandlers in Europe. I have maintained that ; in mc else. 

> hath : in f. e. » In good flesh. ^ This word is not in f. e. * Poixs, is not in the old copies. 



and he were here, I would cudgel him like a 



shall have my pocket picked ? I have lost a seal-ring 
of my grandfather's, worth forty mark. 

Host. Jesu ! I have heard the prince tell him, I 
know not how oft, that that ring was copper. 

Fal. How ! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup ; 
'Sblood ! 

dog, if ho would say so. 
Enter Prince Henrv and Poins*, marching. Falstaff 
meets the Prince, playing on his truncheon, like a fife. 

Fal. How now, lad ! is the wind in that door, i' 
faith ? must we all march ? 

Bard. Yea. two and two, Newgate-fashion ? 

Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me. 

P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly ? How 
does thy husband? I love him well : he is an honest 
man. 

Host. Good my lord, hear me. 

Fal. Pr'ythce let her alone, and list to me. 

P. Hen. What sayest thou. Jack? 

Fal. The other night I fell asleep, here, behind the 
arras, and had my pocket picked : this house is turned 
bawdy-house ; they pick pockets. 

P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack? 

Fal. Wilt thou believe me. Hal? three or four bonds 
of forty pound a-piccc, and a seal ring of my grandfa- 
ther's. 

P. Hen. A trifle : some eight-pemiy matter. 

Host. So I told him, my lord : and I said I heard 
your grace say so : and. my lord, he speaks most vilely 



368 



FIKST PAKT OF 



ACT IV. 



Fal. There 's no more faith in thee than in a stewed 
prune ; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox : 
and for womanhood, maid Marian' may be the deputy's 
wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. 

Hoxt. Say, what thing ? what thing ? 

Fal. What thing ? why, a thing to thank God on. 

Host. I am nothing to thank God on, I woukl thou 
shouldst know it : I am an honest man's wife ; and, 
setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call 
me so. 

Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast 
to say otherwise. 

Host. Say, what beast, thou knave thou ? 

Fal. What beast ? why an otter. 

P. Hen. An otter, sir John: why an otter? 

Fal. Why ? she 's neither fish nor flesh ; a man 
knows not where to have her. 

Host. Thou art an vmjust man in saying so : thou or 
any man knows where to have me, thou knave thou ! 

P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess ; and he slanders 
thoe most grossly. 

Ho.st. So he doth you, my lord ; and said this other 
day, you oushthim a thousand pound. 

P. Hen. Sirrah ! do I owe you a thousand pound ? 

Fal. A thousand pound, Hal ! a million : thy love 
is worth a million ; thou owe.'^^t me thy love. 

Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said he 
would cudgel you. 

Fal. Did I. Bardolph ? 

Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so. 

Fal. Yea ; if he said my ring was copper. 

P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper: darest thou be as good 
as thy word now ? 

Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, 
] dare : but as thou art prince, I fear thee, as I fear 
the roaring of the lion's whelp. 

P. Hen. And why not, as the lion. 

Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion. 
Dost thou think I '11 fear thee, as I fear thy father ? nay, 
an I do, I pray God, my girdle break ! 

P. Hen. O ! if it should, how would thy guts fall 
about thy knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for 
faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine ; it is 
filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an honest wo- 
man with picking thy pocket ! Why, thou whoreson, 
impudent, embossed rascal, if there were any thing in 
thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of 
bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of sugar-candy 
to make thee long-winded; if thy pocket were enriched 



with any other injuries but these, I am a villain ; and 
yet you will stand to it : you will not pocket up wrong. 
Art thou not ashamed ? 

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? thou knowest in the 
state of innocence, Adam fell ; and what should poor 
Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villainy ? Thou seest 
I have more flesh than another man, and therefore 
more frailty. You confess, then, you picked my 
pocket ? 

P. Hen. It appears so by the story. 

Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee. Go, make ready break- 
fast ; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish 
thy guests : thou shalt find me tractable to any honest 
reason : thou seest, I am pacified. — Still? — Nay, pr'y- 
thee begone. {Exit Hostess^ Now, Hal, to the news 
at court : for the robbery, lad, — how is that answered? 

P. Hen. 0! my sweet beef, I must still ^be good 
angel to thee. — The money is paid back again. 

Fal. ! I do not like that paying back ; 't is a double 
labour. 

P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may 
do any thing. 

Fal. Ptcb me the exchequer the first thing thou dost, 
and do it with unwashed hands too. 

Bard. Do, my lord. 

P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot. 

FaL I would, it had been of horse. Where shall I 
find one that can steal well ? ! for a fine thief, of 
the age of two-and-twcnty, or thereabouts ! I am 
heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these 
rebels: they offend none but the virtuous: I laud them, 
I praise them. 

P. Hm. Bardolph ! 

Bard. My lord. 

P. Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lancaster, 
To my brother John : this to my lord of Westmoreland. — 
Go, Poins, to horse, to horse ! for thou, and I, 
Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time. — 
Jack, meet me to-morrow in the Temple-hall 
At two o'clock in the afternoon : 

There shalt thou know thy charge ; and there receive 
Money, and order for their furniture. 
The land is burning, Percy stands on high. 
And either they, or we, must lower lie. 

[Exeunt Prince., Poins, and Bardolph. 

Fal. Rare Avords ! brave world ! — Hostess, my break- 
fast ; come. — 
! I could wish this tavern were my drum. [Exit. 



ACT IV 



SCENE I. — The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas. 

Hot. Well said, my noble Scot : if speaking truth. 
In this fine age were not thSught flattery, 
Such atti'ibution should the Douglas have. 
As not a soldier of this season's stamp 
Should go so general current through the world. 
By God, I cannot flatter : I defy 
The tongues of soothers ; but a braver place 
In my heart's love hath no man than yourself. 
Nay, task me to my word ; approve me, lord. 

Doug. Thou art the king of honour : 
No man so potent breathes upon the ground, 



But I will beard him. 

Hot. Do so, and 't is well. — 

Enter a 3Ies.'ienger, with letters. 
What letters hast thou there ? — I can but thank you. 

Mess. These letters come from your father. 

Hot. Letters from him ! why comes he not himself? 

Mess. He cannot come, my lord : he 's grievous sick. 

Hot. 'Zounds ! how has he the leisure to be sick. 
In such a justling time ? Who leads his power ? 
Under whose government come they along ? 

Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I. my lord. 

Wor. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? 

Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth ; 
And at the time of my departure thence, 



1 Robin Hood's companion — she was often introduced as a character in Morris dances. 



SCENE II. 



KING HENEY lY. 



369 



He was much fear'd by his physicians. 

Wor. I would the state of time had first been whole, 
Ere lie by sickness had been visited : 
His health was never better worth than now. 

Hot. Sick now ! droop now ! this sickness doth infect 
The very life-blood of our enterprise : 
'T is catching hither, even to our camp. 
He writes me here, — that inward sickness — 
And that his friends by deputation could not 
So soon be drawn : nor did he tliink it meet, 
To lay so dangerous and dear a trust 
On any soul remov'd, but on his own. 
Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, 
That with our small conjunction we should on, 
To see how fortune is dispos'd to us ; 
For, as he writes, there is no quailing now, 
Because the king is certainly possess'd 
Of all our purposes. What say you to it ? 

Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. 

Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off: — 
And yet, in faith, 'tis not ; his present want 
Seems more than we shall find it. — Were it good. 
To set the exact wealth of all our states 
All at one cast ? to set so rich a main 
On the nice hazard of one dovibtful hour ? 
It were not good ; for therein should we read 
The very bottom and the soul of hope. 
The very list, the very utmost bound 
Of all our fortunes. 

Doug. 'Faith, and so we should, 

Where now remains a sweet reversion : 
We now' may boldly spend upon the hope 
Of what is to come in : 
A comfort of retirement lives in this. 

Hat. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, 
If that the devil and mischance look big 
Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. 

Wor. But yet, I would your father had been here. 
The quality and hair" of our attempt 
Brooks no division : it will be thought 
By some, that know not why he is away, 
That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike 
Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence. 
And think, how such an apprehension 
May turn the tide of fearful faction. 
And breed a kind of question in our cause : 
For, well you know, we of the offering side 
Must keep aloof from strict arbitrcment. 
And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence 
The eye of reason may pry in upon us. 
This absence of your father's draws a curtain. 
That shows the ignorant a kind of fear 
Before not dreamt of. 

Hot. You strain too far. 

I, rather, of his absence make this use : — 
It lends a lustre, and more great opinion, 
A larger dare to our great enterprize. 
Than if the earl were here : for men must think. 
If we, without his help, can make a head 
To pusli against the kingdom, with his help. 
We should o'erturn it topsy-tur\-y down. — 
Yet all goes well ; yet all our joints are whole. 

Doug. As heart can think : there is not such a word 
Spoke of in Scotland as this term' of fear. 
Enter Sir 1?ich.\rd Vernon. 

Hot. My cousin Vernon ! welcome, by my soul. 

Ver. Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord. 
The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, 

' Thi.s vrnrA is not in f. e. » Compfe.rio)i. rharaeter. ' dream : ic folio. * A term of archery, to beat the air, 

quartos and folio, read : take ; which Knight follows. « A fish of the piper kind.— Verptanck. 



Is marching hitherwards ; with him, prince John. 

Hot. No harm : what more ? 

Vcr. And farther, I have learn'd. 

The king himself in person is set forth, 
Or hitherwards iiitendeth speedily, 
With strong and mighty preparation. 

Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, 
The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales, 
And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside, 
And bid it pass ? 

Vcr. All furnish'd, all in arms, 

All plum'd like estridges, that wing the wind. 
Bated* like eagles having lately bath'd ; 
Glittering in golden coats, like images; 
As full of spirit as the month of May, 
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer •, 
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 
I saw young Harry, with his beaver on. 
His euis.ses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd. 
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, 
And vaulted with such ease into his seat, 
As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds. 
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, 
And witch the world with noble horsemanship. 

Hot. No more, no more : worse than the sun in March, 
This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come ; 
They come like sacrifices in their trim. 
And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war. 
All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them : 
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit, 
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire. 
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh. 
And yet not ours. — Come, let me taste* my horse, 
Who is to bear me, like a tliunderbolt. 
Against the bosom of the prince of Wales : 
Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse. 
Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse. — 
O, that GlendoM'er were come ! 

Ver. There is more news : 

I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, 
He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. 

Doug. That 's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. 

If or. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. 

Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach unto ? 

Vcr. To thirty thousand. 

Hot. Forty let it be : 

My father and Glendower being both away, 
The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
Come, let us take a muster speedily : 
Doomsday is near: die all, die merrily. 

Doug. Talk not of dying : I am out of fear 
Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A public Road, near Coventry. 
Enter Falstaff and B.^rdolph. 

Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry : fill me 
a bottle of sack. Our soldiers shall march through j 
we '11 to Sutton-Colfield to-night. 

Bard. Will you give me money, captain ? 

Fal. Lay out, lay out. 

Bard. This bottle makes an angel. 

Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour ; and if it 
make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coinage. 
Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the towni's end. 

Bard. I will, captain : farewell. [Exit. 

Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a 
soused gurnet*. I have misused the king's press damna- 
bly. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty 



» Try. The two later 



24 



370 



^IRST PART OF 



AOT IV. 



soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I pressed 
me none but good householders, yeomen's sons : in- 
quired me out contracted bachelors, such a.s had been 
asked twice on the bans ; such a commodity of warm 
slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum ; such as 
fear the report of a caliver, worse than a struck fowl, 
or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none but such 
toasts and butter,' with hearts in their bellies no bigger 
than pins' heads, and they have bought out their ser- 
vices • and now my whole charge consists of ancients, 
corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves 
as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth,* where the 
glutton's dogs licked his sores ; and such as, indeed, 
were never soldiers, but discarded unjust serving men. 
younger sons to younger brotiiers, revolted tapsters, and 
ostlers trade-fallen ; the cankers of a calm world, and a 
long peace ; ten times more dishonourable ragged than 
an old pieced^ ancient : and such have I, to fill up the 
rooms of them that have bought out their services, that 
you would think that I had a hundred and fifty tat- 
tered prodigals, lately come from swine-keeping, from 
eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the 
way, and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets, and 
pres^cd the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such 
scarecrows. I'll not march throuiih Coventry with 
them, that 's flat : — nay, and the villains march wide 
betwi.xt the legs, as if they had gyves on ; for, indeed. I 
had the most of them out of prison. There 's but* a shirt 
and a half in all my company : and the half shirit is 
two napkins, tacked together, and thrown over the 
shoulders like a herald's coat without sleeves : and the 
shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host at St. Al- 
bans, or the red-nosed inn-kecpcr of Davcntry. But 
that 's all one : they '11 find linen enough on every hedge. 
Enter Prince Henry and Wkstmoreland. 

P. Hen. How now, blown Jack ! liow now. quilt ! 

Fal. What, Hal ! how now. mad wag ! what a devil 
dost thou in Warwickshire ? — My good lord of West- 
moreland, I cry you mercy : I thought your honour 
had already been at Slu-CM'sbury. 

IJ'est. Faith, sir John, 'tis more than time that I 
w-erc there and you too ; but my powers are there 
already. The king, I can tell you, looks for us all : we 
must away all night'. 

Fal. Tut. never fear me : I am as vigilant as a cat 
to .'teal cream. 

P. Hen. I think, to steal cream indeed : for thy theft 
hafh aheady made thee butter. But tell me, Jack; 
whoi-e fellows are these that come after? 

Fal. Mine, Hal. mine. 

P. Hen. 1 did never see such pitiful rascals. 

Fal. Tut. tut ! good enoush to toss^ ; food for pow- 
der, food for powder ; they '11 fill a pit, as well as better: 
tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. 

West. Ay. but. sir John, methinks they are exceed- 
ing poor and bare : too beggarly. 

Fal. "Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they 
had that : and for their bareness, I am sure, they never 
learned that of me. 

P. Hen. No, I'll be sworn; unless you call three 
fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste: 
Percy is already in the field. 

Fal. What, is the king encamped? 

West. He is, sir John : I fear we shall stay too long. 

Fal. Well, 
To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, 
Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. [Exeunt. 



SCENE III.— The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Dougl.\s. and Vernon. 

Hot. We'll fight with him to-night. 

^^'or. It may not be. 

Doug. You give him, then, advantage. 

Ver. Not a whit. 

Hot. Why say you so ? looks he not for supply ? 

Ver. So do we. 

Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. 

If'or. Good cousin, be advis'd : stir not to-night. 

Ver. Do not, my lord. 

Doug. You do not counsel well. 

You speak it out of fear, and a cold heart. 

Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas: by my life. 
And I dare well maintain it with my life, 
If wcll-respccted honour bid me on, " 

I hold as little counsel with weak fear. 
As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives :' 
Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle, 
Which of us fears. 



Doug. 



Yea, or to-night. 



Content. 



Come, come, it may not be. 



Ver. 

Hot. To-jiight. say I. 

Ver. 
I wonder much, 
Being men of such great leading as you are. 
That you foresee not w^hat impediments 
Drag back our expedition : certain horse 
Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up : 
Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day ; 
And now their pride and mettle is asleep, 
Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, 
That not a horse is lialf the half himself. 

Hot. So are the liorses of the enemy, 
In general, journey-bated, and brought lowj 
T'le better part of ours are full of rest. 

War. The number of the king exceedeth ours : 
For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. 

[The Trumpet sounds a parley. 
Enter Sir Walter Blunt. 

Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the king, 
If you A'ouchsafe me hearing and respect. 

Hot. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt ; and would to God 
You were of our determination ! 
Some of us love you well ; and even those some 
Envy your great deservings, and good name, 
Because you are not of our quality. 
But stand again.^t us like an enemy. 

Blunt. And God defend but still I should stand so, 
So long as out of limit and true rule. 
You stand against anointed majesty. 
But, to my charge. — The king hath sent to know 
The nature of your griefs ; and whereupon 
You conjure from the breast of civil peace 
Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land 
Audacious cruelty ? If that the king 
Have any way your good deserts forgot. 
Which he eonfesseth to be manifold. 
He bids you name your griefs, and with all speed, 
You shall have your desires with interest. 
And pardon absolute for yourself, and these. 
Herein misled by your suggestion. 

Hot. The king is kind : and, well we know, the king 
Knows at what time to promise, W"hen to pay. 
My father, with* my uncle, and myself, 
Did give him that same royalty he wears • 



1 According to Fynes Morison's Ilinerarv (1017), Londoners, were ''in reproach" called Cockneys, and eaters of buttered toasts. 2 Used 
for coverins; walls. 3 faced : in f. e. * Old copies : not; mod. eds. : but. * So the quartos; folio : to-night. « Toss en a pike. '' that 
this day lives : in f. e. 8 and : in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENKY lY. 



871 



And when he wa? not six-and-twenty strong, 

Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, 

A poor unininde.d outlaw sneaking home, 

My father gavt him welcome to the shore : 

And, when he heard him swear, and vow to God, 

He came hut to he duke of Lancaster, 

To sue his iivery,' and beg his peace. 

With tears of innoccney, and terms of zeal, 

My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd, 

Swore him aesistance, and perform'd it too. 

Now, when the lords and barons of the realm 

Perceiv d Northumberland did lean to him, 

The more and less came in witii cap and knee ; 

Met him in boroughs, cities, villages. 

Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes. 

Laid gifts before him, profFerd him their oaths, 

Gave him their heirs, as pages foUow'd him, 

Even at the heels, in golden multitudes. 

He presently, as greatness knows itself. 

Steps me a little higher than his vow 

Made to my father, while his blood was poor. 

Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg ; 

And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform 

S^mc certain edicts, and some strait decrees. 

That lie too heavy on the commonwealth ; 

Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep 

Over his country's wrongs ; and, by this face, 

This seeming brow of justice, did he win 

Tlie hearts of all that he did angle for : 

Proceeded farther ; cut me off the heads 

Of all the favourites, that the absent king 

In deputation left behind him here, 

When he was personal in the Irish war. 

Blunt. Tut ! I came not to hear this. 

Hot. Then, to the point. 

In short time after he depos'd the king ; 
Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life; 
And, in the neck of that, task"d* the whole state; 
To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman March 
(Who is, if every owner were due' placed. 
Indeed his king) to be engag'd* in Wales, 
There without ransom to lie forfeited ; 
Disgrac'd me in my happy victories : 
Sought to entrap me by intelligence ; 
Rated my uncle from the council-board : 
In rage dismiss'd my fatlier from the court ; 
Broke oath on oath, eommittcd wrong on wrong. 
And. in conclusion, drove us to seek out 
This head of safety ; and, withal, to pry 
Into l)is title, the whicli we find 
Too indirect for long-continuance. 

Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the king? 

Hot. Not so, sir Walter; we "11 withdraw awhile. 



Go to the king : and let there be impawn'd 
Some surety for a safe return again. 
And in the morning early shall mine uncle 
Bring him our purposes ; and so farewell. 

Blnnt. I would you would accept of grace and love. 

Hot. And, may be, so we shall. 

Blunt. 'Pray God you do ! \Exeunt, 

SCENE IV.— York. A Room in the Archbishop's 
House. 

Enicr the Archbishop o/York, and Sir Michael. 

Arch. Hie, good sir Michael ; bear this scaled brief, 
With winged haste to the lord marshal : 
This to my cousin Scroop ; and all the rest 
To whom they are directed. If you knew 
How much they do import, you would make haste. 

Sir M. My good lord, 
I guess their tenour. 

Arch. Like enough, you do. 

To-morrow, good sir Michael, is a day, 
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men 
Must bide the touch : for. sir, at Shrewsbury, 
As I am truly given to imderstand. 
The king, with mighty and quick-raised power, 
Meets with lord Harry : and. I fear, sir Michael, 
Wliat with the sickness of Northumberland, 
Whose power was in tlic first jiro^ ortion. 
And what with Owen Glendower's ab.^ence thence, 
Who with them was a rated sinew' too. 
And comes not in, o'er-rul'd by prophecies, 
I fear, the power of Percy is too weak 
To wage an instant trial with the king. 

Sir M. Why, my good lord, you need not fear; 
There is Douglas, and lord Mortimer. 

Arch. No, Mortimer is not there. [Percy. 

Sir M. But there is Mwrdake, Vernon, lord Harry 
And there 's my lord of Worcester : and a head 
Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. 

Arch. And so there is; but yet the king hath drawn 
The special head of all the land together ; 
The prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster, 
The noble W^estmoreland. and warlike Blunt, 
And many more corrivals, and dear men 
Of estimation and command in arms. 

Sir M. Doubt not, my lord, they sliall be well oppos'd. 

Arch. I hope no Ics.s, yet needful "t is to fear ; 
And, to prevent the worst, sir Miciiael, speed ; 
For, if lord Percy thrive not, ere the king 
Dismiss his power, he means to visit us. 
For he hath heard of our confederacy, 
And 't is but wisdom to make strong against him : 
Therefore, make haste. I must go write again 
To other friends ; and so farewell, sir Michael. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — The King's Camp near Shrewsbury. 
Enter King Henry. Prince Henrv. Prince John of 
Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir John Fal- 

STAFF. 

A'. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer 
Above yond ' busky' hill : the day looks pale 
At his distemperaturc. 

P. Hen. The southern wind 



Doth play the trumpet to his purposes; 
And by his hollow whistling in the leaves 
Foretels a. tempest, and a blustering day. 

A'. Hen. Then, with the lo.sers let it .sympathise, 
For nothing can sccrn foul to those that win. — 

[ Trumpet soundsi 
Enter Worcester and Veknon. 
How now, my lord of Worcester ! 't is not well. 
That you and I should meet upon such terms 



> The delivery of his property to him. Sec Richard II.. p. 334, n. 1. » Tax'd. 3 well : in f. e. 
the quartos; the folio : was rated firmly. « Bosky, wooded. 



* Delivered a gage or hostage. * So 



372 



FIKST PART OF 



ACT V. 



As now we meet. You have deceiv'd our trust, 

And made us doff our easy robes of peace, 

To crush our old liinbs in ungentle steel : 

This is not well, my lord; this is not well. 

What say you to it ? will you again unknit 

This churlish knot of all-abhorred war, 

And move in that obedient orb again, 

Where you did give a fair and natural light, 

And be no more an exhal'd meteor, 

A prodigy of fear, and a portent 

Of broached mischief to the unborn times ? 

Wor. Hear me, my liege. 
For mine own part, I could be well content 
To entertain the lag-end of my life 
With quiet hours ; for, I do protest, 
I- have not sought the day of this dislike. [then? 

A'. Hen. You have not .sought it ! say,' how comes it 

FaL Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. 

F. Hen. Peace, chewet,'' peace ! 

Wor. It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looks 
Of favour, from myself, and all our house; 
And yet I must remember you, my lord. 
We were the first and dearest of your friends. 
For you my staff of office did I break 
In Richard's time; and posted day and night 
To meet you on the way, and kis^s your hand. 
When yet you were in place, and in account, 
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. 
It was myself, my brother, and his son, 
That brought you home, and boldly did outdare 
The dangers of the time. You swore to us. 
And you did swear that oath at Doncastcr, 
That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state, 
Nor claim no farther than your new-fall'n right, 
The scat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster. 
To this we swore our aid ; but, in short space, 
It rain'd down fortune showering on your head, 
Ajid such a flood of greatness fell on you, 
What with our help, what with the absent king, 
What with the injuries of a wanton time, 
The seeming sufferances that you had borne. 
And the contrarious winds that held the king 
So long in his unlucky Iri.sh wars. 
That all in Enjjland did repute him dead : 
And, from this swarm of fair advantages. 
You took occasion to be quickly woo'd 
To gripe the general sway into your hand ; 
Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster, 
And, being fed by us, you us'd us so 
As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, 
Useth the sparrow, did oppress our nest, 
Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk, 
That even our love durst not come near your sight. 
For fear of swallowing ; but with nimble wing 
We were enfore'd, for safety sake, to fly 
Out of your sight, and raise this present head : 
Whereby we stand opposed by such means 
As you yourself have forg'd against younself, 
By vmkind usage, dangerous countenance, 
And violation of all faith and troth 
Sworn to us in your younger enterprise. 

K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have articulate^ 
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches, 
To face the garment of rebellion 
With some fine colour, that may please the eye 
Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents, 
Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news 
Of hurlyburly innovation : 
And never yet did insurrection want 



Such water-colours to impaint his cause ; 
Nor moody beggars, starving for a time 
Of pellmell havoc and confusion. 

F. Hen. In both our armies, there is many a soul 
Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, 
If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, 
The prince of Wales doth join with all the world 
In praise of Henry Percy : by my hopes, 
This present enterprise set off his head, 
I do not think, a braver gentleman. 
More active-valiant, or more valiant-young, 
More daring, or more bold, is now alive 
To grace this latter age with noble deeds. 
For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 
I have a truant been to chivalry. 
And so, I hear, he doth account me too ; 
Yet this before my father's majesty : 
I am content, that he shall take the odds 
Of his great name and estimation. 
And will, to save the blood on either side, 
Try fortune with him in a single fight. [thee. 

K. Hen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture 
Albeit considerations infinite 
Do make against it. — No, good Worcester, no, 
We love our people well ; even those we love, 
That are misled upon your cousin's part ; 
And. will they take the offer of our grace, 
Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man 
Shall be my friend again, and I '11 be his. 
So tell your cousin, and bring me word 
What he will do; hut if he will not yield, 
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, 
And they shall do their office. So, be gone. 
We will not now be troubled with reply : 
We offer fair, take it advisedly. 

[Excii7it Worcester and Vernon. 

P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life. 
The Douslas and the Hotspur both together 
Are confident against the world in arms. 

K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge, 
For, on their answer, will we set on them ; 
And God befriend us as our case is ju.st ! 

[Exeimt King, Blunt, and Frince John. 

Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and 
bestride me, so : 't is a point of friendship. 

P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that 
friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. 

Fal. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well. 

P. Hen. Why, thou owest God a death. [Exit. 

FaL 'T is not due yet : I would be loath to pay him 
before his day. What need I be so forward with him 
that calls not on me ? Well, 't is no matter ; honour 
pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off 
when I come on? how then? Can honour set to a 
leg ? No. Or an arm ? No. Or take away the grief 
of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery, 
then? No. What is honour ? A word. What is in* 
that word, honour ? What is that honour ? Air. A 
trim reckoning! — Who hath it? He that died o' Wed- 
nesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. 
Is it insensible, then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it 
not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction 
will not suffer it : — therefore, I '11 none of it : honour is 
a mere scutcheon, and so ends my catechism. [Exit. 

SCENE II.— The Rebel Camp. 
Enter Worcester and Vernon. 
Wor. 0, no ! my nephew must not know, sir Richard, 
The liberal kind offer of the king. 



This word i.s not in f. e. = A dish or p-ie of mince meat. 3 Article by article. * So the first two quaxtos ; the others and folio omit : in. 



SCENE III. 



KING HENRY lY. 



373 



Ver. 'T were best, he did. 

Wor. Then are we all undone. 

It is not possible, it eannot be, 
The king should keep his word in loving usj 
He will .su.spect us still, and find a time 
To punish this offence in other faults : 
Suspicion' all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes; 
For treason is but trusted like the fox, 
Who. ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up, 
Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 
Look how we can. or sad or merrily, 
Interpretation will misquote our looks : 
And we shall fet^d like oxen at a stall. 
The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. 
My nephew's trespass may be well forgot, 
It hath the excuse of youth, and heat of blood ) 
And an adopted name of privilege, 
A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen. 
All his offences live upon my head. 
And on his father's : we did train him on ; , 
And, his corruption being ta'en from us. 
We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. 
Tiierefore, good cousin, let not Harry know 
In any ca.'^e the offer of the king. 

Ver. Deliver what you will, I '11 say, 'tis so. 
Here comes your cousin. 

Enter Hotspur and Dougl.\s ; OJjjiccrs and Soldiers^ 

behind. 
Hot. My uncle is return'd : — Deliver up 
My lord of Westmoreland. — Uncle, what news? 
Wor. The king will bid you battle presently. 
Doug. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland. 
Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. 
Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. [Exit. 
Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. 
Hot. Did you beg any ? God forbid ! 
Wor. I told him gently of our grievances. 
Of his oath-breaking ; which he mended thus ; 
By now forswearing that he is forsworn : 
He calls us rebels, traitors ; and will scourge 
With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 
Re-enter Douglas. 
Doug. Arm, gentlemen ! to arms ! for I have thrown 
A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth. 
And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did hear it, 
W^hieli cannot choose but bring him quickly on. 

Wor. The prince of W^ales stepp'd forth before the 
king, 
And, nephew, challenged you to single fight. 

Hot. ! would the quarrel lay upon our heads ; 
And that no man might draw short breath to-day, 
Bat I. and Harry Monmouth ! Tell me, tell me, 
How show'd his tasking' ? seem'd it in contempt ? 

Ver. No, by my soul : I never in my life 
Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly, 
Unless a brother should a brother dare 
To gentle exercise and proof of arms. 
He gave you all the duties of a man, 
Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue, 
Spoke your descrvings like a chronicle, 
Making you ever better than his praise, 
By still dispraising praise, valued with you ; 
And, which became him like a prince indeed, 
He made a blushing cital' of himself; 
And chid his truant youth with such a grace, 
As if he master'd then a double spirit, 
Of teaching, and of learning, instantly. 



There did he pause : but let me tell the world, 
If he outlive the envy of this day, 
England did never owe so sweet a hope, 
So much misconstrued in liis wantonness. 

Hot. Cousin, I think thou art enamoured 
Upon his follies : never did I hear 
Of any prince so wild o'* liberty. 
But be he as he will, yet once ere night 
I will embrace him with a soldier's arm, 
That he shall shrink under my courtesy. — 
Arm, arm, with speed ! — And, fellows, soldiers, friends 
Better consider what you have to do. 
Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, 
Can lift your blood up with persuasion. 
Enter a Ma.ssenger. 

Me.<!.s. My lord, here are letters for you. 

Hot. I cannot read them now. — 
O gentlemen ! the time of life is short ; 
To spend that shortness basely, were too long, 
If life did ride upon a dial's point. 
Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 
An if we live, we live to tread on kings ; 
If die, brave death, when princes die with us. 
Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair. 
When the intent of bearing them is just. 
Enter another Me.ssenger. 

Me-ss. My lord, prepare ; the king comes on apace 

Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale, 
For I profess not talking. Only this — 
Let each man do his best : and here draw I 
A sword, whose' temper I intend to stain 
With the best blood that I can meet withal 
In the adventure of this perilous day. 
Now, — E.'^pcrance ! — Percy ! — and set on ! — 
Sound all the lofty instruments of war, 
And by that music let us all embrace ; 
'Fore heaven and earth,' some of us never shall 
A second time do such a courtesy. 

[The Trumpets sound. They embrace^ and exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Plain near Shrewsbury. 

Excursions.^ and Parties fighting. Alarum to the Battle. 

Then enter Douglas and Blunt, meeting. 

Blunt. What is thy name, that in battle thus 
Thou crossest me ? what honour dost thou seek 
Upon my head ? 

Doug. Know, then, my name is Douglas ' 

And I do haunt thee in the battle thus. 
Because .some tell me that thou art a king. 

Blunt. They tell thee true. 

Doug. The lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought 
Thy likeness ; for, instead of thee, king Harry, 
This sword hath ended him: so shall it thee. 
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. 

Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot'; 
And thou shalt find a king that will revenge 
Lord Stafford's death. [They fight ^ and Blunt is slain. 
Enter Hotspur. 

Hot. O Douglas ! hadst thou fought at Holmedon 
thus, 
I never had triumph'd upon' a Scot. 

Doug. All' s done, all 's won : here breathless lies 
the king. 

Hot. Where? 

Doug. Here. 

Hot. This, Douglas ? no ; I know this face full "well : 
A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt, 



1 OIJ copies: Supposition ; Pope m.^de the chance. ' The folio, and all but first quarto: talking. ^Mention. * So the three earliest 
quartos ; the la.<st. and folio : at. > The folio inserts : worthy. ' For heaven to earth : in f. e. ' So the three early quartos; the folio : 
born to yield, thou haughty Scot. 6 go the first and .second quartos j the others, and folio : over. 



374 



FIRST PART OF 



ACT V. 



[Exeimt. 



Seniblably furnisli'd like the king himself. 

Doug. A fool go with thy soul, where'er it goes ! 
A borrow'd title liast thou bought too clear: 
Why (liilst thou tell me that thou wert a king ? 

Hot. The king hath many masking' in his coats. 

Doug. Now. by my sword, I will kill all his coats 
I '11 murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, 
Until I meet the king. 

Hot. Up, and away ! 

Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. 
Alantm.s. Enter Falrtaff. 

Fal. Though 1 could 'scape shot-free at London, I 
fear the shot here ; here 's no .^eorinsr, but upon the 
pate.— Soft ! who art thou ? Sir Walter Blunt :— 
there 's honour for you : here 's no vanity. — I am as hot 
as molten lead, and as heavy too : God keep lead out 
of me ! I need no more weight than mine own bowels. 
— I have led my raggamuffins where they are peppered : 
there 's not^ three of my hundred and fifty left alive, 
and they are for the town's end, to Leg during life. 
But who comes here ? 

E)itcr Prince Henry. 



P. Hen. What ! stand'st thou idle 



here ? lend me 
[thy sword : 



thou 



Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff 
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, 
Whose deaths are yet luireveng'd. I pr'ythee, lend me 
thy sword. 

Fal. O Hal ! I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe 
a while. — Turk Gregory' never did such deeds in arms, 
as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I have 
made him sure. 

P. Hen. He is, indeed ; and living to kill thee. 
[ pr'ythee lend me thy sword. 

Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, 
gct'st not my sword : but take my pistol, if thou wilt. 

P. Hen. Give it me. What, is it in the case ? 

Fal. Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tisliot: there's that will 
sack a city. [The Prince drair.s- out a bottle of sack. 

P. Hen. What ! is 't a time to jest and dally now? 

[Throifs it at him, and exit. 

Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, [ '11 pierce him. If he 
do come in my way, so : if he do not, if I come in his, 
willingly, let him make a carbonado* of me. I like not 
such grinning honour as sir Walter hath : give me life ; 
which if I can save, so ; if not, honour comes unlooked 

[Exit. 



., so; 
tor, and there 's an end. 

SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Field. 

Alarums. Excursions. Enter the King, Prince Henry, 

Prince John, and Westmoreland. 

K. Hen. I pr'ythee, 
Harry, withdraw thyself ; thou blced'st too much. — 
Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. 

P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. 

P. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up, 
Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. 

K. Hen. I will do so. — jNIy lord of Westmoreland, 
Lead him to his tent. 

West. Come, my lord, I '11 lead you to your tent. 

P. Hen. Lead me, my lord ? I do not need your help : 
And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should drive 
The prince of Wales from such a field as this, 
Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on, 
And rebels' arms triumph in massacres ! 

P. John. We breathe too long. — Come, cousin West- 
moreland, 
Our duty this way lies : for God's sake, come. 

[Exeunt Prince John and Westmoreland 

P. Hen. By God thou hast deceiv'd me, Lancaster, 

> marching : in f. e. • So old copies ; mod. eds. : but. 



I did not think thee lord of such a spirit : 
Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John, 
But now. I do respect thee as my soul. 

K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point. 
With lustier maintenance than I did look for 
Of such an ungrown warrior. 

P. Hen. ! this boy 

Lends mettle to vis all. [Exit. 

Alarums. Enter Douglas. 
Doug. Another king ! they grow like Hydra's heads. 
I am the Douglas, fatal to all those 
That wear those colours on them : — what art thou, 
That counterfeit'st the person of a king? 

K. Hen. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves 
at heart. 
So many of his shadows thou hast met, 
And not the very king. I have two boys 
Seek Percy, and thyself, about the field : 
But. seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily. 
I will assay tliee ; and defend thyself. 

Dong. I fear thou art another counterfeit. 
And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king : 
But mine I am sure thou art. whoe'er thou be, 
And thus I win thee. 

[They fight : the King being in danger.^ enter 
P. Henry. 

P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like 
Never to hold it up again ! the spirits 
Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms : 
It is the prince of Wales that threatens thee. 
Who never promiseth, but he means to pay. — 

They fight: DovGhAsfiies. 
Cheerly, my lord : how fares your grace ? — 
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, 
And so hath Clifton; I '11 to Clifton straight. 

K. Hen. Stay, and breathe a while. 
Thou hast redcem'd thy lost opinion ; 
And show'd thou niak'st some tender of my life, 
In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 

P. Hen. O God ! they did me too much injury. 
That ever said I hearken'd for your death. 
If it were so, I might have let alone 
The insulting hand of Douglas over you ; 
Which would have been as speedy in your end, 
As all the poisonous potions in the world, 
And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. 

K. Hen. Make up to Clifton: I'll to sir Nicholas 
Gaw.sey. [Exit King Henry. 

Enter Hotspur. 

Hot. If [ mistake not. thou art Harry Monmouth. 

P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name. 

Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 

P. Hen. Why, then I see 

A very valiant rebel of that name. 
I am the prince of Wales ; and think not, Percy, 
To share with me in glory any more : 
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ; 
Nor can one England brook a double reign, 
Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales. 

Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come 
To end the one of us ; and would to God, 
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine ! 

P. Hen. I '11 make it greater, ere I part from thee ; 
And all the budding honours on thy crest 
I '11 crop, to make a garland for my head. 

Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. [They fight. 
Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal !— Nay, you shall 
find no boy's play here, I can tell you. 

3 Gregory VII. * A piece of meat ready for broiling. 



SCENE V. 



KING HENRY IV. 



375 



Enter Douglas : he fights ivith Falstaff, who falls down 

as if he were dead^ and exit Douglas. Hotspur is 

ivoimded, and falls. 

Hot. 0, Harry ! thou hast robb'd me of my youth. 
I better brook the loss of brittle life, 
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me • 
They wound my thoughts worse than thy' sword my 

flesh :— 
But thou^ht 's the slave of life, and life time's fool ; 
And time, that takes survey of all the world, 
Must have a stop. ! I could prophesy, 
But that the earthy and cold hand of death 
Lies on my tongue. — No, Percy, thou art dust. 
And food for — [Dies. 

P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy. Fare thee well, 
great heart ! — 
Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! 
When that this body did contain a spirit, 
A kingdom for it was too small a bound ; 
But now, two paces of the vilest earth 
Is room enough : — this earth that bears thee dead, 
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 
I should not make so dear* a show of zeal : — 
But let my favours hide thy mangled face, 
And. even in thy behalf, I '11 thank myself 
For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven : 
Thy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave, 
But not remember'd in thy epitaph. — 

[Seeing Falstaff on the ground. 
What ! old acquaintance ! could not all this flesh 
Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell : 
I could have better spar'd a better man. 

! I should have a heavy miss of thee, 
If I were much in love with vanity. 
Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day. 
Though many dearer, in this bloody fray. — 
Embowell'd will I see thee by and by; 

Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. 

Fnl. [Rising.] Embowelled ! if thou embowel me 
to-day, I '11 give you leave to powder^ me, and eat me 
too, to-morrow. 'Sblood ! 'twas time to counterfeit, or 
that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too. 
Counterfeit ? I lie ; I am no counterfeit : to die, is to 
be a counterfeit ; for he is but the counterfeit of a 
man, who hath not the life of a man; but to counter- 
feit dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no 
counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life 
indeed. The better part of valour is discretion, in the 
which better part, I have saved my life. 'Zounds ! I 
am afraid of this gunpowder Percy, thovigh he be dead. 
How, if he should counterfeit too, and rise ? By my 
faith, I am afraid he would prove the better counter- 
feit. Therefore i '11 make him sure ; yea, and I '11 swear 

1 killed him. Why may not he rise, as well as I ? 
Nothing confu'es me but eyes, and nobody sees me : 
therefore, sirrah, with a new wound in your thigh come 
you along with me. [He takes Hotspur on his back. I 

Re-enter Prince Henry and Prince John. 
P. Hen. Come, brother John; full bravely hast thou 
flesh'd 
Thv maiden sword. 



P. John. 



But, soft ! whom have we here ? 



Did you not tell me this fat man was dead? 

P. Hen. I did ; I saw him dead, breathless, and 
bleeding 
On the ground. — 



Art thou alive, or is it phantasy 
That plays upon our eyesight ? I pr'ythee, speak ; 
We will not trust our eyes, without our ears. 
Thou art not what thou scem'st. 

Fal. No, that's certain: 1 am not a double man; 
but if I be not Jack Falstaff", then am I a Jack. There 
is Percy: [Throu-ing down the body.*] if yoiu- father 
will do me any honour, so ; if not, let him kill the next 
Percy himself. I look to be either earl or duke. I can 
assure you. 

P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee 
dead. 

Fal. Didst thou ? — Lord, lord, how this world is 
given to lying ! — I grant you I was down and out of 
breath, and so was he ; but we rose both at an instant, 
and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. If I 
may be believed, so ; if not, let them that should re- 
ward valour bear the sin upon their own heads. I 'II 
take it upon my death, I gave him this wound in the 
thigh : if the man were alive, and would deny it, 
zounds ! I would make him eat a piece of my sword. 

P. John. This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard. 

P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brother John. — 
Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back : 
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 
I '11 gild it with the happiest terms I have. 

[A Retreat is sounded. 
The trumpet sounds retreat ; the day is ours. 
Come, brother, let us to the highest of the field, 
To see what friends are living, who are dead. 

[Exeunt Prince Henry and Prince John. 

Fal. I '11 follow, as they say, for reward. Ho that 
rewards me. God reward him ; if I do grow great.' I '11 
grow less; for I'll purge, and leave sack, and live 
cleanly, as a nobleman should do. 

[Exit, dragging out Percy's Body." 

SCENE v.— Another Part of the Field, 

The Trumpets .sound. Enter King Henry, Prince 
Henry. Prince John, Westmoreland, and Others, 
ivith Worcester, and Vernon, prisoners. 

K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. — 
Ill-spirited Worcester, did we not send grace, 
Pardon, and terms of love to all of you ? 
And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary? 
Misuse the tenour of thy kinsman's trust ? 
Three knights upon our party slain to-day, 
A noble earl, and many a creature else, 
Had been alive this hour. 
If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne 
Betwixt our armies true intelligence. 

Wor. What I have done, my safety urg'd me to. 
And I embrace this fortune patiently, 
Which not to be avoided falls on me.'' 

K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon 
too : 
Other offenders we will pause upon. — 

[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded. 
How goes the field ? 

P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, when he saw 
The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him, 
The noble Percy slain, and all his men 
Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest; 
And falling from a hill he was so bruis'd, 
That the pursuers took him. At my tent 
The Douglas is, and I beseech your grace, 
I may dispose of him. 



' So all but the last quarto ; th.it, anil the folio : the. ' go \\^e, first quarto : the others, and folio : great, 
inserts : again. 6 Bearing off the Body : in f. e. ' Since not to be avoided, it falls on me. 



^ Salt. *Notinf. e. » Folio 



376 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY lY. 



ACT V. 



K. Hen. With all my heart. 

P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you 
This honourable bounty shall belong. 
Go to the Douglas, and deliver him 
Up to his pleasure, ransomless, and free : 
His valour, shown upon our crests to-day, 
Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds, 
Even in the bosom of our adversaries. 

P. John. I thank your grace for this high courtesy, 
Which I shall put in act without delay.' 

K. Hen. Then this remains, — that we divide our 
power. — 



You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, 
Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest 

speed. 
To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop, 
Who, as we hear, are busily in arms : 
Myself, and you, son Harry, will towards Wales, 
To fight with Glendower and the earl of March. 
Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway. 
Meeting the check of such another day : 
And since this business so fair is done. 
Let us not leave till all our own be won. [Exeunt. 



1 Which I shall give away immediately : in f. e. This speech ie found in the four earliest, but not in the two latest quartos, or the folio. 



SECOND PART 

OF 

KING HENRY IV. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 



His Sons. 



King Henry the Fourth. 

Henry, Prince of Wales ; 

Thomas. Duke of Clarence; 

Prince John of Lancaster; 

Prince Humphrey of Gloucester ; 

Earl of Warwick; ) m- ^\ tr- •> 

, , „T ' (01 the King's 

hARL OF Westmoreland; > „ , ^ 

Gower; Haucourt ; j 

Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench. 

A Genlleman attcudiug on the Chief Justice. 

Earl of Northumberland; 

Scroop, Archbishop of York ; 

Lord Mowbray ; 

Lord Hastings ; 

Lord Bardolpk; 

Sib. Johx Coletille. 



Oppositcs to the 
King. 



Travers and Morton, Retainers of Northumber- 
land. 

Falstaff, Bardolph, Pistol, and a Page. 

PoiNS and Peto. 

Shallow and Silence, Country Justices. 

Davy, Servant to Shallow. 

Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and BuLCALr, 
Recruits. 

Fang and Snare, Sheriffs Officers. 

Rumour, the Presenter. 

A Porter. A Dancer, Speaker of the Epilogue. 

Lady Northumberland. Lady Percy. 

Hostess Quickly. Doll Tear-Sheet. 



Lords, and Attendants; Officers, Soldiers, Mes- 
senger, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, &c. 

SCENE, England. 



INDUCTION. 



Warkworth. Before Northumberland's Castle. 
Enter Rumour, painted full of Tongues? 

Rum. Open your cars ; for which of you will .stop 
Tiae rent of hearing, when Joud rumour .speaks ? 
[, front t!ie orieut to the drooping west, 
Making the wind my post-lK?r.se. still unfold 
The acts commenced on this ball of earth : • 

Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, 
The which in every language I pronounce, 
Stuffiug the ears of men with false reports. 
I speak of peace, while covert enmity, 
Under the smile of safety, wound.s the world : 
And who but Rumour, who but only I, 
Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence ; 
Wliilst the big year, swolii with some other grief, 
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, 
And no such matter? Rumour is a pijie 
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures ; 
And of so easy and .«o plain a stop. 
That the blunt mon.ster with uncounted heads. 
The .stiJl-discordaut wavering multitude. 



Can play upon it. But what need I thus 

My well-known body to anatomize 

Among my hou.^ehold ? Why is Rumour here ? 

I run before king Harrj'^s victory ; 

Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury 

Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, 

Quenching the flame of bold rebellion 

Even with tlie rebels' blood. But what mean I 

To speak so true at first ? my office is 

To noise abroad, that Harry Monmouth fell 

Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword ; 

And that the king before the Douglas' rage 

Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. 

This have I ruraour'd through the pleasant' towns 

Between that royal field of Shrewsbury 

And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, 

Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, 

Lies crafty-sick : the posts come tiring on, 

And not a man of them brings other news 

Than they have learn'd of me ; from Rumour's tongues 



They bring smooth 
wrongs 



comforts false, worse 



than true 
[Exit. 



SCENE I.— The Same. 
Enter Lord Bardolph.' 



ACT I 



Enter Warder, above.^ 
Ward. Wliat shall I say you are ? 



Bard. Tell thou the earl, 

Bard. Who keeps the gate here ? ho ! Where is j That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here. 

the earl ? I Ward. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard : 

1 Tills direction is only in Xhf. quarto, 1600. Rumour, or Fame, vras often so represented. * peasant : in f. e. ' Porter be/ore. tkf. Gate; 
Enter., !fc. : in f. e. « Xot in f, e. 



378 



SECOND PAET OF 



ACT I. 



Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, 
And he himself will answer. \Exit Warder} 

Enter Northumberland. 

Bard. Here comes the earl. 

North. What news, lord Bardolph ? every minute 
now 
Should be the father of some stratagem. 
The times are wild : contention, like a horse 
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose, 
And bears down all before him. 

Bard. Noble earl, 

I bring you certain news from Shrew.-jbury. 

North. Good, an God will ! 

Bard. As good as heart can wish. 

The king is almost wounded to the death. 
And in tlie fortune of my lord, your son. 
Prince Harry slain outright ; and both the Blunts 
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas ; young prince John, 
And W'^stmoreland and StafTord, lied tlie field ; 
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk .';ir John. 
Is prisoner to your son. ! such a day, 
So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won, 
Came not till now to dignify the times, 
Since Caesar s fortunes. 

North. How is this deriv'd ? 

Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? 

Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from 
thence ; 
A gentleman well-bred, and of good name, 
That freely render'd me these news for true. 

North. Here comes my servant. Travers, whom I sent 
On Tuesday last to listen after news. 

Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way. 
And he is furnish'd with no certainties, 
More than he haply may retail from me. 
Enter Travers. 

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings comcwith^ 
you ? 

Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back 
With joyful tidings; and, being better hor.s'd, 
Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard 
A gentleman, almost forspent with speed. 
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse. 
He ask'd the way to Chester ; and of him 
I did demand, wiiat news from Shrewsbury : 
He told me that rebellion had bad luck. 
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold. 
With that he gave his able horse the head, 
And, bending forward, struck his armed heels 
Against the panting sides of his poor jade 
Up to the rowel-head ; and, starting so. 
He seem'd in running to devour the way. 
Staying no longer question. 

North. Ha ! — Again. 

Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold ? 
Of Hotspur, coldspur ? that rebellion 
Had met ill-luck ! 

Bard. My lord, I '11 tell you w^hat: 

If my young lord your son have not the day, 
Upon mine honour, for a silken point,* 
I '11 give my barony ; never talk of it. 

North. Why should that gentleman, that rode by 
Travers, 
Give, then, svich instances of loss ? 

Bard. Who, he ? 

He was some hilding* fellow, that had stolen 
The horse he rode on, and, upon my life. 
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. 



Enter Morton. 

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, 
Foretels the nature of a tragic volume: 
So looks the strond, whereon th' imperious flood 
Hath left a wilness'd usurpation. 
Say, Morton, did.st thou ccme from Shrewsbury? 

Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lordj 
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask. 
To fright our party. 

North. How doth my son and brother? 

Thou tremblest ; and the whitcne>s in thy check 
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. 
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless. 
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone. 
Drew Priam's curtain in tlie dead of night, 
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd : 
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue, ^ 
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it. 
This thou woiildst say, — Your son did thus, and thus ; 
Your brother, thus ; so fought the noble Douglas j 
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds. 
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed, 
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, 
Ending w"ith — brother, son, and all are dead. 

Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; 
But for my lord, your son, — 

North. Why, he is dead. — 

See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath ! 
I He that but fears the thing he would not know, 
I Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes, 
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton: 
Tell thou thy* earl his divination lies. 
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace, 
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. 

Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid : 
Your spirit is too true ; your fears too certain. 

North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy 's dead. — 
I see a strange confession in thine eye : 
Thou shak'st thy head ; and hold'st it fear, or sin, 
To speak the truth. If he be slain, say so f 
The tongue offends not, that reports his death ; 
And he doth sin that doth belie the dead, 
Not he which says the dead is not alive. 
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news 
Hath but a losing office ; and his tongue 
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, 
Remcmber'd knolling a departing friend. 

Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. 

Mor. I am sorry I should force you to believe 
That which I would to heaven I had not seen ; 
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody .state. 
Rendering faint quittance, wearied and outbreath'd. 
To Harry Monmouth ; whose swift wTath beat down 
The never-daunted Percy to the earth. 
From whence with life he never more sprung up. 
In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire 
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp, 
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away 
From the best temper'd courage in his troops : 
For from his metal was his party steel'd ; 
Which once in him abated, all the rest 
Turn'd on themselves, like dvill and hea\'y lead. 
And as the thing that 's heavy in itself, 
Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed. 
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, 
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear, 
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim. 
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety. 



1 Not in f. e. 2 So the quarto; folio : from. 
omits : say so. 



3 String for fastening dress. * Low. ^ So the folio ; the quarto : an. ' The quarto 



it 



SCENE TI. 



KING HENRY IV. 



379 



Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester 
Too soon ta'on prisoner ; and that furious Scot, 
The bloody Douglas, whoso welI-labourin<T sword 
Had tlirce times slain th' appearance of the king, 
'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame 
or those that turn'd their backs ; and in his tlight, 
Siumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all 
Is, that the king hath won, and hath sent out 
A speedy power, to encounter you, my lord. 
Under the conduct of young Lancaster. 
And Westmoreland. This is the news at full. 

North. For this [ shall have time enough to mourn. 
In poison there is jjhysic ; and these news, 
Having been well, that would have made me sick, 
Bjing sick, have in some measure made me well : 
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints. 
Like strcngthJess hinges, buckle' under life. 
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a lire 
Out of his keeper's arms : even so my limbs, 
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief. 
Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice° 

crutch ! 
A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel. 
Must glove this hand : and hence, thou sickly quoif ! 
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head. 
Which iirincos, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. 
Now bind my brows with iron : and approach 
Tlie rugged'st hour that time and spite dare bring, 
To frown upon th' enrag'd Northumberland. 
Let heaven kiss earth : now, let not nature's hand 
Keep the wild flood confin'd : let order die ; 
And let this world no longer be a stage, 
To feed contention in a lingering act, 
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain 
Itcign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set 
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, 
And darkness be the burier of the dead ! 

Tia. This strained passion doth you wrong, my 
lord.^ 

Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your 
honour. 

il/or. The lives of all your loving complices 
Lean on your health ; the which, if you give o'er 
To stormy passion, must perforce decay. 
You cast the event of war, my noble lord,* 
And summ'd the account of chance, before you said, — 
Let us make head. It was your prcsurmise, 
That in the dole' of blows your son might drop : 
You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge. 
More likely to fall in, than to get o'er : 
You were advis'd, his flesh was capable 
Of wounds and scars, and that his forward spirit 
Would lilt him where most trade of danger rang'dj 
Yet did you say, — Go forth ; and none of this, 
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain 
The stifl-borne action : what hath then befallen, 
Or what hath this bold enterprise breuaht forth, 
More than that being which was like to be ? 

Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss, 
Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas. 
That, if we wrought out life, 't was ten to one; 
And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd 
Chokd tiie respect of likely peril fcar'd. 
And, since we are o'erset, venture again. 
Come, we will all put forth ; body, and goods. 

Mor. 'T is more than time : and, my most noble 
lord, 
I hear for certain, and dare' speak the truth. 



The gentle archbishop of York is up,' 

With well-appointed powers : he is a man, 

Who with a double surety binds his followers. 

My lord your son had only but the corps. 

Bat shadows and the shows of men. to fight ; 

For that same word, rebellion, did divide 

The action of their bodies from their souls, 

And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd 

As men drink potions, that their weapons only 

Scem'd on our side ; but, for their spirits and souils, 

This word, rebellion, it had froze them up, 

As fish are in a pond. But now, th' archbishop 

Turns insurrection to religion : 

Snjjpos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts. 

He 's tbllow'd both with body and with mind, 

And doth enlarge his rising with the blood 

Of fair king Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones ; 

Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause; 

Tells tlicin, he doth bestride a bleeding land, 

Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke, 

And innre, and less, do flock to follow him. 

North. I knew of this before ; but, to speak truth, 
Tliis present grief had wip'd it from my mind. 
Go in with me ; and counsel every man 
The a])test way for safety, and revenge. 
Get 1 osts and letters, and make friends with speed : 
Never so few, and never yet more need. \^Exeimt. 

SCENE II.— London. A Street. 

Enter Sir John Falstaff, ivith his Page bearing his 

Sword arul Buckler. 

Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my 
water ? 

Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy 
water ; but for the party that owed it, he might have 
more diseases than he knew for. 

Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me : 
the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not 
able to invent any thing that tends to laughter, more 
than I invent, or is invented on me : I am not only 
witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. 
I do here walk before thee, like a sow that hath over- 
whelmed all her litter but one : if the prince put thee 
into my service for any other reason than to set me off, 
why then, I have no judgment. Thou whoreson man- 
drake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to 
wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate 
till now : but I will in-set® you neither in gold nor 
silver, bvit in vile apparel, and send you back again to 
your master, for a jewel ; the juvenal, the prince your 
master, whose cliin is not yet fledged. I will sooner 
have a beard grown in the palm of my hand, than he 
siiall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick 
to say. his face is a face-royal. God may finish it when 
he will, it is not a hair amiss yet : he may keep it still 
as a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn six-pence 
out of it ; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had 
writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He 
may keep his own grace, but he is almost out of mine, 
I can assure him. — What said Master Diunbleton about 
the satin for my short cloak, and my slops ? 

Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better 
assurance than Bardolph ; he would not take his bond 
and yours : he liked not the .security. 

Fal. Let him be damned like the glutton : may his 
tongue be hotter. — A whoreson Achitophel : a rascally 
yea-forsoolh knave, to bear a gentleman in hand, and 
then stand upon security ! — Tlie whoreson smooth-patcs 



' Bend. » Wenh. petty. ^ This line is omitted in the folio. * This and the thirteen lines following, were first printed in the fo'.io. 
» Distribution, allottnent. ^ Folio: do. ' This and tlie twenty lines following, were first printed in the folio. » Folio : set. 



3S0 



SECOND PART OF 



ACT I. 



do now wear nothing but high shoe.':, and bunches of 
keys at tlieir girdles ; and if a man is thorough with 
them in honest taking up,' then must they stand upon 
security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in 
my mouth, as offer to stop it with security. I looked 
he should have sent me two and twenty yards of satin, 
as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well, 
he may sleep in security ; for he hath the horn of abun- 
dance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it ; 
and yet cannot he see, though lie have his own lantern 
to light him. — Where's Bardolph ? 

Page. He 's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship 
a horse. 

Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he '11 buy me a 
hrrse in SmithfiekP : an I could get me but a wife in 
the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. 

Enter the Lord Chief Justice^ and an Attendant. 

Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed 
the prince for striking him about Bardolph. 

Fal. Wait close : I will not see him. 

Ch. Jmt. What 's he that goes there ? 

Attcn. Falstaff, an 't please your lordship. 

Ch. Just. He that was in question for the robbery ? 

Atten. He, my lord ; but he hath since done good 
service at Shrewsbury, and, as I hear, is now going 
with some charge to the lord John of Lancaster. 

Ch. Just. What, to York ? Call him back again. 

Aiten. Sir John Falstaff ! 

Fal. Boy, tell him I am deaf. 

Page. You must speak louder, my master is deaf. 

Ch. Ju.st. I am sure he is, to the hearing of any 
thing good. — Go, pluck him by the elbow ; I must 
speak with him. 

Atten. Sir John, — 

Fal. What ! a young knave, and begging ?^ Is there 
n^'t wars ? is there not employment ? Doth not the king 
lack subjects? do not the rebels need* soldiers? Though 
it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse 
shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it 
worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make 
it. 

Attcn. You mistake me, sir. 

Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man ? 
setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had 
Led in my throat if I had said so. 

Atten. I pray you. sir, then set your knighthood and 
your soldiership aside, and give me leave to tell you, 
you lie in your throat, if you say 1 am any other than 
an honest man. 

Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so ? I lay aside 
that which grows to me ? If thou get'st any leave of 
me, hang me : if thou tak'st leave, thou wcrt better be 
hanged. You hunt-counter, hence ! avaunt ! 

Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 

Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. 

Fal. My good lord ! — God give your lordship good 
time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad : I 
heard say, your lordship was sick : I hope, your lordship 
goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not 
clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in 
you, some relish of the saltness of time, and I most 
hu-iibly beseech your lordship to have a reverend care 
of your health. 

Ch. JuM. Sir John, I sent for you before your expe- 
dition to Shrewsbury. 



Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty is 
returned with some discomfort from Wales. 

Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty. — You would not 
come when I sent for you. 

Fal. And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen 
into this same whoreson apoplexy. 

Ch. Just. Well, heaven mend him. — I pray you, lot 
me speak with you. 

Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, 
an 't please your lordship ; a kind of* sleeping in the 
blood, a whoreson tingling. 

Ch. Just. What tell you me of it ? be it as it is. 

Fal. It hath its original from much grief; from 
study, and perturbation of the brain. I have read 
the cause of his effects in Galen : it is a kind of deaf- 
ness. 

Ch. Just. I think you are fallen into the disease, for 
you hear not what I say to you. 

Fa/.' Very well, my lord, very well : rather, an 't 
please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady 
of not marking, that I am troubled withal. 

Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels would amend 
the attention of your ears ] and I care not, if I do 
become' your physician. 

Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so pa- 
tient : your lordship may minister the potion of impri- 
sonment to me, in respect of poverty ; but how I should 
be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the' wise 
may make some dram of a scruple, or, indeed, a scruple 
itself. 

Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters 
against you for your life, to come speak with me. 

Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel 
in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. 

Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in 
great infamy. 

Fal. He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in 
less. 

Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your 
waste is great. 

Fal. I would it were otherwise : I would my means 
were greater, and my waist slenderer. 

Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. 

Fal. The young prince hath misled me : I am the 
fellow wth the great belly, and he my dog. 

Ch. Ji(.<;t. Well. I am loth to gall a new-healed 
wound. Your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little 
gilded over your night's exploit on Gadshill : you may 
thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-posting that 
action. 

Fal. My lord— 

Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so : wake not 
a sleeping wolf. 

Fal. To wake a wolf, is as bad as to smell a fox. 

Ch. Just. What ! you are as a candle, the better 
part burnt out. 

Fal. A wasseP candle, my lord ; all tallow : if I did 
say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. 

Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face, but 
should have his effect of gravity. 

Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. 

Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and down, 
like his ill'" angel' ^ 

Fal. Not so, my lord : your ill angeP' is light, but, 
I hope, he that looks upon me will take me without 



1 Buying upon credit. ^ " He that marries a wife out of a suspected inn or ale-house, buys a horse in Smithfield, and hires a servant in 
Paul's, as the diverb (proverb) is, shall likely have a jade to his horse, a knave for his man, an arrant, honest woman for his wife." — 
Surt^n^s Anatomy — quoted by Knight. The middle aisle of St. Paul's Cathedral seems to have been a sort of general exchange. ^ Folio : 
beg. * Folio: want. ' Following on a lorons: scent. ' "an 't please your lordship ; a kind of" : is omitted in the folio. '' The quarto : 
Old — for Oldcastle— the name which Falstaff seems to have been at first called. » Folio : be. ' Wassail. "• Folio : evil, n " xhe coin 
to named. 



SCENK III. 



KING HENRY lY. 



381 



weighing : and yet, in some respects. I grant, I cannot 1 
go. I cannot tell ; virtue is of so little regard in these ' 
coster-monger' days,' that true valour is turned bear- 
herd. Pregnancy is made a tayster, and hath his 
quick wit wasted in giving reckonings : all the other 
gifts appertinent to man. as the malice of this age 
siiapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. You. tliat 
are old, consider not the capacities of us that arc 
young : you measure the heat of our livers with the 
bitterness of your galls ; and we that are in the vaward 
of our youth, I must confess, are wags too. 

Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the scroll 
of youth, that are written down old with all the cha- 
racters of age ? Have you not a moist eye. a dry hand. 
a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an 
increasing belly ? Is not your voice broken, your wind 
short, your chin double, your wit single, and every 
part about you blasted with antiquity, and will you yet 
call yourself young ? Fie, fie, tie. sir John ! 

Fal. My lord, I was born, about^ three of the clock 
in the afternoon, with a white head, and something a 
round belly. For my voice, — I have lost it with holla- 
ing, and singing of anthems. To approve my youth 
farther, I will not : the truth is, I am only old in 
judgment and understanding ; and he that will caper 
with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the 
money, and have at him. For the box o' the ear 
that the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince, 
and you took it like a sensible lord. I have checked 
him for it, and the young lion repents ; marry, not 
in ashes, and sackcloth, but in new silk, and old 
sack. 

Ch. Just. Well. God send the prince a better com- 
panion ! 

Fal. God send the companion a better prince ! I 
cannot rid my hands of him. 

Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and prince 
Harry.* I hear you are going with lord John of Lan- 
caster against the archbishop, and the earl of North- 
umberland. 

Fal. Yea ; I thank y-our pretty sweet wit for it. 
Rat look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace at 
home, that our armies join not in a hot day ; for, by 
the Lord,* I take but two shirts out with me, and I 
mean not to sweat extraordinarily : if it be a hot day. 
and I brandish anything but my bottle, I would I might 
never spit white again. There is not a dangerous 
action can peep out his head, but I am thrust upon it : 
well, I cannot last for^ ever. 'But it Mas always yet the 
trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, 
to make it too conunon. If you w'ill needs say I 
am an old man, you should give me rest. I would 
to God, my name were not so terrible to the enemy 
as it is : I were better to be eaten to death with rust. 
than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. 

Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest ; and God bless 
your expedition. 

Fnl. Will your lordship lend mc a thousand pound 
to furnish me forth ? 

Ch, Just. Not a penny, not a penny : you arc too 
impatient to bear crosses*. Fare you well : commend 
mc to my cousin Westmoreland. 

[E.reunt Chi'[f Justice and Attendant. 

Fal. If I do, fillip me with a throe-man beetle.' 
A man can no more separate age and covetousness, 
than he can part young limbs and lechery ; but the 

' Hncknterin^ 
* Tlie folio inserts 

three handles, requirinff three men to wield if 
the speech wn,s first printed in the folio. i* if 
by the MS. emendator of the folio, 1632, first printed in the folio 



gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other, and 
so both the diseases"* prevent" my curses. — Boy ! 

Page. Sir ? 

Fal. What money is in my purse ? 

Page. Seven grouts and two-pence. 

Fal. I can get no remedy against this consumption 
of tlie pur.se : borrowing only lingers and lingers it 
out, but tlie disease is incurable. — (Jo, bear this letter 
to my lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this to 
the earl of Westmoreland; and this to old mistress 
Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I 
perceived the first white hair of my chin. About it : 
you know where to find me. [Exit Page.\ A pox of 



this gout ! 
other 



or, a scut of this 



pox ! for the one. or the 
, plays the rogue with my great toe. 'T is no 
matter, if I do halt ; I have the wars for my colour, 
and my pension shall seem the more reasonable. A 
good wit will make use of any thing ; it will turn dis- 
eases to commodity. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— York. A Room in the Archbishop's 

Palace. 

Enter the Archbishop of York, the Lords Hastings, 
Mowbray, Earl Marshal., and Bardolph. 

Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and know 
our means ; 
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all. 
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes. — 
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? 

Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our arms ; 
But gladly would be better satisfied, 
How, in our means, w^c should advance ourselves 
To look with forehead bold and big enough 
Upon the power and puissance of the king. 

Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file 
To five and twenty thousand men of choice : 
And our supplies live largely in the hope 
Of great Northiunberland, whose bosom burns 
With an incensed fire of injuries. 

Bard. The question then, lord Hastings, standeth 
thus : — 
Whether our present five and twenty thousand 
May hold up head without Northumberland. 

Hast. With him, we may. 

Bard. Ay, marry, there 's the point : 

F?ut if without him we be thousht too feeble, 
My judgment is, we should not step too far,-' 
Till we had his assistance by the hand ; 
For in a theme so bloody-fae'd as this, 
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise 
Of aids incertain should not be admitted. 

Arch. 'T is very true, lord Bardolph ; for, indeed, 
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. 

Bard. It was, my lord : who lin'd himself with hope, 
Eating the air on promise of .supply, 
Flattering himself with project of a power 
Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts ; 
And so, with great imagination, 
Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, 
An(l winking leap'd into destruction. 

Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt, 
To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope. 

Bard. Yes, in'* this present quality of war ;'' 
Indeed the instant act, and cause'* on foot, 
Lives so in hope, as in an early spring 
We see th' appearing buds ; which, to prove fruit, 



2 times : in f. e. ^ about three o'clock in the afternoon: not in the folio. * and prince Harry: not in the folio. 

if. 'Not in f. e. 'The rest of the speech is not in the folio. 8 A cross was a piece of money. ^ A beetle with 

10 degrees ; in f. e. '■ .intiripxie. '^ So the old copies; mod. eds. : on. '^ The rest of 
in (. e. 15 This and tlie twenty lines following, were, with the exception of one added 



" instant action, a cause, &e. : in f. e. 



3S2 



SECOND PAET OF 



ACT n. 



Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair 

That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, 

We first survey the plot, then draw the model, 

And, when we see the figure of the house. 

Then must we rate the cost of the erection; 

Wi.ich if we find outweighs ability, 

What do we then, but draw anew the model 

In fewer offices, or, at last', desist 

To build at all ? Much more, in this great work, 

(Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down, 

And set another up) should we svirvey 

The plot, the^ situation, and the model ; 

Consult^ upon a sure foundation : 

Question surveyors, know our own estate. 

How able such a work to iindergo. 

A careful leader sums what force he bring.s* 

To weigh against his opposite : or else, 

We fortify on^ paper, and in figures. 

Using the names of men, instead of men : 

Like one that draws the model of a house 

Beyond his power to build it ; who. half through. 

Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost 

A naked subject to the weeping clouds, 

And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. 

Hast. Grant, that our liopes, yet likely of fair birth, 
Should be still-born, and that we now possess 
The utmost man of expectation, 
I think we are a body strong enovigh, 
Even as we are, to equal with the king. 

Bard. What ! is the king but five and twenty thou- 
sand ? 

Hast. To us, no more ; nay, not so much, lord 
Bardolph ; 
For his divisions, as the times do brawl. 
Are in three heads : one power against the French, 
And one against Glendowcr ; perforce, a third 
Must take up us. So is the unfirm king 
[n three divided, and his coffers sound 
With hollow poverty and emptiness. 



Arch. That he should draw his several strengths 
together. 
And come against us in full puissance. 
Need not be dreaded. 

Hast. If he should do so, 

He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh 
Baying him at the heels : never fear that. 

Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither? 

Ha.st. The duke of Lancaster, and Westmoreland : 
Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth ; 
But who is substituted 'gainst the French, 
I have no certain notice. 

Arch. Let us on' 

And publish the occasion of our arms. 
The commonwealth is sick of their own choice; 
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited ; 
An habitation giddy and unsure 
Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart. 
0, thou fond many ! with what loud applause 
Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, 
Before he was what thou wouldst have him be ; 
And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, 
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, 
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. 
So, so, thou connnon dog, didst thou disgorge 
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard, 
And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up. 
And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times ? 
They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die, 
Are now become enamoured on his grave ; 
Thou, that threw'st dust upon his gcodly head. 
When through proud London he came sighing on 
After th' admired liccls of Bolingbroke, 
Cry'st now, "O earth, yield us that king again, 
And take thou this !" O, thoughts of men accurst ! 
Past, and to come, seem best ; things present, worst. 

Mowh. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on? 

Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. 

\Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE L— London. A Street. 

Enter Hostess; Fang, and his Boy, with her ; and 
Snare foUowing. 

Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action ? 

Fang. It is entered. 

Host. Where 's your yeoman' ? Is 't a lusty yeoman ? 
will he stand to 't ? 

Fang. Sirrah, where 's Snare ? 

Ho.-it. lord ! ay : good master Snare. 

Snare. Here, here. 

Fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John FalstafF. 

Ho.st. Yea. good master Snare ; I have entered him 
and all. 

Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, for* 
he will stab. 

Ho.'<t. Alas the day ! take head of him : he stabbed 
me in mine own house, and that most beastly. In 
good faith, he cares not what mischief he doth, if his 
weapon be out : he will foin like any devil ; he will 
spare neither man, woman, nor child. 

Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his 
thrust. 



I least : in f. e. 2of:inf. e. 3 Consent : in f. e. ♦ This line is not in f. e. * in 
folio. ' The bailiff's followers were so called. « Not in the folio. « The quarto : view. 



Ho.st. No, nor I neither : I '11 be at your elbow. 

Fang. An I but fist him once ; an he come but 
within my vice'. — 

Host. I am undone by his going ; I warrant you. he 's 
an infinitive thing upon my score. — Good master Fang, 
hold him sure : — good master Snare, let him not 'scape. 
He comes continually to Pie-corner, (saving your man- 
hoods) to buy a saddle ; and he 's indited to dinner to 
the lubbar's head in Lumbert-street, to master Smooth's 
the silkman : I pray ye, since my exion is entered, 
and my case so openly known to the world, let him be 
brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long 
score'" for a poor lone woman to bear : and I have borne 
and borne, and borne ; and have been fubbed off and 
fubbed ofT, and fubbed off, from this day to that day, 
that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no 
honesty in sucli dealing, unless a woman should be made 
an ass, and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. — 

Enter Sir John Falstaff, Page, and Bardolph. 
Yonder he comes ; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, 
Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your offices, 
master Fang and master Snare : do me, do me, do me 
your offices. 

in f. e. 6 This speech was first printed in the 
1" one ; in f. e. 



ii 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY IV. 



383 



Fal. How now ! whcse mare 's dead ; what 's the 
matter ? 

Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mistress 
Quickly. 

Fal. Away, varlcts ! — Draw. Bardolph : cut me off 
the villain's head : throw the quean in the channel. 

Ho-tt. Throw me in the channel ? I '11 throw thee in 
the channel.' Wilt thou ? wilt thou ? thou bas-tardly 
rogue ! — Murder, nuirder ! 0. thou honey-suckle vil- 
lain ! wilt thou kill God's officers, and the king's ? 0, 
thou honey-seed rogue ! thou art a honey-seed ; a man- 
queller, and a wonian-qucllcr. 

Fal. Keep them off. Bardolph. 

Fang. A rescue ! a rescue ! 

Ho.'ft. Good people, bring a rescue or two. — Thou 
wilt not ? thou wilt not ? do, do, thou rogue ! do, thou 
hemp-seed ! 

Fal. Away, you scullion ! you rampallian ! you fus- 
tilarian ! I '11 tickle your catastrophe. 

Enter the Lord Chief Justice.^ attended. 

Ch. Just. What is the matter? keep the peace here, 
ho! 

Host. Good my lord, be good to me ! I beseech you, 
stand to me ! 

Ch. Just. How now, sir John ! what, are you brawl- 
i)ig here ? 
Doth this bcconte your place, your time, and business? 
You should have been well on your way to York. — 
Stand from him, fellow : wherefore hang'st on him? 

Host. O ! my most worshipful lord, an 't please your 
grace. I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is 
arrested at my suit. 

Ch. Just. For what sum? 

Host. It is more than for some, my lord : it is for all, 
all I have. He hath eaten me out of house and home : 
he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his ; 
but I will have some of it out again, or I will ride thee 
o' nishts, like the mare. 

Fal. I think, I am as like to ride the mare, if I have 
any vantage of ground to get up. 

Ch. Ju.'it. How comes this, sir John ? — Fie ! what 
man of good temper would endure this tempest of 
exclamation? — Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor 
widow to so rough a course to come by her own ? 

Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee ? 

Ho.ft. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself, 
and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a 
parcel-gilt'* goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at 
the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday in 
Whilsun week, when the prince broke thy head for 
likening his father^ to a singing-man of Windsor ; thou 
didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, 
to marry me, and make me my lady thy wife. Canst 
thou deny it? Did not good wife Keech, the butcher's 
wife, come in then, and call me gossip Quickly? 
coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar : telling us, she 
had a good dish of prawns, whereby thou didst desire 
to eat some, whereby I told thee, they were ill for a 
green wound? And didst thou not. when she was gone 
down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity 
with such poor people ; sayimr, that ere long they 
should call me madam ? And didst thou not kiss me. 
and bid nic letch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now 
to thy book-oath : deny it, if thou eanst. 

Fnl. My lord, this is a poor mad soul ; and she says, 
up and down the town, that her eldest son is like you. 
She hath been in good case, and the truth is. poverty I 

> thee there : in quarto, s Partly gilt. 3 him : in folio. * The 
f. c. ' In fresco. " dost not know ine : not in the folio. 



hath distracted her. But for these foolish officers, I 
beseech you, I may have redress against them. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquainted 
with your manner of wrenching the true cause the 
false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng 
of words that come with such more than impudent 
saucincss from you, can thrust me from a level consi- 
deration ; you have, as it appears to me, practised upon 
the easy-yielding spirit of this woman,* and made her 
serve your uses both in purse and person. 

Host. Yes, in troth, my lord. 

Ch. Just. Pr'ytliee, peace. — Pay her the debt you 
owe her. and unpay the villainy you have done with 
her : the one you may do with sterling money, and the 
otlier with current repentance. 

Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sncap without 
reply. You call honourable boldness, impudent sauei- 
ness: if a man will make court'sy, and say nothing, he 
is virtuous. No, my lord, my humble duty remem- 
ber'd, I will not be your suitor : I say to you, I do 
desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty 
employment in the king's afli'airs. 

Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do wrong : 
but answer in the efl!ect of your reputation, and satisfy 
the poor woman. 

Fal. Come hither, hostess. [T(tking her aside. 

Enter Gowkr. 

Ch. Ju.'it. Now, master Gower ! what news ? 

Gow. The king, my lord, and Henry prince of Wales 
Are near at hand : the rest this* paper tells. [C. J. reads.* 

Fal. As I am a gentleman. 

Ho.st. Faith, you said so before. 

Fal. As I am a gentleman. Come, no more words 
of it. 

//o.s^ By this heavenly ground 1 tread on, I must 
be fain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry of my 
dining-ehambers. 

Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking : and for 
thy walls, — a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the 
prodigal, or the German hunting in water-work', is 
worth a thousand of these bed hangings, and these fly 
bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. 
Come, an it were not for thy humours, there is not a 
better wench in England. Go. wash thy face, and 
draw thy action. Come, thou must not be in this 
humour with me ; dost not know me ?" Come, come, 
I know thou wast set on to this. 

Host. Pray thee, sir John, let it be but twenty 
nobles ; i' faith I am loath to pawn my plate, in good 
earnest, la. 

Fal. Let it alone ; I '11 make other shift : you '11 be a 
fool still. 

Ho.st. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my 
gown. I hope, you '11 come to supper. You '11 pay me 
all together ? 

Fal. Will I live? — Go, with her, with her ; hook on, 
hook on. 

Host. Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet you at 
supper ? 

Fal. No more words: let's have her. 

\Excvnt Ho.stess, Bardolph, Officers^ and Page. 

Ch. Just. I have heard better news. 

Fal. What 's the news, my good lord ? 

Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night? 

Ooiv. At Basingstoke, my lord. 

Fal. I hope, my lord, all 's well : what is the news, 
my lord ? 

Ch. Just, Come all his forces back? 

rest of this speech is omitted in the folio. ' the : in f. e. * Not in 



3S4r 



SECOND PART OF 



ACT II. 



Gow. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse, 
Are marcli'd up to my lord of Lancaster, 
Against Northumberland and the archbishop. 

Fah Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord ? 

Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me presently : 
come, go along with me, good master Gower. 

Fal. My lord ! 

Ch. Jv.it. What 's the matter ? 

Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to 
dinner ? 

Goiv. I must wait upon my good lord here : I thank 
you, good sir John. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, yoii loiter here too long, being 
you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. 

Fal. Will you sup with mc, master Gower ? 

Ch. Just. What foolish master taught you these 
manners, sir John ? 

Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he was 
a fool that taught them me. — This is the right fencing 
grace, my lord ; tap for tap, and so part fair. 

Ch. Jhst. Now, the Lord lighten thee ! thou art a 
great fool. \Excunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. Another Street. 
Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

P. Hen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary. 

Poins. la it come to that? I had thought, weariness 
durst not have attached one of so high blood. 

P. Hen. 'Faith, it does me, though it discolours the 
complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth 
it not show vilely in me to desire small beer? 

Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely stu- 
died, as to remember so weak a composition. 

P. Hen. Belike then, my appetite was not princely 
got ; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor 
creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble con- 
siderations make me out of love with my greatness. 
What a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name ? 
or to know thy face to-morrow ? or to take note how 
many pair of silk stockings tiiou hast ; viz., these, and 
tho.'^e that were tliy peach-coloured ones ? or to bear 
the inventory of thy shirts ; as, one for superfluity, and 
one otlier for use ? — but that the tennis-court-keeper 
knows better than I, for it is a low ebb of linen with 
thee, when thou keepest not racket there : as thou hast 
not done a great while, because the rest of thy low- 
countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland :' and 
God knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of 
thy linen, shall inherit his kingdom : but the midwives 
say, the children are not in the fault, whereupon the 
world increases, and kindreds are mightily strength- 
ened. 

Poins. How ill it follows, after you have laboured so 
hard, you should talk so idly ! Tell me, how many 
good young princes would do so. their fathers being' 
so sick as yours at this time is? 

P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? 

Poins. Yes, faith, and let it be an excellent good 
thing. 

P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher 
breeding than thine. 

Poins. Go to ; I stand the pugh of your one thing 
that you will tell. 

P. Hen. Marry, I tell thee, — it is not meet that I 
should be sad, now my father is sick : albeit I could tell 
to thee, (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better. 
to call my friend) I could be sad, and sad indeed too. 

Poins. Very hardly upon such a subject. 



P. Hen. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in the 
devil's book, as thou and FalstafT, for obduracy and 
persistency : let the end try the man. But I tell thee, 
my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father is so sick ; 
and keeping such vile company as thou art. hath in 
reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. 

Poins. The reason? 

P. Hen. What wouldst thou think of me, if I should 
weep ? 

Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypo- 
crite. 

P. Hen. It would be evei-y man's thought ; and thou 
art a bles.^ed fellow, to think as every man thinks : 
never a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way 
better than thine : ever}' man would think me an hypo- 
crite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful 
thought to think so ? 

Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd, and so 
much engraffed to Falstaff. 

P. Hen. And to thee. 

Poins. By this light, I am well spoken on ; I can 
hear it with mine own ears : the worst that they can 
say of me is. that I am a second brother, and that I am 
a proper fellow of my hands, and those two things, I 
confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bar- 
dolph. 

P. Hen. And the boy that T gave Falstafi": he had 
him from me christian ; and look, if the fat villain have 
not transformed him ape. 

Enter Bardolph and Page. 

Bard. God save your grace. 

P. Hen. And yours, most noble Bardolph. 

Bard. Come, you virtuous^ ass, [To the Page.] you 
ba.shful fool, mu.st you be blushing? wherefore blush 
you now? What a maidenly man at arms are you 
become ? Is it such a matter to get a pottlepot's 
maidenhead ? 

Page. He called me even now, my lord, through a 
red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face 
from the window: at last, I spied his eyes: and, me- 
thought, he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new 
red* petticoat, and peeped through. 

P. Hen. Plath not the boy profited ? 

Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away ! 

Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away ! 

P. Hen. Instruct us, boy: what dream, boy? 

Page. Marry, my lord, Althea* dreamed she was de- 
livered of a fire-brand, and therefore I call him her 
dream. 

P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpretation. — 
There it is, boy. [Giving him money. 

Poins. 0, that this good blossom could be kept from 
cankers! — Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. 

Bard. An you do not make him be hanged among 
you. the gallows shall have wrong. 

P. Hen. And hov.^ doth thy master, Bardolph? 

Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's 
coming to town: there's a letter for you. 

Poins. Delivered with good respect. — And how doth 
the martlemas, your master? 

Bard. In bodily health, sir. 

Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician ; 
but that moves not him : though that be sick, it dies not. 

P. Hen. I do allow this wen to be as familiar with 
! me as my dog ; and he holds his place, for look you 
ihow ho writes. 

I Poins. [Reads.] "John Falstaff, knight," — every 
man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name 



' The rest of this speech is not in the folio. 
^ Alt/iea. is here mistaken for Hecuba. 



2 lying so sick as yours is : in folio. ^ pernicious : in folio. * This ■vrord is not in f. e. 



BCENE in. 



KING HENRY lY. 



385 



himself; even like those that are kin to the king, for 
they never prick their finger, but they say, " There is 
some of the king's blood spilt:" "How comes that?" 
says he, that takes upon him not to conceive : the an- 
swer is, as ready as a borrower's cap ; " I am the king's 
poor cousin, sir." 

P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will 
fetch it from Japheth. But to the letter : — 

the 



Poins. " Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of 
king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greet- 
ing."' — Why, this is a certificate. 

P. Hen. Peace ! 

Poins. "■ I will imitate the honourable Romans in 
brevity :" — he sure means brevity in breath, short- 
winded, — " I commend me to thee, I commend thee, 
and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins ; for 
he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears, thou 
art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as 
thou may'st. and so farewell. 

" Thine, by yea and no, (which is as much 
as to say, as thou usest him,) Jack Fal- 
staff, with my familiars; John, with 
my brothers and sisters ; and sir John 
with all Europe."' 
My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make him 
eat it. 

P. Hen. That's but' to make him eat twenty of his 
words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry 
your sister? 

Poins. God send the wench no worse fortune ! but 
I never said .so. 

P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the time, 
and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds, and mock 
us. — Is your master here in London ? 

Bard. Yes, my lord. 

P. Hen. Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in 
the old frank''' ? 

Bard. At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap. 

P. Hen. What company? 

Page. Ephesians, my lord ; of the old church. 

P. Hen. Sup any women with him ? 

Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, and 
mi.stre.ss Doll Tear-sheet. 

P. Hen. What pagan may that be ? 

Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman 
of my master's. 

P. Hen. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to 
the town bull. — Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at 
supper ? 

Poins. I am your shadow, my lord ; I '11 follow you. 

P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy, — and Bardolph ; — no word 
to your master that I am yet come to town : there 's for 
your silence. [Giving money. ^ 

Bard. I have no tongue, sir. 

Page. And for mine, sir, I will govern it. 

P. Hen. Fare ye well : go. [Exeunt Bardolph and 
Page.] — This Doll Tear-sheet should be some road. 

Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way be- 
tween Saint Alban's and London. 

P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself 
to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen? 

Poins. Put on two leathern jerkins, and aprons, and 
wait upon him at his table as drawers. 

P. Hen. From a god to a bull ? a heavy descension !* 
it was .love's case. From a prince to a prentice ? a 
low transformation ! that shall be mine : for in every 
thing the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow 
me, Ned. [Exeunt. 

1 This -wotJ is not in i. e. 2 sly. ' TsTot in f. e. * declension : 
was first printed in the folio. ' Speaking rapidly. 

25 



SCENE HL— Warkworth. Before the Castle. 

Enter Northumberland, Lady Northumberland, 

a7id Lady Percy. 

North. I pray thee, loving wife and gentle daughter, 
Give even way unto my rough affairs : 
Put not you on the visage of the times, 
And be like them to Percy troublesome. 

Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no more. 
Do what you will ; your wisdom be your guide. 

North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn, 
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. 

Lady P. 0, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars ! 
The time was, father, that you broke your word, 
When you were more endear'd to it than now ; 
When your own Percy, when my heart-dear Harry^ 
Threw many a northward look, to see his father 
Bring up his powers ; but he did long in vain. 
Who then persuaded yovi to stay at home ? 
There were two honours lost, yours, and your son's : 
For yours, — may heavenly glory brighten it ! 
For his, — it stuck upon him, as the sun 
In the grey vault of heaven : and, by his light, 
Did all the chivalry of England move 
To do brave acts, he was, indeed, the glass 
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.* 
He had no legs, that practised not his gait ; 
And speaking thick', which nature made his blemish, 
Became the accents of the valiant ; 
For those that could speak low, and tardily. 
Would turn their own perfection to abuse, 
To seem like him : so that, in speech, in gait, 
In diet, in affections of delight, 
In military rules, humours of blood. 
He was the mark and glass, copy and book, 
That fashion'd others. And him, — wondrous him ! 
miracle of men ! — him did you leave, 
(Second to none, unseconded by you) 
To look upon the hideous god of war 
In disadvantage ; to abide a field, 
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name 
Did seem defensible : — so you left him. 
Never. O ! never, do his ghost the wrong. 
To hold your honour more precise and nice 
With others, than with him : let them alone. 
The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong : 
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers. 
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck. 
Have talkd of Monmouth's grave. 

North. Beshrew your heart, 

Fair daughter ! you do draw my spirits frome me, 
With new lamenting ancient oversights. 
But I must go, and meet with danger there, 
Or it will seek me in another place, 
And find me worse provided. 

Lady N. O ! fly to Scotland. 

Till that the nobles, and the armed commons, 
Have of their puissance made a little taste. 

Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the kin^, 
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, 
To make strength stronger ; but, for all our loves, 
First let them try themselves. So did your son; 
He was so sutfer'd ; so came I a widow, 
And never shall have length of life enough. 
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, 
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,. 
For recordation to my noble husband. 

North. Come, come, go in with me. 'T is with my 
mind, 

in folio. 6 heart's dear Harry : in folio. ' The rest of this speech 



386 



SECOND PART OF 



ACT n. 



As with the tide swell'd up unto its height, 

That makes a still-stand, running neither way : 

Fain would I go to meet the archbishop. 

But many thousand reasons hold mc back. — 

I will resolve for Scotland : there am I, 

Till time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— London. A Room in the Boar's Head 

Tavern, in Eastcheap. 

Enter Two Drawers. 

1 Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there ? 

apple-Johns' ? thou know'st sir John cannot endure an 

apple-John. 

' 2 Draw. Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once 
set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him, 
there were five more sir Johns ; and, putting off his 
hat, said, '' I will now take my leave of these six dry, 
round, old, withered knights." It angered him to the 
heart, but he hath forgot that. 

1 Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down : and 
see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise* ; mistress Tear- 
sheet would fain hear some music^. Dispatch: — the 
room where they supped is too hot ; they "11 Qome in 
straight. 

2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and master 
Poins anon ; and they will put on two of our jerkins 
and aprons, and sir John must not know of it : Bar- 
dolph hath brought word. 

1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis* : it will 
be an excellent stratagem. 

2 Draw. I '11 see. if I can find out Sneak. [Exit. 

Enter Hostess and Doll Tear-sheet. 

Host. V faith, sweet heart, methinks now you are in 
an excellent good temporality : your pulsidge beats as 
extraordinarily as heart would desire, and your colour, 
I warrant you, is as red as any rose ; but, i' faith, you 
have drunk too much canaries, and that 's a marvellous 
searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can 
say, what 's this? How do you now? 

Dol. Better than I was. Hem. 

Host. Why, that 's well said ; a good heart 's worth 
gold. Lo* ! here comes sir John. 

Enter Falstaff, singinfr. 

Fal. " When Artlmr first in court" — Empty the 
Jordan. — " And was a worthy king."* [Exit Drawer. 
How now, mistress Doll ? 

Host. Sick of a calm : yea, good sooth. 

Fal. So is all her sex ; an they be once in a calm, 
they are sick. 

Dol. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you 
give me? 

Fal. You make fat rascals, mistress Doll. 

Dol. I make them? gluttony and diseases make 
them ; I make them not. 

Fal. [f the cook help to" make the gluttony, you 
help to make the diseases, Doll : we catch of you, Doll, 
we catch of you ; grant that, my pure* virtue, grant 
that. 

Dol. Yea, joy' ; our chains, and our jewels. 

Fal. "Your brooches, pearls, and owches :"'" — for to 
serve bravely, is to come halting off, you know : to 
come off" the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to 
surgery bravely ; to venture upon the charged cham- 
bers bravely : — 

Dol. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang your- 
self !" 



Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion : you two 
never meet, but you fall to some di.scord. You are 
both, in good troth, as rheumatic as two dry toasts; 
you cannot one bear with another's confirmities. What 
the good year ! one must bear, and that must be you : 
you are the weaker vessel ; as they say, the emptier 
vessel. 

Dol. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge 
full hogshead ? there 's a whole merchant's venture of 
Bourdeaux stuff in him : you have not seen a hulk 
better stuffed in the hold. — Come, I '11 be friends with 
thee, Jack : thou art going to the wars ; and whether 
I shall ever see thee again, or no, there is nobody — 
cares. 

Re-enter Drawer. 

Draw. Sir, ancient'^ Pistol 's below, and would speak 
with you. 

Dol. Hang him, swaggering rascal ! let him not 
come hither : it is the foul mouth'dst rogue in Eng- 
land. 

Host. If he swagger, let him not come here : no, by 
my faith ; I must live amongst my neighbours ; I '11 no 
swaggerers. I am in good name and fame with the 
very best. — Shut the door ; — there comes no swagger- 
ers here : I have not lived all this while, to have swag- 
gering now. — Shut the door, [ pray you. 

Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess ? 

Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, sir John : there 
comes no swaggerers here. 

Fal. Dost thou hear ? it is mine ancient. 

Host. Tilly-valley, sir John, never tell me : your 
ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I .was 
before master Tisick, the deputy, t' other day ; and, as 
he said to me, — it was no longer ago than Wednesday 
last, — " Neighbour Quickly," says he ; — master Dumb, 
our minister, was by then : — '' Neighbour Quickly," 
says he, '' receive those that are civil : for," said he, 
•'you are in an ill name :" — now, he said so, I can tell 
whereupon; "for," says he, "you are an honest woman, 
and well thought on ; therefore take heed what guests 
you receive : " receive," says he, "no swaggering com- 
panions." — There comes none here : — you would bless 
you to hear what he said. — No, I '11 no swaggerers. 

Fal. He 's no swaggerer, hostess ; a tam.e cheater, 
i' faith; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy grey- 
hound : he will not swagger Mitli a Barbary hen. if her 
feathers turn back in any show of resistance. — Call 
him up, drawer. 

Host. Cheater, call you him ? I will bar no honest 
man my house, nor no cheater'' ; but I do not love 
swaggering : by my troth, I am the worse, when one 
says — swagger. Feel, masters, how I shake ; look you, 
I warrant you. 

Dol. So you do. hostess. 

Host. Do I ? yea, in very truth do I, an 't were an 
aspen leaf. I cannot abide swaggerers. 

Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. 

Fist. God save you, sir John ! 

Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge 
you with a cup of sack : do you discharge upon mine 
hostess. 

Fist. I will discharge upon her, sir John, with two 
biillets. 

Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir ; you shall hardly olTend 
her. 

Host. Come, I '11 drink no proofs, nor no bullets. 



> A species of apple which would keep a long time, and had a shrivelled-lookir^ exterior. 2 Band. ^ The resfof the speech is not in 
■the folio. ♦ From the Fr. huit, the octave of a festival. Old, here means great. ^ Look : in folio. ^ Two lines from an old ballad, printed 
in Percy's Reliques. Vol. I. '' help to : not in the quarto. ^ poor ; in f. e. ' Ay, marry : in folio. i" A line from a ballad, in Percy's 
Rehques, Vol. I. n This sentence is not in the folio. 1= Standard-bearer, ensign. i^ Escheator. 



SCENE IV. 



KING HENRY TV. 



387 



I '11 drink no more than will do me good, for no man's 
pleasure, I. 

Pist. Then to you, mistress Dorothy : I will charge 
you. 

Dol. Charge me? I scorn you, scurvy companion. 
What ! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen 
mate ! Away, you mouldy rogue, away ! I am meat 
for your master. 

Pist. I know you, mistress Dorothy. 

Dol. Away, you cut-purse rascal ! you filthy bung. 
away ! By this wine, I '11 thrust my knife in your 
mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. 
Away, you bottle-ale rascal ! you basket-hilt stale 
juggler, you ! — Since when, I pray you, sir ? — God's 
light ! with two points on your shoulder ? much ! 

Pi.st. I will murder your ruff for this. 

Fal. No more, Pistol : I would not have you go off 
here. Discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.^ 

Host. No, good captain Pistol j not here, sweet cap- 
tain. 

Dol. Captain ! thou abominable damned cheater, art 
thou not ashamed to be called captain? An captains 
were of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for 
taking their names upon you before you have earned 
them. Yon a captain, you slave ! for what ? for tear- 
ing a poor whore's rufl" in a bawdy-house ? — He a cap- 
tain ! Hang him, rogue ! He lives upon mouldy 
stewed prunes, and dried cakes. A captain ! these 
villains will make the word captain as odious^ as the 
word occupy, which was an excellent good word 
before it was ill sorted : therefore captains had need 
look to 't. 

Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. 

Fal. Hark thee hither, mistress Doll. 

Pist. Not I • I tell thee what, corporal Bardolph ; I 
could tear her. — I '11 be revenged of her. 

Page. Pray thee, go down. 

Pist. I '11 see her damned first ; — to Pluto's damned 
lake, by this hand, to the infernal deep, with Erebus 
and tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. 
Down ? down, dogs ! down fates^ ! Have we not Hiren 
here ? 

Host. Good captain Peesel, be quiet ; it is very late, 
i' faith. I beseek you now, aggravate your choler. 

Pi.'<t. These be good humours, indeed ! Shall pack- 
And hollow-pamper'd jades of Asia, [horses, 

Which cannot go but thirty miles a day,* 
Compare with C.TCsars, and with Cannibals, 
And Trojan Greeks ? nay, rather danni them with 
King Cerberus, and let the welkin roar. 
Shall we fall foul for toys ? 

Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter 
words. 

Bard. Begone, good ancient ; this will grow to a 
brawl anon. 

Pist. Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins. 
Have we not Hiren here ? 

Host. On my word, captain, there 's none such here. 
Wiiat the goodyear ! do you think I would deny her ? 
for God's sake, be quiet. 

Pist. Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis.' 
Come, give 's some sack. 

Se fortuna. me tormenta^ il sperare me contenta. — 
Fear we broadsides ? no. let the fiend give fire : 
Give mc some sack ; and, sweetheart, lie thou there. 

[Laying down his sword. 



Come we to full points here, and are et ceferas nothing ? 

Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. 

Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif." — What ! we have 
seen the seven stars. 

Dol. For God's sake, thrust him down stairs : I 
cannot endure such a fustian rascal. 

Pist. Thrust him down stairs ! know we not Galloway 
nags ? 

Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat 
shilling', nay, an he do nothing but speak nothing, he 
shall be nothing here. 

Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 

Pist. What ! shall we have incision ? shall we im- 
brue ? — [S7iatching vp his sword. 
Then, death, rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days ! 
Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds 
Untwine the sisters three ! Come. Atropos, I say ! 

Ho.ft. Here 's goodly stuff toward ! 

Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. 

Dol. I pray thee, Jack. I pray thee, do not draw. 

Fal. Get you down stairs. [Drawing. 

Host. Here 's a goodly tumult ! I '11 forswear keeping 
house, afore I '11 be in these territs and frights. So ; 
murder, I warrant now. — Alas, alas ! put up your 
naked weapons ; put up your naked weapons. 

[Exeunt Bardolph ami Pistol. 

Dol. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet : the rascal is gone. 
Ah ! you whoreson little valiant villain, you. 

Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin ? methought he 
made a shrewd thrust at your belly. 
Re.enter Bardolph. 

Fal. Have you turned him out of doors ? 

Bard. Yes, sir : the rascal 's drunk. You have hurt 
him, sir, in the shoulder. 

Fal. A rascal, to brave me ! 

Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you ! Alas, poor 
ape, how thou sweat'st ! Come, let me wipe thy face ; 
— come on, you whoreson chops. — Ah, rogue ! i' faith, 
I love thee. Thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, 
worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than 
the nine worthies. Ah, villain ! 

Fal. A rascally slave ! I will toss the rogue in a 
blanket. 

Dol. Do, if thou darest for thy heart : if thou dost, 
I '11 canvass thee between a pair of sheets. 
Enter Mu^ic. 

Page. The music is come, sir. 

Fal. Let them play. — Play, sirs. — Sit on my knee, 
Doll. — A ra.<;cal bragging slave ! the rogue fled from 
me like quicksilver. 



Dol. 



V faith, and thou followed.st him like a church. 



Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig,* when 
wilt thou leave figliting o' days, and foining o' nights, 
and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven ? 
Enter behind.^ Prince Henry and Poins, disguised like 
Drawers. 

Fal. Peace, good Doll ! do not speak like a death's 
head : do not bid me remember mine end. 

Dol. Sirrah, what humour is the prince of? 

Fal. A good shallow young fellow ; he would have 
made a good pantler, he would have chipped bread 
well. 

Dol. They say, Poins has a good wit. 

Fal. He a good wit ? hang him, baboon ! his wit is 
as thick as Tewksbury mustard : there is no more con- 
ceit in him, than is in a mallet. 



» This speech is not in the folio. ^ The rest of this sentence, to the word " therefore," is not in the folio. ' faters : in quarto ; faitours. or 
traitors. ♦ A quotation from Marlowe's plav of Tamerlane — they are addressed by the hero to the captive kings who draw his chariot. ' A 
quotation from the play of "The Battle of Alcanzar,'' probably by I'eele. e Fist. 'The broad shilling of Edward VI. ; the game, proba- 
bly, resembled shulile-board. 8 Roast pig was a favourite delicacy at Bartholomew Fair. 



/ 



388 



SECOND PAET OF 



AOT n. 



Dol. Why does the prince love liim so, then ? 

Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness ; and 
he plays at quoits well ; and eats conger and fennel : 
and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons^ ; and rides 
the wild mare'' with the boys ; and jumps upon joint- 
stools ; and swears with a good grace ; and wears his 
boot very smooth like unto the sign of the leg ; and 
breeds no bate^ with telling of discreet stories ; and 
such other gambol faculties he has, that show a weak 
mind and an able body, for the which the prince admits 
him : for the prince himself is such another ; the weight 
of a hair will turn the scales between their avoirdu- 
pois. 

P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel have his 
ears cut off? 

Poins. Let 's beat him before his whore. 

P. Hen. Look, whether* the withered elder hath not 
his poll clawed like a parrot. 

Poins. Is it not strange, that desire should so many 
years outlive performance ? 

Fal. Kiss me, Doll. 

P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction ! 
what says the almanack to that ? 

Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon', his man, 
be not clasping to his master's old tables, his note-book, 
his counsel-keeper. 

Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. 

Dol. Nay. truly ; I kiss thee with a most constant 
heart. 

Fal. I am old, I am old. 

Dol. I love thee better than I Jove e'er a scurvy 
young boy of them all. 

Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle" of? I shall re- 
ceive money on Thursday ; thou shalt have a cap to- 
morrow. A merry song ! come : it grows late ; we '11 
to bed. Thou 'It forget me. when I am gone. 

Dol. By my troth, thou I't set me a weeping, an thou 
say'st so : prove that ever I dress myself handsome till 
thy return. — Well, hearken the end. 

Fal. Some sack, Francis ! 

P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing. 

Fal. Ha ! a bastard son of the king's. — And art not 
thou Poins, his brother ? 

P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what 
a life do.'^t thou lead. 

Fal. A belter than thou : I am a gentleman ; thou 
art a drawer. 

P. Hen. Very true, sir, and I come to draw you out 
by the ears. 

Host. 0, the Lord preserve thy good grace ! by my 
troth, welcome to London. — Now, the Lord bless that 
sweet face of thine ! Jesu ! are you come from 
Wales ? 

Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, — 
by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome. 

[Placing his harid upon Doll. 

Dol. How, you fat fool ? I scorn you. 

Poins. J\ly lord, he will drive you out of your re- 
venge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the 
heat. 

P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely 
did you speak of me even now, before this honest, 
virtuous, civil gentlewoman. 

Host. God's blessing of your good heart ! and so she 
is. by my troth. 

Fal. Didst thou hear me ? 

P. Hen. Yes; and you knew me, as you did, when 



you ran away by Gad's-hill : you knew, I was at your 
back, and spoke it on purpose to try my patience. 

Fal. No, no, no ; not so ; I did not think thou wast 
within hearing. 

P. Hen. I sliall drive you, then, to confess the wilful 
abuse : and then I know how to handle you. 

Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour ; no abuse. 

P. Hen. Not to dispraise me, and call me pantler, 
and bread-chipper, and I know not what ? 

Fal. No abuse, Hal. 

Poins. No abuse ! 

Fal. No abuse, Ned, i' the world ; honest Ned, none. 
I disprais'd him before the wicked, that the "wncked 
might not fall in love with him' — in which doing, I 
have done the part of a careful friend, and a true sub- 
ject, and thy father is to give me thanks foj it. No 
abuse, Hal; — none, Ned, none ; — no, 'faith boys, none. 

P. Hen. See now, whether pure fear, and entire 
cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this virtuous 
gentlewoman to close with us ? Is she of the wicked ? 
Is thine hostess here of the wicked ? Or is thy boy of 
the wicked ? Or honest Bardolph. whose zeal burns 
in his nose, of the wicked ? 

Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. 

Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irreco- 
verably; and his face is Lucifer's privy kitchen, 
where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For the 
boy, — there is a good angel about him, but the devil 
outbids'' him too. 

P. Hen. For the women ? 

Fal. For one of them, she is in hell already, and 
burns, poor soul. For the other, I owe her money, and 
whether she be damned for that, I know not. 

Host. No, I warrant you. 

Fal. No, I think thou art not ; I think, thou art quit 
for that. Marry, there is another indictment upon thee, 
for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy hoiise, contrary to 
the law; for the which, I think, thou wilt howl. 

Host. All victuallers do so : what 's a joint of mut- 
ton or two in a whole Lent ? 

P. Hen. You, gentlewoman, — 

Dol. What says your grace ? 

Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels 
against. [Kiiocking heard. 

Host. Who knocks so loud at door ? look to the door 
there, Francis. 

Enter Veto. 

P. Hen. Peto, how now ! what news ? 

Peto. The king your father is at Westminster, 
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts 
Come from the north ; and as I came along 
I met, and overtook, a dozen captains, 
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns. 
And asking every one for sir John Falstaff. [blame, 

P. Hen. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to 
So idly to profane the precious time. 
When tempest of commotion, like the sovith 
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt, 
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. 
Give me my sword, and cloak. — Falstaff, good night. 

[Exeunt Prince Henry, Poins, Peto, and 
Bardolpji. 

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, 
and we must hence, and leave it unpicked. [Knocking 
heard.] More knocking at the door ? 

Re-enter Bardolph. 
How now ? what 's the matter ? 



Inflammable substances floating on liquor, and swallo-nred flaminsr. 2 Plays s.t see-sato. ^ Debate. •» if : in folio. ^ Trigonum 
igneiun, is the astronomical term when the upper planets meet in a fiery fign. 'ih.a fiery Trigon, I think, consists of Aries, Leo, and 
bastttarius.—Steevens. 6 Petticoat. ^ thee : in quarto. 8 blinds : in quarto. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY IV. 



389 



Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently : 
A. dozen captains stay at door for you. 

Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page.\ — 
Farewell, hostess ; — farewell, Doll. You see, my good 
wenches, how men of merit are sought after : the unde- 
server may sleep, when the man of action is called on. 
Farewell, good wenches. If I be not sent away post, 
I will see yovi again ere I go. 

Dol. I cannot speak ; — if my heart be not ready to 
burst. — Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. 

Fal. Farewell, farewell. {Exeunt Fal. and Bar. 



Host. Well, fare thee well : I have known thee these 
twenty-nine years, come peascod-time ; but an honester, 
and truer-hearted man, — Well, fare thee well. 

Bard. [Withiii.] Mistress Tear-sheet ! 

Host. What 's the matter? 

Bard. [Within.] Bid Mistress Tear-sheet come to 
my master. 



Host. O ! run, Doll, run 



run, good Doll.' 



Come. — 



She comes blubbered. — Yea — will you come, Doll ? 



[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry in his Nightgown^ with a Page. 

K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick ; 
But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, 
And well consider of them. Make good speed. 

[Exit Page. 
How many thousand of my poorest subjects 
Are at this hour asleep ! — O sleep ! gentle sleep ! 
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee. 
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down. 
And steep my senses in forgetfulness ? 
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, 
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, 
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, 
Under high^ canopies of costly state. 
And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody ? 
O, thou dull god ! why liest thou with the vile, 
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch, 
A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell ? 
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
In cradle of the rude imperious surge. 
And in the visitation of the winds, 
Who take the ruffian billows by the top. 
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 
With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery shrouds^, 
That with the hurly death itself awakes ? 
Canst thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose 
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; 
And in the calmest and most stillest night, 
With all appliances and means to boot, 
Deny it to a king ? Then, happy low, lie down !* 
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 
Enter Warwick and Surrey. 

War. Many good morrows to your majesty ! 

K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords ? 

War. 'T is one o'clock, and past. 

K. Hen. Wliy then, good morrow to you all, my 
lords. 
Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you ? 

War. We have, my liege. 

A'. Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our kingdom 
How foul it is ; what rank diseases grow. 
And with what danger, near the heart of it. 

War. It is but as a body, yet, distemper'd, 
Which to his former strength may be restor'd, 
With good advice, and little medicine. 
My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. 

K. Hen. God ! that one might read the book of fate. 



And see the revolution of the times 

Make mountains level, and the continent, 

Weary of solid firmness, melt itself 

Into the sea: and, other times, to see 

The beachy girdle of the ocean 

Too wide for Neptune's hips ; how chances mock, 

And changes fill the cup of alteration 

With divers liquors ! 0, if this were seen. 

The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, 

What perils past, what crosses to ensue. 

Would shut the book, and sit him down and die." 

'T is not ten years gone. 

Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends, 

Did feast together, and in two years after 

Were they at wars : it is but eight years, since 

This Percy was the man nearest my soul ; 

Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs, 

And laid his love and life under my foot ; 

Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, 

Gave him defiance. But which of you was by, 

(You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember) [To Warwick. 

When Richard, with his eye brimfull of tears, 

Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, 

Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy ? 

" Northumberland, thou ladder, by the which 

My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne ;" — 

Though then, God knows, I had no such intent, 

But that necessity so bow'd the state, 

That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss. 

" The time shall come," thus did he follow it, 

'■'• The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head, 

Shall break into corruption :" — so went on, 

Foretelling this same time's condition. 

And the division of our amity. 

War. There is a history in all men's lives, 
Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd ; 
The which observ'd, a man may prophesy. 
With a near aim, of the main chance of things 
As yet not come to life, which in their seeds, 
And weak beginnings, lie intreasured. 
Such things become the hatch and brood of time; 
And, by the necessary form of this. 
King Richard might create a perfect guess. 
That great Northumberland, then false to him. 
Would, of tliat seed, grow to a greater falseness. 
Which should not find a ground to root upon, 
Unless on you. 

K. Hen. Are these things, then, necessities? 

Then let us meet tiicm like necessities ; 
And that same word even now cries out on us. 
They say, the bishop and Northumberland 



> The rest of the gpeech is not in the folio. 
*Warburton suggested : happy, lowly clown. 



Dyce says, "She comes blubbered," is a sta^e direction. 3 the ; 
<• This sentence, beginning with, "Oh, if " is not in the folio. 



in f. e. ' clonds : in f. e. 



390 



SECOND PAET OF 



ACT in. 



Are fifty thousand strong. 

War. It cannot be, my lord : 

Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, 
The numbers of the fear'd. — Please it your grace, 
To go to bed ; upon my soul, my lord. 
The powers that you already have sent forth, 
Shall bring this prize in very easily. 
To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd 
A certain instance that Glendowcr is dead. 
Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill. 
And these unseason'd hours, perforce, must add 
Unto your sickness. 

K. Hen. I will take your counsel : 

And were these inward wars once out of hand, 
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Court before Justice Shallow's House 

in Gloucestershire. 
Enter Shallow and Silence, meeting ; Mouldy, Sha- 
dow, Wart, Feeble, Bull-calf, and Servants, be- 
hind. 

Shal. Come on, come on, come on, sir; give me your 
hand, sir, give me your hand, sir : an early stirrer, by 
the rood. And how doth my good cousin Silence ? 

Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. 

Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow ? and 
your fairest daughter and mine, my god-daughter Ellen? 

Sil. Alas ! a black ouzel, cousin Shallow. 

Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin 
William is become a good scholar. He is at Oxford, 
still, is he not? 

Sil. Indeed, sir ; to my cost. 

Shal. He must then to the inns of court shortly. I 
was once of Clement's inn; where, I think, they will 
talk of mad Shallow yet. 

Sil. You were called lusty Shallow then, cousin. 

Shal. By the mass, I was called any thing ; and I 
would have done any thing, indeed, and roundly too. 
There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and 
black George Barnes, and Francis Pickbone, and Will 
Squclc, a Cotswold man; you had not four such 
swingebucklers in all the inns of court again ; and, I 
may say to you, we knew where the bona-robas were, 
and had the best of them all at commandment. Then 
was Jack Falstaff, now sir John, a boy, and page to 
Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk.* 

Sil. This sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon 
about soldiers ? 

Shal. The same sir John, the very same. I saw him 
break Skogan's'^head at the court gate, when he was a 
crack not thus high: and the very same day did I 
fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind 
Gray's-inn. Jesu ! Jesu ! the mad days that I have 
spent ! and to see how many of mine old acquaintance 
are dead ! 

Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. 



Shal. 



death, as 
die. 



Certain, 't is 



certam ; very sure, very sure : 

the Psalmist saith, is certain to all ; all 

How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford 



shall 
fair ? 

Sil. Truly, cousin, I was not there. 

Shal. Death is certain. — Is old Double of your town 
living yet? 

Sil. Dead, sir. 

Shal. Jesu ! Jesu ! Dead ! — he drew a good bow ; 
— and dead ! — ^he shot a fine shoot : — John of Gaunt 
loved him well, and betted much money on his head. 



Dead ! — he would have clapped in the clout at twelve 
score^ ; and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and 
fourteen and a half, that it would have done a mans 
heart good to see. — How a score of ewes now ? 

Sil. Thereafter as they be ; a score of good ewes 
may be worth ten pounds. 

Shal. And is old Double dead ! 

Enter Bardolph. a7id one with him. 

Sil. Here come two of sir John Falstaff^'s men, as I 
think. 

Shal. Good morrow, honest gentlemen. 

Bard. I beseech you. which is justice Shallow ? 

Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir ; a poor esquire of 
this county, and one of the king's justices of the 
peace. What is yoixr good pleasure with me ? 

Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to you ; my 
captain, sir John FalstaflT: a tall gentleman, by heaven, 
and a most gallant leader. 

Shal. He greets me well, sir: I knew him a good 
backsword man. How doth the good knight ? may I 
ask, how my lady his wife doth ? 

Bard. Sir, pardon ; a soldier is better accommodated 
than with a wife. 

Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir ; and it is well said 
indeed too. Better accommodated ! — it is good ; yea, 
indeed, is it : good phrases are surely, and ever were,* 
very commendable. Accommodated : — it comes of 
accommodo : very good ; a good phrase. 

Bard. Pardon me, sir; I have heard the word. 
Phrase, call you it ? By this good* day, I know not 
the phrase : but I will maintain tlie word with my 
sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word of ex- 
ceeding good command, by heaven. Accommodated ; 
that is, when a man is, as they say, accommodated ; 
a man is, — being, — whereby, — he may be 



or, when 



thought to be accommodated, which is an excellent 
thing. 



Enter Falstaff. 
Shal. It is very just. — Look, here 



John. — Give me your 
'" "ood hand 



comes good sir 



good hand, give me your wor- 
ship's good hand. By my troth, you like* well, and 
bear your years very well : welcome, good sir John. 

Fal. I am glad to see you well, good master Robert 
Shallow. — Master Sure-card, as I think. 

Shal. No, sir John ; it is my cousin Silence, in com- 
mission with me. 

Fal. Good master Silence, it well befits you should 
be of the peace. 

Sil. Your good worship is welcome. 

Fal. Fie ! this is hot weather. — Gentlemen, have you 
provided me here half a dozen sufficient men ? 

Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit ? 

Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. 

Shal. Where 's the roll? where 's the roll? where 's 
the roll ? — Let me see, let me see : so, so, so. so. Yea, 
marry, sir. — Ralph Mouldy ! — let them appear as I 
call ; let them do so, let them do so. — Let me see ; 
where is Mouldy ? 

Moul. Here, an it please you. 

Shal. What think you, sir John ? a good limbed 
fellow : young, strong, and of good friends. 

Fal. Is thy name Mouldy ? 

Moul. Yea, an it please you. 

Fal. 'T is the more time thou wert used. 

Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! most excellent, i' faith ! things 
that are mouldy lack use : very singular good ! — In 
faith, well said, sir John ; very well said. 



' This pELSsage is cited to prove the identity of Falstaff with Sir John Oldcastle — the latter having- heen page to Mowbray. 2 The name 
of a jester. " Scogan's Jests," was a popular book in Shakespeare's time. ^ Hit the pin which held up the target, at twelve score paces. 
♦ everywhere : in folio. * Not in folio. * look : in folio. 



SCENE II. 



KING HENRY lY. 



391 



Fal. Prick him. [To Shallow. 

Moid. I was pi'icked well enough before, an you 
could have let me alone : my old dame will be undone 
now, for one to do her husbandry, and her drudgery. 
You need not to have pricked me • there are other men 
fitter to go out than I. 

Fal. Go to ; peace, Mouldy ! you shall go. Mouldy, 
it is time you were spent. 

Moid. Spent ! 

Shal. Peace, fellow, peace ! stand aside : know you 
where you are? — For the other, sir John : — let me see. 
— Simon Shadow ! 

Fal. Yea marry, let me have him to sit under : he 's 
like to be a cold soldier. 

Shal Where 's Shadow ? 

Skad. Here, sir, 

Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou ? 

Shad. My mother's son, sir. 

Fed. Thy mother's son ! like enough ; and thy fa- 
ther's shadow: so the son of the female is the shadow 
of the male. It is often so, indeed ; but not of the fa- 
ther's substance. 

Shal. Do you like him, sir John ? 

Fat. Shadow will serve for summer, prick him ■; for 
we liave a number of shadows to fill up the raustei'-book. 

Shal. Thomas Wart ! 

Fal. Where 's he ? 

JVart. Here, sir. 

Fal. Is thy name Wart ? 

Wart. Yea, sir. 

Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart. 

Sfiol. Shall I prick him, sir John ? 

Fal. It were superfluous ; for his apparel is built 
upon his back, and the whole frame stands upon pins : 
prick him no more. 

Shal. Ha, ha. ha ! — you can do it, sir ; you can do 
it : I commend you well. — Francis Feeble ! 

Fee. Here, sir. 

Fal. What trade art thou, Feeble ? 

Fee. A woman's tailor, sir. 

Shal. Shall I prick him, sir? 

Fal. You may ; but if he had been a man's tailor, he 
would have pricked you. — Wilt thou make as many 
holes in an enemy's battle, as thou hast done in a wo- 
man's petticoat ? 

Fee. I will do my good will, sir: you can have no 
more. 

Fal. Well said, good woman's tailor ! well said, 
courageous Feeble ! Thou wilt be as valiant as the 
wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse. — Prick 
the woman's tailor well, master Shallow j deep master 
Shallow. 

Fee. I would Wart might have gone, sir. 

Fal. I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou 
mightst mend him, and make him fit to go. I cannot 
put him to a private soldier, that is the leader of so 
many thousands : let that suflice, most forcible Feeble. 

Fee. It shall suffice, sir. 

Fal. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. — Who is 
next ? 

Slud. Peter Bull-calf of the green ! 

Fal. Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf. 

Jhdl. Here, sir. 

Fal. 'Fore God, a likely fellow ! — Come, prick me 
Bull-calf till he roar again. 

Ihdl. lord ! good my lord captain, — 

Fal. What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked? 

Bull. Lord ! sir. I am a diseased man. 

Fal. What disease hast thou ? 

1 Abide. 



Bull. A whoreson cold, sir; a cough, 



sir; which I 



caught with ringing in the king's affairs upon his coro- 
nation day, sir. 

Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. 
We will have away thy cold ; and I will take such 
order, that thy friends shall ring for thee. — Is here all? 



than your number ; 
-and so, I pray you, 



Shal. Here is two more called 
you must have but four here, sir : 
go in with me to dinner. 

Fal. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot 
tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, mas- 
ter Shallow. 

Slml. 0, sir John ! do you remember since we lay 
all night in the windmill in Saint George's fields ? 

master Shallow ; no 



good 



Fal. No more of that, 
more of that. 

Shal. Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jane Night- 
work alive ? 

Fal. She lives, master Shallow. 

Shal. She never could away with me.^ 

Fal. Never, never : she would always say, she could 
not abide master Shallow. 

Shal. By the mass, I cculd 



anger her to the heart. 



She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her ovm 
well ? 

Fal. Old, old, master Shallow. 

Shal. Nay, she must be old ; she 



be old ; certain she 's old. and had 



cannot choose but 
Robin Night-work 



We have heard the chimes at midnight, master 



by old Night- work, before I came to Clement's-inn. 

Sil. That 's fifty-five year ago. 

Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that 
that this knight and I have seen ! — Ha, sir John, said 
I well ? 

Fal 
Shallow. 

Shal. That we have, that we have, that we have ; in 
faith, sir John, we have. Our watch- word was, '' Hem, 
boys !" — Come, let 's to dinner ; come, let 's to dimier. 
— ^0, the days that we have seen ! — Come, come. 

[Exeunt Falstaff, Shallow, and Silenck. 

Bidl. Good master corporate Bardolpli, stand my 
friend, and here is four Harry ten shillings in Frencli 
crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief be 
hanged, sir, as go : and yet, for mine own part, sir, I 
do not care; but rather, because I am unwilling, and, 
for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my 
friends : else, sir, I did not care, for mine own part, so 
much. 

Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 

Moid. And good master corporal captain, for my old 
dame's sake, stand my friend : she has nobody to do 
any thing about her, when I am gone ; and she is old, 
and cannot help herself. You shall have forty, sir. 

Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 

Fee. By my troth, I care not ; a man can die but 
once ; — we owe God a death, t '11 ne'er bear a base 
mind : — an 't be my destiny, so ; an 't be not, so. No 
man 's too good to serve his prince : and let it go which 
way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the next. 

Bard. Well said ; thou art a good fellow. 

Fee. 'Faith, I '11 bear no base mind. 

Re-enter Falstaff, and Justices. 

Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have ? 

Shal. Four, of which you please. 

Bard. Sir, a word with you. — I have three pound to 
frf e Mouldy and Bull-calf. 

Fal. Go to ; well. 

Shal. Come, sir John, which four will you have ? 

Fal. Do you choose for me. 



392 



SECOND PAET OF 



ACT IV. 



Shal. Marry then, — Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble, and 
Shadow. 

Fal. Mouldy, and Bull-calf. — For you, Mouldy, stay 
at home till you are past service : — and, for your part, 
Bull-calf, grow till you come unto it : I will none of 
you. 

Shal. Sir John, sir John, do not yourself wrong. 
They are your likeliest men, and I would have you 
served with the best. 

Fal. Will you tell me, master Shallow, how to 
choose a man? Care I for the limb, the thewes, the 
stature, bulk and big assemblance of a man? Give 
me the spirit, master Shallow. — Here 's Wart : — you 
see what a ragged appearance it is : he shall charge 
you, and discharge you, with the motion of a pewterer's 
hammer ; come off, and on, swifter than he that gib- 
bets-on the brewer's bucket. And this same half-faced 
fellow. Shadow, — give me this man : he presents no 
mark to the enemy ; the foeman may with as great aim 
level at the edge of a penknife. And, for a retreat, — 
how swiftly will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run 
off? 0, give me the spare men, and spare me the great 
ones. — Put me a calivei^ into Wart's hand, Bardolph. 

Bard. Hold, Wart : traverse : thus, thus, thus. 

Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So : — very 
well : — go to : — very good : — exceeding good. — 0, give 
me always a little, lean, old, chapped, bald shot. — 
Well said, i' faith, Wart: thou 'rt a good scab j hold, 
there 's a tester for thee. 

Shal. He is not his craft's master, he doth not do it 
right. I remember at Mile-end green, (when I lay at 
Clement's inn) I was then sir Dagonet in Arthur's 
show^, there was a little quiver fellow, and he would 
manage you his piece thus : and he would about, and 
about, and come you in, and come you in : " rah, tah, 
tah," would he say; " bounce," would he say; and 
away again would he go, and again would he come. — 
I shall never see such a fellow. 

Fal. These fellows will do well, master Shallow. — 
God keep you, master Silence : I will not use many 
words with you. — Fare you well, gentlemen both : I 
thank you : I must a dozen mile to-night. — Bardolph, 
give the soldiers coats. 



Shal. Sir John, the Lord bless you, and God prosper 
your affairs, and send us peace. At^ your return, visit 
our* house. Let our old acquaintance be renewed: 
per ad venture. I will with you to the court. 

Fal. 'Fore God, I would you would. 

Shal. Go to; I have spoke at a word. Fare you 
well. [Exeunt Shallow and Silence. 

Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bar- 
dolph ; lead the men away. [Exeunt Bardolph, Re- 
cniits, Sfc] As I return, I will fetch off these jus- 
tices : I do see the bottom of justice Shallow. Lord, 
lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying ! 
This same starved justice hath done nothing but prate 
to me of the wildness of his youth, and the feats he 
hath done about Turnbull-street ; and every third word 
a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. 
I do remember him at Clement's-inn, like a man made 
after supper of a cheese-paring : when he was naked, 
he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a 
head fantastically carved upon it with a knife : he was 
so forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick sight were 
invisible^ ; he was the very genius of famine^ : yet 
lecherous as a monkey, and the whores called him — 
mandrake. He came ever in the rear- ward of the 
fashion' : and sung those tunes to the over-scutched* 
huswives that he heard the carmen whistle, and sware 
— they were his fancies, or his good-nights'. And 
now is this Vice's dagger^" become a squire, and talks 
as familiarly of John of Gaunt, as if he had been sworn 
brother to him : and I '11 be sworn he never saw him 
but once in the Tilt-yard, and then he burst" his head, 
for crowding among the marshal's men. I saw it; and 
told John of Gaunt, he beat his own name : for you 
might have thrust'" him, and all his apparel, into an 
eel-skin : the case of a treble hautboy was a mansion 
for him, a court ; and now has he land and beeves. 
Well, I will be acquainted with him, if I return ; and 
if shall go hard, but I will make him a philosopher's 
two stones to me. If the young dace be a bait for the 
old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature but I 
may snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end. 

[Exit. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE L— A Forest in Yorkshire. 
Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, Hastings, 
a7id Others. 
Arch. What is this forest call'd ? 
Hast. 'T is Gaultree forest, an 't shall please your 

grace. 
Arch. Here stand, my lords ; and send discoverers 
forth, 
To know the numbers of our enemies. 
Hast. We have sent forth already. 
Arch. 'T is well done. — 

My friends and brethren in these great affairs, 
I must acquaint you, that I have receiv'd 
New-dated letters from Northumberland ; 
Their cold intent, tenour and sub.stance, thus : — 
Here doth he wish his person, with such powers • 



As might hold sortance with his quality, 
The which he could not levy ; whereupon 
He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes. 
To Scotland ; and concludes in hearty prayers. 
That your attempts may overlive the hazard. 
And fearful meeting of their opposite. 

Moivb. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch 
ground, 
And dash themselves to pieces. 

Filter a Messenger. 

Hast. Now, what news ? 

Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, 
In goodly form- comes on the enemy : 
And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number 
Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand. 

Mowb. The just proportion that we gave them out. 
Let 's away" on, and face them in the field. 



- A hand-gun. 'An exhibition of archery at Mile-erjd green, -where the archers assumed the characters of King Arthur's round-table. 
Sir Dagonet was the fool or bufi'oon of Arthur's court. ^ ^s : in folio. * my : in folio. ' invincible : in f. e. Many mod. eds. read 
as in the text. 'The rest of the .sentence ending, "mandrake," is not in the folio. ''The rest of the sentence is not in the folio. 
» Scotched, cvt and slashed by the beadle's whip. ^ Small lyrical pieces, for the voice. i" The Vice, a character of the early English 
drama, resembling a harlequin, was armed with a dagger of lath. i' Broke. ^^ trussed : in folio, i' Let us sway : in f. e. 



SOEKE I. 



KING HENRY lY. 



393 



Enter Westmoreland. 

Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us here ? 

Mowb. I think it is my lord of Westmoreland. 

West. Health and fair greeting from our general, 
The prince, lord John and duke of Lancaster. 

Arch. Say on. my lord of Westmoreland, in peace, 
What doth concern your coming ? 

West. Then, my lord', 

Unto your grace do I in chief address 
The substance of my speech. If that rebellion 
Came like itself, in base and abject routs, 
Led on by bloody youth, guarded^ with rags^, 
And countenanc'd by boys, and beggary ; 
I say, if darnn'd commotion so appear'd. 
In his true, native, and most proper shape, 
You, reverend father, and these noble lords, 
Had not been here, to dress the ugly form 
Of base and bloody insurrection 
With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop, 
Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd ; 
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd ; 
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd ; 
Whose white investments* figure innocence, 
The dove and very blessed spirit of peace. 
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself, 
Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace. 
Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war ? 
Turning your books to glaives'^, your ink to blood. 
Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine 
To a loud trumpet, and report* of war ? 

Arch. Wherefore do I this ? — so the question stands; 
Briefly to this end. — We are all diseas'd ; 
And, with our surfeiting, and wanton hours', 
Have brought ourselves into a burning fever. 
And we must bleed for it : of which disease 
Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. 
But, my most noble lord of Westmoreland, 
I take not on me here as a physician. 
Nor do I, as an enemy to peace. 
Troop in the throngs of military men ; 
But, rather, show a while like fearful war. 
To diet rank minds, sick of happiness, 
And purge th' obstructions, which begin to stop 
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. 
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd 
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer. 
And find our griefs heavier than our offences. 
We see which way the stream of time doth run, 
And are enforc'd from our most quiet chair" 
By the rough torrent of occasion ; 
And have the summary of all our griefs. 
When time shall serve, to show in articles. 
Which, long ere this, we offer'd to the king, 
And might by no suit gain an audience. 
When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs. 
We are denied access unto his person, 
Even by those men that most have done us wrong. 
The dangers of the days but newly gone, 
Whose memory is written on the earth 
With yet appearing blood, and the examples 
Of every minute's instance, present now. 
Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms, 
Not to break peace, or any branch of it, 
But to establish here a peace indeed, 
Concurring both in name and quality. 

West. When ever yet was your appeal denied ? 



Wherein have you been galled by the king? 
What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you. 
That you should seal this lawless bloody book 
Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine. 
And consecrate commotion's bitter edge ?' 

Arch. My brother general, the commonwealth, 
To brother born an household cruelty'" 
I make my quarrel in particular. 

West. There is no need of any such redress ; 
Or. if there were, it not belongs to you. 

Mowb. Why not to him, in part, and to us all, 
That feel the bruises of the days before. 
And suffer the condition of these times 
To lay a heavy and unequal hand 
Upon our honours ? 

West. ! my good lord Mowbray," 

Construe the times to their necessities, 
And you shall say indeed, it is the time, 
And not the king, that doth yoii injuries. 
Yet, for your part, it not appears to me, 
Either from the king, or in the present time, 
That you should have an inch of any ground 
To build a grief on. Were you not restor'd 
To all the duke of Norfolk's signiorics, 
Your noble and right- well-remember'd father's ? 

Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my father lost, 
That need to be reviv'd, and breath'd in me ? 
The king that lov'd him, as the state stood then. 
Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him : 
And when that Harry Bolingbroke, and he, 
Being mounted, and both roused in their seats. 
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur. 
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down. 
Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel. 
And the loud trumpet blowing them together ; 
Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay'd 
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, 
! when the king did throw his warder down, 
His own life hung upon the staff he threw : 
Then threw he down himself, and all their lives, 
That, by indictment, and by dint of sword, 
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. 

West. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know 
not what. 
The earl of Hereford was reputed, then, 
In England the most valiant gentleman : 
Who knows, on whom fortune would then have smil'd? 
But if your father had been victor there, 
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry ; 
For all the country, in a general voice, 
Cried hate upon him ; and all their prayers, and love, 
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on. 
And bless'd, and grac'd, indeed, more than the king. 
But this is mere digression from my purpose. 
Here come I from our princely general. 
To know your griefs ; to tell you from his grace, 
That he will give you audience ; and wherein 
It shall appear that yovir demands are just. 
You shall enjoy them ; every thing set off. 
That might so much as think you enemies. 

Mowb. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer, 
And it proceeds from policy, not love. 

West. Mowbray, you overween, to take it so. 
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear ; 
For, lo ! within a ken our army lies. 
Upon mine honour, all too confident 



» Then, my lord : not in qiiarto. » Bordered. ' rage : in f. p. ♦ White linen was the ordinarr, as -wrell as official dress, of a bishop. 
8 praves : in f. e. « a point : in f. e. ' This and the twenty-four following lines, are not in the quarto. 8 sphere : in f. e. Altered by 
W'arburton, from "there" in the folio. » lO These lines are not in the folio. '' This and the thirty-six following lines, are not in tho 
quarto. 



894 



SECOND PAET OF 



ACT IV. 



To give admittance to a thought of fear. 
Our battle is more full of names than yours, 
Our men more perfect in the use of arms, 
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best : 
Then, reason will our hearts should be as good ; 
Say you not, then, our offer is comiiell'd. 

Mowb. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley. 

West. That argues but the shame of your offence : 
A rotten case abides no handling. 

Hast. Hath the prince John a full commission, 
In very ample virtue of his father. 
To hear, and absolutely to determine 
Of what conditions we shall stand upon ? 

West That is intended in the general's name. 
I muse you make so slight a question. 

Arch. Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, this 
schedule, 
For this contains our general grievances : 
Each several article herein redressed ; 
All members of our cause, both here and hence, 
That are insinew'd to this action. 
Acquitted by a true substantial form ; 
And present execution of our wills 
To us, and to our purposes, confin'd :' 
We come within our awful banks again, 
And knit our powers to the arm of peace. 

If e.sf. This will I show the general. Please you, 
lords, 
In sight of both our battles we may meet : 
And either end in peace, which God so frame, 
Or to the place of difference call the swords 
Which must decide it. 

Arch. My lord, we will do so. [Exit West. 

Moivb. There is a thing within my bosom tells me, 
That no conditions of our peace can stand. 

Hast. Fear you not that : if we can make our peace 
Upon such large terms, and so absolute, 
As our conditions shall consist upon, 
Our peace sliall stand as firm as rocky mountains. 

Mowb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such. 
That every slight and false-derived cause. 
Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason, 
Shall to the king taste of this action : 
That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love, 
We shall be wdmiow'd with so rough a wind, 
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff, 
And good from bad find no partition. 

Arch. No, no, my lord. Note this, — the king is 
weary 
Of dainty and such picking grievances : 
For he hath found, to end one doubt by death 
Revives two greater in the heirs of life. 
And therefore will he wipe his tables clean, 
And keep no tell-tale to his memory. 
That may repeat and history his loss 
To new remembrance. For full well he knows, 
He cannot so precisely weed this land, 
As his misdoubts present occasion : 
His foes are so enrooted with his friends. 
That, plucking to unfix an enemy, 
He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend. 
So that this land, like an offensive wife, 
That hath enrag'd her man° to offer strokes, 
As he is striking, holds his infant up, 
And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm 
That was uprear'd to execution. 

Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods 
On late offenders, that he now doth lack 
The very instruments of chastisement ; 



So that his power, like to a fangless lion, 
May offer, but not hold. 

Arch. 'T is very true : 

And therefore be assur'd, my good lord marshal, 
If we do now make our atonement well. 
Our peace will, like a broken limb united, 
Grow stronger for the breaking. 

Mowb. Be it so. 

Here is return'd my lord of Westmoreland. 
Re-enter Westmoreland. 
West. The prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your 
lordship. 
To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies ? 
Mowb. Your grace of York, in God's name then, set 

forward. 
Arch. Before, and greet his grace, my lord : we 
come. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Another Part of the Forest. 

Enter., from one side., Mowbray, the Archbishop, Hast- 
ings, and Others : from the other side., Prince John 
of Lancaster, Westmoreland, Officers and Attend- 
ants. 

P. John. You are well encounter'd here, my cousin 
Mowbray. — 
Good day to you. gentle lord archbishop ; 
And so to you, lord Hastings, — and to all. — 
My lord of York, it better show'd with you, 
When that your flock, assembled by the bell, 
Encircled you to hear with reverence 
Your exposition on the holy text, 
Than now to see you here an iron man. 
Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum. 
Turning the word to sword, and life to death. 
That man, that sits within a monarch's heart. 
And ripens in the sunshine of his favour, 
Would he abuse the countenance of the king. 
Alack ! what mischiefs might be set abroach. 
In shadow of such greatness. With you, lord bishop. 
It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken, 
How deep you were within the books of God ? 
To us, the speaker in his parliament ; 
To us, th' imagin'd voice of God himself; 
The very opener and intelligencer, 
Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven. 
And our dull workings : O ! who shall believe, 
But you misuse the reverence of your place, 
Employ the countenance and grace of heaven. 
As a false favourite doth his prince's name. 
In deeds dishonourable ? You have taken up. 
Under the counterfeited seaP of God, 
The subjects of his substitute, my father ; 
And, both against the peace of heaven and him. 
Have here up-swarm'd them. 

Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster, 

I am not here against your father's peace ; 
But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland, 
The time misorder'd doth, in common sense. 
Crowd us, and crush us to this monstrous form 
To hold our safety up. I sent your grace 
The parcels and particulars of our griefs ; 
The which have been with scorn shov'd from the court, 
Whereon this Hydra-son of war is born ; 
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep, 
With grant of our most just and right desires. 
And true obedience, of this madness cur'd. 
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. 

Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes 
To the last man. 



* Malonc, and most mod. eds. read : consign'd. * enrag'd him on : in f. e. ' zeal : in f. e. 



SCENE III. 



KING HENET W. 



895 



Hast. 



And though we here fall down, 



We have supplies to second our attempt ; 
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them ; 
And so success of mischief shall be born, 
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up, 
Whiles England shall have generation. 

P. John. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too 
shallow. 
To sound the bottom of the after- times. 

West. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them directly, 
How far-forth you do like their articles. 

P. John. I like them all, and do allow them well : 
And swear, here, by the honour of my blood,- 
My father's purposes have been mistook ; 
And some about him have too lavishly 
Wrested his meaning, and authority. — 
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd • 
Upon my sovil. they shall. If this may please you, 
Dihcliarge your powers unto their several counties, 
As we will ours ; and here, between the armies, 
Let 's drink together friendly, and embrace, 
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home 
Of our restored love, and amity. 

Arch. I take your princely word for these redresses. 

P. John. I give it you, and will maintain my 
And thereupon I drink unto your grace. [word : 

Hast. Go, captain, [7b an Officer^ and deliver to the 
army 
This news of peace : let them have pay, and part. 
I know, it will please them : hie thee, captain. 

[Exit Officer. 

Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland. 

[Drinhs.^ 

West. I pledge your grace : [Dn'nis.'] and, if you 
knew what pains 
I have bestow' d to breed this present peace, 
You would drink freely ; but my love to you 
Shall show itself more openly hereafter. 

Arch. I do not doubt you. 

West. I am glad of it. — 

Health to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray. 

[Drinks.^ 

Mowb. You wish me health in very happy season ; 
For I am, on the sudden, something ill. 

Arch. Against ill chances men are ever merry. 
But heaviness foreruns the good event. 

West. Therefore be merry, coz ; since sudden sorrow 
Serves to say thus, — some good thing comes to-mor- 
row. 

Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. 

Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule be true. 

[Shouts within. 

P. John. The word of peace is render'd. Hark, how 
they shout ! 

Mon'b. This had been cheerful, after victory. 

Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest, 
For then both parties nobly are subdued. 
And neither party loser. 

P. John. Go, my lord. 

And let our army be discharged too. — 

[Exit Westmoreland. 
And, good my lord, so please you, let your trains 
March by us, that we may peruse the men 
We should have cop'd withal. 

Arch. Go, good lord Hastings ; 

And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. 

[Exit Hastings. 

P. John. I trust, lords, we sliall lie to-night to- 
gether. — 

12 5 Not in f. e. * In the folio, this line has only : Our army is dispers'd. SThe rest of the line is not in the quarto. * '' place : in f. e. 



Re-enter Westmoreland. 
Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still ? 

West. The leaders having charge from you to stand, 
Will not go off until they hear you speak. 

P. John. They know their duties. 
Re-enter Hastings. 

Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already,* 
Like youthful steers uuyok'd, they take their courses 
East, west, north, south ; or, like a school broke up. 
Each hurries towards his home and sporting-place. 

West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings ; for the which 
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason : — 
And you, lord archbishop, — and you, lord Mowbray ; 
Of capital treason I attach yovi both. 

Mowb. Is this proceeding just and honourable ? 

West. Is your assembly so ? 

Arch. Will you thus break your faith ? 

P. John. I pawn'd thee none. 

I promis'd you redress of these same grievances. 
Whereof you did complain ; which, by mine honour, 
I will perform with a most christian care. 
But, for you, rebels, look to taste the due 
Meet for rebellion.^ and such acts as yours. 
Most shallowly did you these anns commence. 
Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence. — 
Strike up our drums ! pursue the scatter'd stray; 
Heaven, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. — 
Some guard these traitors to the block of death : 
Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Another Part of the Forest. 

Alarums: Excursions. £"??/«/• Falstaff ancZ Colevile, 

meeting. 

Fal. What 's your name, sir ? of what condition are 
you ; and of what place, I pray ? 

Cole. I am a knight, sir ; and my name is Colevile 
of the dale. 

Fal. Well then, Colevile is your name, a knight is 
yovir degree, and your place, the dale : Colevile shall 
still be your name, a traitor your degree, and the dun- 
geon your dale', — a dale' deep enough; so shall you 
be still Colevile of the dale. 

Cole. Are not you sir John Falstaff? 

Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do 
ye yield, sir, or shall I sweat for you ? If I do sweat, 
they are the drops of thy lovers, and they weep for 
thy death : therefore, rouse up fear and trembling, and 
do observ'ance to my mercy. 

Cole. I think, you are sir John Falstaff, and in that 
thought yield me. 

Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly 
of mine, and not a tongue of them all speaks any other 
word but my name. An I had but a belly of any 
indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow iu 
Europe : my womb, my womb, my womb undoes me. 
— Here comes our general. 
Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Westmoreland, 
and Others. 

P. John. The heat is past, follow no farther now. — 
Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. — 

[Exit West. 
Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this wliile ? 
When every thing is ended, then you come : 
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, 
One time or other break some gallows' back. 

Ful. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be 
thus : I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was 
the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, 
an arrow, or a bullet ? have I, in my poor and old 



396 



SECOND PART OF 



ACT IV. 



motion, the expedition of thought ? I have speeded 
hither with the very extremcst inch of possibility : I 
have foundered nine-score and odd posts ; and here, 
travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and immacu- 
late valour, taken sir John Colevile of the dale, a most 
furious knight, and valorous enemy. But what of that? 
he saw me, and yielded ; that I may justly say with 
the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, I came, saw, and over- 
came. 

P. John. It was more of his courtesy than your 
deserving. 

Fed. I know not : here he is, and here I yield him. 
and I beseech your grace, let it be booked with the 
rest of this day's deeds ; or, by the lord, I will have it 
in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on 
the top of it, Colevile kissing my foot. To the which 
course if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt 
two-pcnces to me, and I, in the clear sky of fame, 
o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cin- 
ders of the element, which show like pins' heads to her, 
believe not the word of the noble. Therefore let me 
have right, and let desert mount. 

P. John. Thine 's too heavy to mount. 

Fal. Let it shine then. 

P. John. Thine 's too thick to shine. 

Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that may 
do me good, and call it what you will. 

P. John. Is thy name Colevile ? 

Col. It is, my lord. 

P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. 

Fal. And a famous true subject took him. 

Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are. 
That led me hither : had they been rul'd by me. 
You should have won them dearer than you have. 

Fal. I know not how they sold themselves, but thou, 
like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis' ; and I 
thank thee for thee. 

Re-enter Westmoreland. 

P. John. Now, have you left pursuit? 

We.st. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. 

P. John. Send Colevile, with his confederates, 
To York, to present execution. — 
Blunt, lead him hence, and see you guard him sure. 

[Exit Colevile, guarded. 
And now despatch we toward the court, my lords. 
I hear, the king my father is sore sick : 
Our news shall go before us to his majesty, — 
Which, cousin, you shall bear, — to comfort him; 
And we with sober speed will follow you. 

Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go 
through Glostershire ; and, when you come to court, 
stand my good lord, pray, in your good report. 

P. John. Fare you well, Falstaff: I, in my condi- 
tion. 
Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit. 

Fal. I would, you had but the wit : 't were better 
than your dukedom.— Good faith, this same young 
sober-blooded boy doth not love me, nor a man cannot 
make him laugh ; but that 's no marvel, he drinks no 
wine. There 's never any of these demure boys come 
to any proof, for thin drink doth so over-cool their 
blood, and making many fish-meals, that they fall into 
a kind of male green-sickness : and then, when they 
marry, they get wenches. They are generally fools and 
cowards, which some of us should be too, but for 
inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a' two-fold 
operation in it : it ascends me into the brain ; dries me 
there all the foolish, and dull, and cruddy vapours which 
environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive. 

> 2 Not in the folio. 3 Ready. 



full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes : which, de- 
liver'd o'er to the voice, (the tongue) which is the 
birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of 
your excellent sherris is, the warming of the blood ; 
which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and 
pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice: 
but the sherris warms it, and makes it course from the 
inwards to the parts extreme. It illumineth the face, 
which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of 
this little kingdom, man, to arm : and then the vital 
commoners, and inland petty spirits, muster me all to 
their captain, the heart, who, great, and puffed up 
with this retinue, doth any deed of courage ; and this 
valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the weapon 
is nothing without sack, for that sets it a- work ; and 
learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil, till 
sack commences it, and sets it in act and use. Hereof 
comes it, that prince Harry is valiant ; for'the cold 
blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, 
like lean, sterile, and bare land, manured, husbanded, 
and tilled, with excellent endeavour of drinking good, 
and good store of fertile sherris, that he is become very 
hot, and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first 
human^ principle I would teach them should be, to for- 
swear thin potations, and to addict themselves to sack. 

Enter Bardolph. 
How now, Bardolph ? 

Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone. 

Fal. Let them go. I '11 through Glostershire ; and 
there will T visit master Robert Shallow, esquire : I 
have him already tempering between my finger and 
my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come 
away. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Westminster. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, Clarence, Prince Humphrey, 

Warwick, and Others. 

K. Hen. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end 
To this debate that bleedeth at our doors. 
We will our youth lead on to higher fields. 
And draw no swords but what are sanctified. 
Our navy is address' d'', our power collected, 
Our substitutes in absence, well invested. 
And every thing lies level to our wish : 
Only, we want a little personal strength. 
And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot, 
Come underneath the yoke of government. 

War. Both which, we doubt not but your majesty 
Shall soon enjoy. 

K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Gloster, 

Where is the prince your brother ? 

P. Humph. I think, he 's gone to hunt, my lord, at 
Windsor. 

K. Hen. And how accompanied ? 

P. Humph. I do not know, my lord. 

K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with 
him? 

P. Humph. No, my good lord : he is in presence here. 

Cla. What would my lord and father ? 

K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Cla- 
rence. 
How chance thou art not with the prince thy brother ? 
He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas. 
Thou hast a better place in his affection. 
Than all thy brothers : cherish it, my boy, 
And noble offices thou may'st effect 
Of mediation, after I am dead. 
Between his greatness and thy other brethren. 
Therefore omit him not : blunt not his love, 



SCENE ly. 



IHNG HENRY IV. 



397 



him, 



Nor lose the good advantage of his grace, 

By seeming cold, or careless of his will, 

For he is gracious, if he be observ'd. 

He hath a tear for pity, and a hand 

Open as day for melting charity; 

Yet, notwithstanding, being incens'd, he 's flint, 

As hiunorons as winter, and as sudden 

As flaws' congealed in the spring of day. 

His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd : 

Chide him for faults, and do it reverently 

When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth, 

But, being moody, give him line and scope. 

Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, 

Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas, 

And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, 

A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in, 

Tliat the united vessel of their blood, 

Mingled with venom of suggestion*, 

(As, force perforce, the age will pour it in) 

Shall never leak, though it do work as strong 

As aconitum, or rash gunpowder. 

Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love. 

K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with 
Thomas ? 

Cla. He is not there to-day : he dines in London. 

K. Hen. And how accompanied?^ canst thou tell 
that ? 

Cla. With Poins, and other his continual followers. 

K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds, 
And he, the noble image of my youth, 
Is overspread with them : therefore, my grief 
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death. 
The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape 
In forms imaginary, th' unguided days. 
And rotten times, that you shall look upon 
Wlien I am sleeping with my ancestors. 
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb. 
When rage and hot-blood are his counsellors, 
When means and lavish manners meet together, 
0, with what wings shall his affections fly 
Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay ! 

War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite. 
The prince but studies his companions, 
Like a strange tongue : wherein, to gain the language, 
'T is needful, that the most immodest word 
Be look'd upon, and learn'd ; which once attain'd, 
Your highness knows, comes to no farther use. 



* Make me fearful 



K. Hen. Westmoreland ! thou art a summer bird, 
Wliich ever in the haunch of winter sings 
The lifting up of day. [Enter Harcourt.] Look ! here 's 
more news. 

Har. From enemies heaven keep yo\ir majesty; 
And, when they stand against you, may they fall 
As those that I am come to tell you of. 
The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph, 
With a great power of English, and of Scots, 
Are by the sheriff" of Yorkshire overthrown. 
The manner and rude order of the fight. 
This packet, please it you, contains at large. 

[Giving a packet.'^ 

K. Hen. And whereTore should these good news 
make me sick ? 
Will fortune never come with both hands full. 
But write her fair words still in foulest letters ? 
She either gives a stomach, and no food, — 
Such are the poor, in health ; or else a feast. 
And takes away the stomach, — such are the rich, 
That have abundance, and enjoy it not. 
I should rejoice now at this happy news. 
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy. — 
O me ! come near me; now I am much ill. [Falls back." 

P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty ! 

Cla. O my royal father ! 

West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself: look up ! 

War. Be patient, princes : you do know, these fits 
Are with his highness very ordinary. 
Stand from him, give him air; he '11 straight be well. 

Cla. No, no ; he cannot long hold out these pangs. 
Th' incessant care and labour of his mind 
Hath MTought the mure, that should confine it in. 
So thin, that life looks through, and will break out.'' 

P. Humph. The people fear me f for they do observe 
Uufather'd heirs, and loathly births of nature : 
The seasons change their manners, as the year 
Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over. 

Cla. The river liath thrice flow'd, no ebb between ; 
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, 
Say, it did so, a little time before 
That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. 

Ifar. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. 

P. Humph. This apoplexy will, certain, be his end. 

K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence 
Into some other chamber : softly, pray. 

[Tliey place the King on a Bed in an inner part 
of the room. 
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends ; 
Unless some dull and favourable hand 
Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 

War. Call for the music in the other room. 

K. Hen. Set me the crowai upon my pillow here. 

Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes mvich. 

War. Less noise, less noise ! 

Enter Prince Henry. 

P. Hen. Who saw the duke of Clarence ? 

Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 

P. Hen . How now ! rain within doors, and none abroad ? 
How doth the king ? 

P. Humph. Exceeding ill. 

P. Hen. Heard he the good news yet ? 

Tell it him. 

P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. 

P. Hen. If ho be sick with joy, he will recover 
Without physic. 

a Temptation. 3 The rest of this line is not in the quarto. * » Not in f. e. « Swoons: in f. e. ' Daniel (Civil Wars, 
St. llfi), speaking of the illnes.'; of Henry IV., says : 

Wearing the wall so thin, that now the mind, 

Might well look thorough, and his frailty find. 



But to be knowni, and hated. So, like gross terms, 

The prince will, in the perfectness of time. 

Cast off his followers, and their memory 

Shall as a pattern or a measure live. 

By which his grace must mete the lives of others, 

Turning past evils to advantages. 

K. Hen. 'T is seldom, when the bee doth leave her comb 
In the dead carrion. [Enter Westmoreland.] Who 's 
here ? Westmoreland ? 

We.'^t. Health to my sovereign, and new happiness 
Added to that that I am to deliver ! 
Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand : 
Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all. 
Are brought to the correction of your law. 
There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd. 
But peace puts forth her olive every where. 
The manner how this action hath been borne. 
Here at more leisure may your highness read. 
With every course in his particular. [Giving a paper. '^ 

» Thin ice. 
1595. book III., 



398 



SECOND PART OF 



ACT IV. 



War. Not so much noise, my lords. — Sweet prince, 
speak low ; 
The king your father is dispos'd to sleep. 

Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room. 

War. Will 't please your grace to go along with us ? 

P. Hen. No ; I will sit and watch here by the king. 
[Exeunt, all but Prince Henry. 
Why doth the crown lie there, upon his pillow. 
Being so troublesome a bedfellow ? 
polish'd perturbation ! golden care ! 
That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide 
To many a watchful night, sleep with it now ! 
Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet, 
As he, whose brow with homefj' biggin bound, 
Snores out the watch of night. majesty ! 
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit 
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, 
That scalds with safety. — By his gates of breath 
Tliere lies a downy feather, which stirs not : 
Did he suspire, that light and weightless do\\ni 
Perforce must move. — My gracious lord ! my father ! — 
This sleep is sound indeed ; this is a sleep, 
That from this golden ringoP hath divorc'd 
So many English kings. Thy due from me 
Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood. 
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness. 
Shall, O dear father ! pay thee plenteously : 
My due from thee is this imperial crown, 
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, 
Derives itself to me. — Lo ! here^ it sits, 

[Putting it on his head. 
Which heaven shall guard ; and put the world's whole 

strength 
Into one giant arm, it shall not force 
This lineal honour from me. This from thee 
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. [Exit. 

K. Hen. Warwick ! Gloster ! Clarence ! 
Re-enter Warwick, and the rest. 

Cla. Doth the king call ? 

War. What would your majesty ?^ How fares your 
grace ? 

K. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords? 

Cla. We let the prince, my brother, here, my liege. 
Who undertook to sit and watch by you. 

K. Hen. The prince of Wales? Where is he? let 
me see him : 
He is not here.* 

War. This door is open ; he is gone this way. 

P. Humph. He came not through the chamber where 
we stay'd. 

K. Hen. Where is the crown ? who took it from my 
pillow ? 

War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. 

K. Hen. The prince hath ta'en it hence: — go, seek 
him out. 
Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose 
My sleep my death ? — 
Find him, my lord of Warwick ; chide him hither. 

[Exit Warwick. 
This part of his conjoins with my disease, 
And helps to end me. — See, sons, what things you are ; 
How quickly nature falls into revolt, 
When gold becomes lier object. 
For this the foolish over-careful fathers 
Have broke their sleeps with thoughts. 
Their brains with care, their bones with industry: 
For this they have engrossed and pil'd up 
The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold ; 

' rigol : in f. e. ; the -n'ord means, a circle. 2 -where : in quarto. ^ The rest of the speech is not in the quarto. * This line is not in 
the folio. 5 culling : in folio. « This line is not in the quarto. ' hath : in folio. 8 Ended. 



For this they have been thoughtful to invest 
Their sons with arts, and martial exercises; 
When, like the bee, tolling' from every flower 
The virtuous sweets,' 

Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths wdth honey. 
We bring it to the hive, and like the bees. 
Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste 
Yield his engrossments to the ending father. — 

Re-enter Warwick. 
Now, where is he that will not stay so long. 
Till his friend sickness' hands' determin'd* me ? 

War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room, 
Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks ; 
With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, 
That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood, 
Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife 
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. 

K. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the crov\Ti? 
Re-enter Prince Henry. 
Lo, where he comes. — Come hither to me, Harry. — 
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 

[Exeunt Clarence, Prince Humphrey, Lordsj Sfc. 

P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. 

K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought : 
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. 
Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair. 
That thou wilt needs iiiA'^est thee with mine honours 
Before thy hour be ripe ? foolish youth. 
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee ! 
Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity 
Is held from falling with so weak a wind. 
That it will quickly drop : my day is dim. 
Thou hast storn that, which, after some few hours, 
Were thine without ojfFence, and at my death 
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation : 
Thy life did manifest thou lov'dst me not. 
And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it. 
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, 
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, 
To stab at half an hour of my life. 
What ! canst thou not forbear me half an hour ? 
Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself, 
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear 
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse, 
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head ; 
Only compound me with forgotten dust : 
Give that which gave thee life unto the worms. 
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees ; 
For now a time is come to mock at form. 
Harry the fifth is crown'd ! — Up, vanity ! 
Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, hence ; 
And to the English court assemble now. 
From every region, apes of idleness ! 
Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum : 
Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance. 
Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit 
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ? 
Be happy, he will trouble you no more : 
England shall double gild his treble guilt, 
England shall give him office, honour, might ; 
For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks 
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 
Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent. 
my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! 
When that my care could not withhold thy riots, 
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care ? 
! thou wilt be a wilderness again. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY lY. 



399 



Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitaaits. 

P. Hen. 0, pardon me, my liege ! but for my tears, 

[^lineeling. 
The moist impediments unto my speech, 
I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke, 
Ere you with grief had spoke, and I liad heard 
The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
And He that wears the crown immortally, 
Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more. 
Than as your honour, and as your renown, 
Let me no more from this obedience rise. 
Which my most true and inward duteous spirit 
Teacheth, this prostrate and exterior bending. 
Heaven witness with me, when I here came in, 
And found no course of breath within your majesty, 
How cold it struck my heart ! if I do feign, 

! let me in my present wildness die, 

And never live to show th' incredulous world 
The noble change that I have purposed. 
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead. 
And dead almost, my liege, to think you were, 

1 spake unto the crown, as having sense. 

And thus upbraided it: ''The care on thee depending. 

Hath fed upon the body of my father ; 

Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. 

Other, less fine in carat, is more preciouSj 

Preserving life in medicine potable : 

But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd, 

Hast eat thy bearer up." Thus, my most royal liege, 

Accursing it, I put it on my head ; 

To try with it, as with an enemy 

That had before my face murder'd my father, 

The quarrel of a true inheritor : 

But if it did infect my blood with joy. 

Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride ; 

If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 

Did, with the least affection of a welcome, 

Give entertainment to the weight of it. 

Let God for ever keep it from my head. 

And make me as the poorest vassal is, 

That doth with awe and terror kneel to it ! 

K. Hen. my son !' 
God put it in thy mind to take it hence. 
That thou mightst Avin the more thy father's love, 
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. 
Come hither, Harry ; sit thou by my bed, 
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son. 
By wliat by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways, 
I met this crown ; and I myself know well 
How troublesome it sat upon my head : 
To thee it shall descend with better quiet. 
Better opinion, better confirmation ; 
For all the soil of the achievement goes 
With me into the earth. It seem'd in me. 
But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand, 



And I had many living to upbraid 

My gain of it by their assistances ; 

Which daily grew to quarrel, and to bloodshed, 

Wounding supposed peace. All these bold fears, 

Thou seest, with peril I have an.swered; 

For all my reign hath been but as a scene 

Acting that argument, and now my death 

Changes the mode : for what in me was purchase,^ 

Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort ; 

So, thou the garland wear'st successively. 

Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do, 

Thou art not firm enough ; since griefs are green. 

And all my^ friends, which thou must make thy friends, 

Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out ; 

By whose fell working I was first advanc'd, 

And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 

To be again displac'd. Which to avoid, 

I cut some^ off j and had a purpose now 

To lead out many to the Holy Land, 

Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look 

Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, 

Be it thy course to busy giddy minds 

With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out, 

May waste the memory of the former days. 

More would I, but my lungs are wasted so. 

That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 

How I came by the crown, God, forgive. 

And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! 

P. Hen. My gracious liege,* 
You won it. wore it, kept it, gave it me ; 
Then plain, and right, must my possession be : 
Which, I with more than with a common pain, 
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. 
Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Warwick, Lords, 
and Others. 

K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lan- 
caster. 

P. John. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal 
father ! 

K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace, son 
John : 
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown 
From this bare, wither'd trunk : iipon thy sight, 
My worldly business makes a period. 
Where is my lord of Warwick ? 

P. Hen. My lord of Warwack ! 

K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong 
Unto the lodging v/here I first did swoon ? 

War. 'T is call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. 

K. Hen. Laud be to God ! — even there my life must 
end. 
It hath been prophesied to me many years, 
I should not die but in Jerusalem, 
Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land. — 
But bear me to that chamber ; there I '11 lie : 
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. \Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — Glostershire. A Hall in Shallow's 
House. 

Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolph, and Page. 

Shal. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away to- 
night. — What, Davy. I say ! 



Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shal- 
low. 

Shal. I will not excuse you ; you shall not be ex- 
cused ; excuses shall not be admitted ; there is no 
excuse shall serve; you shall not be excused. — Why, 
Davy ! 



I Not in the quarto. 2 f. e. : purchas'd ; i. e., not obtained by inheritanr.e. ^ thy : In f. e. * them : in f. e, ' This line is not in the 
quarto. 



400 



SECOND PAKT OF 



ACT V. 



Enter Davy. 

Davy. Here, sir. 

Slial. Davy, Davy. Davy, Davy, — let me see, Davy ; 
let me see : — yea, marry, William cook, bid him come 
hither. — Sir John, you shall not be excused. 

Davy. Marry, sir, thus ; those precepts' cannot be 
served : and, again, sir, — shall we sow the headland 
with wheat ? 

Shal. With red. wheat, Davy. But for William 
cook : — are there no young pigeons ? 

Davy. Yes, sir. — Here is, now, the smith's note for 
shoeing, and plough irons. 

Skal. Let it be cast, and paid. — Sir John, you shall 
not be cxeu.sed. 

Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs 
be had: — and. sir, do you mean to stop any of Wil- 
liam's wages, about the sack he lost the other day at 
Hinckley fair ? 

Shal. He shall answer it. — Some pigeons, Davy ; a 
couple of short-legged hens, a joint of mutton, and any 
pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook. 

Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir ? 

Shal. Yea, Davy. I will use him well. A friend 
i' the court is better than a penny in purse. Use his 
men well, Davy, for they are arrant knaves, and will 
backbite. 

Davy. No worse than they are back-bitten^ sir ; for 
they have marvellous foul linen. 

Shal. Well conceited, Davy. About thy business, 
Davy. 

Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William 
Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the hill. 

Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against 
that Visor : that Visor is an arrant knave, on my 
knowledge. 

Davy. I grant your worship, that he is a knave, sir ; 
but yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave should have some 
countenance at his friend's request. An honest man, 
sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave is not. 
I have served your worship truly, sir, this eight years : 
and if I cannot once or twice in a quarter bear out a 
knave against an honest man, I have but a very little 
credit with your worship. The knave is mine honest 
friend, sir ; therefore, I beseech your worship,^ let him 
he countenanced. 

Shal. Go to ; I say, he shall have no WTong. Look 
about, Davy. [Exit Davy.] Where are you, sir John ? 
Come, come, come ; off with your boots. — Give me 
your hand, master Bardolph. 

Bard. I am glad to see your worship. 

Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind master 
Bardolph. — And welcome, my tall fellow. [To the 
Page] Come, sir John. [Exit Shallow. 

Fal. I '11 follow you, good master Ptobert Shallow. 
Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt Bardolph and 
Page.] If I were sawed into quantities, I should make 
four dozen of such bearded hermit's staves as master 
Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see the semblable 
coherence of his men's spirits and his : they, by observ- 
ing him, do bear them.selves like foolish justices ,• he, 
by conversing with them, is turned into a justice-like 
serving man. Their spirits are so married in conjunc- 
tion with the participation of society, that they flock 
together in consent, like so many wild geese. If I had 
a suit to master Shallow, I would humour his men 
with the imputation of being near their master : if to 
his men, I would curry with master Shallow, that no 
man could better command his servants. It is certain, 
that either wise bearing, or ignorant carriage, is caiaght, 
' Warrants. 2 bitten : in folio. 3 I beseech you : in quarto. 



as men take diseases, one of another : therefore, let 
men take heed of their company. I will devise matter 
enough out of this Shallow, to keep prince Harry in 
continual laughter the wearing-out of six fashions, 
(which is four terms, or two actions) and he shall laugh 
without intervallums . ! it is much, that a lie with 
a slight oath, and a jest with a sad brow, will do with 
a fellow that never had the ache in his shoulders. O ! 
you shall see him laugh, till his face be like a wet 
cloak ill laid up. 

Shal. [Within] Sir John ! 

Fal. I come, master Shallow : I come, master Shal- 
low. [Exit Falstaff. 

SCENE II. — Westmin.ster. An Apartment in the 
Palace. 
Enter Warwick, and the Lord Chief Jugtice. 
War. How now, my lord chief justice ! whither away ? 
Ch. Just. How doth the king ? 
War. Exceeding well : his cares are now all ended. 
Ch. Just. I hope, not dead. 

War. He 's walk'd the way of nature, 

And to our purposes he lives no more. 

Ch. Just. I would, his majesty had call'd me with 
him : 
The service that I truly did his life, 
Hath left me open to all injuries. 

War. Indeed, I think the young king loves you not. 
Ch. Just. I know he doth not, and do arm myself 
To welcome the condition of the time 5 
Which cannot look more hideously upon me 
Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. 
Enter Prince John, Prince Humphrey, Clarence, 

Westmoreland, and Others. 
War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harrj' : 

! that the living Harry had the temper 

Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen ! 
How many nobles then should hold their places, 
That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort. 

Ch. Just. O God ! I fear all will be overturn'd. 

P. John. Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good mor- 
row. 

P. Humph. Cla. Good morrow, cousin. 

P. John. We meet like men that had forgot to speak. 

War. We do remember ; but our argument 
Is all too heavy to admit much talk. 

P. John. Well, peace be with him that hath made us 
heavy ! 

Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier ! 

P. Humph. O ! good my lord, you have lost a friend, 
indeed ; 
And I dare swear, you borrow not that face 
Of seeming sorrow : it is, sure, your own. 

P. John. Though no man be assur'd what grace to 
You stand in coldest expectation : [find, 

1 am the sorrier ; 'would, 'twere otherwise. 

Cla. Well, you must now speak sir John Falstaff fair, 
Which swims against your stream of quality. 

Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in honour, 
Led by th' impartial* conduct of my soul ; 
And never shall you see, that I will beg 
A ragged and forestall'd remission. 
If trvith and upright innocency fail me, 
I '11 to the king, my master, that is dead, 
And tell him who hath sent me after him. 

War. Here comes the prince. 

Enter King Henry V. 

Ch. Just. Good morrow, and heaven save your 
majesty ! 



* imperial : in folio. 



SCENE m. 



KING HENKY IV. 



401 



King. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty, 
Sits not so easy on me as you think. — 
Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear : 
This is the English, not the Turkish court ; 
Not Aniurath an Amurath succeeds, 
But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers, 
For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you : 
Sorrow so royally in you appears. 
That I will deeply put the fashion on, 
And wear it in my heart. Why then, be sad j 
But entertain no more of it, good brothers, 
Than a joint burden laid upon us all. 
For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd, 
I '11 be your father and your brother too ; 
Let me but bear your love, I '11 bear your cares : 
Yet weep, that Harry 's dead, and so will I ; 
But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears, 
By number, into hours of happiness. 

P. John, fyc. We hope no other from your majesty. 

King. You all look strangely on me ; — and you most. 

[To the Chief Justice. 
You are, I think, assur'd I love you not. 

Ch. Just. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly. 
Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. 

King. No ! 
How might a prince of my great hopes forget 
So great indignities you laid upon me ? 
What ! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison 
The immediate heir of England ! Was this easy ? 
May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten ? 

Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your father ; 
The image of his power lay then in me : 
And, in th' administration of his law 
Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, 
Your highness pleased to forget my place. 
The majesty and power of law and justice. 
The image of the king whom I presented. 
And struck me in my very seat of judgment : 
Whereon, as an offender to your father, 
I gave bold way to my authority, 
And did commit you. If the deed were ill, 
Be you contented, wearing now the garland. 
To have a son set your decrees at nought ; 
To pluck down justice from your awful bench ; 
To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword 
That guards the peace and safety of your person : 
Nay, more ; to spurn at your most royal image. 
And mock your workings in a second body. 
Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours. 
Be now the father, and propose a son ; 
Hear your own dignity so much profan'd. 
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted. 
Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd. 
And then imagine me taking your part,, 
And in your power soft silencing your son. 
After this cold considerance, sentence me ; 
And, as you are a king, speak in your state 
What I have done, that misbecame my place. 
My person, or my liege's sovereignty. 

King. You are right, justice ; and you weigh this well. 
Therefore still bear the balance, and the sword ; 
And I do wish your honours may increase, 
Till you do live to see a son of mine 
OlTend you, and obey you, as I did. 
So sliall I live to speak my father's words : — 
'■ Happy am L that have a man so bold, 
That dares do justice on my proper son ; 
And not less happy, having such a son, 
That would deliver up his greatness so 



Into the hands of justice." — You did commit me. 

For which, I do commit into your hand 

Th' unstained sword that you have used to bear ; 

With this remembrance, — that you use the same 

With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit. 

As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand. 

You shall be as a father to my youth : 

My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear, 

And I will stoop and humble my intents 

To your well-practis'd, wise directions. — 

And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you : 

My father is gone wild into his gi-ave, 

For in his tomb lie my affections. 

And with his spirit sadly I survive, 

To mock the expectation of the world. 

To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out 

Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down 

After my seeming. The tide of blood in me 

Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now : 

Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea, 

Where it shall mingle with the state of floods. 

And flow hence fortli in formal majesty. 

Now, call we our liigh court of parliament, 

And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel, 

Tliat tlie great body of our state may go 

In equal rank with the best govern'd nation ; 

That war, or peace, or both at once, may be 

As things acquainted and familiar to us. 

In which you. father, shall have foremost hand. — 

[To the Lord Chief Justice. 
Our coronation done, we will accite, 
As I before remember'd, all our state : 
And (God consigning to my good intents) 
No prince, nor peer, shall have just cause to say, 
God shorten Harry's happy life one day. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Glostershire. The Garden of 

Shallow's House. 

Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, Bardolph, the 

Paa-e, and Davy. 

Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard ; where, in 

an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own 

grafting, with a dish of carraways, and so forth. — Come, 

cousin Silence ; — and then to bed. 

Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling, 
and a rich. 



Shal. Barren, barren, 



barren ; beggars all, beggars 



all, sir John : — marry, good air. 
Da\T^ ; well said, Davy. 

Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses 



Spread, Davy ; spread, 
he is your 



serving-man, and your husband. 



varlet, a very good 

have drunk too much 

Now sit down, now 



Slml. A good varlet, a good 
varlet, sir John. — By the mass, I 
sack at supper : — a good varlet. 
sit down. — Come, covisin. 

Sil. Ah, sirrah ! quoth-a, — we shall 

Do nothing but eat, ami make good cheer, [Singing. 
And praise heaven for the merry year ; 
When f-e.-ih is cheap and females dear, 
And histy lads roam here and there, 

So merrily, 
And ever among so merrily. 
Fal. There 's a merry heart ! — Good master Silence, 
I '11 give you a health for that anon. 

Shal. Give master Bardolph some wine, Da^T- 

Davy. Sweet sir, sit ; I '11 be with you anon : — most 

sweet sir, sit. — Master page, good master page, sit : 

profaee !' What you want in meat, we '11 have in drink. 

But you must bear : the heart 's all. [Exit. 



1 A word of uncertain origin, meaning " much good may it do you." 

26 



402 



SECOND PART OF 



ACT V. 



Shal. Be merry, master Bardolph ; — and my little 
soldier tliere, be merry. 

Sil. Be merry, be merry, my wife has all ; [Singing. 
For women are shrews, both short and tall : 
' T is merry in hall, when beards wag all, 

Arid welcome merry shrove-tide. 
Be 7nerry, be merry, !fc. 
Fal. I did not think master Silence had been a man 
of this mettle. 

Sil. Who I ? I have been merry twice and once, ere now. 

Re-enter Davy. 
Davy. There is a dish of leather-coats' for you. 

{Setting them before Bardolph. 
Shal. Da%'y, — 

Davy. Your worsliip. — I '11 be with you straight. — 
A. cup of wine, sir ? 
Sil. A Clip of wine, that '5 brisk and fine, [Singing. 
And drink unto the leman mine ; 
And a merry heart lives long-a. 
Fal. Well said, master Silence. 
Sil. An Ave sliall be merry, now comes in the sweet 
of the night. 

F(d. Health and long life to you, master Silence. 
Sil. Fill the Clip, and let it come ; 

I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom. 
Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome : if thou wantest 
any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. — Wel- 
come, my little tiny thief; and welcome, indeed, too. — 
I '11 drink to master Bardolph, and to all the cavalieros 
about London. 

Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. 
Bard. An I might see you there, Davy, — 
Shal. By the mass, you '11 crack a quart together. 
Ha ! will you not, master Bardolph ? 
Bard. Yea, sir, in a pottle pot. 

Shal. By God's leggins I thank thee. — The knave 
will stick by thee, I can assure thee that : he will not 
out; he is true bred. 

Bard. And I 'II stick by him, sir. 
Shed. AVhy, there spoke a king. Lack nothing : be 
merry. {Knocking heard.] Look, who 's at the door 
there. Ho ! who knocks ? [Exit Davy. 

Fed. W^hy, now you have done me right. 

[To Silence, who drinks a bumper. 
Sil. Do me right, ^ [Singing. 

And dub me knight: 
Samingo. 
Is 't not so ? 
Fal. 'T is so. 

Sil. Is 't so ? Why, then say, an old man can do 
tJomewhat. 

Re-enter Davy. 
Davy. An 't please your worship, there 's one Pistol 
come from the court with news. 

Fal. From the court ? let him come in. — 
Enter Pistol. 
How now, Pistol ? 

Pist. Sir John, God save you, sir. 
Fal. What wind blew you hither. Pistol ? 
Pi.st. Not the ill wind which blows no man' to good. 
Sweet knight, th' art now one of the greatest men 
In the realm. 

Sil. By 'r lady, I think he be, but goodman Puff of 
Pist. Puif? [Barson. 

Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base ! — 
Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend. 
And helter-skelter have 1 rode to thee ; 



I am, sir, 



And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys. 
And golden times, and happy news of price. 

Fal. I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man of this 
world. 

Pist. A foutra for the world, and worldlings base ! 
I speak of Africa, and golden joys. 

Fal. ba.«e Assyrian knight ! what is thy news ? 
Let king Coi)hetua know the truth thereof. 

Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. [Sings. 

Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons ? 
And shall good news be baffled ? 
Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 

Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding. 

Pist. Why then, lament therefore. 

Shal. Give me pardon, sir ■ — if, sir, you come with 
news from the court, I take it. there is but two ways, 
either to utter them, or to conceal them, 
under the king, in some authority. 

Pist. Under which king, Bezonian !* speak, or die. 

Shal. Under king Harry. 

Pist. Harry the fourth ? or fifth ? 

Shal. Harry the fourth. 

Pist. A foutra for thine office ! — 

Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king; 
Harry the fiftli 's the man. I speak the truth : 
When Pistol lies, do this ; and fig^ me, like 
The bragging Spaniard. 

Fal. What ! is the old king dead ? 

Pist. As nail in door : the things I speak are just. 

Fal. Away, Bardolph ! saddle my horse. — Master 
Robert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the 
land, 't is thine. — Pistol, I will double-charge thee with 
dignities. 

Bard. joyful day ! — I would not take a knight- 
hood for my fortune. 

Pist. What ! I do bring good news. 

Fal. Carry master Silence to bed. — Master Shallow, 
my lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am fortune's 
steward. Get on thy boots : we '11 ride all niglit. — 0, 
sweet Pistol ! — Away, Bardolph. [Exit Bard.] — Come, 
Pistol, utter more to me ; and, withal, devise some- 
thing, to do thyself good. — Boot, boot, master Shallow: 
I know, the young king is sick for me. Let us take 
any man's horses ; the laws of England are at my com- 
mandment. Happy are they which have been my 
friends, and woe unto my lord chief justice I 

Pist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also ! 
" Where is the life that late I led"," say they ; 
Why, here it is : welcome this pleasant day !' [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— London. A Street. 

Enter Beadles, dragging in Ho.stess Quickly, and Doll 

Tear-sheet. 

Host. No, thou arrant knave : I would to God I 
might die, that I might have thee hanged ; thou hast 
drawn my shoulder out of joint. 

1 Bead. The constables have delivered her over to 
me, and she shall have whipping-cheer enovigh". I 
warrant her. There hath been a man or two lately 
killed about her. 

Dol. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on: I'll 
tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal, an 
the child I now go with do miscarry, thou hadst better 
thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-faced villain. 

Host. O the Lord, that sir John were come ! he 
would make this a bloody day to somebody. But I 
pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry ! 



' Russet ajtples. 2 A phrase used in drinking healths. ' none : in folio. * A term of reproach, derived from the Italian bisogno, 
signifying " a fresh, needy soldier." * Insult, by putting the thumb between the fore and middle finger ; Jico. has the same signification. 
' This quotation is also made in "Taming of the Shrew." ' these pleasant days : in f. e. * Not in the quarto. 



SCENE V. 



KING HENRY lY. 



403 



1 Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions 
again j you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you 
botli go with me, for the man is dead, that you and 
Pistol beat among you. 

Dol. I 'II tell thee what, thou thin man in a censer, I 
will have you as soundly swinged for this, — you blue- 
bottle rogue ! you filthy famished correctioner ! If 
you be not swinged, I '11 forswear half-kirtles. 

1 Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. 

Host. O God, that right should thus overcome might ! 
Well, of sufferance comes ea.se. 

Dol. Come, you rogixe, come : bring me to a justice. 

Host. Ay ; come, you starved blood-hound. 

Dol. Goodman death ! goodman bones ! 

Host. Thou atomy thou. 

Dol. Come, you thin thing ; come, you rascal ! 

1 Bead. Very well. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — A public Place near Westminster Abbey. 
Enter two Grooms^ strewing Rushes. 

1 Groom. More rushes, more rushes ! 

2 Gronm. The trumpets have sounded twice. 

1 Groom. It will be two o'clock ere they come from 
the coronation. Despatch, despatch. [Exeunt Groorrxs.^ 
Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph, and the 

Page. 

Fal. Stand here by me, master Robert Shallow ; I 
will make the king do you grace. I will leer upon him, 
as he comes by, and do but mark the countenance that 
he will give me. 

Pi^t. God bless thy lungs, good knight. 

Fal. Come here, Pistol ; stand behind me. — [To 
Shallow.] ! if I had had time to have made new 
liveries, I would have bestowed the thousand pound I 
borrow"ed of you. But 't is no matter; this poor show 
doth belter : this doth infer the zeal I had to see him. 

Shal. It doth so. 

Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection. 

Pht. It doth so. 

Fal. My devotion. 

Pist. It doth, it doth, it doth. 

Fal. As it were, to ride day and night ; and not to 
deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience to 
shift me. 

Shal. It is most certain. 

Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and sweating 
with desire to see him : thinking of nothing else ; 
putting all affairs else in oblivion, as if there were 
nothing else to be done but to see him. 

Pi.st. 'T is semper idem, for absque hoc nihil est. 'T is 
all in every part. 

Shal. 'T is so, indeed. 

Pist. My knight, I will inflame thy nobler liver, 
And make thee rage. 

Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, 
Is in base durance, and contagious prison ; 
Haul'd thither 

By most mechanical and dirty hand : — [snake, 

Rou.se up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto's 
For Doll is in ; Pistol speaks nought but truth. 

Fal. I will deliver her. 

[Shouts within, and trumpets sound. 

Pist. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor 
.sounds. 
Enter King and his Train, including the Chief Justice. 

Fal. God save thy grace, king Hal ! my royal Hal ! 

Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal 
imp of fame ! I 

Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! j 



King. My lord chief justice, speak to that vain man. 

Ch. Just. Have you your wits ? know you what 't is 
you speak ? 

Fal. My king ! my Jove ! I speak to thee, my heart ! 

King. I know thee not, old man : fall to thy prayers: 
How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester ! 
I have long dream'd of such a kind of man, 
So surfeit-swcU'd, so old, and so profane ; 
But, being awake, I do despise my dream. 
Make less thy body, hence, and more thy grace ; 
Leave gormandizing ; know, the grave doth gape 
For thee thrice wider than for other men. 
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest : 
Presume not that I am the thing I was ; 
For God doth know, so .shall (he world perceive, 
That I have turn'd away my former self: 
So will I those that kept me company. 
When thou dost hear I am as I have been, 
Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast, 
The tutor and the feeder of my riots : 
Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death, 
As I have done the rest of my misleaders. 
Not to come near our person by ten mile. 
For competence of life I will allow you, 
That lack of means enforce you not to evil ; 
And as we hear you do reform yourselves. 
We will, according to your strength and qualities, 
Give you advancement. — Be it your charge, my lord, 
To see perform'd the tenor of our word. — 
Set on. [Exeunt King and his Train, 

Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound. 

Shal. Ay, marry, sir John ; which I beseech you to 
let me have home with me. 

Fal. That can hardly be, master Shallow. Do not 
you grieve at this r I shall be sent for in private to 
him. Look you, he must seem thus to the world. 
Fear not your advancement ; I will be the man yet 
that shall make you great. 

Shal. I cannot perceive how, unless you should give 
me your doublet, and stuff me out with straw. I 
beseech you, good sir John, let me have five hundred 
of my thousand. 

Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word : this that 
you heard was but a colour. 

Shal. A colour, I fear, that you will die in, sir John. 

Fal. Fear no colours : go with me to dinner. Come, 
lieutenant Pistol ; — come, Bardolph. — I shall be sent 
for soon at night. 
Re-enter Prince John, the Chief Justice, Officers, fyc. 

Ch. Just. Go, carry sir John Falstaff to the Fleet. 
Take all his company along with him. 

Fal. My lord, my lord ! — 

Ch. Just. I cannot now speak : I will hear you soon. 
Take them away. 

Pist. Se fortuna me tormenta, il sperare me contenta. 

[Exeunt Fal. Shal. Pist. Bard. Page, and Officers. 

P. John. I like this fair proceeding of the king's. 
He hath intent, his wonted followers 
Shall all be very well provided for ; 
But all are banish'd, till their conversations 
Appear more wise and modest to the world. 

Ch. Just. And so they are. 

P. John. The king hath call'd his parliament, my lord. 

Ch. Just. He hath. 

P. John. I will lay odds, that, ere this year expire, 
We bear our civil sword.s, and native fire, 
As far as France. I heard a bird so sing. 
Whose music, to- my thinking, pleas'd the king. 
Come, will you hence ? [Exeunt. 



' In the quarto ed., the king and his train here pass across the stage. 



404 



SECOND PAKT OF KING HENKY lY. 



ACT V. 



EPILOGUE, 

BY ONE THAT CAN DANCE.' 



First my fear, then my courtesy, last my speech. 
My fear is your displeasure, my courtesy my duty, and 
my speech to beg your pardons. If you look for a 
good speech, now, you undo me ; for what I have to 
say, is of mine o\^ii making, and what indeed I should 
say, will, I doubt, prove mine own marring. But to 
the purpose, and so to the venture. — Be it known to 
you^ (as it is very well) I was lately here in the end of 
a displeasing play, to pray your patience for it, and to 
promise you a better. I did mean, indeed, to pay you 
with this ; which, if, like an ill venture, it come un- 
luckily home, I break, and you, my gentle creditors, 
lose. Here, I promised you, I would be, and here T 
commit my body to your mercies : bate me some, and 
I will pay you some ; and, as most debtors do, promise 
you infinitely. 

If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will 

1 These words are not in f. e. 2 Not in f. e 



you command me to use my legs ? and yet that were 
but light payment, to dance out of your debt ; but a 
good conscience will make any possible satisfaction, and 
so will I. All the gcnilewomen here have forgiven 
me; if the gentlemen will not, then the gentlemen do 
not agree with the gentlewomen, which was never seen 
before in such an assembly. 

One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too 
much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author will 
continue the story, with sir John in it. and make you 
merry with fair Katharine of France ; where, for any 
thing I know, FalstafT shall die of a sweat, unless already 
he be killed with your liard opinions ; for Oldcastle 
died a martyr, and this is not the man. My tongue 
is weary ; when my legs are too, I will bid you good 
night : and so kneel down before you ; but, indeed, to 
pray for the queen. [End with a dance.^ 



KING HENRY V. 



DEAMATIS PERSONS. 



Brothers to the King. 



King Henry the Fifth 

Duke of Gloucester, 

Duke of Bedford, 

Duke of Exeter, Uncle to the King. 

Duke of York, Cousin to the King. 

Earls of Salisbury, Westmoreland, and War- 
wick. 

Archbishop of Canterbury. Bishop of Ely. 

Earl of Cambridge, ) 

Lord Scroop, > Conspirators. 

Sir Thomas Grey, ) 

Sir Thomas Erpingham, Gower, Fluellen. 
Macmorris, Jamy, Officers in King Henry's 
army. 

Bates, Court, Williams, Soldiers, 



Pistol, Nym, Bardolph. 

Boy, Servant to them. A Herald. 

Chorus. 

Charles the Sixth, King of France. 

Lewis, the Dauphin. 

Dukes of Burgundy, Orleans, and Bourbon. 

The Constable of France. 

Rambures, and Grandpre, French Lords. 

Montjoy. a French Herald. 

Governor of Harfleur. Ambassadors to England. 

Isabel, Queen of France. 
Katharine, Daughter of Charles and Isabel. 
Alice, a Lady attending on the Princess. 
Mrs. Quickly, a Hostess. 



Lords, Ladies, Officers, French and English Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants. 
The SCENE in England, and in France. 



CHOKUS. 



Enter Chorus, as Prologue} 

0, for a muse of iire, that would ascend 
The brightest heaven of invention ! 
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, 
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! 
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, 
Assume the port of Mars ; and at his heels, 
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire, 
Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all, 
The flat unraised spirit that hath dar'd. 
On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth 
So great an object : can this cockpit hold 
The vasty fields of France ? or may we cram 
Within this wooden O^ the very casques, 
That did affright the air at Agincourt ? 
! pardon, since a crooked figure may 
Attest in little place a million; 



And let us, cyphers to this great accompt, 

On your imaginary forces work. 

Suppose, witliin the girdle of these walls 

Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies. 

Whose high uprearcd and abutting fronts 

The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder. 

Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts : 

Into a thousand parts divide one man. 

And make imaginary puissance : 

Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them 

Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth ; 

For 't is your thoughts that now must deck our kings, 

Carry them here and there, jumping o'er times, 

Turning th' accomplishment of many years 

Into an hour-glass : for the which supply. 

Admit me chorus to this history ; 

Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray. 

Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.'' 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — London. An Antechamber in the King's 

Palace. 
Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Bishop of 

Ely. 
Cant. My lord, I '11 tell you, that self bill is urg'd. 
Which in th' eleventh year of the last king's reign 
Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, 
But that the scambling* and unquiet time 
Did push it out of farther question. 



Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? 

Cant. It must be thought on. If it pass against us, 
We lose the better half of our possessions ; 
For all the temporal lands, which men devout 
By testament have given to the church, 
Would they strip from us : being valued thus. — 
As much as would maintain, to the king's honour, 
Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights, 
Six thousand and two hundred good esquires ; 
And, to relief of lazars, and weak age, 



1 The lyords, as Prologue: not in f. e. 
first printed in the folio. * Scrambling. 



' The Globe Theatre, where the play was probably first acted. ^ All the choruses were 



406 



KINU HKNKV V. 



Act 1. 



Of indiijent faint souls, past corporal toil, 

A livitulroil «lms-luuist>s, rii;ht nm-U siippliod ; 

Aiul to Iho cotl'ois of Iho king bcsido, 

A tliousiuul poi\iuLs l>y tho year. Tlais runs tho bill. 

tUff. TUis wouKl tlritik iloop. 

Cant. V wouKl Jiiuk tl»o cup ami all 

Ely. l>ut what provontii>u'' 

Cant. The kins{ is full of graoo, ami fair roganl. 

Elif. Anil a truo lover of tho holy ohvurh. 

Cant. Tho oouvses ot his youlh proinisM it not. 
Tho breath no siH>uer lett his raihor's boily, 
Hut that his \vi Illness, mortilieil lu hun, 
SeouiM to die too : yea, at that very uioinout, 
Consideration like an angel eanio. 
And whippM the otl'ending Adam out of him, 
Leaving liis luxly as a parailise, 
T' envelop and tnuitain celestial spirits. 
Never was such a sudden scholar made ; 
Never came retonnation in a tloinl. 
With such a heady cvurent,' scouring faults; 
Niwr never Hydra-lieaded wilfulness 
So sixui did lose his seat, and all at once, 
As in this king. 

Eli/. We are blessed in the change. 

Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity. 
And, all-adiniriug, with an inward wish 
You would desire the kuig were made a prelate: 
Hear hun debute of conunonweallh atl'airs. 
You would say, it hath been all-in-all his study : 
List his disi-ourse of war, and you shall hear 
A fearful battle reiuler'd you in music: 
Turn him to any cause of policy. 
The tJoiiUau knot of it he will unloose, 
Familiar as his garter ; that, when ho speaks, 
The air, a charterM libertine, is still. 
And the mute wonder lurkeih in men's ears, 
To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences; 
&.> that the art and practice part of life 
Must be the mistress to this theoric: 
Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it, 
Since his addiction was to courses vain ; 
His eompanies unlctterM. rude, and shallow ; 
His hours tillM up with riots, bamiuets, s^wrts ; 
And never noted m him any study. 
Any retirement, any sequestration 
Fivm open haunts and popularity. 

El II. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle, 
And wholesome berries thrive and riiHMi best, 
Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality : 
And so the prinet> obscur'd his cimtemplation 
Under the veil of wildness ; which, no doubt, 
Givw like the summer gnvss, tastest by night. 
Unseen, yet cix^soive in his faculty. 

Cant. It must be so; for miracles are eeasM, 
And therefore we must tieeds admit the means. 
How things ai-«> perfected. 

t^iy- But, my good lonl. 

How now for mitigation of this bill 
Urg'd by the conunons ? Doth his majesty 
liidine to it, or no ? 

Cant. He seems inditVerent, 

Or, rather, swaying more u^xm our part, 
Than cherishing th' exhibitors against ns ; 
For 1 have nuvde an otfer to his jnajesty, — 
UiH>u our spiritual invocation. 
And in reganl of causes now in hand. 
Which I have opou'd to his grace at large. 
As touching France, — to give a greater sum 
Than ever at one time the clergy yet 

> So the s«c<.'>n>l toUo ; the first 



Did to his predecessors part withal. 

Ell/. How did this otler seem receiv'd, my lord? 

Cant. With good acceptance i^l' bis majesty ; 
Save, that there was not tune enough to hear 
(As, I perceivM, his grace would fain have doiu^) 
The severals, and unhiilden pas.«:iiges 
Of his true titles to some certain tlukedoms, 
And, generally, to the crown ami .seat of France, 
HerivM from Kdward, his great gramlfatlier. 

Elt/. What was th' impediment tluit l>ioke this off? 

Cant. The French anibass!uU>r u|Hin tliat instant 
OravM audience ; and the hour, I think, is come, 
To give him hearing. Is it four o'clock ? 

Ely. It is. 

Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy, 
Which 1 could with a reavly guess declare. 
Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. ^ 

Ely. I 'U wait upon yon, and I long loheiuit. [i?.rel<H^ 

SCKNK 11— The Same. A Room of State in tho Same 
Enter Kini^ Hknkv, Olostkr, BKOtoiu), Fxkter, 

W.\KwuK, ^V^:sTMOKKL.\^n, and Atttntlant.i. 
K. Utn. Where is nty gracious lord of Oanterbury? 
E.re. Not hero in presence. 

A', lltn. Send for him, good uncle. 

West. Shall we call tho ambassador, my liege?" 
A', lien. Not yet, my cotisin : we wouKl be resolv'd, 

Betore wo hear him, of some things of weight. 

That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. 

Enter the Archbishop o/ Oantkuiu kv, and Bishop of 

Fl.Y. 

Cant, (lod, and his angels, guanl your sacred tluxine, 
And make you long become it ! 

K. lien. Sure, we thank you. 

My learned lord, we pray you to proceed, 
And justly and religiously unfold, 
Why the law Salique, that they have in France, 
Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim. 
And CuhI forbid, my dear and faitht'ul lord. 
That you shoulil tashion, wrest, or bow your reading. 
Or nicely charge your understanding soul. 
With opening titles miscreate, whose right 
Suits not in native colours with the truth ; 
For (IvhI dotli know, how numy, now in health. 
Shall dri^p their blootl in approbation 
Of what your reverence shall incite us to. 
Therefore, take heed how you impawn our person, 
How you awake our sleeping sword of war : 
W^e charge you in the mime of luxl, take heed; 
For never two such kingdoms did contend. 
Without much fall of blood ; whose guiltless drops 
Are every one a woe. a sore complaint, 
'Gainst him whose wrongs give edge unto the swords 
That make such waste in brief mortality. 
Under this conjuration, speak, my lord. 
And we will hear, note, and believe in heart. 
That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd. 
As pure as sin with baptism. 

Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you 
peers. 
That owe yo\irselves, your lives, and services, 
To this imjHTial throne. — There is no bar 
To nnike against your highness' claim to France, 
But this, which they produce from Pharamond, — 
In ternim Salicam mnlieres ne succedant, 
"No wonnin sliall sueceotl in Saliqx\e land." 
WHiich Salique land the French \uijustly gloze. 
To be the realm of France, and Tharatnond 
The founder of this law. and fennile bar : 



currwuce. * In the quarto*, tho play ooiniuenees here. 



SCENE II. 



KING HENRY V. 



407 



I 



Yet their own authors faithfully affirm, 

That tlie land Salique is in Germany. 

Between tlie floods of Sala and of Elbe ; 

Where Charles the great, having subdued the Saxons, 

There left behind and settled certain French ; 

Who. holding in disdain the German women 

For some dishonest manners of their life, 

Establish'd then this law. — ^to wit, no female 

Should be inheritrix in Saliquc land : 

Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Kibe and Sala, 

Is at this day in Germany cali'd Meisen. 

Then doth it well appear, the Salique law 

Was not devised for ttie realm of France ; 

Nor did tlie French possess the Salique land 

Until four liundred one and twenty years 

After defunction of king l^haramond, 

Idly supposed the founder of this law; 

Who died within the year of our redemption 

Four hundred twenty-six, and Charles the great 

Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French 

Beyond the river Sala in the year 

Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, 

King Pepin, which deposed Childerick, 

Did. as heir general, being descended 

Of Blithild. which was daugliter to king Clothair, 

Make claim and title to the crown of France. 

Hugh Capet also. — wlio usurp d the croviTi 

Of Charles the duke of Lorain, sole heir male 

Of the true line and stock of Charles the great, — 

To found' his title with some shows of truth, 

Thougli, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught, 

Convey'd himself as th' heir to the lady Lingare, 

Daugliter to Charlemain. who was the son 

To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son 

Of Charles the great. Also king Lewis the tenth, 

Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, 

Could not keep quiet in his conscience, 

W^earing the crown of France, till satisfied 

That fair Queen Isahel. his grandmother. 

Was lineal of the lady Ermengare, 

Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorain: 

By the which marriage the line of Charles the great 

Was reunited to the crown of France. 

So that, as clear as is the summer's sun, 

King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim. 

King Lewis his satisfaction, all ajtpear 

7"o hold in right and title of the female. 

So do the kings of France unto this day, 

Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law, 

To bar j'our highness claiming from the female; 

And rather choose to hide them in a net, 

Than amply to imbare^ their crooked titles 

Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. 

K. lien. May I with right and conscience make this 
claim? 

Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign : 
For in the book of Numbers is it writ. 
When the man dies, let the inheritance 
Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord. 
Stand for your own : unwind your bloody flag ; 
Look back into your mighty ancestors : 
Go. my dread lord, to your great grandsire's tomb,' 
From whom you claim: invoke his warlike spirit, 
And your great uncle's, Edward the black prince, 
Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, 
Making defeat on the full power of France, 
Whiles his most mii.'hty father on a hill 
Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp 
Forage in blood of French nobility. 

» ftnd : in f e. * imbar : in folio. ' giddy : in f. e. ♦ fame : 



O noble English ! that could entertain 
With half their forces the full pride of France. 
And let another half stand laughing by, 
All out of work, and cold for action. 

Ely. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead, 
And with your puissant arm renew their feats. 
You are their heir, you sit upon their throne: 
The blood and courage, that renowned them. 
Runs in your veins; and my thnce-puissant liege 
Is in the very May-morn of his youth. 
Ripe for exploits, and mighty enterprises. 

Kjj>. Your brother kings, and monarchs of the earth, 
Do all expect that you should rouse yourself. 
As did the former lions of your blood. 

Wtst. They know your grace hath cause, and means, 
and might; 
So hath your highness : — never king of England 
Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects. 
Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England, 
And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. 

Cant. O ! let their bodies folloM', my dear liege, 
With blood, and sword, and fire, to win your right : 
In aid whereof, we of the sjjiritualty 
Will raise your highness such a mighty sum, 
As never did the clergy at one time 
Bring in to any of your ancestors. 

K. Hen. We must not only arm t' invade the French, 
But lay down our proportions to defend 
Against the Scot ; who will nmke road upon us 
With all advantages. 

Cant. They of those marches, gracious eovereign, 
Shall be a wall sufficient to defend 
Our inland from the pilfering borderers. 

K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatchers 
only. 
But fear the main intendment of the Scot, 
Who hath been still a greedy" neighbour to us: 
For you shall read, that my great grandfather 
Never went with his forces into France, 
But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom 
Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, 
With ample and brim fulness of his force; 
Galling the gleaned land with hot essays, 
Girding with grievous siege castles and towns ; 
That England, being empty of defence, 
Hath shook, and trembled at th' ill neishbourhood. 

Cant. She hafh been then more fear'd than harm'd, 
my liege ; 
For hear her but exampled by herself: 
When all her chivalrv hath been in France, 
And she a mourning widow of her nobles. 
She hath herself not only well defended. 
But taken, and impounded as a stray, 
The king of Scols ; whom she did send to France, 
To fill king P^dward's train* with prisoner kings, 
And make their' chronicle as rich with praise. 
As is the ooze and bottom of the sea 
With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries. 

West. But there 's a saying, very old and true, — 
" If that you will France "win. 
Then with Scotland first begin :" 
For once the eagle. England, being in prey, 
To her unguarded nest the weasel. Scot, 
Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs ; 
Playing the mouse in absence of the cat, 
To tear and havoc more than she can eat. 

Exx. h follows then, the cat must stay at home : 
Yet that is not' a crush'd necessity. 
Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries. 

in f. e. * your : in quarto. ' but : in f. e. 



408 



KING HENRY Y. 



ACT I. 



And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. 

While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, 

Th' advised head defends itself at home : 

For government, though high, and low, and lower, 

Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, 

Congreeing in a full and natural close, 

Like music. 

Cant. Therefore doth heaven divide 

The state of man in divers functions, 
Setting endeavour in continual motion _; 
To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, 
Obedience : for so work the honey bees, 
Creatures that by a rule in nature teach 
The art of order to a peopled kingdom : 
They have a king, and officers of state ;' 
Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, 
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad. 
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, 
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds ; 
Which pillage they with merry march bring home 
To the tent-royal of their emperor : 
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys 
The singing masons building roofs of gold, 
The civil citizens kneading up the honey, 
The poor mechanic porters crowding in 
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate. 
The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum, 
Delivering o'er to executors pale 
The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, — 
That many things, having full reference 
To one consent, may work contrariously ; 
As many arrows, loosed several ways. 
Come to one mark ; as many ways unite ;^ 
As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea ; 
As many lines close in the dial's center ; 
So may a thousand actions, once afoot. 
End in one purpose, and be all well borne 
Without defeat. Therefore, to France, my liege. 
Divide your happy England into four ; 
Whereof take you one quarter into France, 
And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. 
If we, with thrice such powers left at home. 
Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, 
Let us be worried, and our nation lose 
The name of hardiness, and policy. 

A'. Hen. Call in the messengers sent from the Dau- 
phin. [Exit an Atte^idant. 
Now are we well resolv'd : and, by God's help. 
And yours, the noble sinews of our power, 
France being ours, we '11 bend it to our awe, 
Or break it all to pieces : or there we '11 sit, 
Ruling in large and ample empery. 
O'er France, and all her-almo.st kingly dukedoms, 
Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, 
Tombless; with no remembrance over them : 
Either our history shall, with a full mouth, 
Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave. 
Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth. 
Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. 

Enter Ambassadors of France. 
Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure 
Of our fair cousin Dauphin ; for, we hear, 
Yoxir greeting is from him, not from the king. 

Amb. May 't please your majesty, to give us leave 
Freely to render what we have in charge ; 
Or shall we sparingly show you far off, 
The Dauphin's meaning, and our embassy? 

K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king, 

1 sorts : in f. e. 2 as many ways meet in one town : in f. e. ' 4 Not in f. e. ^ A match at tennis, in which the struggle consists in 
seeing who will keep up the ball the longest. 6 sail : in f. e. ' Cannon balls were, at first, of stone. 



Unto whose grace our passion is as subject. 
As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons ; 
Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness. 
Tell us the Dauphin's mind. 

Amb. Thus then, in few. 

Your highness, lately sending into France, 
Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right 
Of your great predeces.sor, Edward third. 
In answer of which claim, the prince our master 
Says, that you savour too much of your youth. 
And bids you be advis'd, there 's nought in France 
That can be with a nimble galliard won : 
You cannot revel into dukedoms there. 
He therefore sends yoti, meeter for your spirit, 
This tun of treasure ; and, in lieu of this, [Shoiving it." 
Desires you, let the dukedoms, that you claim, 
Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin sp&aks. 

K. Hen. What treasure, uncle ? 

Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege. [Opening it.* 

K. Hen. We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant 
with us. 
His present, and your pains, we thank you for : 
When we have match'd our rackets to these balls. 
We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set, 
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard. 
Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrangler. 
That all the courts of France will be disturb'd 
With chases.' And we understand him well. 
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, 
Not measuring what use we made of them. 
We never valu'd this poor seat of England, 
And therefore, living hence, did give ourself 
To barbarous license ; as 't is ever common, 
That men are merriest when they are from home. 
But tell the Dauphin, — I will keep my state ; 
Be like a king, and show my souP of greatness. 
When I do rouse me in my throne of France : 
For here I have laid by my majesty. 
And plodded like a man for working days, 
But I will rise there with so full a glory. 
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, 
Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. 
And tell the pleasant prince, this mock of his 
Hath turn'd his balls to gvm-stones ;' and his soul 
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance 
That shall fly with them : for many a thousand widows 
Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands ; 
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down, 
And some are yet ungotten, and vinborn, 
That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. 
But this lies all within the will of God, 
To whom I do appeal ; and in whose name, 
Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on. 
To venge me as I may, and to put forth 
My rightful hand in a well hallow'd cause. 
So get you hence in peace ; and tell the Dauphin, 
His jest will savour but of shallow wit, 
When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it. — 
Convey them with safe conduct. — Fare you well. 

[Exeunt Ambassadors. 

Exe. This was a merry message. 

K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it. 
Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour. 
That may give furtherance to our expedition ; 
For we have now no thought in us but France, 
Save those to God, that run before our business. 
Therefore, let our proportions for these wars 
Be soon collected, and all things thought upon, 



A 



SCENE I. 



KING HEjS^EY V. 



409 



That may with seasonable' swiftness add 
More feathers to our wings 



for, God before, 



We '11 chide this Dauphin at his father's door 



Therefore, let every man now ta.sk his thought 
That this fair action may on foot be brought. 



[Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



Enter Chorus. 



Nym. 'Faith. I will live so long as I may, that 's the 
certain of it ; and when I cannot live any longer, I will 
do as I may: that is my rest, that is the rendezvous of 
it. 

Bard. It is certain, corporal, that he is marricJ to 
Nell Quickly; and, certainly, she did you wrong, for 
you were troth-plight to her. 

Nym. I cannot tell: things must be as they may : 
men may sleep, and they may have tlieir throats about 
them at that time, and some say knives have edges. It 
must be as it may: though patience be a tired jade*, 
yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, 
I cannot tell. 

Enter Pistol and Mrs. Quickly. 



Chor. Now all the youth of England are on fire, 
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies : 
Now strive"'' the armourers, and honour's thought 
Reigns solely in the breast of every man. 
They sell the pasture now to buy the horse ; 
Following the mirror of all Christian king.s, 
With winged heels, as English mercuries : 
For now sits Expectation in the air ; 
And hides a sword, from hilts vmto the point, 
With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets, 
Promis'd to Harry and his followers. 
The French, advis'd by good intelligence 
Of this mo.st dreadful preparation. 
Shake in their fear, and with pale policy 
Seek to divert the English purposes. 
England ! model to thine inward greatness, 
Like little body with a mighty heart. 
What mightst thou do, that honour M-ould thee do. 
Were all thy children kind and natural. 
But see thy fault ! France hath in thee found out 
A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills 
With treacherous crowns, and three corrupted men, 
One, Ptichard earl of Cambridge, and the second, 
Henry lord Scroop of Marsham, and the third. 
Sir Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland, 
Have, for the gilt of France, (0 guilt, indeed !) 
Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France : 
And by their hands this grace of kings must die, 
If hell and treason hold their promises, 
Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. 
Linger your patience on ; and well digest 
Th' abuse of distance, and so' force a play. 
The sum is paid ; the traitors are agreed ; 
The king is set from London ; and the scene 
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton. 
There is the playhouse now, there must you sit. 
And tlience to France shall we convey you safe. 
And bring you back, charming the narrow seas 
To give you gentle pass ; for, if we may, 
We '11 not offend one stomach with our play. 
But. till the king come forth, and not till then, 
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit. 

SCENE I. — London. Eastcheap. 
Enter Ntm and Bardolph. 

Bard. Well met, corporal Nym. 

Nym. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph. 

Bard. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends yet ? 

Nym. For my part I care not : I say little ; but 
when time shall serve, there shall be smites* ; — but 
that shall be as it may. I dare not fight : but I will 
wink, and hold out mine iron. It is a simple one; but 
what though ? it will toast cheese, and it will endure 
cold as another man's sword will; and there 's an end.* 

Bard. I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends, 
and we '11 be all three sworn brothers to France : let it 
be so, good corporal Nym. 

1 reasonable : m f. e. 2 thrive : in f. e. ' The words " and so" : not in f. e. * .smiles : in f. e. * and there 's the humour of it : in 
quarto. <> mare : in f. e. '' A common do^, a mongrel. ^ Dyce reads : drawn. ' These words are usually transferred to the close of the 
preceding speech — with the superfluous addition of the word. Bardolph. '"Not in f. e. i' jofj : in f. e. ^- [. e. here jjive the stajre 
direction : Sheathing his sword. '^ The name of a. fiend, i* f. e. here give the direction : Pistol and Nym draw. '* Valiant. '* j^jot 
in f. e. 



Bard. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife. — 
Good corpora], be patient here. — How now, mine host 
Pistol ? 

Pist. Base tike', call'st thou me host ? 
Now, by this hand I swear, I scorn the term ; 
Nor sliall my Nell keep lodgers. 

Quick. No, by my troth, not long : for we cannot 
lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen, that 
live honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will 
be thought we keep a bawdy-house straight. [Nym 
draws his sword.] O well-a-day, lady ! if he be not 
hewn^ now ! — we shall see wilful adultery and murder 
committed. 

Bard. Good lieutenant' — good corporal, offer nothing 
here. 

Nym. Pish ! 

Fist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog; thou prick-eared 
cur of Iceland ! [Draivs his sword.^" 

Quick. Good corporal Nym, show thy valour, and 
put up your sword. 

Nym. Will you sliog" oft'? I would have you solus.'^^ 

Pist. Solus^ egregious dog ? O viper vile ! 
The solus in thy most marvellous face ; 
The sohis in thy teeth, and in thy throat, 
And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy; 
And, wliieh is worse, within thy nasty mouth ! 
I do retort the solus in thy bowels ; 
For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, 
And flashing fire will follow. 

Nym. I am not Barbason'^; you cannot conjure me. 
I have an humour to knock you indifferently well. If 
you grow foul with me. Pistol, I will scour you with 
my rapier, as [ may, in fair terms : if you would walk 
off, I would prick your guts a little, in good terms, as 
I may ; and that 's the humour of it. 

Pist. O braggart vile, and damned furious wight ! 
The grave doth gape, and doating death is near ; 
Tlierefore exhale.** 

Bard. Hear me ; hear me what I say : — he that 
strikes the first stroke, I '11 run him up to the hilts, as 
I am a soldier. [Draws. 

Pi.<;t. An oath of mickle might, and fury shall abate. 
Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give ; 
Thy spirits are most tall." 

[Pistol and Ny.m sheathe their swords.^* 



410 



KING HENRY Y. 



ACT ir. 



Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair 
terms ; that is the humour of it. 

Pist Coupe le gorge, that 's the word ? — I defy thee 
again. 

hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get? 
No ; to the spital go, 

And from the powdering tub of infamy 
Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, 
Doll Tear-sheet she by name, and her espouse : 

1 have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly 
For the only she ; and — pauca^ there 's enough." 

Enter the Boy. 

Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, 
and your^ hostess. — He is very sick, and would to bed. 
— Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets, 
and do the office of a warming-pan : 'faith, he 's very 
ill. 

Bard. Away, you rogue. 

Quick. By my troth, he '11 yield the crow a pudding 
one of these days : the king has killed his heart. — 
Good husband, come home presently. 

[Exeunt 3Ir.s. Quickly and Boy. 

Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends ? We 
must to France together. Why, the devil, should we 
keep knives to cut one another's throats ? 

Pist. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on ! 

Nym. You '11 pay me the eight shillings I won of you 
at betting ? 

Pist. Base is the slave that pays. 

Nym. That now I will have : that 's the humour of it. 

Pist, As manhood shall compound. Pu.sh home. 

[Draw again.' 

Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, 
'11 kill him; by this sword. I will. 

Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their 
course. 

Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be 
friends : an Hiou wilt not, why then be enemies with 
me too. Pr'ythee, put up. 

Nym. I shall have my eight shillings. I won of you 
at betting ?* 

Pist. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay ; 
And liquor likewise will I give to thee, 
And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood : 
I '11 live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me. — 
Is not this just ? for I shall sutler be 
Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. 

[Sheathes his sword.^ 
Give me thy hand. 

Nym. I shall have my noble ? 

Pist. In cash most justly paid. 

Nym. Well then, that's the humour of it. 

[They shake hands.' 

Re-enter Mrs. Quickly. 

Quick. As ever you come of women, come in quickly 
to sir John. Ah, poor heart ! he is so shaked of a 
burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to 
behold. Sweet men, come to him. 

Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the knight, 
that 's the even of it. 

Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right ; 
His heart is fracted and corroborate. 

Nym. The king is a good king ; but it must be as it 
may : he passes some humours, and careers. 

Pist. Let us condole the knight, for lambkins we 
■will live. ' [Exeunt. 



SCENE H. — Southampton. A Council-Chamber. 
Enter Exeter, Bedford, arid Westmoreland. 

Bed. 'Fore God, his grace is bold to trust these traitors. 

Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by. 

We.st. How smooth and even they do bear themselves, 
As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, 
Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty. 

Bed. The king hath note of all tliat they intend, 
By interception which they dream not of 

Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow'', 
Whom he hath duU'd and cloy'd with gracious favours } 
That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell 
His sovereign's life to death and treachery ! 
Trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Scroop, Cam- 
Bridge. Grey, Lords, and Attendants. 

K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we y\-\\\ aboard. 
My lord of Cambridge, — and my kind lord of Mar- 
sham, — 
And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts : 
Think you not, that the powers we bear with us 
Will cut their passage through the force of France, 
Doing the execution, and the act, 
For which we have in head afscmblcd them ? 

Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. 

K. Hen. I doubt not that : since we are well persuaded, 
We carry not a heart with us from hence. 
That grows not in a fair consent with ours ; 
Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish 
Success and conquest to attend on us. 

Cam. Never was monarch better fear"d, and lov'd, 
Than is your majesty : there 's not a subject, 
That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness 
Under the sweet shade of your government. 

Grey. True : those that were your father's en-^mies. 
Have steep'd their galls in honey, and do serve you 
With hearts crea.te of duty and of zeal. [fulness, 

K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of thank- 
And shall forget the office of our hand. 
Sooner than quittance of desert and merit, 
According to the weight and worthiness. 

Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil, 
And labour shall refresh itself with hope. 
To do your grace incessant services. 

K. Hen. We judge no less. — Uncle of Exeter. 
Enlarge tlie man committed yesterday, 
That rail'd against our person : we consider. 
It was excess of wine that set him on ; 
And, on our^ more advice, we pardon him. 

Scroop. That 's mercy, but too much security : 
Let him be punish'd, sovereign : lest example 
Breed by his sufferance more of such a kind. 

A'. Hen. ! let vis yet be merciful, my lord. 

Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too. 

Grey. You show great mercy, if you give him life 
After the taste of much correction. 

K. Hen. Alas ! your too much love and care of me 
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch 
If little faults, proceeding on distemper. 
Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye, 
When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and digested. 
Appear before us ? — We '11 yet enlarge that man. 
Though Cambridge. Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care. 
And tender preservation of ovir person. 
Would have him punish'd. And now to our French 

causes : 
Who are the state' commissioners ? 

Cam. I one. my lord : 



> The folio adJs : to po to ; which mod. eds. usually print : co to. 2 you, .seems a better readin?. 3 Draws : in f. c. * This speech is 
only in the quarto. » ' Not in f. e. ' The practice here alluded to, seems to have been not unusual. 8 his : in f. e. ' late : in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



KING HENRY V. 



411 



Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. 

Scroop. So did you me, my liege. 

Grey. And I, my royal sovereign. 

K. Hen. Then, Richard, earl of Cambridge, there is 
yours ; — 
There yours, lord Scroop of Marsham : — and, sir knight. 
Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours : — 
Read them ; and know, I know your worthiness. — 

[They read and start. ^ 
My lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter, 
We will aboard to-night. — Why, how now, gentlemen ! 
What see you in those papers, that you lose 
So much complexion ? — look ye, how they change : 
Their cheeks are paper. — Why, what read you there, 
That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood 
Out of appearance ? 

Cam. I do confess my fault, 

And do submit me to your highness' mercy. 

Grey. Scroop. To which we all appeal. 

K. Hen. The mercy that was quick in us but late. 
By your o^\^l counsel is suppress'd and kill'd : 
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy j 
For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, 
As dogs upon their masters, worrying you''. — 
See you, my princes, and my noble peers. 
These English monsters I My lord of Cambridge here, — 
You know, how apt our love was to accord 
To furnish him with all appertincnts 
Belonging to his honour ; and this man 
Hath, for a fev\' light crowns, lightly conspir'd. 
And sworn unto the practices of France, 
To kill us here in Hampton : to the which, 
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us 
Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. — But ! 
What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop ? thou cruel, 
Ingrateful, savage, and inlmman creature ! 
Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, 
That knew'st the very bottom of my soul. 
That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, 
Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use ? 
May it be possible, that foreign hire 
Could out of thee extract one spark of evil. 
That might annoy my finger ? 't is so strange. 
That, though the truth of it stands off as gross 
As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it. 
Treason and murder ever kept together, 
As two yoke-devils sworn to cither's purpose, 
Working sogrossly in a natixral course, 
That admiration did not whoop at them : 
But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in 
Wonder to M^ait on treason, and on murder : 
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was, 
That wrought upon thee so preposterously. 
Hath got the voice in hell for excellence. 
And other devils, that suggest by treasons. 
Do botch and bungle up damnation 
With patches, colours, and with forms, being fetch'd 
From glistering semblances of piety : 
But he that tcmperd thee bade thee stand up, 
Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason, 
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. 
If that same demon, that hath guU'd thee thus, 
Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, 
He might return to vasty Tartar back, 
And tell the legions — I can never win 
A soul so easy as that Englishman's. 
0, how hast tiiou with jealousy infected 
The sweetness of alliance ! Show men dutiful ? 



1 Not in f. e. ' them : in quarto. ' make : in folio, 
seven previous lines. * from the quarto. 



Why, so didst thou : seem they grave and learned ? 
Why, so didst thou : come they of noble family ? 
Why, so didst thou : seem they religious ? 
Why, so didst thou : or are they spare in diet ; 
Free from gross passion, or of mirth or anger ; 
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood ; 
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement ; 
Not working with the eye without the ear. 
And but in purged judgment trusting neither? 
Such, and so finely bolted, didst thou seem ; 
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot. 
To mark' the full-fraught man, and best indued. 
With some suspicion. I will weep for thee. 
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like 
Another fall of man.* — Their faults are open ; 
Arrest them to the answer of the law. 
And God acquit them of their practices. 

Exe. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
Richard earl of Cambridge. 

I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry, 
lord Scroop, of Marsham. 

I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas 
Grey, knight of Northumberland. 

Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd, 
And I repent my fault more than my death : 
Which I beseech your highness to forgive, 
Although my body pay the price of it. 

Cam. For me, — the gold of France did not seduce, 
Although I did admit it as a motive, 
The sooner to effect what I intended : 
But God be thanked for prevention ; 
Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice. 
Beseeching God and you to pardon me. 

Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice 
At the discovery of most dangerous treason, 
Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself. 
Prevented from a damned enterprise. 
My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. 

A'. Hen. God quit you in his mercy ! Hear your 
sentence. 
You have conspir'd against our royal person, 
Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his coffers 
Rcceiv'd the golden earnest of our death ; 
Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, 
His princes and his peers to servitude. 
His subjects to oppression and contempt. 
And his whole kingdom unto desolation. 
Touching our person, seek we no revenge ; 
But we our kingdom's safety must so tender. 
Whose ruin you have' souglit, that to her laws 
We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence. 
Poor miserable wTctches, to your death ; 
The taste whereof, God. of his mercy, give you 
Patience to endure, and true repentance 
Of all your dear offences. — Bear them hence. 

[Exeunt Conspirators, guarded. 
Now, lords, for France ; the enterprise whereof 
Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. 
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war. 
Since God so graciously hath brought to light 
This dangerous treason, lurking in our way 
To hinder our beginnings : we doubt not now, 
But every rub is smoothed on our way. 
Then, forth, dear countrymen : let us deliver 
Our puissance into the hand of God. 
Putting it straight in expedition. 
Cheerly to sea ; the signs of war advance : 
No king of England, if not king of France. [Exeunt. 

Theobald changed the word. ♦ The quartos have no trace of this, or the thirty- 



X 



412 



KING HEKEY y. 



ACT II. 



SCENE III.— London. Mrs. Quickly's House, in 

Eastcheap. 

Enter Pistol, Mrs. Quickly, Nym, Bardolph, arul Boy. 

Quick. Pr'ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring 
thee to Staines. 

Pist. No ; for my manly heart doth yearn. — 
Bardolph, be blythe : Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins ; 
Boy, bristle thy courage up ; for Falstaff he is dead. 
And we must yearn therefore. 

Bard. 'Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, 
either in heaven, or in hell. 

Quick. Nay, sure, he 's not in hell : he ^s in Arthur's 
bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made 
a fine end and went away, an it had been any christom 
child ;' 'a parted ev'n just between twelve and one, ev'n 
at the turning o' the tide : for after I saw him fumble 
with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon 
his finger's end, I knew there was but one way ; for his 
nose was as sharp as a pen on a table of green frieze.* 
How now, sir John ? quoth I : what, man ! be of good 
cheer. So 'a cried out — God, God, God ! three or four 
times : now I, to comfort him, bid him, 'a should not 
think of God ; I hoped, there was no need to trouble 
himself with any such thoughts yet. So, 'a bade me 
lay more clothes on his feet : I put my hand into the 
bed, and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone ; 
then I felt to his knees, and so upward, and upward, 
and all was as cold as any stone. 

Nym. They say. he cried out of sack. 

Quick. Ay, that 'a did. 

Bard. And of women. 

Quick. Nay, that 'a did not. 

Boy. Yes, that 'a did ; and said, they were devils 
incarnate. 

Quick. 'A could never abide carnation ; 't was a 
colour he never liked. 

Boy. 'A said once, the devil would have him about 
women. 

Quick. 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle women : 
but then he was rheumatic, and talked of the whore of 
Babylon. 

Boy. Do you not remember, 'a saw a flea stick upon 
Bardolph's nose, and 'a said it was a black soul burn- 
ing in hell ? 

Bard. Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that 
fire : that 's all the riches I got in his service. 

Nym. Shall we shog ? the king will be gone from 
Soutliampton. 

P/.s•^ Come, let 's away. — My loA^e, give me thy lips. 
Look to my chattels, and my moveables : 
Let senses rule ; the word is, " Pitch and pay j" 
Trust none ; 

For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes. 
And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck : 
Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor. 
Go, clear thy crystals. — Yoke-fellows in arms, 
Let us to France : like horse-leeches, my boys. 
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck ! 

Boy. And that is but unwholesome food, they say. 

Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march. 

Bard. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her. 

Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it ; but 
adieu. [command. 

Pist. Let housewifery appear : keep close, I thee 

Quick. Farewell; adieu. [Exeunt. 



SCENE IV.— France. A Room in the French 
King's Palace. 

Flourish. Enter the French King attended ; the Dau- 
phin, the Dvke of Burgundy, the Constable, and 
Others. 

Fr. King. Thus come the English with full power 
upon us, 
And more than carefully it us concerns, 
To an.swer royally in our defences. 
Therefore the dukes of Berry, and of Bretagne, 
Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth, 
And you, prince Dauphin, with all swift despatch, 
To line, and new repair, our towns of war 
With men of courage, and with means defendant : 
For England his approaches makes as fierce, 
As waters to the sucking of a gulph. ^ 

It fits us, then, to be as provident 
As fear may teach us, out of late examples 
Left by the fatal and neglected English 
Upon our fields. 

Dau. My most redoubted father. 

It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe ; 
For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, 
(Though war, nor no known quarrel, were in question) 
But that defences, musters, preparation.s. 
Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected, 
As were a war in expectation. 
Therefore, I say, 't is meet we all go forth. 
To view the sick and feeble parts of France ; 
And let us do it with no show of fear ; 
No, with no more, than if we heard that England 
Were busied with a Whitsun morris dance : 
For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, 
Her sceptre so fantastically borne 
By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth. 
That fear attends her not. 

Con. peace, prince Dauphin ! 

You are too much mistaken in this king. 
Question your grace the late ambassadors, 
With what great state lie heard their embassy, 
How well supplied with noble counsellors, 
How modest in exception, and, withal. 
How terrible in constant resolution. 
And you shall find, his vanities forespent 
Were but the oi\tside of the Roman Brutus, 
Covering discretion with a coat of folly : 
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots 
That shall first spring, and be most delicate. 

Dau. Well, 't is not so, my lord high constable j 
But though we think it so, it is no matter : 
In cases of defence, 't is best to weigh 
The enemy more mighty than he seems, 
So the proportions of defence are fill'd ; 
Which, of a weak and niggardly projection. 
Doth like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting 
A little cloth. 

Fr. King. Think we king Harry strong ; 
And, princes, look, you strongly arm to meet him. 
The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us. 
And he is bred out of that bloody strain, 
That haunted us in onr familiar paths: . 
Witness our too much memorable shame, 
When Cressy battle fatally was struck. 
And all our princes captiv'd by the hand 
Of that black name, Edward black prince of Wales ; 



The chrisom, was a white cloth placed upon the head of a child after it was anointed with the chrism, or sacred oil. The name was 
afterwards given to the white cloth in which the child v/as wrapped at the ceremony, and which was used as its shroud, if it died within a 
month of its birth. Children so dying were called Chrisoms, in the old bills of mortality. 2 The old copies read : a table of green fields ; 
-which Theobald conjecturally altered to, " 'a babbled of green fields." 



SCEIfE I. 



EXN^G HENRY V. 



413 



Whilst that his mighty' sire, on mountain standing, 
Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, 
Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him, 
Mangle the work of nature, and deface 
The patterns that by God, and by French fathers, 
Had twenty years been made. This is a stem 
Of that victorious stock ; and let us fear 
The native mightiness and fate of him. 
Enter a Messenger. 
3Iess. Ambassadors from Harry King of England 
Do crave admittance to your majesty. 

Fr. King. We 'II give them present audience. Go, 
and bring them. 

[Exemit Mess, and certain Lords. 
You see, this chase is hotly foUow'd, friends. 

Dau. Turn head, and stop pursuit ; for coward dogs 
Most spend their mouths, when what they seem to 

threaten 
Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, 
Take up the English short, and let them know 
Of what a monarchy you are the head : 
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin 
As self-neglecting. 

Re-enter Lords, with Exeter and Train. 



Fr. King. 



From our brother of England ? 



Exe. From him ; and thus he greets your majesty. 
He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, 
That you divest yourself, and lay apart 
The borrow'd glories, that by gift of heaven, 
By law of nature, and of nations, 'long 
To him, and to his heirs ; namely, the crown. 
And all wide-stretched honours that pertain. 
By custom and the ordinance of times, 
Unto the crown of France. That you may know, 
'T is no sinister, nor no awkward claim, 
Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, 
Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd. 
He sends you this most memorable line, 

[ Giving a pedigree. 
In every branch truly demonstrative ; 
Willing you overlook this pedigree, 
And when you find liim evenly deriv'd 
From his most fam'd of famous ancestors, 
Edward the third, he bids you then resign 
Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held 
From him, the native and true challenger, 

Fr. King. Or else what follows ? 

Exe. Bloody constraint ; for if you hide the crown 
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it : 
Therefore, iu fierce tempest is he coming. 



In thunder, and in earthquake, like a Jove, 
That, if requiring fail, he will compel : 
And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, 
Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy 
On the poor souls, for whom this hungry war 
Opens his vasty jaws ; and on your head 
Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries. 
The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans. 
For husbands, father.^, and betrothed lovers. 
That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. 
This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message ; 
Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, 
To whom expressly I bring greeting too. 

Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this farther : 
To-morrow shall you bear our full intent 
Back to our brother of England. 

Dau. For the Dauphin, 

I stand here for him : what to him from England ? 

Exe. Scorn, and defiance, slight regard, contempt, 
And any thing that may not misbecome 
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. 
Thus says my king : and, if your father's highness 
Do not, in grant of all demands at large. 
Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, 
He '11 call you to so hot an answer of it. 
That caves and womby vaultagcs of France 
Shall cliide your trespass, and return your mock 
In second accent of his ordinance. 

Ban. Say, if my father render fair return. 
It is against my will ; for I desire 
Nothing but odds with England : to that end. 
As matching to his youth and vanity, 
I did present him with the Paris balls. 

Exe. He '11 make your Paris Louvre shake for it, 
Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe. 
And, be assur'd, you '11 find a difference. 
As we his subjects have in wonder found, 
Between the promise of his greener days. 
And these he masters now. Now he weighs time. 
Even to the utmost grain ; that you shall read 
In your own losses, if he stay in France, 

Fr. King. Tovinorrow shall you know our mind at full. 

Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our king 
Come here himself to question our delay. 
For he is footed in this land already. 

Fr. King. You shall be soon despatch'd with fair 
conditions. 
A- night is but small breath, and little pause, 
To answer matters of this consequence, 

[Floziri.sh. Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



Enter Chorus. 

Chor. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies, 
In motion of no less celerity 

Than that of thought. Suppose, that you have seen 
The well-appointed king at Hampton pier 
Embark his royalty ; and his brave fleet 
With silken streamers the young Phcebus fanning : 
Play with your fancies, and in them behold. 
Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; 
Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give 
To sounds confns'd : behold the threadcn sails, 
Blown- with th' invisible and creeping wind, 

' mountain : in f. e. 2 Borne : in f. e. 



Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, 
Breasting the lofty surge. ! do but think, 
You stand upon the rivage, and behold 
A city on th' inconstant billows dancing ; 
For so appears this fleet majestical. 
Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow ! 
Grapple your minds to sternage of this na\^- ; 
And leave your England, as dead midnight still, 
Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women. 
Either past, or not arriv'd to. pith and puissance : 
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd 
With one appearing hair, that will not follow 
These cuU'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France ? 



414 



KliS^G HENRY Y. 



ACT ITT. 



Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege : 
Behold the ordnance on their carriages. 
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur, 
Suppose, th' ambassador from the French comes back : 
Tells Harry that the king doth offer him 
Katharine his daughter ; and with her, to dowry, 
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. 
The offer likes not : and the nimble gunner 
With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, 

[Alarum; ami Chambers^ go off. 
And dowTi goes all before them. Still be kind. 
And eke out our performance with your mind. [Exit. 

SCENE I.— France. Before Harfleur. 
Alarums. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, 

Gloster, a'tid Soldiers.^ with Scaling Ladders. 
K. Hen.^ Once more unto the breach, dear friends, 
once more ; 
Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 
In peace, there 's nothing so becomes a man, 
As modest stillness, and humility ; 
But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
Then imitate the action of the tiger: 
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage : 
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 
Let it pry through the portage of the head. 
Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it, 
As fearfully, as doth a galled rock 
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, 
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 
Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; 
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
To his full height ! — On, on, you noblest^ English ! 
Whose blood is fet* from fathers of war-proof, 
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 
Have in these parts from morn till even fought, 
And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument. 
Dishonour not your mothers : now attest. 
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. 
Be copy now to men of grosser blood, 
And teach them how to war. — And you, good yeomen, 
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
The mettle of your pasture : let us swear 
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not, 
For there is none of you so mean and base, 
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. 
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
Straining upon the start. The game 's afoot : 
Follow your spirit ; and upon this charge. 
Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and Saint George ! 

[Exeunt. Alarum.^ and Chambers go off. 

SCENE IL— The Same. 
Forces pass over j then enter Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, 
and Boy. 
Bard. On, on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to the 
breach ! 

Nym. Pray thee, corporal, stay : the knocks are too 
hot ; and for mine own part, I have not a case of ' 
lives ; the humour of it is too hot, that is the very 
plain-song of it. 

Fist. The plain song is most just, for humours do 
abound ; 

Knocks go and come, 
To all and some* 
God's vassals feel the same : 



And sword and shield, 
In bloody field. 
Do' win immortal fame. 

Boy. Would I were in an alehouse in London ! I 
would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety. 

Fist. And I: 

If wishes would prevail with me. 
My purpoi-c should not fail with me. 
But thither would I now.* 

Boy. And' as duly. 

But not as truly, 

As bird doth sing on bough. 
Enter Fluellen. 

Flu. Up to the preach, you dogs ! avaunt. you cul- 
lions ! [Driving them forward. 

Fist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould ! 
Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage; 
Abate thy rage, great duke ! 
Good bawcock, bate thy rage: use lenity, sweet chuck ! 

Nym. These be good humours ! — your honour wins 
bad humours. 

[Fluellen drives out Nym, Pistol, ami BARDOLni.'" 

Boy. As young as I am. I have observed these three 
swashers. I am boy to them all three, but all they 
three, though they would serve me, could not be man 
to me ; for, indeed, three such antics do not amount to 
a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered, and red- 
faced ; by the means whereof, 'a faces it out, but fii;h*.s 
not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue, and a quiet 
sword ; by the means whereof 'a breaks words, and 
keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard, that 
men of few words are the best men ; and therefore he 
scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should be thought a 
coward: but his few bad words are match'd wilh as 
few good deeds ; for 'a never broke any man's head 
but his own, and that was against a post when he M-as 
drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it purchase. 
Bardolph stole a lute-case ; bore it twelve leagues, and 
sold it for three halfpence. Nym and Bardolph arc 
sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a 
fire-shovel : I knew by that piece of service the men 
would carry coals." They would have me as familiar 
with men's pockets, as their gloves or their handker- 
chiefs ; which makes much against my manhood, if I 
should take from another's pocket, to put into mine, 
for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave 
them, and seek some better service : their villainy goes 
against my weak stomach, and therefore I must ca.^t it 
up. [Exit. 

Re-enter Fluellen, Gower f allotting. 

Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to 
the mines : the dvike of Gloster would speak with you. 

Flu. To the mines ? tell you the duke, it is not so 
good to come to the mines ; for. look you, the mines is 
not according to the disciplines of the war : the con- 
cavities of it is not sufficient ; for, look you, th' athver- 
sary (you may discuss unto the duke, look you) is digged 
himself four yards under the countermines. By Cheshu, 
I think, 'a will plow up all, if there is not better di- 
rections. 

Gow. The duke of Gloster, to whom the order of the 
siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman ; a 
very valiant gentleman, i' faith. 

Flu. It is captain Macmorris, is it not? 

Gow. I think it be. 

Flu. By Cheshu. he is an ass, as in the world. I will 
verify as much in his peard : he has no more directions 



' Small pieces of ordnance. ^ This speech is not found in the quartos. ' Knight reads : noblesse. The first folio has : noblish. 
* Fetched. ' Pair. ' This line is not in f. e. ; the preceding and following line are usually given as one. '' doth : in f. e. ^ hje : in 
f. e. ' This word is not in f. e. i" Exeunt Nym, Ice, followed by Fluellen : in f. e. n This seenis to have been a low, menial office. 



SCENE IV. 



KING HENRY Y. 



415 



in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the 
Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. 

Enter Macmorris and Jamy, at a distance. 

Gow. Here 'a comes ; and tlie Scots captain, cap- 
tain Jamy, with him. 

Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentle- 
man, that is certain; and of great expedition, and know- 
ledge in the ancient wars, upon my particular knowledge 
of his directions : by Cheshu, he will maintain his argu- 
ment as well as any military man in the world, in the 
disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans. 

Jamy. I say, gude day, captain Fluellen. 

Flu. God-den to your worship, goot captain James. 

Gow. How now, captain Macmorris ! have you quit 
the mines ? have the pioneers given o'er ? 

3Iac. By Chrish la, tish ill done : the work ish give 
over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my hand, I 
swear, and my father's soul, the work ish ill done; it 
ish give over : I would have blowed up the town, so 
Chrish save me, la, in an hour. O ! tish ill done, tish 
ill done ; by my hand, tish ill done. 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now will you 
vouchsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, 
as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the 
wars, tlio Roman wars, in the way of argument, look 
you, and friendly communication ; partly, to satisfy my 
opinion, and partly, for the satisfaction, look you, of 
my niiud, as touching the direction of the military dis- 
cipline : that is the point. 

Jamy. It sail be very gude, gude feith, gude captains 
bath : and [ sail quit' you with glide leve, as I may 
pick occasion ; that sail I, marry. 

I\Iac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me. 
The day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the 
king, and the dukes ; it is no time to discourse. The 
town is beseeched, and the trumpet calls us to the 
breach, and we talk, and. by Chrish, do nothing : 't is 
shame for us all; so God sa' me, 't is shame to stand 
still ; it is shame, by my hand: and there is throats to 
be cut, and works to be done, and there ish nothing 
done, so Chrish sa' me, la. 

Jamy. By the mess, ere these eyes of mine take 
themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, or aile 
lig i' the grund for it ; ay, or go to death ; and aile 
pay it as valorously as I may, that sail I surely do, that 
is the brief and the long. Marry, I wad full fain heard 
some question 'tween you tway. 

Flu. Captain INIacmorris, I think, look you, under 
your correction, there is not many of your nation — 

Mac. Of my nation! What ish my nation? ish a 
villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal ? What 
ish my nation '? Who talks of my nation ? 

Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than 
is meant, captain Macmorris. peradventure, I shall think 
you do not use me with that affability as in discretion 
you ought to use me, look you ; being as goot a man 
as yourself, both in the disciplines of wars, and in the 
derivation of my birth, and in other particularities. 

il/ac. I do not know you so good a man as myself: 
so Chrish sa' me, I will cut off your head. 

Gow. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. 

Jamy. Au ! that 's a foul fault. [A Parley .sounded. 

Gow. The town sounds a parley. 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more better 
opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold 
as to tell you, I know the disciplines of wars; and there 
IS an end. [Exeunt. 



Requite, 



SCENE HI.— The Same. Before the Gates of Harfleur. 

Enter King Henry, his Train and Forces. The 

Governor and some Citizens on the Walls. 

K. lien. How yet resolves the governor of the town? 
This is the latest parte we will admit : 
Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves, 
Or, like to men proud of destruction. 
Defy us to our worst ; for, as I am a soldier, 
A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, 
If I begin the battery once again. 
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur, 
Till in her ashes she lie buried. 
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up ; 
And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, 
In liberty of bloody hand shall range 
With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass 
Your fresh fair virgins, and your flowering infants. 
What is it then to me, if impious war, 
Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends. 
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats 
Enlink'd to waste and desolation ? 
What is 't to me, when you yourselves are cause, 
If your pure maidens fall into the hand 
Of hot and forcing violation ? 
What rein can hold licentious wickedness, 
When down the hill he holds his fierce career? 
We may as bootless spend our vain command 
Upon th' enraged soldiers in their spoil, 
As send precepts to the Leviathan 
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, 
Take pity of your town, and of your people. 
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command ; 
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace 
O'erbloAvs the filthy and contagious clouds 
Of heady murder, spoil, and villainy. 
If not, why, in a moment look to see 
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters : 
Your fathers taken by the silver beards, 
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls ; 
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, 
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd 
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry 
At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. 
What say you ? will you yield, and this avoid, 
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroyed ? 

Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end. 
The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated, 
Returns us that his powers are not yet ready 
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king, 
We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. 
Enter our gates ; dispose of us. and ours, 
For we no longer are defensible. 

A'. Hen. Open your gates ! — Come, uncle Exeter, 
Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain, [Gates opened. 
And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French : 
Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle. 
The winter coming on, and sickness growing 
Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. 
To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest: 
To-morrow for the march arc we addrest. 

[Flourish. The King, ^c. enter the Town. 

SCENE IV.— Rouen. A Room in the Palace, 
Enter Katharine and Alice. 
Kath. Alice., tu as este en Angleterrc. et tu paries bien 
le langage. 

Alice. Un peu, madame. 



4:16 



KING HENRY Y. 



ACT lU. 



Kath. Je te prie, m'enscigncz ; il faut que fapprenne 
d parlcr. Comment appelkz vous la main, en Anglois ? 

Alice. La main ? elk est appellee, de hand. 

Kath. De hand. Et les doigts? 

Alice. Les doigts ? ma foy, je ouhlie les doigts ; mats 
je me smiviendrai. Les doigts 1 je pense, quHls sont 
appelle de fingrcs; ouy, de fingres. 

Kath. La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je 
pcnse, que je suis le bon escolier. fay gagne deux mots 
d^ Anglois vistemcnt. Comment appelkz vous les angles'? 

Alice. Les angles ? les appelluns, de nails. 

Kath. De nails. Ecoutez ; dites moi, si je park 
bien : de hand, de fingres, de nails. 

Alice. 

Kath. 

Alice. 

Kath. 

Alice. 

Kath. 
les mots. 



Normans, Norman 



C'est bien dit, madame ; il est fort bon Anglois. 

Dites moi V Anglois pour le bras. 

De arm, madame. 

Et le coude. 

De elbow. 

De elbow. Je m'en faitz la repetition de tons 

que vous m'ttvez appris des a present. 

Alice'. II est trop difficik, rmidame. commc je pense. 

Kath. Excusez moi, Alice; ecoutez: de hand, de 
fingre, de nails, de arm, de bilbow. 

Alice. De elbow, madame. 

Kath. Seigneur Dieu ! je m'en oublie ; de elbow. 
Comment appelkz vous le col ? 

Alice. De nick, madame. 

Kath. De nick : Et le menton ? 

Alice. De chin. 

Kath. De sin. Le col, de nick: le menton, de sin. 

Alice. Oui. Sauf vostre honneur ; en verite, vous 
prononcez les motsaussi droit que les natifs (V Angkterre. 

Kath. Je ne doute point d^ apprendre par la grace de 
Dieu, et en peu de temps. 

Alice. N^avez vouz pas dejd oublie ce que je vous ay 
enseignee. ? 

Kath. Non, je reciter ai a vous promptement. De 
hand, de fingre, de mails, — 

Alice. De nails, madame. 

Kath. De nails, de arme, de ilbow. 

Alice. Sauf vostre honneur, de elbow. 

Kath. Ainsi dis je ; de elbow, de nick, et de sin : 
Comment appelkz vous le pied et la robe ? 

Alice. De foot, madame; et de con. 

Kath. De foot, et de con? O Seigneur Dieu! ces 
sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, grosse, et impu- 
dique, et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user. Je ne 
voudrois prononcer ces mots devant les seigneurs de 
France, pour tout le momle. II faut de foot, et de con, 
neantmoins. Je reciterai une autre fois ma kfon en- 
semble : de hand, de fingre, de nails, de arm, de elbow, 
de nick, de sin, de foot, de con. 

Alice. Excellent, madame! 

Kath. Chst assez pour une fois : allons nous a disner. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — The Same. Another Room in the 
Same. 
Enter the French King, the Dauphin, Duke o/ Bour- 
bon, the Constable of France, and others. 
Fr. King. 'T is certain, he hath passed the river 

Somme. 
Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, 
Let us not live in France : let us quit all. 
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. 

Dau. Dieu vivant ! Shall a few sprays of us, 
The emptying of our fathers' luxury. 
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock. 
Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds. 



And overlook their grafters ? 
Bour. Normans, but bastard 
bastards. 

Mort de ma vie ! if they march along 
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom. 
To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm 
In that nook-shotten' isle of Albion. 

Con. Dieu de battaiks ! where have they this mettle ? 
Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull. 
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, 
Killing their fruit with frownis? Can .sodden water, 
A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley broth, 
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat ? 
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine. 
Seem frosty ? ! for honour of our land, 
Let us not hang like roping icicles 
Upon ovir houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people 
Sweat drops of gallant youtli in our rich fields, 
Poor we may call them, in their native lords. 

Dau. By faith and honour. 
Our madams mock at us, and plainly say. 
Our mettle is bred out ; and they will give 
Their bodies to the lu.st of English youth. 
To new-store France with bastard warriors. 

Bour. They bid us to the English dancing-schools, 
And teach lavoltas' high, and swift corantos ; 
Saying, our grace is only in our heels. 
And that we are most lofty runaways. 

Fr. King. Where is Montjoy, the herald ? speed 
him hence ; 
Let him greet England with our shai-p defiance. — 
Up, princes ! and, with spirit of honour, edg'd 
More sharper than your swords, hie to the field. 
Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France ; 
You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry, 
Alenfon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy ; 
Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, 
Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg, 
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois, 
High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights. 
For your great states, now quit you of great shames. 
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land 
With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur ; 
Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow 
Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat 
The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon. 
Go, down upon him, — ^you have power enough, — 
And in a captive chariot into Rouen 
Bring him our prisoner. 

Con. This becomes the great. 

Sorry am I, his numbers are so few. 
His soldiers sick, and famish'd in their march. 
For, I am sure, when he shall see our army. 
He '11 drop his heart into the sink of fear, 
And for achievement offer us his ransom. 

Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on Mont- 
joy^ 
And let him say to England, that we send 
To know what willing ransom he will give. — 
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. 
Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. 
Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain with us. — 
Now, forth, lord constable, and princes all. 
And quickly bring us word of England's fall. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— The English Camp in Picardy. 
Enter Gower and Fluellen. 
Goiv. How now, captain Fluellen? come you from 
the bridge ? 



1 An island that shoots out into capes and promontories. 2 An Italian dance resembling a waltz. 



SCENE VI. 



KING HENRY V. 



417 



Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent services 
committed at the pridge. 

Gow. Is the duke of Exeter safe ? 

Flu. The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as 
Agamemnon ; and a man that I love and honour 
with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my 
life, and my living, and my uttermost power: he is 
not (God be praised, and plessed !) any hurt in the 
world ; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, with ex- 
cellent discipline. There is an ancient, lieutenant', 
there, at the pridge, — I think, in my very conscience, 
he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony, and he is a 
man of no estimation in the world : but I did see him 
do as gallant service. 

Goiv. What do you call him ? 

Fill. He is called ancient Pistol. 

Gow. I know him not. 

Enter Pistol. 

Flu. Here is the man. 

Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours : 
The duke of Exeter doth love thee well. 

Flu. Ay, I praise Got ; and I have merited some 
love at his liands. 

Pist. Bardolpli, a soldier firm and sound of heart, 
And buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate 
And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel, 
That goddess blind. 
That stands upon the rolling restless stone. — 

Flu. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune is 
painted plind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify 
to you that fortune is plind ; and she is painted also 
with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of 
it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and nuitability, 
and variation : and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a 
splierical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls. In 
good truth, the poet makes a most excellent descrip- 
tion of it : fortune is an excellent moral. 

Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him ; 
For he hath stol'n a pax^, and hanged must 'a be. 
A damned death ! 

Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free, 
And let not hemp his wine-pipe suffocate. 
But Exeter hath given the doom of death. 
For pax of little price : 

Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy voice, 
And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut 
With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach : 
Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. 

Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your 
meaning. 

Pist. Why then, rejoice therefore. 

Flu. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice 
at ; for if, look you, he were my brother, I would 
desire the duke to use his goot pleasvire, and put him 
to execution, for discipline ought to be used. 

Pist. Die and be damn'd ; and Jico for thy friendship ! 

Flu. It is well. 

Pist. The fig of Spain ! [Exit Pistol', making the 

[sign*. 

Flu. Very good. 

Goiv. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal : I 
remember him now ; a bawd; a cutpurse. 

Flu. I '11 assure you, 'a utter'd as prave words at the 
pridge, as you .shall see in a summer's day. But it is 
very well, what he has spoke to me; that is well, I 
warrant you, when time is serve. 

Gotv. Why, 't is a gull, a fool, a rogue ; that now 



and then goes to the wars, to grace himself at his 
return into London under the form of a soldier. And 
such fellows are perfect in the great commanders' 
names, and they will learn you by rote where services 
were done ; — at such and such a sconce, at such a 
breach, at such a convoy ; who came off bravely, who 
was shot, who disgraced, what terms the enemy stood 
on : and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war. 
which they trick up with new-coined^ oaths : and what 
a beard of the general's cut, and a horrid suit of the 
camp, will do among foaming bottles, and ale-washed 
wits, is wonderful to be thought on. But you must 
learn to know such slanders of the age, or else you 
may be marvellously mistook. 

Flu. I tell you what, captain Gower ; I do per- 
ceive he is not the man that he would gladly make 
show to the world he is ; if I find a hole in his coat, I 
will tell him my mind. [Drum heard.] Hark you, the 
king is coining, and I must speak with him from the 
pridge. 
Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Soldiers^ sick and 
tattered. 

Flu. Got pless your majesty ! 

K. Hen. How now^ Fluellen ? cam'st thou from the 
bridge ? 

Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke of 
Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge : the 
French is gone off, look you. and there is gallant and 
most prave passages. Marry, th' atliversary was have 
possession of the pridge, but he is enforced to retire, 
and the duke of Exeter is master of the pridge. I can 
tell your majesty, the duke is a prave man. 

K. Hen.. What men have yoia lost, Fluellen? 

Flu. The perdition of th' athversary hath been very 
great, reasonable great : marry, for my part, 1 think 
the duke hath lost never a man, but one that is like 
to be executed for robbing a church ; one Bardolph, if 
your majesty know the man : his face is all bubukles, 
and whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire ; and his lips 
plows at his nose, and it is like a coal of fire, some- 
times plue, and sometimes red ; but his nose is exe- 
cuted, and his fire 's out. 

K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so cut 
off: and we give express charge, that in our marches 
through the country, there be notliing compelled from 
the villages, nothing taken but paid for ; none of the 
French upbraided, or abused in disdainful language, 
for w"lien lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the 
gentler gamester is the soonest winner. 
Tucket. Enter Montjot. 

Mont. You know me by my habit. 

K. Hen. Well then, I know thee : what shall I know 
of thee ? 

Mont. My master's mind. 

K. Hen. Unfold it. 

Mont. Thus says my king : — Say thou to Harry of 
England; Though we seemed dead, we did but sleep; 
advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him, 
we could have rebuked him at Harfieur ; but that we 
thought not good to bruise an injury, till it were full 
ripe : now we speak upon our cue, and our voice is 
imperial. England shall repent his folly, see his 
weakness, and adinire our sufferance. Bid him, there- 
fore, consider of his ransom ; which must proportion 
the losses we have borne, the subjects we have lost, 
the disgrace^we have digested ; which, in weight to 
re-answer, his pettiness would bow under. For our 



^ So the folio; the word is usually omitted in mod. eds. 3 A small image of the Saviour on which the hiss of peace was bestowed by 
the congregation at the close of the mass. 3 The rest of this direction is not in f. e. ■• The sign consisted in putting the thumb between 
the thumb and middle finger. '* new-tuned : in f. e. * The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 

27 



418 



KING HENRY Y. 



ACT III. 



losses, his exchequer is too poor ; for the effusion of 
our blood, the muster of his kingdom too faint a 
number ; and for our disgrace, his own person, kneel- 
ing at our feet, but a weak and worthless satisfaction. 
To this add defiance : and tell him, for conclusion, he 
hath betrayed his followers, whose condemnation is 
pronounced. So far my king and master : so much 
my office. 

K. Hen. What is thy name ? I know thy quality. 

Mont. Montjoy. 

K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back, 
And tell tiiy king, — I do not seek him now. 
But could be willing to march on to Calais 
Without impeachment ; for, to say the sooth, 
Though 't is no wisdom to confess so much 
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage. 
My people are with sickness much enfeebled ; 
My numbers lessen'd, and those few I have, 
Almost no better than so many French : 
Who, when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, 
I thought upon one pair of English legs 
Did march three Frcnclimen. — Yet, forgive me. 
That I do brag tlius ! — this your air of France 
Hath blown that vice in me : I must repent. 
Go, therefore, tell thy master, here I am : 
My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk. 
My army but a weak and sickly guard ; 
Yet, God before, tell him we will come on, 
Though France himself, and such another neighbour. 
Stand in our way. There 's for thy labour, Montjoy. 

[Giving a chain.^ 
Go, bid thy master well advise iiimself : 
If we may pass, we will ; if we be hinder'd, 
We shall your tawny ground with your red blood 
Discolour : and so, Montjoy, fare you well. 
The sum of all our answer is but this : 
We would not seek a battle, as we are, 
Nor, as we are, we say, we will not shun it : 
So tell your master. 

Mont. I shall deliver so. 



God, 



Glo. 



Thanks to your highness. 
[Exit Montjoy. 
I hope they will not come upon us now. 



A'. He7i. We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs. 
March to the bridge ; it now draws toward night. 
Beyond the river we '11 encamp ourselves, 
And on to-morrow bid them march away. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. — The French Camp, near Agincourt. 

Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Rambures, the 

Duke 0/ Orleans, the Dauphin, and others. 

Con. Tut ! I have the best armour of the world. 
Would it were day ! 

Orl. You have an excellent armour : but let my 
horse have his due. 

Con. It is the best horse of Europe. 

Orl. Will it never be morning? 

Dau. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high consta- 
ble, you talk of horse and armour — 

Orl. Y'ou are as well provided of both as any prince 
in the world. 

Dati. What a long night is this ! — I will not change 
my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns. 
Ca, ha ! He bounds from the earth, as if his entrails 
were air*, le cheval volant, the Pegasus, qui a les narines 
de feu ! When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk : 
he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it: 
the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the 
pipe of Hermes. 

Orl. He 's of the colour of the nutmeg. 



Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast 
for Perseus : he is pure air and fire, and the dull ele- 
ments of earth and water never appear in him, but only 
in patient stillness, while his rider mounts him : he is, 
indeed, a horse ; and all other jades you may call beasts. 

Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and 
excellent horse. 

Dau. It is the prince of palfreys : his neigh is like 
the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces 
homage. 

Orl. No more, cousin. 

Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from 
the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary 
deserved praise on my palfrey : it is a theme as fluent 
as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and 
my horse is argument for them all. 'T is a subject 
for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's sove- 
reign to ride on ; and for the world (familiar'to us, and 
unknown) to lay apart their particular functions, and 
wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise, 
and began thus : " Wonder of Nature !" — 

Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress. 

Dau. Then did they imitate that wiiich I composed 
to my courser ; for my horse is my mistress. 

Orl. Your mistress bears well. 

Datt. Me well: which is the prescript praise, and 
perfection of a good and particular mistress. 

Con. Nay. for methought yesterday, your mistress 
shrewdly shook your back 



Dau. So, perhaps, did yours. 

Con. Mine was not bridled. 

Dau. Oh ! then, belike, she was old and gentle 



and 



you rode, like a kern of Ireland, your French hose off, 
and in your strait trossers^. 

Con. You have good judgment in horsemanship. 

Dau. Be warned by me, then : they that ride so, and 
ride not warily, fall into foul bogs. I had rather have 
my horse to my mistress. 

Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. 

Dau. I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears his 
own hair. 

Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if I had 
a sow to my mistress. 

Dau. Le chien est retournc a son fropre vomissement.^ 
et la truie lavee aubourbier : thou makest use of any thing. 

Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress : or 
any such proverb, so little kin to the purpose. 

Ram. My lord constable, the armour, that I saw in 
your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns, upon it ? 

Con. Stars, my lord. 

Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. 

Con. And yet my sky shall not want. 

Dau. That may be ; for you bear a many superflu- 
ously, an 't were more honour some were away. 

Con. Even as your horse bears your praises ; who 
would trot as well, were some of your brags dis- 
mounted. 

Dau. Would, I were able to load him with his de- 
sert ! Will it never be day ? I will trot to-morrow a 
mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces. 

Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced out 
of my way ; but I would it were morning, for I would 
fain be about the ears of the English. 

Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty 
prisoners ? 

Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you 
have them. 

Dau. 'T is midnight : I '11 go arm myself. [Exit. 

Orl. The Dauphin longs for morning. 



* Not in f. e. 2 hairs : in f. e. !< Bare-legged — trossers, or strossers were trousers. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY V. 



419 



Ram. He longs to eat the English. 

Con. I think he will eat all he kills. 

Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he 's a gallant 
prince. 

Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the 
oath. 

Orl. He is simply the most active gentleman of France. 

Con. Doing is activity, and he will still be doing. 

Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of. 

Con. Nor will do none to-morrow : he will keep that 
good name still. 

Orl. I know him to be valiant. 

Con. I was told that, by one that knows him better 
than you. 

Orl. What 'she? 

Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said, he 
cared not who knew it. 

Orl. He needs not ; it is no hidden virtue in him. 

Con. By my faith, sir, but it is ; never any body saw 
it, but his lackey : 't is a hooded valour, and when it 
appears it will bate'. 

Orl. Ill will never said well. 

Con. I will cap that proverb with — there is flattery 
in friendship. 

Orl. And I will take up that with — give the devil 
his due. 

Con. Well placed : there stands your friend for the 
devil : have at the very eye of that proverb, with — a 
pox of the devil. 

Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how much — 
a fool's bolt is soon shot. 

Con. You have shot over. 

Orl. 'T is not the first time you were overshot. 



Enter a Messenger. 

Mes. My lord high constable, the English lie within 
fifteen hundred paces of your tents. 

Con. Who hath measured the ground ? 

Mes. The lord Grandpre. 

Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman. — Would 
it were day ! — Alas, poor Harry of England ! — he longs 
not for the dawning, as we do. 

Orl. What a wretched and peevish* fellow is this 
king of England, to mope with his fat-brained followers 
so far out of his knowledge. 

Con. If tlie English had any apprehension, they 
would run away. 

Orl. That they lack; for if their heads had any 
intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy 
head-pieces. 

Ram. That i.'^land of England b.eeds very valiant 
creatures: their mastiffs are of unmatcjable courage. 

Orl. Foolish curs ! that run winking into the mouth 
of a Russian bear, and have their heads crushed like 
rotten apples. You may as well say that 's a valiant 
flea, that dai^e eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion. 

Con. Just, just; and the men do sympathize with 
the mastiffs in robustious and rough coming on, leaving 
their wits with their wives : and, then, give them great 
meals of beef, and iron and steel, they will eat like 
wolves, and fight like devils. 

Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef. 

Con. Then shall we find to-morrow they liave only 
stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to 
arm : come, shall we about it? 

Orl. It is now two o'clock : but, let me see ; by ten, 
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. [Exeunt. 



ACT ly 



Enter Chorus. 
Cho. Now entertain conjecture of a time. 
When creeping murmur and the poring dark. 
Fills the wide vessel of the universe. 
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night, 
The hum of either army stilly sounds. 
That the fix'd sentinels almost receive 
The secret whispers of each other's watch : 
Fire answers fire, and throvigh their paly flames 
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face : 
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs 
Piercing the night's dull ear ; and from the tents. 
The armourers accomplishing the knights. 
With busy hammers closing rivets up, 
Give dreadful note of preparation. 
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, 
And the third hour of drowsy morning's nam'd. 
Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul, 
The confident and over-lusty French 
Do the low-rated English play at dice ; 
And chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night. 
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
So tediously away. The poor condemned English, 
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate 
The morning's danger ; and their gesture sad. 
Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, 
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon 
So many horrid ghosts. ! now, who will behold 



The royal captain of this ruin'd band. 

Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, 

Let him cry — Praise and glory on his head ! 

For forth he goes, and visits all his host. 

Bids them good-morrow with a modest smile. 

And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen. 

Upon his royal face there is no note, 

How dread an army hath enrounded him, 

Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour 

Unto the weary and all-watched night; 

But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint. 

With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty; 

That every wretch, pining and pale before, 

Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks. 

A largess universal, like the sun, 

His liberal eye doth give to every one. 

Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all, 

Behold, as may unwortliiness define, 

A little touch of Harry in the night. 

And so our scene must to the battle fly; 

Where, O for pity ! we shall much disgrace — 

With four or five most vile and ragged foils. 

Right ill-dispos"d, in brawl ridiculous, — 

The name of Agincourt. Yet, sit and see ; 

Mmding true things by what their mockeries be. [Exit. 

SCENE I.— The English Camp at Agincourt. 
Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Gi.oster. 
K. Hen. Gloster. 't is true that we are in great danger; 
The greater, therefore, should our courage be. — 



1 Falcons, when unhooded. bate or beat the air, by flapping their wings. ^ Foolish. 



420 



KING HENRY V. 



ACT rv. 



Good morrow, brother Bedford. — God Almighty ! 
There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
Would men observingly distil it out, 
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, 
Which is both healthful, and good husbandry : 
Besides, they are our outward consciences, 
And preachers to us all ; admonishing. 
That we should 'dress us fairly for our end. 
Thus may we gather honey from the weed, 
And make a moral of the devil himself. 

Enter Erpingham. 
Good morrovr, old Sir Thomas Erpingham : 
A good soft pillow for that good white head 
Were better than a churlish turf of France. 

Erp. Not so, my liege : this lodging likes me better ; 
Since I may say, now He I like a king. 

K. Hen. 'T is good for men to love their present pains, 
Upon example ; sr the spirit is eased : 
And when the "iiind is quicken'd, out of doubt, 
The organs, though defunct and dead before, 
Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move 
With casted slough and fresh legerity. 
Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas. — Brothers both, 
Commend me to the princes in our camp ; 
Do my good morrow to them ; and, anon, 
Desire them all to my pavilion. 

Glo. We shall, my liege. 

[Exeunt Gloster and Bedford. 

Erp. Shall I attend your grace ? 

A'. Hen. No, my good knight ; 

Go with my brothers to my lords of England : 
I and my bosom must debate a while, 
And. then, I would no other company. 

Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry ! 

[Exit Erpingham. 

K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart ! thou speak'st 
cheerfully. 

Enter Pistol. 

Pist. Qui va Id ?' 

K. Hen. A friend. 

Pist. Discuss vuito me ; art thou officer ? 
Or art thou base, common, and popular? 

K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. 

Pist. Trail'st thou the puissant pike ? 

K. Hen. Even so. What are you ? 

Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. 

K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king. 

Pist. The king 's a bawcock, and a heart of gold, 
A lad of life, an imp of fame ; 
Of parents good, of fist most valiant : 
I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string 
I love the lovely bully. What 's thy name ! 

A'. He7i. Harry le Roy. 

Pist. Le Roy ! a Cornish name : art thou of Cornish 

K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. [crew? 

Pist. Know'st thou Fluellen? 

K. Hen. Yes. 

PL-it. Tell him, I '11 knock his leek about his pate, 
Upon Saint David's day. 

A'. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap 
that day, lest he knock that about yours. 

Pist. Art thou his friend? 

K. Hen. And his kinsman too. 

Pist. The fico for thee then ! 

K. Hen. I thank you. God be with you ! 

Pist. My name is Pistol called. [Exit. 

K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. 
Enter Fluellen and Gower, severally. 

Gow. Captain Fluellen ! 

* The act commences here in the quartos. 



Flu. So, in the name of Cheshu Christ, speak lower. 
It is the greatest admiration in the universal world, 
when the true and ancient prerogatifes and laws of 
the wars is not kept. If you would take the pains but 
to examine the wars of Pompcy the Great, you shall 
find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle, or 
pibble pabble. in Pompey's camp : I warrant you, you 
shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of 
it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety of it, aud the 
modesty of it, to be otherwise. 

Gow. Why, the enemy is loud ; yovi hear him all 
night. 

Flu. If the enemy is an ass and a fool, and a prating 
coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also, 
look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a prattlig cox- 
comb ? in your own conscience now ? 

Gow. I will speak lower. 

Flu. I pray you, and beseech you, that you will. 

[Exeunt Gower and Fluellen. 

K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion. 
There is much care and valour in this Welshman. 
Enter John Bates, Alexander Court, and Michael 
Williams. 

Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning 
which breaks yonder ? 

Bates. I think it be ; but we have no great cause to 
desire the approach of day. 

Will? We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I 
think we shall never see the end of it. — Who goes there ? 

A'. Hen. A friend. 

Will. Under what captain serve you ? 

K. Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham. 

Will. A good old commander, and a most kind gen- 
tleman. I pray you, what thinks he of our estate ? 

K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that 
look to be washed off the next tide. 

Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king? 

K. Hen. No ; nor it is not meet he .'hould ; for, 
though I speak it to you, I think the king is but a 
man, as 1 am : the violet smells to him, as it doth to 
me : the element shows to him, as it doth to me ; all 
his senses have but human conditions : his ceremonies 
laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man, and 
though his affections are higher mounted than curs, 
yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing. 
Therefore, when he sees reason of fears, as we do, his 
fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are : 
yet in rea.son no man should possei^s him with any ap- 
pearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dis- 
hearten his army. 

Bates. He may show what outward courage he will; 
but, I believe, as cold a night as 't is, he could wish 
himself in Thames up to the neck : and so I would he 
were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit 
here. 

K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of 
the king : I think, he w^ould not wish himself any where 
but where he is. 

Bates. Then, I would he were here alone ; so should 
he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's 
lives saved. 

K. Hen. I dare say. you love him not so ill, to wi.sh 
him here alone, howsoever you speak this, to feel other 
men's minds. Methinks, I could not die any where 
so contented as in the king's company, his cause being 
just, and his quarrel honourable. 

Will. That 's more than we know. 

Bales. Ay, or more than we should seek after ; for 
we know enough, if we know we are the king's subjects. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY Y. 



421 



If his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes 
the crime of it out of us. 

Will. But, if the cause be not good, the king himself 
hath a heavy reckoning to make : when all those legs, 
and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall join 
together at the latter day, and cry all — " We died at 
such a place :" some swearing, some crying for a sur- 
geon, some upon their wives left poor behind them, 
some upon the debts they owe, some upon their chil- 
dren rawly left. I am afeard there are few die well, 
that die in a battle ; for how can they cliaritably dis- 
pose of any thing, when blood is their argument? 
Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black 
matter for the king that led tliem to it, whom to diso- 
bey were against all proportion of subjection. 

K. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent about 
merchandise, do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the 
imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be 
imposed upon his father that sent him : or if a servant, 
under his master's command, transporting a sum of 
money, be assailed by robbers, and die in many irre- 
conciled iniquities, you may call the business of the 
master the author of the servant's damnation. But 
this is not so : the king is not bound to answer the 
particular endings of his soldiers, the father of his son, 
nor the master of his servant ; for they purpose not 
their death, when they purpose their services. Besides, 
there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it 
come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with 
all unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on 
them the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder : 
some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of per- 
jury ; some, making the wars their bulwark, that have 
before gored the gentle bosom of peace with pillage 
and robbery. Now, if these men have defeated the 
law, and outrun native punishment, though they can 
outstrip men, they have no wings to fly from God : 
war is his beadle : war is his vengeance ; so that here 
men are punished, for before-breach of the king's laws, 
in now the king's quarrel : where they feared the death, 
they have borne life away, and where they would be 
safe, they perish : then, if they die unprovided, no more 
is the king guilty of their damnation, than he was be- 
fore guilty of those impieties for the which they are 
now visited. Every subject's duty is the king's : but 
every subject's soul is his own. Therefore, should 
every soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his 
bed, wash every mote out of his conscience ; and dying 
Bo, death is to him advant age ; or not dying, the time 
was blessedly lost, wherein such preparation was 
gained : and, in him that escapes, it were not sin to 
think, that making God so free an offer, he let him out- 
live that day to see his greatness, and to teach others 
how they .should prepare. 

Will. 'T is certain, every man that dies ill, the ill 
upon his own head : the king is not to answer it. 

Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me ; and 
yet I determine to fight lustily for him. 

K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would not 
be ransomed. 

Will. Ay, he said so to make us fight cheerfully ; 
but when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, 
and we ne'er the wiser. 

K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his 
word after. 

Will. You pay him then ! That 's a perilous shot out 
of an elder gun, that a poor and a private displeasure 
can do against a monarch. You may as well go about 
to turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a 



peacock's»feather. You '11 never trust his word after ! 
come, 't is a foolish saying. 

K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round' : I should 
be angry with you, if the time were convenient. 

Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live. 

K. Hen. I embrace it. 

Will. How shall I know thee again ? 

K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear 
it in my bonnet : then, if CA^er thou darcst acknowledge 
it, I will make it my quarrel. 

Will. Here 's my glove : give me another of thine. 

K. Hen. There. 

Will. This will I also wear in my cap: if ever thou 
come to me and say, after to-morrow, '■ This is my 
glove," by this hand, I will take thee a box 0)i the ear. 

K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. 

Wyi. Thou darest as well be hanged. 

K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the 
king's company. 

Will. Keep thy word : fare thee well. 

Bate;. Be friends, you English fools, be friends : we 
have French quarrels enov.-, if you could tell how to 
reckon. 

K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French 
crowns to one they will beat us, for they bear them on 
their shoulders ; but it is no English treason to cut 
French crowns, and to-morrow the king himself will be 
a clipper. [Exeunt Soldiers. 

Upon the king ! let us our lives, our souls, 
Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and 
Our sins, lay on the king ! — we must bear all. 
hard condition ! twin born- with greatness, 
Subject to the breath of every fool, 
Whose sense no more can feel but his own ■^Tinging ! 
What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect, 
That private men enjoy ? 

And wliat have kings, that privates have not too, 
Save ceremony, save general ceremony ? 
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony ? 
What kind of god art thou, that sufFer'st more 
Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers ? 
What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in? 

ceremony, show me but thy worth ! 
What is thy soul but adulation' ? 

Art thou auglit else but place, degree, and form ? 

Creating awe and fear in other men, 

Wherein thou art less liappy, being fear'd. 

Than they in fearing. 

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, 

But poison'd flattery? O! be sick, great greatness, 

And bid thy ceremony give thee cure. 

Think" st thou, the fiery fever will go out 

Witli titles blown from adulation ? 

Will it give place to flexure and low bending? 

Canst thou, when thou commaud'st the beggar's knee, 

Command the hcaltli of it ? No, thou proud dream, 

That play'st so subtly with a king's repose : 

1 am a king, that find thee ; and I know, 

'T is not tiie balm, the sceptre, and the ball, 

The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, 

The inter-tissued robe of gold and pearl, 

The farced^ title running 'fore the king, 

The tlirone he sits on, nor the fide of pomp 

That beats upon the high shore of this world; 

No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony. 

Not all these laid in bed majestical, 

Can sleep so soundly as tlie wretched slave, 

Who, with a body fiU'd. and vacant mind. 

Gets him to rest, crammd with distasteful* bread, 



1 Plain. '■' of adoration : in f. e. ^ Stuffed, inflated, * distressful : in f. e. 



1 _ 



422 



KING HENRY V. 



ACT IV. 



Never sees horrid night, the child of hell, 
Rut, like a lackey, from the rise to set, * 

Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night 
Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn, 
Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse, 
And follows so the ever running year 
With profitable labour to his grave : 
And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, 
Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep, 
Hath the fore-hand and vantage of a king. 
The slave, a member of the country's peace, 
Enjoys it, but in gross brain little wots, 
What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, 
Whoso hours the peasant best advantages. 
Enter EnpiNOHAM. 

Erjp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence. 
Seek through your camp to find you. 

K. Hen, Good old knight, 

Collect them all together at my tent: 
I '11 be before thee. 

Erf. I shall do 't, my lord. \Exit. 

I K. Hen. 0, God of battles ! steel my soldiers' hearts : 
Possess them not with fear : take from thein now 
The sense of reckoning, if th' opposed numbers 
Pluck their hearts from them ! — Not to-day, O Lord ! 
0! not to-day, think not upon Ihe fault 
My father made in compassing the crown. 
I Richard's body have interred new, 
And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears, 
Than from it issued forced drops of blood. 
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay. 
Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up 
Toward heaven, to pardon blood ; and 1 have built 
Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests 
Sing still for Richard's soiil. More will I do; 
Though all that I can do is nothing worth, 
Since that my penitence comes after all, 
Imploring pardon. 

Enter Gloster. 

Glo. My liege ! 

K. Hen. My brother Gloster's voice ? — Ay ; 

I know thy errand, I will go with thee. — 
The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. [Exeunt. 

SCENE ir.— The French Camp. 
Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures, and others. 

Orl. The sun doth gild our armour : up, my lords ! 

Dan. Monte- a chrval .--My horse ! valet ! lacqiiay ! ha ! 

Orl. brave spirit ! 

Dau. Via ! — les eanx et In tcrre ! 

Orl. Ricn jmia ? P air et Ic feu ! 

Dau. del! cousin Orleans. 

Enter Constable. 
Now, my lord Constable ! 

Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh. 

Dan. Mount them, and make incision in their hides. 
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes. 
And doubt them with superfluous courage : Ha ! 

/?am.What,will you have them weep our horses' blood? 
How shall wo then behold their natural tears ? 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The English are embattled, you French peers. 

Con. To horse, you gallant princes ! straight to horse ! 
Do bvit behold yon poor and starved band. 
And your fair show shall suck away their souls, 
Leaving them but the shales" and husks of men. 
There is not work enough for all our hands; 
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins, 



To give each naked curtle-ax a stain. 
That our French gallants shall to-day draw out, 
And sheath for lack of sport : let us but blow on them, 
The vapour of our valovir will o'crtiirn them. 
'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords. 
That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants, 
Who in unnecessary action swarm 
About our squares of battles, were enow 
To purge this field of such a hilding foe, 
Though we uj)on this mountain's basis by 
Took stand for idle speculation : 
But that our honours must not. What 's to say? 
A very little little let us do, 
And all is done. Then, let the trumpets sound 
The tuckct-sonnancc^, and the note to mount : 
For our approach shall .so much dare the field, ^ 
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield. 
Enter (Juandpre. 

Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France ? 
Yon' island carrions, desperate of their bones, 
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field : 
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, 
And our air shakes them jiassing scornfully. 
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host. 
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps. 
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks. 
With torch-staves in their hands,* and their poor jadea 
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips. 
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes, 
And in their pale dull mouths the ginunaP bit 
Lies, foul with chew'd gra.ss, still and motionless; 
And their executors, the knavish crows, 
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour. 
Description cannot suit itself in words, 
To demonstrate the life of such a battle. 
In life so lifeless as it shows itself. [death. 

Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay for 

Dau. Shall wc go send them diimcrs, and fresh suits. 
And give their fasting horses provender. 
And .after fight with them? 

Con. I stay but tor my guard. On, to the field ! 
I will the banner from a trumpet take, 
And use it for my haste. Come, come away ! 
The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The English Camp. 

Enter all the English Host; Gi.oster. Bedford, Exeter, 

Salisbury, and Westmoreland. 

Glo. Where is the king? 

lied. The king himself is rode to view their battle. 

West, or fighting men they have full threescore 
thousand. 

Exe. There 's five to one : besides, they all are fresh. 

Sal. God's arm strike with us ! 't is a fearful odds. 
God be wi' you, princes all ; I 'II to my charge : 
If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven. 
Then, joyfully, — my noble lord of Bedford. — 
My dear lord Gloster, — and my good lord Exeter, — 
And my kind kinsman, — warriors all, adieu ! 

Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury ; and good luck go 
with thee ! 

Exe. Farewell, kind lord. Fight valiantly to-day : 
And yet I do thee wrong, to mind thee of it, 
For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour. 

[Exit Salisbury. 

Bed. He is as full of valour, as of kindness ; 
Princely in both. 

West. O ! that we now had here 



' of : in folio : whioh Sinjjer retains, rnmoving the period fronn ttie middle of the next line to its close, a Shells. 
pet. * Candlesticks were often made in the figure of akniffht, the candle being set in the hand. " Double. 



2 The blast of a trum- 



SCENE IV. 



KING HENRY Y. 



423 



Enter King Henry. 
But. one ten thousand of tliose men in England, 
That do no work to-day. 

A'. Hen. What 's he. that wishes so ? 

My cousin Westmoreland ? — No, my lair cousin : 
If we are maric'd to die, we arc enow 
To do our country loss; and if to live, 
The fewer men, the greater share of honour. 
God's will ! I pray thee, wisli not one man more. 
]3y Jove, I am not covetous for gold ; 
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; 
It yearns' mc not if men my garments wear ; 
iSuch outward tilings dwell not in my desires : 
But, if it be a sin to covet honour, 
I am the most offending soul alive. 
No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England : 
Cod's peace ! I would not lose so great an honour, 
As one man more, mcthinks, would sliare from mc. 
For the best hope I have. O ! do not wish one more : 
H.athcr proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, 
Tluit he, which hath no stomach to this tight, 
Let him depart ; his passport shall be made, 
And crowns for convoy put into his ])urse : 
We would not die in that man's company, 
That fears his fellowship to die with us. , 
This day is call'd — the feast of Crispian : 
lie, that outlives this day, and comes safe home. 
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd. 
And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 
He, that shall live this day, and see^ old age, 
Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends. 
And say — to-morrow is Saint Crispian : 
Then will ho strip his sleeve, and show liis scars. 
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, 
But he '11 remember with advantages 
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names. 
Familiar in their mouths as liousehold words, — 
Harry tlie king, Bedford and Kxeter, 
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, — 
Be in their flowing cvips freshly remember'd. 
This story shall the good man teach his son, 
And ('rispin Crispian shall ne'er go by. 
From this day to the ending of the world, 
But we in it shall be remembered ; 
We few, we liappy few, wo band of brothers : 
For he, to-day that sheds his blood with me. 
Shall be my brother: be he ne'er so vile. 
This day shall gentle' his condition : 
And gentlemen in England, now a-bcd, 
Shall lliink them.selves accurs"d they were not here, 
And hold their manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks 
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. 
Enter Salishukv. 

iSu/. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed : 
The French are bravely in their battles set, 
And will with all expedience charge on us. 

A'. Hen. All tilings arc ready, if our minds be so. 

West. Perish the man whose mind is backward now ! 

K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from England, 
cousin ? 

West. God's will ! my liege, would you and I alone. 
Without more helji, might'' light this royal battle. 

A. Urn. Why, now thou hast uiiwish'd live thousand 
Which likes mc better than to wish us one. — [men. 
You know your places : God be witli you all ! 
Tucket. Enter Monijoy. 
more I come to know of thee, king 



If for tliy ransom thou wilt now compound, 

Bolbrc thy most assured overthrow ? 

For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf, 

Thou needs must be enslutted. Besides, in mercy, 

The Constable desires thee thou wilt mind 

Thy followers of repentance ; that their souls 

May make a peaceful and a sweet retire 

From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies 

Must lie and fester. 

K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now? 

Mont. The Constable of France. 

A'. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back : 
Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. 
Good God ! why should they mock jmor fellows thus? 
The man, that once did sell the lion's skin 
While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him. 
A many of our bodies shall, no doubt, 
Find native graves, upon the which, I trust, 
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work ; 
And those tliat leave their valiant bones in France, 
Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills. 
They shall be fam'd : for there the sun shall greet them. 
And draw their honours recking up to heaven, 
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, 
Tiie smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. 
Mark, then, rebounding'^ valour in our English; 
That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing. 
Break out into a second course of mischief. 
Killing in reflex* of mortality. 
Let me speak proudly: — Tell the Constable, 
We are but warriors for the working-day ; 
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd 
With rainy marching in tlie painful field ; 
There 's not a piece of featlier in our liost, 
(Good argument, I hope, we will not fly) 
And time hath worn us into slovenry : 
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim ; 
And my ))oor soldiers tell me, yet ere night 
They '11 be in fresher robes, for they will pluck 
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads, 
And turn them out of service. If they do this, 
As, if (Jod please, they shall, my ransom then 
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou tliy labour ; 
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald : 
They shall have none, I swear, by these my joints. 
Which, if tliey have as 1 will leave 'cm them, 
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable. 

Mont. I shall, king Harry : and so fare thee well. 
Thou never shalt hear herald any more. \Exit. 

K. Hen. I fear, thou wilt once more come here for a 
ransom. 

Enter the Duke o/ York. 

York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg 
The leading of the vaward'. 

A. Hen. Take it, brave York, — Now, soldiers, march 
away : 
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Field of Battle. 
Alarums: Excur.sions. Enter French Soldier, Pistol, 
and Boy. 

Pist. Yield, cur. 

Fr. Sol. Je pcnse, que vous etes Ic gentilhommc de 
bonne qualite. 

Pist. Quality ? Cnllino. cnstore me .'* art thou a gen- 
tleman? What is thy name? discuss. 

Fr. Sol. O seigneur Dieu ! 

Pist. ! signieur Dew should be a gentleman. 



Mont. Onco 
Harry, 

1 Gneres. '■' live and .««, are transpo.««ii in the folio. ' M.ilc« him centleman. * folio : could. r- aboundinR : in f. e. <! relapse : iu 
f c. ■> Vnnnnril. » The name of an old tune, to which a sonjj waa sung, printed in the " Handful of Tlea^ant Delitos," 1584. 



424 



Kma HENRY Y. 



ACT IV. 



Perpend my words. O signieur Dew, and mark : — 
signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox', 
Except, O signieur, thou do give to me 
Egregious ransom. 

Fr. Sol. O, prenez misericorde ! ayez pitie de moi ! 

Pist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys ; 
For 1 will fetch thy rim" out at thy throat. 
In drops of crimson blood. 

Fr. Sol. Est il impossible d'echapper la force de ton bras ? 

Pist. Brass, cur ? 
Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, 
Ofler'st me brass ? 

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moi ! 

Pi.'it. Say- st thou me so ? is that a ton of moys ? — 
Come hither, boy : ask me this slave in French, 
What is his name. 

Boy. Escoutez : comment etes vous appclle ? 

Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer. 

Boy. He says his name is master Fer. 

Pist. Master Fer ! I '11 fer him, and firk him, and 
ferret him. — Discuss the same in French unto him. 

Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, 
and firk. 

Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat. 

Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur ? 

Boy. II me commande a vous dire (]tie vous faites vous 
pret; car ce soldat ici est dispose tout a cette heure de 
couper votre gorge. 

Pist. Ouij couper le gorge, par ma foi, peasant, 
Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns ; 
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. 

Fr. Sol. ! je vous supplie pour V amour de Diet(, me 
pardonner. Je suis le gentilhomme de bonne maison : 
gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux cents ecus. 

Pist. What are his words ? 

Boy. He prays you to save his life : he is a gentle- 
man of a good hovise ; and for his ransom, he will give 
you two hundred crowns. 

Pist. Tell him, — my fury shall abate, and I 
The crowns will take. 

Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dit-il ? 

Boy. Encore quHl est contre so7i jurement de pardonner 
aucun prisonnier ; neantmoins, pour les ecus que vous 
T avez promis, il est content a, vous donner la liberie, le 
franchisement. 

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux, je vous donne mille remer- 
ciemens ; et je ni'estime heureux que je sriis tomhe entre 
les mains rZ' un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant, 
et tres distingue seigneur d' Angleterre. 

Pist. Expound unto me. boy. 

Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand 
thanks ; and he esteems himself happy that he hath 
fallen into the hands of one (as he thinks) the most 
brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy seigneur of England. 



SCENE v.— Another Part of the Field of Battle. 

Retreat sounded.* Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Bourbon, 

Con.stable, Rambures, and others. 

Con. O diable ! 

Orl. seigneur ! — le jour est perdu ! tout est perdu ! 

Dau. Mort de ma vie ! all is confounded, all ! 
Reproach and everlasting shame 
Sit mocking in our plumes. — mechante fortune ! — 
Do not run away. [A .short Alarum. 

Con. Why, all our ranks are broke. 

Dau. perdurable shame !^ — let 's stab ourselves. 
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for V 

Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ra,nsom ? 

Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame ! 
Let us not fly -.'^ — in ! — Once more back again ; " 
And he that will not follow Bourbon now, 
Let him go hence, and, with his cap in hand, 
Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door. 
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog. 
His fairest daughter is contaminate. 

Con. Disorder, that hatli spoil'd us, friend us now ! 
Let us in heaps go offer vip our lives. 

Orl. We arc enough, yet living in the field. 
To smother vp the English in our throngs, 
If any order might be thought upon. 

Bour. The devil take order now. I '11 to the throng: 
Let life be short, else shame will be too long. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— Another part of the Field. 

Alarums. Enter King Henry and Forces ; Exeter 

and others. 

K.Hen. Well, have we done, thrice valiant country- 
men ; 
But all 's not done ; yet keep the French the field. 

Exe. The duke of York commends him to your 
majesty. 

K.Hen. Lives he, good uncle ? thice within this hour 
I saw him down, thrice up again, and fighting ; 
From helmet to the spur all blood he was. * 

Exe. In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie, 
Loading' the plain ; and by his bloody side, 
(Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds) 
The noble earl of Suffolk also lies. 
Suffolk first died ; and York, all haggled over, 
Comes to him, where in gore he lay instecp'd, 
And takes him by the beard, kisses the gashes. 
That bloodily did yawn upon his face ; 
He cries aloud, — " Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk ! 
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven : 
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine ; then fly a-brca.st. 
As in this glorious and well-foughtcn field, 
We kept together in our chivalry !" 
Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up : 
He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand. 
And, with a feeble gripe, says, " Dear my lord. 
Commend my service to my sovereign." 
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck 
He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips; 
And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd 
A testament of noble-ending love. 
The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd 
Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd ; 
But I had not so much of man in me. 
But all my mother came into mine eyes, 
And gave me up to tears. 

K. Hen. I blame you not ; 

For, hearing this, I must perforce compound 

1 A name for a su-nrd. 2 The caul in which the bowels are -nrapped.— Co?c'5 Die.. 1677. = An allusion to the old Moralities in which 
the devil usually took part. * Alarums : in f. e. > Let us die instant : in f. e. ^ Larding : in f. e. 



Follow me ! 
Boy. Suivez 



Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. — 

Exit Pistol. 
vous le grand capitaine. I did never 
[Exit French Soldier. 
know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart : but 
the song is true, — " the empty vessel makes the great- 
est sound." Bardclph, and Nym, had ten times more 
valour than this roaring de^al i' the old play^ that every 
one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger, and they 
are both hanged ; and so would this be, if he durst 
steal any thing adventurously. I must stay with the 
lackeys, with the luggage of our camp : the French 
might have a good prey of us, if they knew of it, for 



there is none to guard it, but boys. 



[Exit. 



SCENE vn. 



KING HENRY Y. 



425 



With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. — [Alarum. 
But, hark ! what new alarum is this same ? — 
The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men ; — 
Then, every soldier kill his prisoners ! 



Give the word through. 



[Exeunt. 



SCENE VII.— Another Part of the Field. 
Alarums. Enter Fluellen and Gower. 

Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage ! 't is expressly 
against the law of arms : 't is as arrant a piece of 
knavery, mark you now, as can be offered. In your 
conscience now, is it not ? 

Gow. 'T is certain, there's not a boy left alive ; and 
the cowardly rascals, that ran from the battle, have 
done this slaughter : besides, they have burned and 
carried away all that was in the king's tent ; wherefore 
the king most worthily hath caused every soldier to 
cut his prisoner's throat. O ! 't is a gallant king. 

Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain Gower. 
What call you the town's name, where Alexander the 
pig was born ? 

Goto. Alexander the great. 

Flu. Why. I pray you, is not pig, great ? The pig, 
or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magna- 
nimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a 
little variations. 

Gow. I think, Alexander the great was born in 
Macedon : his father was called Philip of Macedon, as 
I take it. 

Flu. I think, it is in Macedon, where Alexander is 
porn. I tell you, captain, — if you look in the maps of 
the world, I warrant, you shall find, in the comparisons 
between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, 
look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon, 
and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth : it is 
called Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains, 
what is the name of the other river ; but 't is all one, 
't is alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is 
salmons in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, 
Harry of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent 
well ; for there is figures in all things. Alexander, God 
knows, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, and 
his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his dis- 
pleasures, and his indignations, and also being a little 
intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, 
look you, kill his pest friend, Clytus. 

Gow. Our king is not like him in that : he never 
killed any of his friends. 

Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take the 
tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. 
I speak but in the figures and comparisons of it : as 
Alexander killed his friend Clytus, being in his ales 
and his cups, so also Harry Monmouth, being in his 
right wits and his good judgments, turned away the fat 
knight with the great pelly-doublet : he was full of 
jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have 
forgot his name. 

Goto. Sir John Falstaff. 

Flu. That is he. I 'II tell you, there is goot men 
porn at Monmouth. 

Gow. Here comes his majesty. 
Alarum. Enter King Henry, with a Part of the 

English Forces and Prisoners ; Warwick, Gloster, 

ExETEH, atid others. 

K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to France 
Until this instant. — Take a trumpet, herald ; 
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond' hill : 
If they will fight with us, bid them come down, 
Or void the field ; they do offend our sight. 

* book : in f. e. 



If they '11 do neither, we will come to them, 
And make them skirr away, as swift as stones 
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings. 
Besides, we '11 cut the throats of those we have; 
And not a man of them that we shall take. 
Shall taste our mercy. — Go, and tell them so. 
Filter Mont JOY. 

Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my 
liege. 

Glo His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be. 

K. Hen. How now ! what means this, herald ? know'st 
thou not. 
That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom ? 
Com'st thou again for ransom ? 

Mont. No, great king : 

I come to thee for charitable license. 
That we may wander o'er this bloody field. 
To look' our dead, and then to bury them ; 
To sort our nobles from our common men ; 
For many of our princes, woe the while ! 
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood ; 
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs 
In blood of princes, and their wounded steeds 
Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage 
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters. 
Killing them twice. ! give us leave, great king. 
To view the field in safety, and dispose 
Of their dead bodies. 

K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald, 

I know not if the day be ours, or no ; 
For yet a many of your horsemen peer, 
And gallop o'er the field. 

Mont. The day is yours. 

K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength, for 
it!— 
What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by ? 

Mont. They call it Agincourt. 

K. Hen. Then call we this the field of Agincourt, 
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. 

Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, an 't please 
your majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the plack 
prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles, 
fought a most prave pattle here in France. 

K. Hen. They did, Fluellen. 

Flu. Your majesty says very true. If your majesty 
is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot service in 
a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their 
Monmouth caps, which your majesty knows, to this 
hour is an honourable padge of the service ; and, I do 
believe, your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek 
upon Saint Tavy's day. 

K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honour : 
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. 

Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your ma- 
jesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you 
that : Got pless it, and presers'e it, as long as it pleases 
his grace, and his majesty too ! 

K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman. 

Flu. By Cheshu, I am your majesty's countrj-man, I 
care not who know it ; I ■vs'ill confess it to all the world : 
I need not to be ashamed of your majesty, praised be 
God, so long as your majesty is an honest man. 

K. Hen. God keep me so !-— Our heralds go with him : 
Bring me just notice of the numbers dead. 
On both our parts. — Call yonder fellow hither. 

[Points to Williams. Exeunt Montjoy and others. 

Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king. 

K. Hen. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy 
cap? 



426 



KING HENRY Y. 



ACT rv. 



Wil. An 't please your majesty, 't is the gage of one 
that I should fight withal, if he be alive. 
K. Hen. An Englishman? 

Wil. An 't please your majesty, a rascal that swag- 
gered with me last night ; who. if 'a live, and ever dare 
to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a 
box o' the ear : or, if I can see my glove in his cap, 
(which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear, 
if alive) I would strike it out soundly. 

K. Hen. What think you, captain Fluellen ? is it fit 
this soldier keep his oath ^ 

Flu. He is a craven and a villain else, an 't please 
your majesty, in my conscience. 

K. Hen. It may be, his enemy is a gentleman of 
great sort, quite from the answer of his degree. 

Flu. Though he be as goot a gentlemen as the tevil 
is, as Lucifer and Bclzebub himself, it is necessary, 
look your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath. If 
he be perjured, see you now. his reputation is as arrant 
a villain, and a Jack-sauee, as ever his plack shoe trod 
upon Got's ground and his earth, in my conscience, la. 
A'.^ Hen. Then keep thy a'ow, sirrah, when thou 
meet'st the fellow. 

Will. So I will, my liege, as I live. 
K. Hen. Who serv'st thou under ? 
Will. Under Captain Gower, my liege\ 
Flu. Gower is a goot captain, and is goot know- 
ledge, and literatured in the wars. 

K. Hen. Call him hither to me, .soldier. 
Will. I will, my liege. [Exit. 

K. Hen. Here, Fluellen ; wear thou this favour for 
me, and stick it in thy cap. When Alenfon and my- 
self were down together, I plucked this glove from his 
helm : if any man challenge this, he is a friend to 
Alcnfon, and an enemy to our person ; if thou encoun- 
ter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me love. 

Flu. Your grace does me as great honours, as can be 
desired in the hearts of his subjects : I would fain see 
the man, that has but two legs, that shall find himself 
aggriefed at tiiis glove, that is all ; but I would fain see 
it once, and please Got of his grace, that I might see. 
K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower ? 
Flu. He is my dear friend, and please you. 
K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to 
my tent. 

Flu. I will fetch him. [Exit. 

K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, and my brother 
Gloster, 
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels. 
The glove, which I have given him for a favour, 
May haply purchase him a box o' the ear : 
Ir is the soldier's ; I, by bargain, should 
Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick : 
If that the soldier strike him, (as, I judge 
By his blunt bearing, he will keep his w-ord) 
Some sudden mischief may arise of it, 
For I do know Fluellen valiant, 
And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder, 
And quickly will return an injury : 
Follow, and see there be no harm between them. — 
Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VIII.— Before King Henry's Pavilion. 

Enter Gower and Williams. 
Will. I warrant it is to knight you, captain. 

Enter Fluellen. 
Flu. Got's will and his pleasure, captain, I peseech 
you now, come apace to the king : there is more goot 
toward you, peradventure, than is in your knowledge 
to dream of. 



Will. Sir, know you this glove ? 

Fhi. Know the glove ? I know, the glove is a glove. 

Will. I know this, and thus I challenge it. 

[Strikes him. 

Flu. 'Sblood ! an arrant traitor, as any 's in the uni- 
versal world, or in France, or in England. 

Gmv. How now, sir ! you villain ! 

Will. Do you think [ '11 be forsworn ? 

F/u. Stand away, captain Gower : I will give treason 
his payment into plows, I warrant you. 

Will. I am no traitor. 

Fhi. That "s a lie in thy throat. — I charge you in his 
majesty's name, apprehend him : he is a friend of the 
duke Alenfon's. 

Enter Warwick and Gloster. 

War. How now, how now ! what 's the matt'Sr ? 

Fhi.. My lord of Warwick, here is, praised be God 
for it ! a most contagious treason come to light, look 
you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Here is 
his majesty. 

Enter King Henry and Exeter. 

K. Hen. How now ! what 's the malter ? 

Flu. My liege, here is a villain, and a traitor, that, 
look your grace, has struck the glove which your ma- 
jesty is take out of the helmet of Alenfon. 

Will. My liege, this was my glove ; here is the fellow 
of it ; and he that I gave it to in change promised to 
wear it in his cap : I promised to strike him if he did. 
I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I have 
been as good as my word. 

Flu. Your majesty hear now, saving your majesty's 
manhood, what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lowsy 
knave it is. I hope yovir majesty is pear me testimony, 
and witness, and avouchments, that this is the glove of 
Alenfon, that your majesty is give me, in your con- 
science now. 

K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier : look, here is 
the fellow of it. 
'T was I, indeed, thou promisedst to strike ; 
And thou hast given me most bitter terms. 

Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer for 
it, if there is any martial law in the world. 

K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction? 

Will. All offences, my lord, come from the heart: 
never came any from mine, that might offend your 
majesty. 

K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse. 

Hill. Your majesty came not like yourself: you 
appeared to me but as a common man; witness the 
night, your garments, your lowliness ; and what your 
highness suffered vinder that shape, I beseech you, take 
it for your own fault, and not mine : for had you been 
as I took you for, I had made no offence ; therefore, I 
beseech your highness, pardon me. 

K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with 
crowns. 
And give it to this fellow. — Keep it, fellow, 
And wear it for an honour in thy cap. 
Till I do challenge it. — Give him the crowns. — 
And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. 

Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle 
enough in his pelly. — Hold, there is twelve pence for 
you, and I pray you to serve Got, and keep you out of 
prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions ; 
and, I warrant you, it is the petter for you. 

Will. I will none of your money. 
Flu. It is with a goot will. I can tell you, it will 
serve you to mend your shoes : come, wherefore should 
you be so pashful ? your shoes is not so goot : 't is a 
goot silling, I warrant you, or I will change it. 



SCENE I. 



KING HEiq^RY V. 



427 



Enter an English Herald. 

K. Hen. Now, herald, are the dead number'd ? 

Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd French. 

{Delivers a Paper. 

K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle ? 

Exe. Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king; 
John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt : 
Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'squires, 
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. 

K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand French, 
That in the field lie slain : of princes, in this number. 
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead [Reads.^ 
One hundred twenty-six : added to these, 
Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, 
Eight thousand and four hundred ; of the which, 
Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights : 
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, 
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries ; 
The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, 'squires, 
And gentlemen of blood and quality. 
The names of those their nobles that lie dead — 
Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France; 
Jaques Chatillon, admiral of France ; 
The master of the cross-bows, lord Rambures ; [phin ; 
Great-master of France, the brave sir Guischard Dau- 
John duke of Alenfon ; Antony duke of Brabant, 
The brother to the duke of Burgundy ; 
And Edward duke of Bar : of lusty earls, 
Grandpre, and Boussi, Fauconberg, and Foix, 
Beaumont, and Marie, Vaudemont, and Lestrale. 



Here was a royal fellowship of death ! — 
Where is the number of our English dead? 

[Herald presents another Paper. 
Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk, 
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam. esquire : 
None else of name, and of all other men 
But five and twenty. O God ! thy arm was here. 

[Rnceling.^ 
And not to us, but to thy arm alone. 
Ascribe we all. — [Rising.^] When, without stratagem, 
But in plain shock, and even play of battle, 
Was ever known so great and little loss, 
On one part and on th' other ? — Take it, God, 
For it is only thine !* 

Exe. 'T is wonderful ! 

K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the village : 
And be it death, proclaimed through our host. 
To boast of this, or take that praise from God, 
Which is his only. 

Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to tell 
how many is killed ? 

K. Hen. Yes, captain ; but with this acknowledgment, 
That God fought for us. 

Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot. 

K. Hen. Do we all holy rites : 
Let there be sung Non vio^i.";, and Te Deum. 
The dead with charity enclos'd in clay. 
And then to Calais ; and to England then. 
Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT V 



Enter Chorus. 

Chor. Vouchsafe alP those that have not read the 
story, 
That I may prompt them : and for' such as have, 
I humbly pray them to admit th' excuse 
Of time, of numbers, and due course of things, 
Which cannot in their huge and proper life 
Be here presented. Now, we bear the king 
Toward Calais : grant him there ; there seen, 
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts. 
Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach 
Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys. 
Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea, 
Which, like a mighty whiffler', 'fore the king 
Seems to prepare his way. So, let him land. 
And solemnly see him set on to London. 
So swift a pace hath thought, that even now 
You may imagine him upon Blackheath ; 
Where, that his lords desire him, to have borne 
His bruised helmet, and his bended sword, 
Before him, through the city, he forbids it. 
Being free from A-ainness and self-glorious pride, 
Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent. 
Quite from himself, to God. But now behold, 
In the quick forge and workinghouse of thought, 
How London doth pour out her citizens. 
The mayor, and all his bretlicrn, in best sort, 
Like to the senators of th' antique Rome, 
With the plebeians swarming at their heels, 
Go forth, and fetch their conquering Cirsar in: 
As, by a lower but by loving likelihood. 
Were now the general of our gracious empress 



(As in good time he may) from Ireland coming, 

Bringing rebellion broached on his sword. 

How many would the peaceful city quit, 

To welcome him ! much more, and much more cause, 

Did they this Harry. Now, in London place him. 

As yet the lamentation of the French 

Invites the king of En'_'land"s stay at home : 

The emperor's coming in behalf of France, 

To order peace between them ; and omit 

All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd. 

Till Harry's back-return again to France : 

There must we bring him ; and myself have play'd 

The interim, by remembering you, 't is past. 

Then brook abridgment, and your eyes advance. 

After your thoughts, straight back again to France. 

[Exit. 

SCENE I.— France. An English Court of Guard. 
Enter Fluellen and Gower. 

Gow. Nay, that 's riglit ; but why wear you your 
leek to-day ? Saint Davy's day is past. 

Flu. There is occasions, and causes, why and where- 
fore, in all things : I will tell you, as my friend, captain 
Gower. The rascally, scald, beggarly, low.sy. pragging 
knave. Pistol, which you and yourself, and all the world, 
know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of 
no merits, he is come to me, and prings me pread and 
salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek. It 
was in a place where I could not breed no contention 
with him ; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my 
cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him 
a little piece of my desires. 

Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock. 



1 a ' >fot in f. e. ♦So the quarto ; folio : none but thine. » to : in f. e. « of : in f. e. ' Piper, or leader of processions. 



428 



KING HENRY Y. 



ACT V, 



Fh 



Enter Pistol. 
u. 'T is no matter for his swellings, nor his turkey- 
cocks. — Got pless you. ancient Pistol ! you scur\-y, 
lowsy knave, Got pless you ! 

Pist. Ha ! art thou bedlam ? dost thou thirst, base 
Trojan, 
To have me fold up Parca's fatal web ? 
Hence ! I am qualmisli at the smell of leek. 

Flu. I pcseech you heartily, scurvy lowsy knave, at 
my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, 
look you, this leek ; because, look you, you do not love 
it, nor •your afTectioiis, and your appetites, and your 
digestions, does jiot agree with it, I would desire you 
to eat it. 

Pist. Not for Cadwallader. and all his goats. 

Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes Jmn.] Will 
you be so goot. scald knave, as eat it? 

Fist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. 

Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when Got's 
will is. I will desire you to live in the mean time, 
and eat your victuals : come, there is sauce for it. 
[Striking him again.] You called me yesterday, moun- 
tain-squire, but I will make you to-day a squire of low- 
degree'. — I pray you. fall to: if you can mock a leek, 
you can eat a leek. 

GouK Enough, captain : you have astonished him. 

Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my 
leek, or I will peat his pate four days. — Pite, I pray 
you : it is goot for your green wound, and your ploody 
coxcomb. 

Pist. Must I bite? 

Flu. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt, and out of 
qviestion too, and ambiguities. 

Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge. I 
eat, and eat I swear — 

Flu. Eat, I pray you. Will you have some more 
sauce to yovir leek ? there is not enough leek to swear by. 

Pist. Quiet thy cudgel : thou dost see, I eat. 

Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, 
pray you, throw none away ; the skin is goot for your 
proken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks 
hereafter, I pray you, mock at 'em; that is all. 

Pist. Good. 

Flu. Ay, leeks is goot. — Hold you; there is a groat 
to heal your pate. 

Pist. Me a groat ! 

Flu. Yes ; verily, and in truth, you shall take it, 
or I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall 
eat. 

Pist. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge. 

Flu. If I owe you any thing I will pay you in cud- 
gels : yovi shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing- of 
me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and keep you, and 
heal your pate. [Exit. 

Pist. All hell shall stir for this. 

Gow. Go, go ; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. 
Will you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an 
honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy 
of predeceased valour, and dare not avouch in your 
deeds any of your words ? I have seen you gleeking^ 
and galling at this gentlemen twice or thrice. You 
thought, because he could not speak English in the 
native garb, he could not therefore handle an English 
cudgel : you find it otherwise ; and, henceforth, let a 
Welsh correction teach you a good English condition. 
Fare ye well. [Exit. 

Pist. Doth fortune play the huswife with me now ? 
News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital 



Of malady of France ; 

And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. 

Old I do wax, and from my weary limbs 

Honour is cudgelled. Well, bawd I '11 turn, 

And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. 

To England will I steal, and there I '11 steal : 

And patches will I get unto these cudircll'd scars, 

And swear, I got them in the Gallia wars. [Exit. 

SCENE n. — Troyes in Champagne. An Apartment 

in the French King's Palace. 
Enter, at one door, King Henrv, Bedford, Gloster, 

Exeter, Warwick, Westmoreland, and other 

Lords; at another, the French King. Queen Isabel, 

the Princess Katharine, Lords, Ladies, fyc., the 

Duke of Burgundy, and his Train. 

K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wiierefore we are met. 
Unto our brother France, and to our sister, 
Health and fair time of day : — ^^joy and good wis-hes 
To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine ; — 
And, as a branch and member of this royalty, 
By whom this great assembly is contriv'd, 
We do salute you, duke of Burgundy ; — 
And, princes French, and peers, health to you all. 

Fr. King. Right joyous are we to bcliold your face, 
Most worthy brother England ; fairly met : — 
So are you, princes English, every one. 

Q. Isa. So hapjiy be the issue, brother England', 
Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting, 
As we are now glad to behold your ej'es ; 
Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them 
Against the French, that met them in their bent, 
The fatal balls of murdering basilisks : 
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope. 
Have lost their quality, and that this day 
Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love. 

K. Hen. To cry amen to that thus we appear. 

Q. Isa. You English princes all. I do salute you. 

Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love, 
Great kings of France and England, that I have 

labour'd 
With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavom's, 
To bring your most imperial majesties 
Unto this bar and royal interview, 
Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. 
Since, then, my office hath so far prevail'd, 
That face to face, and royal eye to eye, 
You have congrceted, let it not disgrace me, 
If I demand before this royal view. 
What rub, or what impediment, there is, 
Why that the naked, poor, and mangled peace, 
Dear nurse of arts, plenty, and joyful births, 
Should not in this best garden of tlie world, 
Our fertile France, lift* up her lovely visage ? 
Alas ! she hath from France too long been chas'd, 
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, 
Corrupting in its own fertility. 
Her vine, the merry chcerer of the heart, 
Unpruned dies : her hedges even-pleached*. 
Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, 
Put forth disorder'd twigs : her fallow leas 
The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, 
Do root upon, while that the coulter rusts, 
That should deracinate such saA^agery : 
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 
The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover. 
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 
Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems, 



1 This is the title of an old English romance, a Scoffing, jesting. ' This and the fifty-five following lines are not in quarto, 
f. e. ' Plaited, interwoven. 



iput : 



SCENE n. 



KING HENKY Y. 



429 



But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, 
Losing both beauty and utility; 
And as' our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, 
Defective in their natures, grow to wildncss ; 
Even po our houses, and ourselves, and children. 
Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time. 
The sciences that should become our country. 
But grow, like savages, — as soldiers will. 
That nothing do but meditate on blood, — 
To swearing, and stern looks, diffus'd attire, 
And every thing that seems unnatural. 
Which to reduce into our former favour, 
You are a.-senibled ; and my speech entreats, 
That I may know the let, why gentle peace 
Should not expel these inconveniencies, 
And blcf s us with her former qualities. 

K. Hen. If, duke of Burgundy, you would the peace. 
Whose want giA'cs growth to th' imperfections 
Which you have cited, you must buy that peace 
With full accord to all our just demands ; 
Whose tcnours and particular effects 
You liave, cuschedurd briefly, in your hands. 

Bur. The king hath heard them ; to the which, as yet. 
There is no answer made. 

K. Hen. Well then, the peace, 

Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer. 
Fr. King. I have but with a cursorary eye 
O'er-glanc'd the articles : pleaseth your grace 
To appoint some of your council presently 
To sit with us once more, with better heed 
To re-survey them, we will suddenly 
Pai^s, or accept^, and peremptory answer. 

K. Hen. Brother, we .shall. — Go, uncle Exeter, — 
Au<l brother Clarence. — and you, brother Gloster, — 
Warwick, and Huntingdon, — go with the king ; 
And take with you free power, to ratify. 
Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best 
Shall see advantage,^ for our dignity. 
Any thing in, or out of. our demands. 
And we '11 consign thereto. — Will you, fair sister, 
Go with the princes, or stay here with us ? 

Q. I.sa. Our gracious brother, I will go with them. 



Haply a woman's voice may do some good, 
Wlien articles, too nicely urg'd, be stood on. 

K. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us : 
She is our capital demand, compris'd 
Within the fore-rank of our articles. 
Q. Isa. She hath good leave. 

[Exeunt all but King Henry, Katharine, and 
her Gentlewnman 



K. Hen. What says she, fair one? that the tongues 
of men are full of deceits ? 

Alice. Ouy ; dat de tongues of de mans is be full of 
deceits; dat is de princess. 

K. Hen. The princess is the better English-woman. 
I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding : 
I am glad thou canst speak no better English ; for, if 
thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king, 
that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy 
my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but 
directly to say — I love you : then, if you urge me far- 
ther than to say — Do you in faith ? I wear out my 
suit. Give me your answer ; i' faith, do, and so clap 
hands and a bargain. How say you, lady? 

Kath. Sauf vostre honneurj me understand well. 
K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses, or to 
dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me : for the 
one, I have neither words nor measure ; and for the 
other, I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable 
measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leap- 
frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour 
on my back, under the correction of bragging be it 
spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife : or if I 
might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for 
her favours, I could lay on like a butcher, and sit 
like a jack-an-apes, never off; but, before God, Kate, 
I cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, 
nor I have no cunning in protestation ; only down- 
right oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never 
break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of 
this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun- 
burning, that never looks in his glass for love of 
any thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I 
speak to thee plain soldier : if thou canst love me l:or 
this, take mo ; if not, to say to thee that I shall die, 
is true; but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I 
love thee too. And while thou livest, dear Kate, take 
a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy, for he per- 
force must do thee right, because he hath not the gift 
to woo in other places: for these fellows of infinite 
tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, 
they do always reason themselves out again. What ! 
a speaker is but a prater ; a rhyme is but a ballad. 
A good leg will fall, a straight back will stoop, a 
black beard will turn white, a curled pate will grow 
bald, a fair face will wither, a full eye will wax hol- 
low ; but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon ; 



K. Hen. 



Fair Katharine, and most fair ! 



Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms, 

Such as will enter at a lady's ear, 

And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart ? 

Kdlh. Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot 
speak your England. 

K. Hen. fair Katharine ! if you will love me 
soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear 
you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do 
you like me, Kate ? 

Kath. Pardonnez ynoi^ I cannot tell vat is — like me. 

K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate; and you arc 
like an angel. 

Kath. Que dit-il? que je suis semhlahle a Ic? angesi 

Alice. Ouy. vraimcnt, .<!avf vostre grace, ainsi dit il. 

K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine, and I must not 
blush to atRrm it. 

Kath. bon Dieu ! les langues des homines sont pleines 
de i romper ics. 

> all : in folio. " pass our accept : in f. e. 



or, rather, the sun, and not the moon, for it shines 
bright, and never changes, but keeps his course truly. 
If thou would have such a one. take me : and take me, 
take a soldier ; take a soldier, take a king, and what 
sayest thou then to my love ? speak, my fair, and fairly, 
I pray thee. 

Kath. Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of 
France ? 

K. Hen. No ; it is not possible you should love the 
enemy of France, Kate ; but, in loving me, you should 
love the friend of France, for I love France so well, 
that I will not part Avitli a village of it ; I will have it 
all mine : and, Kate, when France is mine and I am 
yours, then yours is France, and you are mine. 

Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat. 

K. Hen. No, Kate ? I will tell Ihce in French, 
which I am sure will hang upon my tongue like a new- 
married wife about her husband's neck, hardly to be 
shook off. — Quandfai la possession de France, et quand 
vous avez la possession de moi, (let me see, what then? 



Saint Dennis be my speed \)—donc vostre est France, et 
vous eies micnne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to con- 



' advantageable : in f. e. 



430 



KING HENKY V. 



ACT V. 



quer the kingdom, as to speak so much more French. 
I shall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh 
at me. 

Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, le Francois que voiis par- 
lez, est meilleur que VAnghis legiiel je parle. 

K. Hen. No, 'faith, is "t not, Kate; but thy speaking 
of my tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, must needs 
be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou 
imdersland thus much English? Canst thou love me? 

Kath. I cannot tell. 

K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate ? 
I '11 ask them. Come, I know tliovi lovest me : and at 
night when you come into your clo.«et, you '11 question 
this gentlewoman about me ; and 1 know, Kate, you 
will, to her, dispraise those parts in me, that you love 
with your heart : but, good Kate, mock me mercifully, 
the rather, gentle princess, because I love thee cruelly. 
If ever thou be 'st mine, Kate, (as I have a saving faith 
within me tells me thou shalt) I get thee with scam- 
bling, and thou must therefore needs prove a good 
soldier-breeder. Shall not thou and I, between Saint 
Dennis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French, 
half English, that shall go to Constantinople, and take 
the Turk by the beard ? shall we not ? what sayest 
thou, my fair flower-de-luce ? 

Kath. I do not know dat. 

K. Hen. No ; 't is hereafter to know, but now to pro- 
mise : do but now promise, Kate, you will endeavour 
for your French part of such a boy, and for my English 
moiety take tlie word of a king and a bachelor. How 
answer you, la plus belle Katharine du monde, mon ires 
chere et divine dcessc ? 

Kath. Your majeste haye fausse French enough to 
deceive de most sage damoiselle dat is en France. 

K. Hen. Now, fie upon my false French ! By mine 
honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate : by which 
honour I dare not swear, thou lovest me : yet my blood 
begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the 
poor and untempting* effect of my visage. Now be- 
shrew my fatlier's ambitio.i ! he was thinking of civil 
wars when he got me : therefore was I created with a 
stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I 
come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, 
the elder I wax, the better I shall appear : my comfort 
is, that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty, can do no 
more spoil upon my face : thou hast me, if thou hast 
me, at the worst ; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear 
me, better and better. And therefore tell me, most 
fair Katharine, will you have me ? Put off your maiden 
blushes ; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the 
looks of an empress ; take me by tlie hand, and say — 
Harry of England, I am thine : wliich word thou shalt 
no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee 
aloud — England is thine, Ireland is thine. France is 
thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine ; who, though I 
speak it before his face, if he be not fellow with the 
best king, thou shalt find the best king of good fellows. 
Come, your answer in broken music, for thy voice is 
music, and thy English broken : therefore, queen of all, 
Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken English: 
wilt thou have me ? , 

Kath. Dat is, as it shall please de roi mon pere. 

K. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate: it shall 
please him, Kate. 

Knth. Den it shall also content me. 

K. Hen. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call you 
my queen. 

Kath. Laissez, mon seigneur, laisseZjlaissez! Ma foi, 
je ne vcux point que vans abbaissez vostre grandeur, en j 

1 untempering : in f. e. '•' never : in f. e. 



baisant la main d'une vostre indigne servitcure : excusez 
moi, je vous supplie, mon tres puissant seigneur. 

K. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. 

Kath. Les dames, et damoiselles, pour estre haisfcs 
devant leur noces il n'est pas la coiitume de France. 

K. Hen. Madam, my interpreter, what says she? 

Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of 
France, — I cannot tell what is, baiser in English. 

K Hen. To kiss. 

Alice. Yoiir majesty entend bettre qrie moi. 

K. Hen. It is not a fashion for the maids in France 
to kiss before they are married, would she say ? 

Alice. Ouy, vraimcnt. 

K. Hen. O, Kate ! nice customs curtesy to great 
kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confine'cl within 
the weak list of a country's fashion : we are the makers 
of manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our 
places stops the mouths of all find-faults, as I will do 
yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your country 
in denying me a kiss : therefore, patiently, and yielding. 
[Kissing her.] You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate : 
there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them, than 
in the tongues of the French council : and they should 
sooner persuade Harry of England, than a general pe- 
tition of monarchs. Here comes your father. 
Enter the French King and Queen, Burgundy, Bed- 
ford, Gloster. Exeter, Westmoreland, and other 

French and Engli.sh Lords. 

Bar. God save your majesty. My royal cousin. 
Teach you our princess English ? 

K. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, how 
perfectly I love her ; and that is good English. 

Bur. Is she not apt ? 

K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condition 
is not smooth ; so that, having neither the voice nor 
the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so conjure up 
the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in his true 
likeness. 

Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer 
you for that. If you would conjure in her you must 
make a circle ; if conjure up love in her in his true 
likeness, he must appear naked, and blind. Can you 
blame her, then, being a maid yet rcscd over with the 
virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the appearance 
of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing self? It were, 
my lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign to. 

K. Hen. Yet they do wink, and yield, as love is 
blind and enforces. 

Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when they 
see not what they do. 

K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to 
consent winking. 

Bur. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you 
will teach her to know my meaning : for maids, well 
summered and warm kept, are like flies at Bartholo- 
mew-tide, blind, though they have their eyes ; and then 
they will endvire handling, which before would not 
abide looking on. 

K. Hen. This moral ties me over to time, and a hot 
summer ; and so I shall catch the fly, your cousin, in 
the latter end, and she must be blind too. 

Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves. 

K. Hen. It is so : and you may, some of you, thank 
love for my blindness, who cannot see many a fair 
French city, for one fair French maid that stands in 
my way. 

Fr. King. Yes, my lord, you see them perspectively : 
the cities turned into a maid, for they are all girdled 
with maiden walls, that war hath not^ entered. 



SCENE n. 



KING HENRY Y. 



431 



A'. Hen. Shall Kate be my wife ? 
Fr 

K. Hen. 
talk of. 



King. So please you. 
I am content. 



the 
the 



maiden citie.s you 
maid, that stood in 



so 
may wait on her; so „..^ ...c^^^i, 
the way of my wish, shall show me the way to my will. 

Fr. King. We have consented to all terms of reason. 

K. Hen. Is 't so, my lords of England ? 

West. The king hath granted every article : 
His daughter, first ; and then in sequel, all, 
According to their firm proposed natures. 

Exe. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this : — 
Where your jnajesty demands, — that the king of France, 
having any occasion to write for matter of grant, shall 
name your highness in this form, and with this addition, 
in French, — Notre tres cher fits Henry roi (PAngleterre, 
hereticr de France ; and thus in Latin, — PrcEclarissimus 
Jiliiis^ no.'ster Hc7iricus, rex Angllce, et hares Francice. 

Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied, 
But your request shall make me let it pass. 

A'". Hen. I pray you, then, in love and dear alliance 
Let that one article rank with the rest; 
And, thereupon, give me your daughter 



Fr. 



King. 
raise up 



Take her, fair son ; and from her blood 



Issue to me, that the contending kingdoms 
Of France and England, whose very shores look pale, 
With envy of each other's happiness, 
May cease their hatred ; and this dear conjunction 
Plant neiglibourhood and christian-like accord 
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance 
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France. 
All. Amen ! 



K. 



Hen. Now 
ness all. 



welcome, Kate : — and bear me wit- 



That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. [Flourish. 

Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages, 
Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one ! 
As man and wife, being two, are one in love, 
So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal, 
That never may ill office, or fell jealousy. 
Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, 
Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms, 
To make divorce of their incorporate league ; 
That Eligli.sh may as French, French Englishmen, 
Receive each other ! — God speak this Amen ! 

All. Amen ! 

K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage : — on which day, 
My lord of Burgundy, we '11 take your oath. 
And all the peers' for surety of our leagues. 
Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me ; 
And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be ! 

[Sennet. Exeunt. 
Enter Chorus, as Epilogue. 
Thus far, with rough and all unable pen. 

Our bending author hath pursu'd the story; 
In little room confining miglity men, 

Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. 
Small time, but in that small most greatly liv'd 

This star of England. Fortune made his sword, 
By which the world's best garden he achiev'd, 

And of it left his son imperial lord. 
Henry the sixth, in infant bands crown'd king 

Of France and England, did this king succeed j 
Whose state so many Iiad tlie managing, 

That they lost France, and made his England bleed ; 
Which oft our stage hath shown, and for their sake, 
In your fair minds let this acceptance take. [Exit. 



1 This mistake in translation, is copied from Holinshed's Chronicle. 



■ W i 'W i 'i , ''i'VTn*Kr v.^ 



FIRST PART 



OF 



KING HENEY YI. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



King Henry the Sixth. 

Duke of Gloster, Uncle to the King, and Pro- 
tector. 

Duke of Bedford, Uncle to the King, Regent of 
France. 

Duke of Exeter. 

Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester. 

John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset. 

Richard Platagenet, Duke of York. 

Earls of Warwick, Salisbury, and Suffolk. 

Talbot, afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury : 

John Talbot, his Son. 

Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. 

Mortimer's Keeper, and a Lawyer. 

Sir John Fastolfe. Sir William Lucy. Sir 
William Glansdale. Sir Thomas Gargrave. 

WooDviLLE, Lieutenant of the Tower. Mayor 
of London. 



Vernon, of the White Rose, or York Faction. 
Basset, of the Red Rose or Lancaster Faction. 

Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King of 
France. 

Reignier, Duke of Anjou, and King of Naples. 

Dukes of Burgundy and ALENfON. Bastard of 
Orleans. 

Governor of Paris. Master Gunner of Orleans, 
and his Son. 

General of the French Forces in Bordeaux. 

A French Sergeant. A Porter. An old Shep- 
herd, Father to Joan la Pucelle. 

Margaret, Daughter to Reignier. 

Countess of Auvergne. 

Joan La Pucelle, commonly called Joan of Arc. 



Fiends appearing to La Pucelle, Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and 

several Attendants both on the English and French. 

SCENE, partly in England, and partly in France. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L— Westmins-ter Abbey. 
Dead March. The Corpse of King Henry the Fifth 
is discovered, lying in state: attended on by the 
Dukes of Bedford, Gloster, and Exeter : the 
Earl of Warwick, the Bishop of Winchester, 
Heralds, Sfc. 

Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to 
night ! 
Comets, importing change of times and states, 
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky. 
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars. 
That have consented unto Henry's death ! 
Heiu-y the fifth, too famous to live long ! 
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. 
^ Glo. England ne'er had a king until his time. 
Virtue he had deserving to command : 
His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams ; 
His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings ; 
His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire, 
More dazzled and drove back his enemies, 
Tlian mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. 
What should I say ? his deeds exceed all speech : 
He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered. 

Exe. We mourn in black : why mourn we nftt in blood ? 
Henry is dead, and never shall revive. 
Upon a wooden coffin we attend ; 
And death's dishonourable victory 



We with our stately presence glorify. 
Like captives bound to a triumphant car. 
What ! shall we curse the planets of mishap, 
That plotted thus our glory's overthrow ? 
Or shall we think the subtle- witted French 
Conjurors and sorcerers, that, afraid of liim, 
By magic verses have contriv'd his end ? 

Win. He was a king, bless'd of the King of kings. 
Unto the French the dreadful judgment day 
So dreadful will not be. as was his sight. 
The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought : 
The church's prayers made him so prosperous. 

Glo. The church ! where is it ? Had not church- 
men pray'd, 
His thread of life had not so soon decay'd : 
None do you like but an effeminate prince, 
Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. 

Win. Gloster. w-hate'er we like, thou art protector, 
And lookest to command the prince, and realm. 
Thy wife is proud ; .she holdeth thee in awe. 
More than God, or religious churchmen may. 

Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh ; 
And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st, 
Except it be to pray against thy foes. 

Bed. Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minds in 
peace. 
Let 's to the altar : — Heralds, wait on us. — 
Instead of gold, we '11 offer up our arms, 



SCENE I. 



FIRST PART OF 



433 



Since arms avail not, now that Henry 's dead. 

Pfii^tfrity, await for wretched years, 
When at their mothers' moist eyes habes shall suck, 
Our isle be made a nourish' of salt tears, 
And none but women left to wail the dead. — 
Henry the fifth ! thy ghost I invocate : 
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils ! 
Combat with adverse planets in tlie heavens ! 
A far more glorious star thy soul will make, 
Th;iu Julius Caisar, or bright Cassiope." 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My honourable lords, health to you all. 
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, 
Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture : 
Guicnne, Champaigne, Rheims. Orleans, 
Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. 

Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's 
corse ? 
Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns 
Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death. 

Glo. Is Paris lost ? is Rouen yielded up ? 
If Henry were recall'd to life again. 
Thee news would cause him once more yield the 
ghost. 

E.ve. How were they lost ? what treachery was used ? 

Mess. No treachery ; but want of men and money. 
Among the soldiers this is muttered, — 
That here you maintain several factions ; 
And whilst a field should be dcspatch'd and fought, 
You are disputing of your generals. 
One would have lingering wars with little cost ; 
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings j 
A third man thinks, without expense at all, 
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. 
Av/ake, awake, English nobility ! 
Let not sloth dim your honours new-bcgot : 
Cropped are the flower-de-luces in your arms ; 
Of England's coat one half is cut away. 

Exe. Were our tears wanting to tliis funeral. 
These tidings would call forth her flowing tides. 

Bed. Me they concern ; regent I am of France. — 
Give me my steeled coat ! I '11 fight for France. — 
Away with these disgraceful wailing robes ! 
Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, 
To weep their intermissive miseries. 

Enter another Me.^.senger. 

2 M.1SS. Lords, view these letters, full of bad mis- 

chance. 
France is revolted from the English quite. 
Except some petty towns of no import : 
The Dauphin, Charles, is crowned king in Rheims ; 
The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd ; 
Reignier. duke of Anjou, doth take his partj 
The duke of Alencon flieth to his side. 

Exe. The Dauphin crowned king ! all fly to him ! 

! whither shall we fly from this reproach? 

Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats. — 
Bedford, if thou be slack, I '11 fight it out. 

Bed. Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness? 
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, 
Wherewith already France is over-run. 
Enter n third Messc7iger. 

3 Mess. My gracious lords, to add to your laments, 
Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse, 

1 must inform you of a dismal fight, 
Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French. 

Hid. What ! wherein Talbot overcame? is 't so? 
3 Mess. ! no ; wherein lord Talbot was o'erthrown : 
The circumstance I '11 tell you more at large. 



The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord. 

Retiring from the siege of Orleans, 

Having full scarce six thousand in his troop. 

By three-and-twenty thousand of the French 

Was round encompassed and set upon. 

No leisure had he to enrank his men; 

He wanted pikes to set before his archers ; 

Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges, 

They pitched in tlie ground confusedly, 

To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. 

More than three hours the fight continued ; 

Where valiant Talbot, above human thought, 

Enacted wonders with his sword and lance. 

Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him; 

Here, tlicrc, and every where, enrag'd he flew. 

The French cxclaim'd, the devil was in arms; 

All the whole army stood agaz'd on him. 

His soldiers, spying liis undaunted spirit, 

A Talbot ! A Talbot ! cried out amain. 

And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. 

Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up. 

If sir John Fastolfc had not play'd the coward : 

He being in the rearward'^ plac'd behind 

With purpose to relieve and follow them. 

Cowardly fled, not having struck one .stroke. 

Hence grew the general wreck and massacre: 

Enclosed were they with their enemies. 

A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace. 

Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back ; 

Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength, 

Durst not presume to look once in the face. 

Bed. Is Talbot slain ? then, I will slay myself. 
For living idly here in pomp and ease, 
Whil.^t such a worthy leader, Avanting aid, 
Unto his dastard foe-men is betray'd. 

3 Mess. 0, no ! he lives : but is took prisoner. 
And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford : 
Most of the rest slanghter'd, or took, likewise. 

Bed. His ransom, there is none but I shall pay. 
I '11 hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne ; 
His crown shall be the ransom of my friend : 
Foiir of their lords I '11 change for one of ours. — 
Farewell, my masters ; to my task will I. 
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make. 
To keep onr great Saint George's feast withal : 
Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take. 
Whoso bloody deeds shall cause* all Europe quake. 

3 i\Ie.ss. So you liad need ; for Orleans is besieg'd. 
The English army is grown weak and faint ; 
The earl of Salisbury craveth supply. 
And hardly keeps his men from mutiny. 
Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. 

E.Te. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn, 
Either to quell the Dauphin utterly. 
Or bring him in obedience to yoixr yoke. 

Bed. I do remember it ; and here take my leave. 
To go about my preparation. [Exit. 

Glo. I '11 to the Tower, with all the haste I can, 
To view th' artillery and munition ; 
And then I will proclaim young Henry king. [Exit. 

Exe. To Eltham will I, where the young king is. 
Being ordain'd his special governor ; 
And for his safety there I '11 best devise. [Exit. 

Win. Each hath his place and function to attend :. 
I am left out ; for me nothing remains. 
But long I will not be Jack-out-of-offlee ; 
The king from Eltliam I intend to steal,* 
And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.. [Exit. 



I Pope reads : marish, marsh. ' This word is not in f. e. 



3 vaward : in f. e. 

28 



♦ make : in f. e. * sead : in f. e.. 



434 



KING HENRY YI. 



ACT I. 



SCENE II.— France. Before Orleans. 

Flourish. Enter Charles, with his Forces; ALENfON, 

Reignier, and others. 

Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens, 
So in the earth, to this day is not known. ^ 
Late did he shine upon the English side ; 
Now we are victors, upon us he smiles. 
What towns of any moment but we have ? 
At pleasure here we lie near Orleans ; 
The whiles,'' the famish'd English, like pale ghosts. 
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. 

Alen. They want their porridge, and their fat bull- 
beeves : 
Either they must be dieted like mules. 
And have their provender tied to their mouths, 
Or piteous they will look like drowned mice. 

Reig. Let 's raise the siege. Why live we idly here? 
Talbot is taken whom we wont to fear : 
Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury, 
And he may well in fretting spend his gall ; 
Nor men, nor money, hath he to make war. 

Char. Sound, sound alarum ! we will rush on them. 
Now, for the honour of the forborne^ French ! 
Him I forgive my death that killeth me. 
When he sees me go back one foot, or flee.* [Exeunt. 
Alarums; Excursions; afterwards a Retreat. 
Re-enter Charles, Alen^on, Reignier, and others. 

Char. Who ever saw the like ? what men have I ! — 
Dogs ! cowards ! dastards ! — I would ne'er have fled, 
But that they left me 'midst my enemies. 

Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide • 
He fighteth as one weary of his life : 
The other lords, like lions wanting food, 
Do rush upon us as their hvingry prey. 

Ale7i. Froissart, a countryman of ovu-s. records, 
England all Olivers and Rowlands bred, 
During the time Edward the third did reign. 
More truly now may this be verified ; 
For none but Samsons, and Goliasses, 
It sendcth forth to skirmish. One to ten ! 
Lean raw-bon'd rascals ! who would e'er suppose 
They had such courage and audacity ? 

Char. Let's leave this town ; for they are hair-brain"d 
slaves. 
And hunger will enforce them be more eager : 
Of old I know them ; rather with their teeth 
The walls they '11 tear down, than forsake the siege. 

Reig. I think, by some odd gimmals'^ or device. 
Their arms are set like clocks still to strike on; 
Else ne'er could they hold out so, as they do. 
By my consent, we '11 e'en let them alone. 

Alen. Be it so. 

Enter the Bastard of Orleans. 

Bast. Where 's the prince Dauphin ? I have news 
for him. 

Char. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. 

Bast. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer 
appall'd : 
Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? 
Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand : 
A holy maid hither with me I bring. 
Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven. 
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege. 
And drive the English forth the bounds of France. 
The spirit of deep prophecy she hath. 
Exceeding the nine sibyls of old R ome ; 
What 's past and what 's to come, she can descry. 



Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, 
For they are certain and unfallible. 

Char. Go, call her in. [Exit Bastard^ But first, to 
try her skill, 
Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place : 
Question her i)roudly, let thy looks be stern. 
By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. 

[Retires. 

Enter La Pucelle, Bastard of Orleans, and others. 

Reig. Fair maid, is 't thou wilt do these wond'rous 
feats ? 

Puc. Reignier. is 't thou that thinkcst to beguile me? 
Where is the Dauphin ? — Come, come from behind ; 
I know thee well, though never seen before. 
Be not amaz'd, there 's nothing hid from me : 
In private will I talk with thee apart. — 
Stand back, my lords, and give us leave awhile. 

Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. 

[They retire.^ 

Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter. 
My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. 
Heaven and our gracious Lady' hath it pleas'd 
To shine on my contemptible estate : 
Lo ! whilst I waited on my tender lambs. 
And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, 
God's mother deigned to appear to me ; 
And, in a vision full of majesty, 
Will'd me to leave my base vocation. 
And free my country from calamity. 
Her aid she promis'd, and assured success : 
In complete glory she reveal'd herself; 
And, whereas I was black and swart before. 
With those clear rays which she infus'd on me, 
That beauty am I bless'd with, which you see. 
Ask me what question thou canst possible. 
And I will answer unpremeditated : 
My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st, 
And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. 
Resolve on this ; thou shalt be fortunate. 
If thou receive me for thy warlike male. 

Char. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high tenr.s. 
Only this proof I '11 of tliy valour make : 
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me, 
And if thou vanqnishost, thy words are true ; 
Or,* I rcnovmce all confidence in you.' 

Puc. 1 am prepar'd. Here is my keen-edg'd sword, 
Deck'd with five flower-dc-luccs on each side ; 
The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's churcliyard, 
Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. 

Char. Then, come o' God's name : I fear no woman. 

Puc. And, while I live, I '11 ne'er fly from no man. 

[They fight. 

Char. Stay, stay thy hands ! thou art an Amazon, 
And fightest with the sword of Deborah. 

Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak. 

Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me. 
Impatiently I burn with thy desire ; 
My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued. 
Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so. 
Let me thy servant, and not sovereign, be : 
'T is the French Dauphin sueth thus to thee. 

Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love. 
For my profession 's sacred from above : 
When I have chased all thy foes from hence. 
Then will I think upon a recompense. 

Char. Mean time look gracious on thy prostrate thrall. 

Reig. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. 

[They talk ajmrt.'" 



^ This circumstance i.s mentioned in other writers of the time. 
• Not in f. e. ' our Lady gracious : in f. e. 8 otherwise : in f. e. 



2 otherwhiles : in f. e. 
s in you : not in f. e. 



3 forlorn : in f. e. * fly : in f. e. 
10 Not in f. e. 



Mnrhines. 



SCENE III. 



KING HENPwY VI. 



435 



Alen. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock, 
Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. 

Rcig. Shall we disturb him, since he keejis no mean? 

Alcn. lie may mean more than we poor men do know : 
These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. 

Reig. My, lord, where are you ? what devise you on ? 

[To him} 
Shall we give over Orleans, or no ? 

Puc. Why, no, I say : distrustful recreants ! 
Fight till the last gasp ; I will be your guard. 

Char. What she says. I '11 confirm : we '11 fight it out. 

Puc. Assign'd am I to be tlie English scourge. 
This night the siege assuredly I '11 raisfi : 
Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days. 
Since I have entered into these wars. 
Glory is like a circle in the water, 
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, 
Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. 
With Henry's death the English circle ends ; 
Dispersed are the glories it included. 
Now am I like that proud insulting ship. 
Which Caesar and his fortunes bare at once. 

Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove ? 
Thou with an eagle art inspired, then. 
Helen, the mother of great Constantine, 
Nor yet St. Philip's daughters were like thee. 
Bright star of Venus fall'n down on the earth, 
How may I reverent worship thee enough ? 

Alen. Leave off delay's, and let us raise the siege. 

Reig. Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours. 
Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd. 

Char. Presently we '11 try. — Come, let 's away about it: 
No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— London. Tower Hill. 
Enter at the Gates, the Duke of Gloster, with his 
Serving-men . 
Glo. I am come to sui-vey the Tower this day : 
Sinde Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.'' 
Where be these warders, that they wait not here ? 
Open the gates ! 'T is Gloster that now calls. 

[Servants knock. 
1 Ward [ Within.] Who 's there, that knocks so im- 
periously ? 

1 Serv. It is the noble duke of Gloster. 

2 Ward. [Within.] Whoe'er he be, you may not be 

let in. 
1 Serv. Villains, answer you so the lord protector? 
1 Hard. [Within.] The Lord protect him! so we 
answer him : 
We do no otherwise than we are will'd. 

Glo. Who will'd you so? or whose will stands but 
mine ? 
There 's none protector of the realm but I. — 
Break up the gates, I '11 be your warrantize. 
Shall I be flouted tlius by dunghill grooms? 
Gloster's Men rush at the Tower Gates. Enter, to the 
gates. WooDviLLE, the Lieutenant. 
IVood. [Within.] What noise is this? what traitors 

have we lierc ? 
Glo. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear ? 
Open the gates ! here 's Gloster that would enter. 
Wood. [Within.] Have patience, noble duke ; I may 
not open ; 
The cardinal of Winchester forbids : 
From him I have express commandment. 
That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in. 



Glo. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him 'fore me ? 
Arrogant Winchester, that hauglity prelate. 
Whom Henry, our late .sovereign, ne'er could brook ? 
Thou art no friend to God, or to the king : 
Open the gates, or I '11 shut thee out shortly. 

1 Serv. Open the gates unto the lord protector : 
We '11 burst them open, if you come not quickly. 
Enter Winchester, and Servants in tawney coats.'' 

Win. How now, ambitious Humphrey ! what means 
this. 

Glo. PiU'd* priest, dost thou command me be shut out ? 

Win. I do, thou most usurping proditor, 
And not protector, of the king or realm. 

Glo. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, 
Thou that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord 3 
Thou tliat giv'st whores indulgences to sin,* 
I '11 canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, 
If tliou proceed in this thy insolence. 

Win. Nay, stand thou back ; I will not budge a foot : 
This be Damascus,*^ be thou cursed Cain, 
To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. 

Glo. I will not slay thee, but I '11 drive Ihee back. 
Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing-cloth 
I '11 use to carry thee cut of this place. 

Win. Do what thou darst ; I '11 beard thee to thy face. 

Glo. What ! am I dar'd, and bearded to my face ? — 
Draw, men, for all this is a privileg'd place ; 
Blue coats' to tawney coats. Priest, beware your beard ! 
[Gloster aiid his Men attack the Bishop. 
I mean to tug it. and to cuff you soundly. 
Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat. 
In spite of pope or dignities of church ; 
Here by the cheeks I '11 drag thee up and down. 

Win. Gloster, thou 'It answer this before the pope. 

Glo. Winchester goose !" I cry — a rope ! a rope ! — 
Now beat them hence : why do you let them stay ? — 
Thee I "11 chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. — 
Out, tawney coats ! — out, scarlet hypocrite ! 
Here Gloster's Men heat out the CardinaVs Men, and 

enter, in the hurly-burly, the Mayor of London and 

his Officers. 

Blay. Fie, lords ! that you, being supreme magistrates, 
Thus contumeliously should break the peace ! 

Glo. Peace, mayor ! thou kno west little of my ^\Tongs. 
Here 's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, 
Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. 

Win. Here 's Gloster too, a foe to citizens ; 
One that still motions war, and never peace, 
O'crcliarging your free purses with largo fines ; 
That seeks to overthrow religion. 
Because lie is protector of the realm ; 
And would have armour, here, out of the Tower, 
To crown himself king, and suppress the prince. 

Glo. I will not answer tiice with words, but blows. 

[Here they skirmish again. 

JSIay. Nought rests for mc. in this tumultuous strife. 
But to make open proclamation. — 
Come, officer: as loud as thou canst cry. 
OfT. All nmnner of men, assembled here in arms this day. 



against 



God'i 



peace. 



and the kinsc^s. we 



charge arut 



command you, in his highnr.s:s' name, to repair to your 
.several dwelling-places ; and not to ivear, handle, or 
use, any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, 
upon pain of death. 

Glo. Cardinal, I "11 be no breaker of the law ; 
But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. 
JVin. Gloster, we '11 meet to thy dear cost be sure : 

1 Xot in f. e. 2 Fraud, theft. ' This, accordine to Stow, was the dres.s of a bishop's attendants. * Shorn. ' The stews in South- 
wark were under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Winchester, whose palace stood near by. * It was the old popular belief, that the site of 
I)ama.scus was the place where Cain killed Abel. ' This was the usual livery of servants. * A title applied to those who had contracted 
a malady to which frequenters of the slews are liable. 



i 



436 



FIRST PAET OF 



ACT I. 



Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work. 

May. I '11 call for clubs' if you will not away. — 
This cardinal 's more haughty than the devil. 

Glo. Mayor, farewell : thou dost but what thou 
may'st. 

Win. Abominable Gloster ! gixard thy head ; 
For I intend to have it off ere long. [Exeunt. 

May. See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart. — 
Good God ! that^ nobles should such stomachs bear ! 
I myself fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— France. Before Orleans. 
Enter on the Walls, the Master-Gunner and his Son. 
M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'sthow Orleans is besieg'd, 
And how the English have the suburbs won. 

Son. Father, I know ; and oft have shot at them, 
Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim. 

31. Gim. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd by me : 
Chief master-gunner am I of this town ; 
Something I must do to procure me grace. 
The prince's espials have informed me. 
How the English, in the suburbs close entrench'd, 
Wont^ through a secret grate of iron bars 
In yonder tower, to overpeer the city ; 
And thence discover, how, with most advantage, 
They may vex us with shot, or with assault. 
To intercept this inconvenience, 
A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd ; 
And fully even these three days have I watch'd, 
If I could see them. Now, boy, do thou watch, 
For I can stay no longer on my post. 
If thou spy'.st any, run and bring me word, 
And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [Exit. 

So7i. Father, I warrant you; take you no care : 
I '11 never trouble you, if I may spy them. 
Enter, in an upper Clmmher of a Tower, the Lords 
Salisbury and Talbot ; Sir William Glansdale, 
Sir Thomas Gargravk, and others. 
Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy ! again return'd ? 
How wert thou handled, being prisoner, 
Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd. 
Discourse, I pr'ythee, on this turret's top. 

Tal. The duke of Bedford had a prisoner, 
Called the brave lord of Ponton de Santrailes; 
For him I was exchang'd and ransomed. 
But with a baser man of arms by far. 
Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me : 
Which I, disdaining, scorn'd ; and craved death, 
Rather than I would be so vile' esteem'd : 
In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd. 
Bi\t. O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart: 
"Whom with my bare fists I would execute, 
If I now had him brought into my power. 

Sal. Yet tell'st thou not, how thou wert entertain'd. 
Tal. W^ith scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious taunts. 
In open market-place produe'd they me, 
To be a public spectacle to all : 
Here, said they, is the terror of the French, 
The scare-crow that affrights our children so. 
Then broke I from the officers that led me, 
And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground, 
To hurl at the beholders of my shame. 
My grisly countenance made others fly ; 
None durst come near for fear of sudden death. 
In i;on walls they deem'd me not secure ; 
So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread, 
That they suppos'd I could rend bars of steel, 
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant. 
Wherefore a suard of chosen shot I had 



That walk'd about me every minute-while. 
And if I did but stir out of my bed, 
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. 

Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you cndur'd, 
But we will be reveng'd sufiieiently. 
Now, it is supper-time in Orleans : 
Here, through this grate, I can count every one, 
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify : 
Let us look in; the sight will much dclisht thee. — 
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale, 
Let me have your express opinions. 
Where is best place to make our battery next. 

Gar. I think, at the north gate ; for there stand lords. 

Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. 

Tal. For aught I see, this city must be fajjiitli'd, 
Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. [Gargr.we fall. 
[Shot from the Town. Salisbury and Sir Tho. 

Sal. Lord ! have mercy on us. wretched sinners. 

Gar. O Lord ! have mercy on me, woeful man. 

Tal. What chance is this, that suddenly hath cross'd 
Speak Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak: [us? — 
How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men? 
One of thine eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off! — 
Accursed tower ! accursed fatal hand. 
That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy ! 
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame ; 
Henry the fifth he first train'd to the wars ; 
Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up. 
His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. — 
Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury ? though thy speech doth fail, 
One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace : 
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. — 
Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, 
If Salisbury want mercy at thy hands ! — 
Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it. — 
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thovi any life ? 
Speak unto Talbot ; nay, look up to him. 
Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort ; 

Thou shalt not die, whiles 

He beckons \^'ith his hand, and smiles on me, 

As who should say, " When I am dead and gone, 

Remember to avenge me on the French." — 

Plantagenet, I will ; and, Nero-likc, 

Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn : 

Wretched shall France be only in my name. 

[An Alarum : it thunders and lightens. 
What stir is this ? What tumult 's in the heavens ? 
Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise ? 
Enter a Mcs.'^enger. 

Mess. My lord, my lord ! the French have gather'd 
The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, [head : 
A holy prophetess, new risen up. 
Is come with a great power to raise tlie siege. 

[Salisbury lifts himself up and groans. 

Tal. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan ! 
It irks his heart he cannot be reveng'd. — 
Frenchmen, I '11 be a Salisbury to you, 
Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, 
Your hearts I '11 stamp out with my horse's heels, 
And make a quagmire of yovir mingled brains. — 
Convey me Salisbury into his tent. 
And then we '11 try what dastard Frenchmen dare. 

[Exeunt, bearing out the bodies. 

SCENE v.— The Same. Before one of the Gates. 
Alarum. Skirmi.'^hings. Tal'BOT pur.tues the Dauphin, 
and drives him ; then enter Joan la Pucelle, driving 
Engli.%hmen before her. Then enter Talbot. 
Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force ? 



1 The visual city cry in times of tumult. '■' these : in folio. ^ went : in folio. * pil'd : in folio. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENKY YL 



437 



Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them : 
A "Woman clad in armour chaseth them. 

Enter La Pucelle. 
Here, here she comes. — I '11 have a bout with thee : 
Devil, or devil's dam, I '11 conjure thee : 
Blood will I draw on thee ; thou art a witch', 
And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st. 

Puc. Come, come ; 't is only I that must disgrace thee. 

[They fight. 

Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail ? 
My breast I '11 burst with straining of my courage. 
And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, 
But I will chasti.«e this high-minded strumpet. 

Puc. Talbot, farewell • thy hour is not yet come : 
I must go victual Orleans forthwith. 
Overtake me if thou canst ; I scorn thy strength. 
Go, go, cheer up thy hunger''^-starved men ; 
Help Salisbury to make his testament : 
This day is ours, as many more shall be. 

[Pucelle enters the town^ with Soldiers. 

Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel ; 
I know not wliere I am, nor what I do. 
A witch by fear, not force, like Hannibal, 
Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists : 
So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench, 
Are from their hives and houses driven away. 
They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs ; 
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. 

[A short Alarum. 
Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight, 
Or tear the lions out of England's coat ; 
Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead : 
Sheep run not half so treacherous^ from the wolf, 
Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard. 
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. 

[Alarum. Another skirmish. 
It will not be. — Retire into your trenches : 
You all consented unto Salisbury's death. 
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. — 
Pucelle is enter' d into Orleans 



In spite of us, or aught that we could do. 

! would I were to die with Salisbury. 

The shame hereof will make me hide my head. 

[Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt Talbot and his Forces. 

SCENE VI.— The Same. 

Flourish. Enter., on the Walls, Pucelle, Charles, 

Reignier, ALENfON, and Soldiers. 

Puc. Advance our waving colours on the walls ! 
Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves* ; 
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. 

CiMr. Divinest creature, bright Astra^a's daughter, 
How shall I honour thee for this success ? 
Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens, 
That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next. — 
France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess ! — 
Recover'd is the town of Orleans : 
More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. 

Reig. Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout 
the town ? 
Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires 
And feast and banquet in the open streets, 
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. 

Alen. All France will be replete with mirth and joy, 
When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. 

Char. 'T is Joan, not we, by whom the day is won, 
For which I will divide my crown with her ; 
And all the priests and friars in my realm 
Shall in procession sing her endless praise. 
A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear, 
Than Rhodopc's, or Memphis', ever was : 
In memory of her, when she is dead, 
Her ashes, in an urn more precious 
Than the rich-jewel'd cofTer of Darius, 
Transported shall be at high festivals 
Before the kings and queens of France. 
No longer on Saint Dennis will we cry, 
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. 
Come in ; and let us banquet royally, 
After this golden day of victory. [Flourish. Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— The Same. 
Enter to the Gates., a French Sergeant, and Two Sejitinels. 

Serg. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant. 
If any noise, or soldier, you perceive. 
Near to the walls, by some apparent sign 
Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. 

[Exit Sergeant. 

1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. Thus are poor servitors 
(When others sleep upon their quiet beds) 
Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. 
Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, and Forces, with 
scaling Ladders ; their Drums beating a dead march. 

Tal. Lord regent, and redoubted Burgundy, 
By whose approach the regions of Artois, 
Walloon, and Picardy, are friends to us. 
This happy night the Frencluiicn arc secure, 
Having all day carous'd and banqueted. 
Embrace we, then, this opportunity. 
As fitting best to quittance their deceit, 
Contriv'd by art, and baleful sorcery. 

Bed. Coward of France ! — how much he wrongs his 
fame. 



Despairing of his own arm's fortitude. 

To join with witches, and the help of hell. 

Bur. Traitors have never other company. 
But what 's that, Pucelle, whom they term so pure ? 

Tal. A maid, they say. 



Bed. 



A maid, and be so martial? 



Bur. Pray God, she prove not masculine ere long; 
If underneath the standard of the French, 
She carry armour, as she hath begun. 

Tal. W^ell, let them practice and converse with spirits ; 
God is our fortress, in whose conquering name 
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. 

Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot ; we will follow thee. 

Tal. Not all together : better far, I guess, 
That we do make our entrance several ways, 
That if it chance the one of us do fail, 
The other yet may rise against their ^orce. 

Bed. Agreed. I '11 to yon corner. 

Bur. And I to this. 

Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his 
grave. — 
Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right 
Of English Henry, shall this night appear 



1 It was an old popular belief, that if a witch lost blood, her power was ended, 
is from the second folio. 



' hungry : in f. e. ' Pope reads : timorous. * wolr ,s 



438 



FIRST PART OF 



ACT ir. 



How much in duty I am bound to both. 

[The English scale the Walls, crying St George ! 
a Talbot ! and all enter the Town. 

Sent. [ Within.] Arm, arm ! the enemy doth make 
as-sault ! 
Frenchmen leap over the Walls in their shirts. Enter, 

several ways, Bastard, ALEN90N, Reignier, half 

ready^ and half unready. 

Alen. How now, my lords ! what, all unready so ? 

Bast. Unready ? ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well. 

Reig. 'T was time, I trow, to wake and leave our 
beds. 
Hearing alarums at our chamber doors. 

Alen. Of all exploits, since first I followed arms, 
Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise 
More venturous, or desperate than this. 

Bast. I think, this Talbot be a fiend of hell. 

Reig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him. 

Alen. Here cometh Charles: I marvel, how he sped. 
Enter Charles and La Pucelle. 

Bast. Tut ! holy Joan was his defensive guard. 

Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame ? 
Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal. 
Make us partakers of a little gain, 
That now our loss might be ten times so much ? 

Ptic. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend ? 
At all times will you have my power alike ? 
Sleeping or waking must I still prevail. 
Or will you blame, and lay the faiilt on me ? — 
Impro\'ident soldiers ! had your watch been good, 
This sudden mischief never could have fallen. 

Char. Duke of Alenfon, this was your default, 
That, being captain of the watch to-night. 
Did look no better to that weighty charge. 

Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely kept, 
As that whereof I had the government, 
We had not been thus shamefully surpris'd. 

Bast. Mine was secure. 

Reig. And so was mine, my lord. 

Char. And for myself, most part of all this night. 
Within her quarter, and mine own precinct, 
I was employ'd in passing to and fro, 
About relieving of the sentinels : 
Then, how, or which way, should they first break in ? 

Puc. Question, my lords, no further, of the case. 
How, or which way : 't is sure, they found some place 
But weakly guarded, where the breach was made ; 
And now there rests no other shift but this, — 
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd. 
And lay new platforms^ to endamage them. 
Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying, a Talbot ! 

a Talbot! They fly, leaving their Clothes behind. 

Sold. I '11 be so bold to take what they have left. 
The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword ; 
For I have loaden me with many spoils, 
Using no other weapon but his name. [Exit. 

SCENE II.— Orleans. Within the Town. 
Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain, and 

others. 
Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled, 
Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. 
Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. 

[Retreat sounded. 
Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury ; 
And here advance it in the market-place. 
The middle centre of this cursed town. — 
Now have I paid my vow unto his soul ; 
For every drop of blood was drawn from him, 
> Half-dressed. 2 plots, or plans. 



There have at least five Frenchmen died to-night. 

And that hereafter ages may behold 

What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, 

Within their chiefest temple I '11 erect 

A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd : 

Upon the which, that every one may read, 

Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans, 

The treacherous manner of his mournful death, 

And what a terror he had been to France. 

But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, 

I muse, we met not with the Dauphin's grace, 

His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, 

Nor any of his false confederates. 

Bed. 'T is thought, lord Talbot, when the fight began, 
Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds,- 
Thcy did, amongst the troops of armed men. 
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. 

Bur. Myself, as far as I could well discern. 
For smoke, and dusky vapours of the night, 
Am sure I scar'd the Dauphin, and his trull j 
When arm in arm they both came swiftly running. 
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves, 
That could not live asunder, day or night. 
After that things are set in order here. 
We '11 follow them with all the power we have. 
Enter a 3Ie.<!senger. 

Mess. All hail, my lords ! Which of this princely 
train 
Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts 
So much applauded through the realm of France ? 

Tal. Here is the Talbot ; who would speak with 
him ? 

Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvefgnc, 
With modesty admiring thy renown. 
By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe 
To visit her poor castle where she lies ; 
That she may boast she hath beheld the man 
Whose glory fills the world with loud report. 

Bur. Is it even so ? Nay, then. I see, our wars 
Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport. 
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. — 
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. 

Tal. Ne'er trust me then ; for when a world of men 
Could not prevail with all their oratory. 
Yet hath a woman's kindness over-rul'd. — 
And therefore tell her, I return great thanks, 
And in submission will attend on her. — 
Will not your honours bear me company ? 

Bed. No, truly, it is more than manners will j 
And I have heard it said, unbidden guests 
Are often wclcomcst when they are gone. 

Tal. Well then, alone, since there 's no remedy, 
I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. [mind. 

Come hither, captain, [Whispers.] — You perceive my 

Capt. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Auvergne. Court of the Castle. 
Enter the Countess and her Porter. 
Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge ; 
And. when you have done so, bring the keys to me. 
Port. Madam-, I will. [Exit, 

Count. The plot is laid : if all things fall out right, 
I shall as famous be by this exploit. 
As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death. 
Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight. 
And his achievements of no less account : 
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, 
To give their censure of these rare reports. 



BCENE IV. 



KING HENRY YI. 



439 



Enter Messenger and Talbot. 
Mess. Madam, according as your ladyship desir'd, 
By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come. 

Count. And he is welcome. — What ! is this the man? 



3Icss. Madam, it is. 

Count. Is this the scourge of France ? 

Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad, 
That with his name the mothers still their babes ? 
I see report is fabulous and false : 
I thought I should have seen some Hercules, 
A second Hector for his grim aspect, 
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. 
Ala.s ! this is a child, a silly dwarf: 
It cannot be, this weak and writhled shrimp 
Should strike such terror to his enemies. 

Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you ; 
But, since your ladyship is not at leisure, 
I '11 sort some other time to visit you. 

Count. What means he now? — Go, ask him, whither 

he goes. 
3Iess. Stay, my lord Talbot ; for my lady craves 
To know the cause of your abrupt departure. 

Tal. Marry, for that she 's in a wrong belief. 
I go to certify her Talbot 's here. 

Re-enter Porter^ with Keys. 
Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. 
Tal. Prisoner ! to whom ? 

Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord ; 

And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. 
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, 
For in my gallery thy picture hangs ; 
But now the substance shall endure the like, 
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, 
That hast by tyranny these many years, 
Wasted our country, slain our citizens. 
And sent our sons and husbands captivate. 
Tal. Ha, ha, ha ! 
Count. Laughest thou, WTetch ? thy mirth shall turn 

to moan. 
Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond, 
To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow, 
Whereon to practise your severity. 
Count. Why, art not thou the man? 
Tal. I am indeed. 

Count. Then have I substance too. 
Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: 
You are deceiv'd, my sul stance is not here; 
For what you see, is but the smallest part 
And least proportion of humanity. 
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here. 
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch, 
Your roof were not suthcieut to contain it. 

Count. This is a riddling merchant' for the nonce; 
He will be here, and yet he is not here : 
How can these contrarieties agree ? 

Tal. That will I show you, lady*, presently. 
He winds his Horn. Drums strike up ; a Peal of 

Ordnance. The Gates being forced^ enter Soldiers. 
How say you, madam ? are you now persuaded. 
That Talbot is but shadow of himself? 
These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength. 
With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, 
Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns, 
And in a moment makes them desolate. 

Count. Victorious Talbot, pardon my abuse : 
I find, thou art no less than fame hath bruited. 
And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. 
Let my presumption not proA'oke thy wrath; 
For I am sorry, that with reverence 



I did not entertain thee as thou art. 

Tal. Be not dismay'd. fair lady ; nor misconstrue 
The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake 
The outward composition of his body. 
What you have done hath not offended me : 
No other satisfaction do I crave, 
But only, with your patience, that we may 
Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have; 
For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. 

Count. With all my heart ; and think me honoured 
To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt. 

SCENE^ IV.— London. The Temple Garden. 

Enter the Earls of Somerset. Suffolk, a7id Warwick ; 

Richard Plantagenet, Vernon, and a Lawyer. 

Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this 
Dare no man answer in a case of trutli ? [silence ? 

Suf. Within the Temple hall we were too loud : 
The garden here is more convenient. 

Plan. Then say at once, if I maintain'd the truth, 
Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error ? 

Suf. 'Faith, I have been a truant in the law, 
And never yet could frame my will to it : 
And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. 

Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then, be- 
tween us. 

War. Between two hawte, which flies the higher 
pitch. 
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth. 
Between two blades, which bears the better temper, 
Between two horses, which doth bear him best, 
Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye, 
I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment; 
But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, 
Good faitli, I am no wiser than a daw. 

Plan. Tut, tut ! here is a mannerly forbearance : 
The truth appears so naked on my side. 
That any purblind eye may find it out. 

Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, 
So clear, so shining, and so evident, 
That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. 

Pla7i. Since you are tongue-tied, and so loath to 
speak. 
In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts. 
Let him, that is a true-born gentleman, 
And stands upon the honour of his birth, 
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, 
From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. 

Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer, 
But dare maintain the party of the truth. 
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. 

War. I love no colours : and, without all colour 
Of base insinuating flattery, 
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. 

Suf. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset; 
And say withal, I think he held the right. 

Ver. Stay, lords, and gentlemen ; and pluck no more, 
Till you conclude that he, upon whose side 
The fewest roses are eropp'd from the tree, 
Shall yield the other in the right opinion. 

Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected : 
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. 

Plan. And I. 

Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, 
I pluck this pale and maiden blo.ssom here, 
Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 

Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; 
Lost, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, 
And fall on my side so, against your will. 



• Thifi Ts-ord was often used as a term of contempt. ^ This word is not in f. e. 



440 



FIEST PART OF 



ACT n. 



Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, 
Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, 
And keep me on the side where still I am. 

Som. Well, well, come on : who else ? 

Law. Unless my study and my books be false, 
The argument you held was wrong in you : 
In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. 

Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? 

Som. Here, in my .scabbard ; meditating that, 
Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. 

Plan. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our 
roses ; 
For pale they look with fear, as witnessing 
The truth on our side. 

Som. No, Plantagenet. 

'T is not for fear, but anger; and thy cheeks 
Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses. 
And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. 

Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset? 

Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? 

Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth. 
Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. 

Som. Well, I '11 find friends to wear my bleeding-roses, 
That shall maintain what I have said is true, 
Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. 

Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, 
I scorn thee and thy faction', peevish boy. 

Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. 

Plan. Proud Poole. I will ] and scorn both him and 
thee. 

Suf. I '11 turn my part thereof into thy throat. 

Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole. 
We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him. 

War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong' st him, Somer- 
set : 
His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence, 
Third son to the third Edward, king of England. 
Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root ? 

Plan, He braves^ him on the place's privilege, 
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. 

Som. By him that made me, I '11 maintain my words 
On any plot of ground in Christendom. 
Was not thy father, Richard earl of Cambridge, 
For treason executed in our late king's days ? 
And by his treason stand'st not thou attainted. 
Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry ? 
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood ; 
And till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman. 

Plan. My father was attached, not attainted, 
Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor ; 
And that I '11 prove on better men than Somerset^ 
Were growing time once ripen'd to my will. 
For your partaker Poole, and you yourself, 
I '11 note you in my book of memory, 
To scourge you for this apprehension : 
Look to it well, and say you are well warn'd. 

Som. Ah ! thou shalt find us ready for thee still. 
And know us by these colours for thy foes ; 
For these my friends in spite of thee .shall wear. 

Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, 
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate. 
Will I for ever, and my faction, wear, 
Until it wither with me in my grave. 
Or flourish to the height of my degree. 

Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition : 
And so farewell, until I meet thee next. ' ~ 



Som. Have with thee. Poole. — Farewell, 
Richard. 



[Exit. 
ambitious 
[Exit. 



Plan. How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure it ! 

War. This blot, that they object against your house. 
Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament, 
Call'd for the truce of Winclie.^ter and Gloster, 
And if thou be not then created York, 
I will not live to be accounted Warwick. 
Mean time, in signal of my love to thee. 
Against proud Somerset, and William Poole, 
Will I upon thy party wear this rose. 
And here I prophesy, — this brawl to-day. 
Grown to this faction in the Temple garden. 
Shall send, between the red rose and tlie white, 
Ten^ thousand souls to death and deadly night. 

Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you, 
That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. ^ 

Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same. 

Law. And so will I. 

Plan. Thanks, gentle sir : 
Come, let us four to dinner. I dare say, 
This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeitnt. 

SCENE v.— The Same. A Room in the Tower. 
Enter Mortimer, blind^, brovght in a Chair by two 

Keepers. 

Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, 
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. — 
Even like a man new haled from the rack, 
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment; 
And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, 
Nestor-like aged in a cage of care. 
Argue the end of Edward Mortimer. 
These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, 
Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent.* 
Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief, 
And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine 
That droops his sapless branches to the ground : 
Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb, 
Unable to support this lump of clay. 
Swift- winged with desire to get a grave. 
As witting I no other comfort have. — 
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come ? 

1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come : 
We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber. 
And answer was return'd that he will come. 

[Exit Keeper.* 

Mor. Enough ; my soul sliall then be satisfied. — 
Poor gentleman, his wrong doth eqiial mine. 
Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign. 
Before whose glory I was great in arms. 
This loathsome sequestration have I had ; 
And even since then hath Richard been obscurd, 
Depriv'd of honour and inheritance : 
But now, the arbitrator of despairs, 
Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, 
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence. 
I would his troubles likewise were expir'd. 
That so he might recover what was lost. 

Enter Richard Plantagenet, and Keeper.'' 

1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. 

Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come ? 

Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd, 
Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes. 

Mor. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck, 
And in his bosom spend my latter gasp. 
O ! tell me, when my lips do touch his cheek. 
That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. — 
And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock, 
Why didst thou say — of late thou wert despis'd ? 



> fashion : in folio. Theobald changed the word. ^ bears : in f. e. 
' The -words, " and keeper," are not in f. e. 



in f. e. ■* This word is not in f. e. * End. ^ Not in f. o 



__. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY YI. 



441 



Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm, 
And in that ease I '11 tell thee my disease. 
This day, in argument upon a case. 
Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me ; 
Among which terms he us'd his lavish tongue, 
And did upbraid me with my father's death : 
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue, 
Else with the like I had requited him. 
Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake, 
In honour of a true Plantagenet, 
Ajid for alliance' sake, declare the cause 
My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head. 

Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me. 
And hath detain'd me ail my flow'ring youth 
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine. 
Was cursed instrument of his decease. 

Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was : 
For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. 

Mor. I will; if that my fading breath permit, 
And death approach not ere my tale be done. 
Henry the fourth, grandfather to this king, 
Depos'd his nephew Richard, Edward's son. 
The first-begotten, and the lawful heir 
Of Edward, king the third of that descent : 
During whose reign the Percies of the north, 
Finding his usurpation most unjust, 
Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne. 
The reason mov'd these warlike lords to thi,", 
Was for that young king Richard thus remov'd, 
(Leaving no heir begotten of his body) 
I was the next by birth and parentage ; 
For by my mother I derived am 
From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son 
To king Edward the third, whereas he 
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, 
l>eing but fourth of that heroic line. 
But mark : as, in this haughty great attempt 
They laboured to plant the rightful heir, 
I lost my liberty, and they their lives. 
Long after this, when Henry the fifth, 
(Succeeding his father Bolingbroke) did reign, 
Thy father, earl of Cambridge, then deriv'd 
From famous Edmund Langley, duke of York, 
Marrying my sister, that thy mother was, 
Again, in pity of my hard distress, 



Levied an army, weening to redeem, 
And have install'd me in the diadem ; 
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl, 
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, 
In wliom the title rested, were suppre.^s'd. 

Plan. Of which, my lord, your honour is the laft. 

Mor. True ; and thou secst, that I no issue have, 
And that my fainting words do warrant death. 
Thou art my heir : the rest, I wish thee gather ; 
But yet be wary in thy studious care. 

Plan. Thy grave admonisliments prevail with me. 
But yet, mcthinks, my father's execution 
Was nothing Ic^s than bloody tyranny. 

Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic : 
Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, 
And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd. 
But now thy luicle is removing hence. 
As princes do tlicir courts, when they are cloy'd 
With long continuance in a settled place. 

Plan. 0, uncle ! would some part of my young years 
Might but redeem the passage of your age. 

Mor. Thou dost, then, wrong me ; as the slaughterer 
doth, 
Which giveth many wounds, when one will kill. 
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good ; 
Only, give order for my funeral. 
And so farewell ; and fair be all thy hopes. 
And prosperous be thy life, in peace, and war ! [Dies. 

Plan. And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul ! 
In pri.«on hast thou t;pent a pilgrimage. 
And like a hermit overpass'd thy days. — 
Well, [ will lock his counsel in my breast: 
And what I do imagine, let that rest. — 
Keepers, convey him hence : and I myself 
Will see his bvirial better than his life. — 

[Exeu7it Keepers, bearing out Mortimer. 
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, 
i Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort : 
And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, 
Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house, 
I doubt not but with honour to redress ; 
And therefore haste I to the parliament. 
Either to be restored to my blood, 
Or make my will th' advancer' of my good, [Exit. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— The Same. The Parliament-House. 
Flovrish. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Gloster. 

Warwick, Somerset, and Suffolk : the Bishop of 

Winchester, Richard Plantagenet. and others. 

Gloster offers to put up a Bill; Winchester 

snatclies it. and tears it. 

Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines. 
With written pamphlets .studiously devis'd ? 
Humphrey of Gloster, if thou canst accuse, 
Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge, 
Do it without invention, suddenly ; 
As I with sudden and extemporal speech 
Purpose to answer what thou canst object. 

Glo. Presumptuous priest ! this place commands my 
patience. 
Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me. 
Think not, although in writing I prefer 

• advantage : in f. e. 



The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes. 
That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able , 
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen : 
No, prelate ; such is thy audacious wickedness, 
Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks, 
As very infants prattle of thy pride. 
Thou art a most pernicious usurer, 
Froward by nature, enemy to peace ; 
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems 
A man of thy profession, and degree : 
And for thy treachery, what 's more manifest, 
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life. 
As well at London bridge, as at the Tower ? 
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted, 
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt 
From envious malice of thy swelling heart. 

Win. Gloster, I do defy thee. — Lords, vouchsafe 
To give me hearing what I shall reply. 



-/ 



U2 



FIKST PAKT OF 



ACT in. 



If I were covetous, ambitious, proud. ^ 
As lie will have me, how am I so poor ? 
Or how haps it, I seek not to advance 
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling ? 
And for dissension, who preserveth peace 
More than I do, except I be provok'd ? 
No, my good lords, it is not that offends : 
, It is not that that hath inccns'd the duke : 
It is, because no one should sway but he ; 
No one but he should be about the king ; 
And that engenders thunder in his breast. 
And makes him roar these accusations forth. 



Bvit he shall know, I am as good 

Glo. As good I 

Thou bastard of my grandfather ! — 

Win. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray, 
But one imperious in another's throne ? 

Glo. Am I not the protector, saucy priest ? 

Win. And am not I a prelate of the church ? 

Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps, 
And useth it to patronage his theft. 

Win. Unreverent Gloster ! 

Glo. Thou art reverent 

Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. 

Win. Rome shall remedy this. 

War. Roam thither then. 

My lord, it were your duty to forbear. 

Som. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. 
Mcthinks, my lord should be religious. 
And know the office that belongs to_such. 

War. Methinks, his lordship should be humbler: 
It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. 

Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. 

War. State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that ? 
Is not his grace protector to the king ? 

Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue ; 

[Aside. 
Lest it be said, " Speak, sirrah, when you should ; 
Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords ?" 
E'se would I have a fling at Winchester. 

K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester, 
The special watchmen of our English weal, 
I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, 
To join your hearts in love and amity. 
! what a scandal is it to our crown, 
That two such noble peers as ye should jar. 
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell, 
Civil dissension is a viperous worm. 
That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. — 

[A noise icithin : Down with the tawncy coats ! 
What tumult "s this ? 

War. An uproar, I dare warrant, 

Begun through malice of the bishop's men. 

[A noise again : Stones ! Stones ! 
Enter the Mayor of London, and some Citizens.' 

May. 0, my good lords, and virtuous Henry, 
Pity the city of London, pity us ! 
The bishop's and the duke of Gloster's men, 
Forbidden late to carry any weapon. 
Have flll'd their pockets full of pebble-stones ; 
And banding themselves in contrary parts, 
Do pelt so fast at one another's pates. 
That many have their giddy brains knocked out. 
Our windows are broke down in every street. 
And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops. 
Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of Gloster, and 
Winchester, with bloody pates. 

K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, 



To hold your slaughtering hands, and keep the peace. 
Pray, VTUcle Gloster, mitigate this strife. 

1 Serv. Nay, if we be 

Forbidden stones, we '11 fall to it with our teeth. 

2 Serv. Do what ye dare ; we are as resolute. 

[Skirmish again. 

Glo. You, of my household, leave this peevish broil, 
And set this unaccustom'd fight aside. 

1 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a man 
Just and upright ; and, for your royal birth, 
Inferior to none but to his majesty ; 
And ere that we will suffer such a prince, 
So kind a father of the commonweal, 
To be disgraced by an inkhorn^ mate. 
We, and our wives, and children, all will fightj. 
And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes. 

3 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails 
Shall pitch a field, when we are dead. [Skirmish again, 

Glo. Stay, stay ! 

And, if you love me, as you say 5'ou do, 
Let me persuade you to forbear awhile. 

K. Hen. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul !— • 
Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold 
My sighs and tears, and will not once relent ? 
Who should be pitiful, if you be not ? 
Or who should study to preserve* a peace, 
If holy churchmen take delight in broils ? 

War. Yield, lord protector ; and yield, Winchester j 
Except you mean, with obstinate repulse. 
To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm. 
You see what mischief, and what murder too, 
Hath been enacted through your enmity ; 
Then, be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. 

Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield. 

Glo. Compassion on the king commands me stoop ', 
Or I would see his heart out. ere the priest 
Should ever get that privilege of me. 

War. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke 
Hath banish'd moody discontented fury, 
As by his smoothed brows it doth appear : 
Why look you still so stern, and tragical ? 

Glo. Here, Winchester ; I offer thee my hand. 

[Winchester refuses it.^ 

K. Hen. Fye, uncle Beaufort ! I have heard you 
preach. 
That malice was a great and grievous sin ; 
And will not you maintain the thing you teach. 
But prove a chief offender in the same ? 

War. Sweet king ! — the bishop hath a kindly gird. 
For shame, my lord of Winchester, relent : 
What ! shall a child instruct you what to do ? 

Win. Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee; 
Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give. 

[Gives his hand.^ 

Glo. Ay ; but I fear me, with a hollow heart. [Aside. 
See here, my friends, and loving countrymen ; 
This token serveth for a flag of truce. 
Betwixt ourselves, and all our followers. 
So help me God, as I dissemble not ! 

Win. So help me God, as I intend it not ! [Aside. 

K. Hen. 0, loving uncle, and kind duke of Gloster, 
How joyful am I made by this contract ! — 
Away, my masters : trouble vis no more. 
But join in friendship, as your lords have done. 

1 Serv. Content : I '11 to the surgeon's. 

2 Serv. And so will I. 

3 Serv. And I will see what physic the tavern affords. 

[Exeunt Mayor, Citizens,'' Servants, fyc. 



1 or perverse : inf. e. ^ Enter the Mayor of London attended: 
• Not in f. e. ' This word is not in f. e. 



in f. e. 'A term usually applied to pedantry. * prefer : in f. e 



SCENE n. 



KING HENRY YL 



443 



War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign, 
Which in the right of Richard Plaiitagenet 
We do exhibit to your majesty. 

Glo. Well urg'd, my lord of Warwick : — for, sweet 
prince, 
And if your grace mark every circumstance, 
You have great reason to do Richard right; 
Especially for those occasions 
At Eltham-place I told your majesty. 

A'. Hc7i. And those occasions, uncle, were of force : 
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is, 
That Richard be restored to his blood. 

War. Let Richard be restor'd to his blood ; 
So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd. 

Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. 

K. Hen. If Richard will be true, not that alone, 
But all the whole inheritance I give, 
That doth belong unto the house of York, 
From whence you spring by lineal descent. 

Pla7i. Thy honour'd' servant vows obedience, 
And humble service, till the point of death. 

A'. Hen. Stoop then, and set your knee against my 
foot ; 
And in reguerdon of that duty done, 
1 girt thee with the valiant sword of York. 
R ise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet, 
And rise created princely duke of York. 

Plan. And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall : 
And as niy duty springs, so perish they 
That grudge one thought against your majesty. 

All. Welcome, high prince, the mighty duke of 
York ! 

Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York ! 

[Aside. 

Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty. 
To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France. 
The presence of a king engenders love 
Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friends. 
As it disanimates his enemies. 

A'. Hen. When Gloster says the word. King Henry 
goes; 
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. 

Glo. Your ships already are in readiness. 

[Flouri'ih. Exeunt all but Exeter. 

Exe. Ay, we may march in England, or in France, 
Not seeing what is likely to ensue. 
This late dissension, grown betwixt the peers, 
Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love, 
And will at last break out into a flame : 
As fester'd members rot but by degrees, 
Till bones, and flesh, and sinews, fall away, 
So will this base and envious discord breed. 
And now I fear that fatal prophecy, 
Which, in the time of Henry, nam'd the fifth, 
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe, — 
That Henry, born at Monmouth, should win all. 
And Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all : 
Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish 
His days may finish ere that hapless time. [Exit. 

SCENE H.— France. Before Rouen. 
Enter La Pvcelle di.<!gi(i.fed^ and Soldiers dressed like 
Countrymen, with Sacks upon tJieir Backs. 
Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, 
Through which our policy must make a breach. 
Take heed, be wary how you place your words ; 
Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men. 
That come to gather money for their corn. 
If we have entrance, (as I hope we shall) 

' humtle ; in f. e. - Confederates. ^ all : in f. e. 



And that we find the slothful watch but weak, 

I '11 by a sign give notice to our friends, 

That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them. 

1 Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, 
And we be lords and rulers over Rouen ; 
Therefore we '11 knock. [Knocks. 

Guard. [Within.] Qui est Id? 

Puc. Pai.sa?is, les pauvres gens de France : 
Poor market-folks that come to sell their corn. 

Guard. Enter : go in : the market-bell is rung. 

[Opening the gates. 

Puc. Now, Rouen, Til shake thy bulwarks to the 
ground. [Pucelle, c^'c. enter the City. 

Enter Charles, Bastard o/ Orleans, Alen^on, and 
Forces. 

Char. Saint Dennis bless this happy stratagem. 
And once again we '11 sleep secure in Rouen. 

Bast. Here enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants^. 
Now she is there, how will she specify 
Where is the best and safest passage in? 

Alen. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower; 
Which, once discern'd, shows, that her meaning is, — 
No way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd. 
E7iter La Pucelle on a Battlement, holding out a Torch 

burning. 

Puc. Behold ! this is the happy wedding torch. 
That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen. 
But burning fatal to the Talbotites. 

Bast. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend; 
The burning torch in yonder turret stands. 

Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, 
A prophet to tlie fall of all our foes ! 

Alen. Defer no time ; delays have dangerous ends : 
Enter, and cry The Dauphin ! presently. 
And then do execution on the watch. [They enter. 

Alarums. Enter Talbot, and English Soldiers. 
- Tal. France, tliou shalt rue this treason with thy tears, 
If Talbot but survive thy treachery. 
Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress. 
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares, 
That hardly we escapd the pride of France. 

[Exev7it to the Town. 
Alarum : Excursions. Enter, from the Town. Bedford, 

brought in sick in a Chair, with T.^lbot, Birgundy, 

arul the English Forces. Then, enter on the Walls, 

La Pucelle, Charles, Ba.stard, Alen^on, Reignier, 

and others. 

Puc. Good morrow, gallants. Want ye corn for bread ? 
I think, the duke of Burgundy will fast, 
Before he '11 buy again at such a rate. 
'T was full of darnel ; do you like the taste ? 

Bur. Scoff on, vile fiend, and shameless courtezan ! 
I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own, 
And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. 

Char. Your grace may starve, perhaps, before that 
time. 

Bed. O ! let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason. 

Puc. Wliat will you do, good grey-beard ? break a 
lance. 
And run a tilt at death within a chair ? 

Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of hell's' despite, 
Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours. 
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age. 
And twit with cowardice a man half dead? 
Damsel, I 'U have a bout with you again, 
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. 

Puc. Are you so hot, sir ? — Yet, Pucelle, hold thy 

If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. — [peace : 

[Talbot, and the rest, consult together. 



444 



FIRST PAET OF 



ACT III. 



God speed the parliament ! who shall be speaker ? 
Tal. Dare ye come forth, and meet us in the field ? 

Puc. Belike, your lordship takes us then for foolsj 
To try if that our own be ours, or no. 

Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate, 
But unto thee, Alenfon. and the rest. 
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out? 

Alen. Signior, no. 

Tal. Signior, hang ! — base muleteers of France ! 
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls, 
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. 

Puc. Away, captains ! let 's get us from the walls, 
For Talbot means no goodness by his looks. — 
God be wi' you, my lord : we came, but to tell you 
That we are liere. 

[Exeunt La Pucelle, ^c. from the Walls. 

Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long. 
Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame. — 
Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house, 
Prick'd on by public wrongs sustaiu'd in France, 
Either to get the town again, or die ; 
And I, as sure as English Henry lives, 
And as his father here was conqueror, 
As sure as in this late betrayed town 
Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried. 
So sure I swear to get the town, or die. 

Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy vows. 

Tal. But ere we go, regard this dying prince, 
The valiant duke of Bedford. — Come, my lord, 
We will bestow you in some better place. 
Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age. 

Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me : 
Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen, 
And will be partner of your weal, or woe. 

Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you. 

Bed. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read. 
That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick. 
Came to the field, and vanquished his foes. 
Methinks. I should revive the soldiers' hearts. 
Because I ever found them as myself. 

Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast ! — 
Then, be it so : — heavens keep old Bedford safe ! — 
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, 
But gather we our forces out of hand, 
And set upon our boasting enemy. 

[Exeunt Burgundy, Talbot, and Forces, leaving 
Bedford, and others. 
Alarum : Excursions. Enter Sir John Fastolfe, and 
a Captain. 

Cap. Whither away. Sir John Fastolfe, in such 
haste ? 

Fast. Whither away ? to save myself by flight : 
Wc are like to have the overthrow again. 

Cap. What ! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot ? 

Fast. Ay, 

All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. [Exit. 

Cap. Cowardly knight ! ill'fortunc follow thee ! [Exit. 
Retreat: Excursions. Enter, from the Toivn, La 
Pucelle, ALEN90N, Charles, ^c. and exeunt, flying. 

Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when Heaven please. 
For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. 
What is the trust or strength of foolish man ? 
They, that of late were daring with their scoflJs, 
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. 

[Dies, and is carried off in his Chair. 

Alarum. Enter Talbot, Burgundy, ajid others. 

Tal. Lost, and recovered in a day again ! 
This is double honour, Burgundy ; 
Yet' heavens have glory for this victory. 

> Dyce sviggests, /c(, as the reading. 



Bur. Warlike and matchless^ Talbct, Burgundy 
Enshrines thee in his heart; and there erects 
Thy noble deeds, as valour's monument. 

Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle 
now ? 
I think her old familiar is asleep : 
Now where 's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his 

gleeks^ ? 
What, all a-mort*? Rouen hangs her head for grief, 
That such a valiant company are fled. 
Now will we take some order in the town, 
Placing therein some expert officers, 
And then depart to Paris to the king ; 
For there young Henry with his nobles lies. 

Bur. Wliat wills lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy. 

Tal. But yet, be.'bre wc go, let 's not forget '' 
The noble duke of Bedford, late dcceas'd. 
But see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen : 
A braver soldier never couched lance, 
A gentler heart did never sway in court ; 
But kings, and mightiest potentates must die. 
For that 's the end of human misery. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HL— The Same. The Plains near the City. 

Enter Charles, the Bastard, Alen^on, La Pucelle, 

and Forces. 

Puc. Dismay not. princes, at this accident. 
Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered : 
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive. 
For things that are not to be remedied. 
Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while, 
And like a peacock sweep along his tail, 
We '11 pull his plumes, and take away his train, 
If Dauphin and the rest will be but rul'd. 

Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto. 
And of thy cunning had no diffidence : 
One sudden foil shall never breed distrust. 

Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies, 
And we will make thee famous through the world. 

Alen. We '11 set thy statue in some holy place, 
And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint : 
Employ thee, then, sweet virgin, for our good. 

Puc. Then thus it must be ; this doth Joan devise. 
By fair persuasions, mix'd with sugar'd words, 
Wc will entice the duke of Burgundy 
To leave the Talbot, and to follow us. 

Char. Ay. marry, sweeting, if we could do that. 
France were no place for Henry's warriors; 
Nor should that nation boast it so with us. 
But be extirped from our provinces. 

Alen. For ever should they be expuls'd from France, 
And not have title of an earldom here. 

Ptic. Your honours shall perceive how I will work, 
To bring this matter to the wished end. 

[Drums heard afar off. 
Hark ! by the sound of drum you may perceive 
Their powers are marching unto Paris- ward. 
A7i English March. Etiter, and pass over, Talbot and 

his Forces. 
There goes the Talbot, Mith his colours spread. 
And all the troops of Engli.sh after him. 
A French March. Filter the Duke of Burgundy and 

Forces. 
Now, in the rearward comes the duke, and his : 
Fortune in favour makes him lag behind. 
Summon a parley ; we will talk with him. 

[Trumpets sound a parley. 

Char. A parley with the duke of Burgundy. 

Bur. Who craves a parley with ihe Burgundy ? 



^ martial : in f. e. ' Scoffs. * DisjiiTited. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY YL 



445 



Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy countryman. 

Bur. What say'st thou. Charles ? for I am marching 
hence. 

Char. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy 
words. 

Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France, 
Stay ; let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. 

Bur. Speak on ; but be not over-tedious. 

Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile France, 
And see her' cities and her' towTis defac'd 
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe. 
As looks the mother on her lovely' babe, 
When death doth close his tender dying eyes. 
See, see, the pining malady of France : 
Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds, 
Which thou thy.'^elf hast given her woful breast. 
! turn thy edged sword another way ; 
Strike tho.se that hurt, and hurt not those that help. 
One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bosom. 
Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore : 
Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears. 
And wash away thy country's stained spots. 

Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words. 
Or nature makes me suddenly relent. 

Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee. 
Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. 
Whom join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation 
That will not trust thee but for profit's sake ? 
When Talbot hath set footing once in France, 
And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill. 
Who then but English Henry will be lord, 
And thou be thrust out, like a fugitive? 
Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof, 
Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe. 
And was he not in England prisoner ? 
But, when they heard he was thine enemy, 
Tliey set him free, without his ransom paid, 
Tn spite of Burgundy, and all his friends. 
See, then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen. 
And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men. 
Come, come, return ; return, thou wand'ring lord . 
Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their arms. 

Bur. I am vanquished : these haughty words of hers 
Have batter'd 7ne like roaring cannon-shot. 
And made me almost yield upon my knees. — 
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen ! 
And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace : 
My forces and my power of men are yours. — 
So, farewell, Talbot : I'll no longer trust thee. 

Puc. Done like a Frenchman ; turn, and turn again ! 

[A.ndc.^ 

Char. Welcome, brave duke ! thy friendship makes 
us fresh. 

Bast. And doth beget new courage in our breasts. 

Alen. Pucelle hath bravely played her part in this, 



King Henry, Gloster, and other Lord.-;, Veu- 
To them Talbot, and some of his 



And doth deserve a coronet of gold. 

Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers. 
And seek how we may prejudice the foe. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Paris. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter 

NON, B.iSSET, ^C. 

Officers. 

Tal. My gracious prince, and honourable peers, 
Hearing of your arrival in this realm, 
I have a while given truce unto my wars. 
To do my duty to my sovereign : 
In sign whereof, this arm — that hath reclaim'd 
To your obedience fifty fortresses. 
Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength, 
Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem, — 
Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet ; 
And with submissive loyalty of heart. 
Ascribes the glory of his conquest got. 
First to his God, and next unto your grace. 

K. Hen. Is this the lord Talbot, uncle Gloster, 
That hath so long been resident in France ? 

GIo. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege. 

K. Hen. Welcome, brave captain, and victorious lord. 
When I was young, (as yet I am not old) 
I do remember how my father said, 
A stouter champion never handled sword. 
Long since we were resolved of that' truth, 
Your faithful service, and your toil in war ; 
Yet never have you tasted our reward. 
Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks. 
Because till now we never saw your face : 
Therefore, stand up ; and, for these good deserts. 
We here create yov; earl of Shrewsbury, 
And in our coronation take your place. [and Nobles. 

[Flourish. Exeunt King Henry, Gloster, Talbot, 

Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea. 
Disgracing of these colours, that I wear 
In honour of my noble lord of York, 
Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st? 

Bas. Yes, sir ; as well as you dare patronage 
The envious barking of your saucy tongue 
Against my lord, the dvike of Somerset. 

Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is. 

Bas. Why, what is he ? as good a man as York. 

Ver. Hark ye • not so : in witness, take ye that. 

[Striking him, 

Bas. Villain, thou know'st, the law' of arms is such. 
That, whoso draws a sword, 't is present death. 
Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood. 
But I '11 unto his majesty, and crave 
I may have liberty to venge this wTong, 
When thou shalt see, I '11 meet thee to thy cost. 

Ver. Well, miscreant, I '11 be there as soon as you ; 
And after meet you sooner than you would. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— The Same. A Room of State. 
Enter King Henry, Gloster, Exeter, York, Suf- 
folk, Somerset, Winchester, Warwick, Talbot, 
The Governor of Paris, and others. 

Glo. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head. 
Win. God save king Henry, of that name the sixth ! 

[Sound Trumpets.^ 

> !> the : in f. e. ' lowly : in f. e. * Not in f. e. s your : in f. e. 



Glo. Now, governor of Paris, take your oath, — 

[Gover7ior kneels. 
That you elect no other king but him, 
Esteem none friends, but such as are his friends, 
And none your foes, but such as shall pretend' 
Malicious practices against his state. 
This shall yc do, so help you righteous God ! 

[Exeunt Gov. and his Train. 



s Not in f. e. ' Intend. 



( 



/ 



446 



FIRST PART OF 



ACT IV. 



Enter Sir John Fastolfe. 

Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais, 
To haste unto your coronation, 
A letter was deliver'd to my hands, 
Writ to your grace from the duke of Burgundy. [Gives it} 

Tal. Shame to tlie duke of Burgundy, and thee ! 
I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next, 
To tear the garter from thy craven's leg ; 

{Plucking it off. 
Which I have done, because unworthily 
Thou wast installed in that high degree. — 
Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest. 
This dastard, at the battle of Patay, 
When but in all I was six thousand strong, 
And that the French were almost ten to one, 
Before we met, or that a stroke was given, 
Like to a trusty squire, did run away : 
In which assault wc lost twelve hundred men; 
Myself, and divers gentlemen beside. 
Were there surpris'd, and taken prisoners. 
Then, judge, great lords, if I have done amiss; 
Or wliethcr that such cowards ought to wear 
This ornament of knighthood, yea, or no ? 

Glo. To say the truth, his fact was infamous, 
And ill beseeming any common man. 
Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader. 

Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords, 
Knights of the garter were of noble birth. 
Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage, 
Such as were grown to credit by the wars ; 
Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress, 
But always resolute in worst^ extremes. 
He, then, that is not furnish'd in this sort. 
Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight, 
Profaning this most honourable order ; 
And should (if I were worthy to be judge) 
Bo quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain 
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood. 

K. IJen. Stain to thy countrymen ! thou hearst thy 
doom : 
Be packing therefore, thou that wast a knight. 
Henceforth we banislx thee on pain of death. — 

{Exit Fastolfe. 
And, now. my lord protector, view the letter 
Sent from our uncle duke of Burgundy. 

Glo. What means his grace, that he hath chang'd 
his style ? 
No more but, plain and bluntly, — " To the king !" 
Hath he forgot he is his sovereign ? 
Or doth this churlish superscription 
Portend^ some alteration in good will ? 
What 's here ? {Reads.] " I have upon especial cause, — 
'• Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck, 
" Together with the pitiful complaints 
'• Of such as your oppression feeds upon, — 
'' Forsaken your pernicious faction, 
" And join'd with Charles, the rightful king of 

France." 
0, monstrous treachery ! Can this be so? 
That in alliance, amity, and oaths, 
There should be found such fal.se dissembling guile? 

K. lien. What ! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt? 

Glo. He doth, my lord ; and is become thy foe. 

K. Hen. Is that the worst this letter doth contain ? 
Glo. It is the worst, and all. my lord, he WTites. 

A'. Hen. Why then, lord Talbot, there, shall talk 
with him. 
And give him chastisement for this abuse. — 
How say you, my lord ? are you not content ? 

'Not in f. e. 2 most : in f. e. 3 pretend : in f. e. * shall : in 



Tal. Content, my liege ? Yes, but that I 'm pre- 
vented, 
I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd. 

K. Hen. Then gather strength, and march unto him 
straight. 
Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason ; 
And what offence it is to flout his friends. 

Tal. I go, my lord ; in heart desiring still, 
You may behold confusion of your foes. {Exit. 

Enter Vernon and Basset. 

Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign ! 

Bas. And me. my lord ; grant me the combat too ! 

York. This is my servant : hear him, noble prince. 

Som. And this is mine : sweet Henry, favour him. 

K. Hen. Be patient, lords, and give them leave to 
speak. — 
Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim ? 
And wherefore crave you combat ? or with whom ? 

Ver. With him, my lord ; for he hath done me 
wrong. 

Bas. And I with him ; for he hath done me wrong. 

K. Hen. What is that wrong whereof you both com- 
plain ? 
First let me know, and then I'll answer you. 

Bas. Crossing the sea from England into France, 
This fellow, here, with envious carping tongue 
Upbraided me about the rose I wear ; 
Saying, the sanguine colour of the leaves 
Did represent my master's blushing cheeks, 
When stubbornly he did repugn the truth, 
About a certain question in the law, 
Argu'd betwixt the duke of York and him ; 
With other vile and ignominious terms: 
In confutation of which rude reproach, 
And in defence of my lord's worthiness, 
I crave the benefit of law of arms. 

Ver. And that is my petition, royal lord : 
For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit. 
To set a gloss upon his bold intent. 
Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him, 
And he first took exceptions at this badge. 
Pronouncing, that the paleness of this flower 
Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart. 

York. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left ? 

Som. Your private grudge, my lord of York, will out, 
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. 

K. Hen. Good Lord ! what madness rules in brain- 
sick men : 
When, for so slight and frivolous a cause, 
Such factious emulations still* arise. — 
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, 
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. 

York. Let this dissension first be tried by fight, 
And then your highness shall command a peace. 

So7n. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone; 
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it, then. 

York. There is my pledge ; accept it, Somerset. 

Ver. Nay, let it rest wliere it began at first. 

Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. 

Glo. Confirm it so ? Confounded be your strife, 
And perish ye, with your audacious prate ! 
Presumptuous vassals ! are you not asham'd. 
With this immodest, clamorous outrage 
To trouble and disturb the king and us ? 
And you, my lords, methinks, you do not well. 
To bear with their perverse objections; 
Much less to take occasion from tlieir mouths 
To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves : 
Let me persuade you take a better course. 

f. e. 



SCENE III, 



KING IIENEY VI. 



44T 



his hi<;hness : 



good 



my lords, be 



Exe. Tt grieves 
friends. 

A'. Hen. Come hither, you that would be combatants. 
Heuceforth, 1 charge you, as you love our favour. 
Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause. — 
Aiid you, my lords, remember where we are ; 
In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation. 
If they perceive dissension in our looks, 
And that within ourselves we disagree. 
How will their grudging stomachs be provokd 
To wilful disobedience, and rebel ? 
Beside, what infamy will there arise. 
When foreign princes shall be certified, 
That for a toy, a thing of no regard. 
King Henry's peers, and chief nobility, 
Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France ? 

! think upon the conquest of my father, 
My tender years ; and let us not forego 
That for a trifle, that was bought with blood. 
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. 

1 sec no reason, if I wear this rose, 

[Putti77g on a red Rose 
That any one should therefore be suspicious 
I more incline to Somerset than York : 
Roth are my kinsmen, and I love them both. 
As well they may uplsraid me with my crown, 
Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crowii'd. 
But your discretions better can persuade, 
Tlinn I am able to instruct or teach : 
And therefore, as we hither came in peace. 
So let us still continue peace and love. — 
Cousin of York, we institute your ^race 
To be our regent in these parts of France : 
And, good my lord of Somerset, unite 
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot ; 
And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, 
Go cheerfully together, and digest 
Your angry cholcr on your enemies. 
Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest, 
After some respite, will return to Calais ; 
From thence to England ; where I hope ere long 
To be presented by your victories 
With Charles, Alenfon, and that traitorous rout. 

[Flourish. Exeunt King Henry, Glo., Som., 
Win., Suf.. and Basset. 

JVar. My lord of York. I promise you, the king 
Prettily, methought, did play the orator. 

York. And so he did ; but yet I like it not, 
In tliat he wears tlie badge of Somerset. 

War. Tush ! that was but his fancy, blame him not ; 
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. 

York. And, if I wist, he did. — But let it rest; 
Other affairs must now be managed. 

\Exeimt York, Warwick, and Vernon. 

Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice ; 
For, had the passions of thy heart burst out, 
I fear, we should have seen dccipher'd there 
More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils. 
Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd. 
But liowsoe'r, no simple man that sees 
This jarring discord of nobility. 
This shouldering of each other in the court. 
This filctious bandying of their favourites, 
But that it doth presage some ill event. 
'T is much, when sceptres are in children's liands, 
But more, when envy breeds unkind division : 
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Exit. 



' Endue. " Like lean, poor deer. 



SCENE II.— France. Before Bourdeaux. 
Enter Talbot, with his Forces. 

Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter : 
Summon their general unto the wall. 
Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter, on the if'alls, tlie 
General of the French Forces^ and others. 
English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth. 
Servant in arms to Harry king of England; 
And thus he would. — Open your city gates, 
Be humble to us, call my sovereign yours, 
And do him homage as obedient subjects. 
And I '11 withdraw me and my bloody power ; 
But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace, 
You tempt the fury of my three attendants, 
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire; 
Who, in a moment, even with the earth 
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers, 
If you forsake the offer of their love. 

Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, 
Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge, 
The period of thy tyranny approacheth. 
On us thou canst not enter but by death ; 
For, I protest, we are well fortified. 
And strong enough to issue out and fight : 
If thou retire, tlie Dauphin, well appointed, 
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee. 
On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd 
To wall thee from the liberty of flight, 
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress, 
But dcatli doth front thee with apparent spoil, 
And pale destruction meets thee in the face. 
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament, 
To rive their dangerous artillery 
Upon no Chri.stian soul but English Talbot. 
Lo ! there thou standst, a breathing valiant man, 
Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit : 
This is the latest glory of thy praise. 
That I, thy enemy, 'due^ thee withal ; 
For ere the glass, that now begins to run, 
Finish the process of his sandy hour, 
These eyes, that see thee now well coloured. 
Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead. 

[Drum afar off. 
Hark ! hark ! the Dau])hin's drum, a warning bell. 
Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul ; 
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. 

Exeunt General, ^c. from the Walls. 

Tal. He fables not ; I hear the enemy. — 
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. — 
0, negligent and heedless discipline ! 
How arc we park'd, and bounded in a pale ! 
A little herd of Englands timorous deer, 
Mazd with a yelping kennel of French curs ! 
If we be English deer, be then in blood ; 
Not rascal-like' to fall down with a pinch. 
But rather moody mad. and desperate stags. 
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel. 
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay : 
Sell every man his life as dear as mine, 
And they shall find dear deer of us. my friends. — 
God, and Saint George, Talbot, and England's right. 
Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Plains in Gaseony. 
Enter York, with Forces ; to him. a Messenger. 
York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again, 
That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin ? 

Mess. They are return'd. my lord ; and give it out, 



/ 



448 



FIKST PAKT OF 



ACT IV. 



That he is march'd to Bourdeavix with his power. 
To fight with Talbot. As he march'd along. 
By your espials were discovered 
Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led, 
Which join'd with him, and made their march for 
Bourdeaux. 

York. A plague upon that villain Somerset, 
That thus delays my promised supply 
Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege ! 
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid, 
And I am lowted' by a traitor \illain, 
And cannot help the noble chevalier. 
God comfort him in this necessity ! 
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. 
Enter Sir William Lucy. 

Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength, 
Never so needful on the earth of France, 
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot, 
Who now is girdled with a waist of iron. 
And hcmm'd about with grim destruction. 
To Bourdeaux, warlike duke ! to Bourdeaux, York ! 
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour. 

York. O God ! that Somerset — who in proud heart 
Doth stop my cornets — were in Talbot's place ! 
So should we save a valiant gentleman, 
By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. 
Mad ire, and wrathful fury, make me weep, 
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep. 

Lucy. 0, send some succour to the distress'd lord ! 



York. He dies, we lose : 



I break my warlike word : 
we lose, they daily get ; 



We mourn. France smiles 

All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset. 

Lucy. Then, God take mercy on braA^e Talbot's soul ! 
And on his son, young John ; whom two hours since 
I met in travel toward his warlike father. 
This seven years did not Talbot see his son. 
And nov/ they meet where both their lives are done. 

York. Alas ! what joy shall noble Talbot have. 
To bid his young son welcome to his grave ? 
Away ! vexation almost stops my breath, 
That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death. — 
Luc}', farewell : no more my fortune can. 
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. — 
Maine. Blois, Poicticrs, and Toiirs, are won away, 
'Loiig all of Somerset, and his delay. 

[Exit York, with his Forces. 

Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition 
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders. 
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss 
The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, 
That ever-living man of memory, 
Henry the fifth. Whiles they each other cross, 
Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. 

[Exit. 

SCENE IV.— Other Plains of Gascony. 

Enter Somerset, icith his Army; an Officer of 
Talbot's ivith him. 

Som. It is too late ; I cannot send them now. 
This expedition was by York, and Talbot, 
Too rashly plotted : all our general force 
Might with a sally of the very town 
Be buckled with. The over-daring Talbot 
Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour, 
By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure. 
York set him on to fight, and die in shame. 
That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. 

Off. Here is sir William Lucy, who with me 
Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid. 

1 Retarded. = Not to be avoided. 



Enter Sir William Lucy. 

Som. How now, sir William ! whither were you sent ? 

Lucy. Whither, my lord ? from bought and sold lord 
Talbot ; 
Who, ring'd about with bold adversity, 
Cries out for noble York and Somerset, 
To beat assailing death from his weak legions : 
And whiles the honourable captain there 
Drops bloody .sweat from liis war-wearied limbs, 
And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue. 
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour, 
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. 
Let not your private discord keep away 
The levied succours that should lend him aid. 
While he, renowned noble gentleman, 
Yields up his life unto a world of odds. 
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy, 
Alenfon, Reignier, compass him about. 
And Talbot perisheth by your default. [aid. 

Som. York set him on. York should have sent him 

Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace exclaims ; 
Swearing that you withhold his levied host. 
Collected for this expedition. [horse. 

Som. York lies : he might have sent and had the 
I owe him little duty, and less love. 
And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending. 

Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of France, 
Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot ! 
Never to England shall he bear his life, 
But dies betray'd to fortune by your strife. 

Som. Come, go ; I will despatch the horsemen 
straight : 
Within six hours they will be at his aid. 

Lucy. Too late comes rescue : he is ta'en, or slain, 
For fly he could not. if he would have fled, 
And fly would Talbot never, though he might. 

Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu ! 

Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — The Englisli Camp near Bourdeaux. 
Enter Talbot and John his Son. 

Tal. O young John Talbot ! I did send for thee, 
To tutor thee in stratagems of war. 
That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd, 
When sapless age, and weak unable limbs, 
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. 
But, — 0, malignant and ill-boding stars ! — 
Now thou art come unto a feast of death, 
A terrible and unavoided^ danger : 
Therefore, dear boy. mount on my swiftest horse, 
And I '11 direct thee how thou shalt escape 
By sudden flight. Come, dally not ; begone. 

John. Is my name Talbot ? and am I your son ? 
And shall I fly? ! if you love my mother, 
Dishonour not her honourable name, 
To make a bastard, and a slave of me : 
The world will say he is not Talbot's blood, 
That basely fled, when noble Talbot stood. 

Tal. Fly to revenge my death, if I be slain. 

John. He that flies so will ne'er return again. 

Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die. 

John. Then let me stay; and father, do your fly: 
Your loss is great, so your regard should be ; 
My Avorth unknown, no loss is known in me. 
Upon my death the French can little boast. 
In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. 
Flight cannot stain the honour you have won, 
But mine it will, that no exploit have done : 



SCENE vn. 



KING HENKY YI. 



449 



You fled for 'vantage every one will swear, 
But if I fly', they '11 say it was for fear. 
There is no hope that ever I will stay, 
If the first hour I shrink, and run away. 
Here, on my knee, I beg mortality, 
Ratlier than life pre.serv'd with infamy. 

Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb? 

JoJui. Ay, rather than I '11 shame my mother's womb. 

Tal. Upon my blessing I command thee go. 

John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. 

Tal. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee. 

John. No part of him but will be shamed in me. 

Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it. 

John. Yes, your renowned name ; shall flight abuse it? 

Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that 
stain. 

John. You cannot witness for me, being slain. 
If death be so apparent, then both fly. 

Tal. And leave my followers here, to fight, and die ? 
My age was never tainted with such shame. 

John. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame? 
No more can I be scver'd from your side, 
Than can yourself yourself in twain divide : 
Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I ; 
For live I will not, if my father die. 

Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son, 
Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. 
Come, side by side together live and die. 
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. [Exeimt. 

SCENE VI.— A Field of Battle. 

Alarum : Excur.'^ion.'Sy wherein Talbot's Son is hemmed 
aboat^ and Talbot rescues him. 

Tal. Saint George and victory ! fight, soldiers, fight ! 
The regent hath with Talbot broke his word. 
And left us to the rage of France's sword. 
Where is John Talbot ? — pause, and take thy breath ; 
I gave thee life, and rescued thee from death. 

John. 0. twice my father ! twice am I thy son : 
Tlie life thou gav'st me first was lost and done ; 
Till Avith thy warlike sword, despite of fate. 
To my determin'd time thou gav"st new date. 

Tal. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword 
struck fire. 
It warmed thy father's heart with proud desire 
Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age, 
Quieken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage, 
Beat down Alenpon, Orleans, Burgundy, 
And from the pride of Gallia rcscu"d thee. 
Tiie ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood 
From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood 
Of thy first fight. I soon eneouutcred, 
And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed 
Some of his bastard blood ; and, in disgrace, 
Bespoke him thus : " Contaminated, base, 
And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, 
]\Iean and right poor ; for that pure blood of mine. 
Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy :" — 
Here purposing the Bastard to destroy, 
Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care. 
Art thou not weary, John ? How dost thou fare ? 
"Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, 
Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry? 
Fly to revenge my death, when I am dead ; 
The help of one stands me in little stead, 
! too much folly is it. well I wot, 
To hazard all our lives in one small boat. 
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage, 
To-morrow I shall die with mickle age : 



By me they nothing gain, and if I stay, 

'T is but the short'ning of my life one day : 

In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, 

My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame. 

All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay ; 

All these are sav'd, if thou wilt fly away. 

John. The sword of Orleans hath not made me 
smart ; 
These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart. 
On that advantage, bought with such a shame, 
(To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame) 
I3efore young Talbot from old Talbot fly. 
The coward horse that bears me fall and die ! 
And like me to tlie peasant boys of France, 
To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance ! 
Surely, by all the glory you have won, 
An if I fly I am not Talbot's son : 
Then, talk no more of flight, it is no boot, 
If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. 

Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, 
Thou Icarus. Thy life to me is sweet : 
If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side. 
And, commendable prov'd, let 's die in pride. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— Another Part of the Same. 
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Talbot wounded^ sup- 
ported by a Soldier'^. 
Tal. Where is my other life ? — mine own is gone : 
0, where 's young Talbot? where is valiant John? — 
Triumphant death, smcar'd with captivity. 
Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee. — 
When he perceiv'd me shrink, and on my knee, 
His bloody sword ho brandish'd over me, 
And like a hungry lion did commence 
Bough deeds of rage, and stern impatience ; 
But when my angry guardant stood alone. 
Tendering my ruin, and assail'd of none, 
Dizzy-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart. 
Suddenly made him from my side to start 
Into the clust'ring battle of the French : 
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench 
His overmounting spirit ; and there died 
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. 

Enter Soldiers., bearing the body of John Talbot. 

Sold. 0, my dear lord ! lo, where your son is borne ! 

Tal. Thou antick, death, which laugh'st us here to 
scorn. 
Anon, from thy insulting t}Tanny, 
Coupled HI bonds of perpetuity, 
Two Talbots, winged through the lither^ sky. 
In thy despite shall 'scape mortality. — 
! thou whose wounds become hard-favour'd death. 
Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath : 
Brave deatli by speaking, whether he will or no : 
Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe. — 
Poor boy ! he smiles, methinks ; as who should say, 
Had death been French, then death had died to-day. 
Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms. 
My spirit can no longer bear these harms. 
Soldiers, adieu ! I have what I would have, 
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. 

[Djcs 
Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers, leaving the two boilic.'i. 

Enter Charles, ALEXfON, Burgundy, Bastard, 

La Pucelle, and Forces. 

Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, 
We should have found a bloody day of this. 

Ba.st. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging 
wood,* 



1 bow : in f. e. 2 servant : in f. e. ^ Yielding. * Mad. 



29 



/ 



450 



FIRST PAET OF 



ACT V. 



Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood ! 

Puc. Once I encounter'd him. and thus I said, 
" Thou maiden youth be vanquish'd by a maid :" 
But with a proud, majestical higli scorn. 
He answered thus : " Young Talbot was not born 
To be the pillage of a giglot wench." 
So, rushing in the bowels of the French, 
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. 

Bur. Doubtless, he would have made a noble knight. 
See, where he lies inhersed in the arms 
Of the still bleeding' nurser of his harms. 

Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder, 
Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. 

Char. 0, no ! forbear ; for that which we have fled 
During the life, let us not wrong it dead. 
Enter Sir William Lucy, attended ; a French Herald 
preceding. ■ 

Lvcy. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent. 
To know who hath'' the glory of the day. 

Char. On what submissive message art thou sent ? 

Liicy. Submission, Dauphin ! 't is a mere French 
word ; 
We English warriors w^ot not what it means. 
I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en, 
And to survey the bodies of the dead. 

Char. For prisoners ask'd thou ? hell our prison is. 
But tell mc briefly^ whom thou seekest now*. 

Lucy. But where 's the great Alcides of the field, 
Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury ? 
Created, for his rare success in arms, 
Great earl of Washfoi'd^, Waterford, and Valence ; 
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, 
Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton, 



Lord Cromwell of Wingfield. lord Furnival of Shefiield, 

The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge; 

Knight of the noble order of St. George, 

Worthy Saint Michael, and the golden fleece ; 

Great mareshal to Henry the sixth 

Of all his wars within the realms of France ? 

Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed ! 
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, 
Writes not so tedious a style as this, — 
Him, that thou magnificst with all these titles, 
Stinking, and fly-blown, lies here at our feet. 

Lucy. Is Talbot slain ? the Frenchman's only 
scourge. 
Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis ? 
! were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd. 
That I in rage might shoot them at your faces. 
! that I could but call these dead to life. 
It were enough to fright the realm of France. 
Were but his picture left among you here. 
It would amaze the proudest of you all. 
Give me their bodies that I bear them forth', 
And give them burial as beseems their worth. 

Puc. I think, this upstart is old Talbot's ghost, 
He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. 
For God's sake, let him have 'em ; keep them here. 
They would but stink, and putrefy the air. 

Char. Go, take their bodies hence. 

Lucy. I '11 bear them hence ; 

But from their very ashes shall be rear'd 
A phccnix that shall make all France afcard. 

Char. So wo be rid of them, do what thou wilt. 
And now to Paris, in this conquering vein : 
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot 's slain. \Excunt. 



ACT V. 



Tends to God's glory and my country's weal. 

Enter a Legate., and two Ambassadors^ with Winches- 



ter, as a Cardinal. 



SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Exeter. 

A". Hen. Have you perus'd the letters from the pope, 
The emperor, and the earl of Armagnac ? 

Glo. I have, my lord ; and their intent is this : — 
They humbly sue unto your excellence. 
To have a godly peace concluded of 
Between the realms of England and of France. 

K. Hen. How doth your grace affect their motion ? 

Glo. Well, my good lord ; and as the only means 
To stop effusion of much' Christian blood. 
And 'stabli.sh quietness on every side. 

K. Hen. Ay, marry, uncle ; for I always thought. 
It was both impious and unnatural. 
That such immanity and bloody strife 
Sliould reign among professors of one faith. 

Glo. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect, 
And surer bind, this knot of amity, 
The earl of Armagnac, near kin* to Charles, 
A man of great authority in France, 
Proflers his only daughter to your grace 
In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. 

K. Hen. Marriage, uncle ? alas ! my years are young. 
And fitter is my study and my books, 
Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. 
Yet, call th' ambassadors ; and, as you please, 
So let them have their answers every one : 
I shall be well content with any choice. 

1 mopt bloody : in f. e. 2 hath ottained : in f. e. ' * These two words are not in f. e. ^The old name of Wexford. « that I may bear 
them hence : in f. e. ' our : in f. e. " knit : in f. e. ' Not in f. e. 



Exc. What ! is my lord of Winchester install'd. 
And call'd into a Cardinal's degree ? 
Then, I perceive that will be verified, 
Henry the fifth did sometime prophesy, — 
'' If once he come to be a cardinal. 
He '11 make his cap co-equal with the crown." 

K. Hen. My lords ambassadors, your several suits 
Have been considcr'd and debated on. 
Your purpose is both good and reasonable ; 
And, therefore, are we certainly resolv'd. 
To draw conditions of a friendly peace ; 
Which, by my lord of Winchester, we mean 
Shall be transported presently to France. 

Glo. And for the proffer of my lord, your master, 
I have inform'd his highness so at large. 
As — liking of the lady's virtuous gifts, 
Her beauty, and the value of her dower, — 
He doth intend .she shall be England's queen. 

K. Hen. In argument and proof of which contract. 
Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection. — \Gives it.^ 
And so, my lord protector, see them guarded. 
And safely brought to Dover ; where inshipp'd, 
Commit them to the fortune of the sea. 

[Exeunt King Henry and Train ; Gloster, 
Exeter, and Ambassadors. 

Win. Stay, my lord legate : you shall fii-st receive 



SCENE III. 



KING HENRY VL 



451 



The sum of money, which I promised 

Should be dcliver'd to his holiness 

For clothing me in these grave ornaments. 

Leg. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure. [Exit.^ 
Win. Now, Winchester will not submit, I trow, 
Or be inferior to the proudest peer. 
Humphrey, of Gloster, thou shalt well perceive, 
That, neither in birth, or for authority, 
The bishop will be overborne by thee : 
I '11 either make thee stoop, and bend thy knee, 
Or sack this country with a mutiny. [Exit.' 

SCENE II. — France. Plains in Anjou. 
Etiter Charles, Burgundy, Alencon, La Pucelle, 
and Forces, marching. 
Char. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping 
spirits. 
'T is said the stout Parisians do revolt, 
And turn again unto the warlike French. 

Alen. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France, 
And keep not back your powers in dalliance. 

Piic. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us • 
Else ruin combat with their palaces ! 
Enter a Scout. 
Scout. Success unto our valiant general, 
And happiness to his accomplices ! 

Char. What tidings send our scouts ? I pr'ythee, 

speak. 
Scout. The English army, that divided was 
Into two parties, is now conjoin'd in one, 
And means to give you battle presently. 

Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is ; 
But we will presently provide for them. 

Bur. I trust, the gliost of Talbot is not there : 
Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. 

Puc. Of all base passions fear is most accurs'd. — 
Command the conquest. Charles, it shall be thine j 
Let Henry fret, and all the world repine. 

Char. Then on, my lords ; and France be fortunate ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. Before Angicrs. 
Alarums : Excursions. Enter La Pucelle. 
Puc. The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly. — 
Now help, ye charming spells, and periapts' ; 
And ye, choice spirits, that admonish me, 
And give me signs of future accidents: [Thunder. 

Yon speedy helpers, that are substitutes 
Under the lordly monarch of the north,'' 
Appear, and aid me in this enterprise ! 

Enter Fiends. 
This speedy and quick appearance argues proof 
Of your accustom'd diligence to me. 
Now, ye familiar spirits, that are call'd 
Out of the powerful regions under earth. 
Help me this once, that France may get the field. 

[They icalk, and speak not. 

! hold me not with silence over-long. 
Where I was wont to feed you with my blood, 

1 '11 lop a member off, and give it you, 
In earnest of a farther benefit. 

So you do condescend to help me now. — 

[They hang their heads. 
No hope to have redress ? — My body shall 
Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. 

[ They shake their heads. 
Cannot my body, nor blood-sacrifice, 



Entreat you to your wonted furtherance ? 
Then take my soul ; my body, soul, and all. 
Before that England give the French the foil. 

[They depart. 
See ! they forsake me. Now the time is come, 
That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest, 
And let her head fall into England's lap. 
My ancient incantations are too weak. 
And hell too strong for me to bvickle with. 
Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [Exit. 
Alarums. Enter French and English, fighting ; La Pu- 
celle and York fight hand to hand. La Pucelle 

is taken. The French fly. 

York. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast : 
Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms, 
And try if they can gain your liberty. — 
A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace ! 
See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows, 
As if, with Circe, she would change my shape. 

Puc. Chang'd to a worser .shape thou canst not be. 

York. ! Charles the Dauphin is a proper man : 
No shape but his can please your dainty eye. 

Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles, and thee ! 
And may ye both be suddenly surpris'd 
By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds ! 

York. Fell, banning hag ! enchantress, hold thy 
tongue. 

Puc. I pr'ythee. give me leave to curse a while. 

York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the 

stake. [Exeunt. 

Alarums. Enter Suffolk, leading in Lady Margaret. 

Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. 

[Gazes on her. 
0, fairest beauty ! do not fear, nor fly. 
For I will touch thee but w"ith reverent hands : 
I kiss these fingers [Kis.nng her hand] for eternal peace, 
And lay them gently on thy tender side. 
Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee. 

Mar. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king. 
The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art. 

Suf. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd. 
Be not offended, nature's miracle, 
Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me : 
So dotli the swan her downy cygnets save, 
Keeping them prisoners underneath her wings. 
Yet, if this servile usage once offend, 
Go, and be free again, as Suffolk's friend. 

[She turns away as going. 
O, stay ! — I have no power to let her go' ; 
My hand would free her, but my heart says — no. 
As plays the sun upon the glassy stream, 
Twinkling another counterfeited beam. 
So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. 
Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak : 
I '11 call for pen and ink. and write my mind. 
Fie, Dc la Poole ! disable not thyself; 
Hast not a tongue ? is she not here thy prisoner ?* 
Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight ? 
Ay ; beauty's princely majesty is siudi. 
Confounds the tongue, and mocks the sense of touch.'' 

Mar. Say. earl of Suffolk, if thy name be so, 
What ransom must I pay before I pass ? 
For, I perceive, I am thy prisoner. 

Suf. How canst thou tell she will deny thy suit, 
Before thou make a trial of her love? [Aside. 

Mar. Why speak"st thou not ? what ransom must I 
pay? 



1 Not in f. e. ^Exeunt: in f. e. ^Amulets. ♦ Zimimar, one of the four principal devils invoked ty witches. The others Trere 
Amairaon, Gorson, and Goap, kings of the Kast. South, and We.«t, all with devil marqui^ses, duki's, prelates, kniphts, presidents, and earls, 
under them. — Douce. ' pass : in f. e ' These two words are from the second folio. ' makes the senses rough : in f. e. 



452 



FIKST PAKT OF 



ACT V. 



Siif. She 's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd ; 
She is a woman, therefore to be won. [Aside. 

Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransom, yea, or no ? 

Suf. Fond man ! remember that thou hast a wife; 
Then, how can Margaret be thy paramour ? [Aside. 

Mar. I were best to leave him, for he will not hear. 

Suf. There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling card. 

Mar. He talks at random : sure, the man is mad. 

Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had. 

Mar. And yet I would that you would answer me. 

Svf. I "11 win this lady Margaret. For whom ? 
Why, for my king : tush ! that 's a wooden thing. 

Mar. He talks of wood : it is some carpenter. 

Svf. Yet so iTiy fancy may be satisfied, [Aside. 

And peace established between these realms. 
But there remains a scruple in that, too ; 
For tliough her father be the king of Naples, 
Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor, 
And our nobility will scorn the match. 

Mar. Hear ye, captain ? Are you not at leisure ? 

Suf. It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much : [Aside. 
Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield. — 
Madam, I have a secret to reveal. 

Mar. What though I be enthrall'd ? he seems a knight. 
And will not any way dishonour me. [Aside. 

Svf. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say. 

Mar. Perhaps, I shall be rescued by the French, 
And then I need not crave his courtesy. [Aside. 

Suf. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause — 

Mar. Tush ! women have been captivate ere now. 

[Aside. 

Suf. Lady, pray tell me', wherefore talk you so? 

Mar. I cry you mercy, 't is but quid for quo. 

Suf. Say, gentle princess, would you not then ween^ 
Your bondage happy, to be made a queen? 

3Iar. A queen in bondage is more vile to me' 
Than is a slave in base servility; 
For princes should be free. 

Suf. And so shall you, 

If happy England's royal king be true*. 

Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me ? 

Suf. I '11 undertake to make thee Henry's queen ; 
To put a golden sceptre in thy hand. 
And set a precious crown upon thy head, 
If thou wilt condescend to be my — 

Mar. What? 

Suf His love. 

Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. 

Suf. No, gentle madam ; I unworthy am 
To woo so fair a dame to be his wife, 
And have no portion in the choice myself. 
How say you, madam ; are you so content ? 

iifflr. An if my father please, I give consent. 

Suf. Then, call our captains, and our colours forth ! 
And, madam, at your father's castle Avails 
We '11 crave a parley, to confer with him. 

[Troops come forward. 

A Parley sovnded. Enter Reigmer. on the Walls. 

Suf. See, Reignier, see thy daughter prisoner. 

Reig. To whom ? 

Suf To me. 

Reig. Suffolk, what remedy ? 

I am a soldier, and unapt to weep. 
Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. 

Suf. Yes, there ia remedy enough, my lord : 
Consent, and forthy honour give consent, 
Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king, 
Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto, 

• The words, " pray tell me," are not in f. e. 
I. e. * Foolish. 6 mad : in f. e. 



And this her easy-held imprisonment 
Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. 

Reig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks ? 

Suf Fair Margaret knows, 

That Suffolk doth not flalter, face, or feign. 

Reig. Upon thy princely warrant I descend 
To give thee answer of thy just demand. 

[Exit, from the Walls. 

Suf. And here I will expect thy coming down. 
Trumpets sounded. Enter Reignier, below. 

Reig. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories : 
Command in Anjou what your honour pleases. 

Suf. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child, 
Fit to be made companion wilh a king : 
What answer makes your grace unto my suit ? ^ 

Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth, 
To be the princely bride of such a lord, 
Upon condition I may quietly 
Enjoy mine own, the county Maine, and Anjou, 
Free from oppression or the stroke of Avar, 
My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please. 

Suf. That is her ransom, I deliver her ; 
And those two counties, I will undertake. 
Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy. 

Reig. And I again, in Henry's royal name. 
As deputy unto that gracious king, 
Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. 

Suf. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks. 
Because this is in traflie of a king : 
And yet. metliinks I could be well content 
To be mine own attorney in this case. 
I'll over, then, to England with this news. 
And make this marriage to be solcinniz'd. 
So, farewell, Reignier. Set this diamond safe 
In golden palaces, as it becomes. 

Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace 
The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here. 

Mar. Farewell, my lord. Good wishes, praise, and 
prayers. 
Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going. 

Suf. Farewell, sweet madam ! But hark you. ]\Iar- 
garet; 
No princely commendations to my king ? 

Mar. Such commendations as become a maid, 
A virgin, and his servant, say to liim. 

Suf. Words sweetly plac'd, and modestly directed. 
But, madam, I must trouble you again, — 
No loving token to his majesty ? 

Mar. Yes, my good lord ; a pure unspotted heart. 
Never yet taint with love, I send the king. 

Svf. And this withal. [Kis.'>es her. 

Mar. That for thyself: I Avill not so presume, 
To send such peevish^' tokens to a king. 

[Exeunt Reignier «?2cZ Margaret. 

Suf. wert thou for myself ! — But, Suffolk, stay ; 
Thou mayst not wander in tliat labyrinth : 
There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk. 
Solicit Henry with her wond'rous praise : 
Bethink thee on her virtues tliat surmount. 
Mid'' natural gi'aces that extinguish art ; 
Repeat their semblance often on the seas, 
That when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet, 
Thou may'st bereave him of his wits with wonder. 

[Exit. 

SCENE IV.— Camp of the Duke of York, in Anjou. 
Enter York, Warwick, and others. 
York. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to bum. 

2 not suppose : in f. e. 3 To be a queen in bondage is more vile : in f. e. * frftfi : in 



SCENE IT. 



KING HENRY YL 



453 



Enter La Pucelle, guarded ; and a Shepherd. 

Shcp. Ah, Joan ! this kills thy father's heart out- 
right. 
Have I sought every country far and near. 
And, now it is my chance to find thee out, 
Must I behold thy timclef^s crvtel death ? 
Ah, Joan ! sweet daughter Joan, I '11 die with thee. 

Puc. Decrepit miser' ! base ignoble wretch ! 
I am descended of a gentler blood : 
Thou art no father, nor no friend, of mine. 

Shep. Out, out ! — My lords, an please, you, t' is not so; 
I did beget her, all the parish knows : 
Her mother liveth yet, can testify. 
She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. 

War. (iraceless ! wilt thou deny thy parentage ? 

York. This argues what her kind of life hath been; 
Wicked and vile, and so her death concludes. 

Shcp. Fie, Joan ! that thou wilt be so obstacle^ ! 
God knows, thou art a col lop of my flesh, 
And for thy sake have I shed many a tear : 
Deny me not, I pr'ythee, gentle Joan. 

Puc. Peasant, avaunt ! — You have suborn'd this 
man. 
Of pvirpose to obscure my noble birth. 

Shcp. "T is true, 1 gave a noble to the priest, 
The morn that I was wedded to her mother. — 
Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl. — 
Wilt thou not stoop ? Now cursed be the time 
Of thy nativity ! I wou.ld, the milk 
Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her breast, 
Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake ; 
Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-iield. 
I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee. 
Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab ? 

! burn her, burn her: hanging is too good. [Exit. 
York. Take her away ; for she hath lived too long. 

To fill the world with vicious 'qualities. 

Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have con- 
demn'd ; 
Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, 
But issu'd from the progeny of kings : 
Virtuous, and lioly : chosen from above, 
By inspiration of celestial grace. 
To work exceeding miracles on earth. 

1 never had to do with wicked spirits : 

But you, — that are polluted with your lusts, 
Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents, 
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, — 
Because you want the grace that others have, 
You judge it straight a thing impossible 
To compass wonders, but by help of devils. 
No ; misconceived Joan of Arc hath been 
A virgin from her tender infancy. 
Chaste and immaculate in very thought ; 
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously cffus'd. 
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. 

York. Ay, ay. — Away with lier to execution ! 

War. And hark ye, sirs ; because she is a maid, 
Sparc for no fagots, let there be enow : 
Place barrels of pitch vipon the fatal stake, 
That so her torture may be shortened. 

Pac. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts ? 
Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity. 
That warranteth by law to be thy privilege. — 
I am with child, ye bloody homicides : 
Murder not, then, the fruit within my womb, 
Although ye hale me to a violent death. 

York. Now, heaven forefend ! the holy maid with 
child ? 



War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought ! 
Is all your strict preeiseness come to this ? 

York. She and the Dauphin have been juggling : 
I did imagine what would be her refuge. 

War. Well, go to : we will have no bastards live; 
Especially, since Charles must father it. 

Puc. You are deeeiv'd ; my child is none of his ; 
It was Alencon, that enjoy'd my love. 

York. Alencon, that notorious Machiavel ! 
It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. 

Puc. O ! give me leave ; I have deluded you . 
'T was neither Charles, nor yet the duke I nam'd. 
But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd. 

War. A married man : that 's most intolerable. _ 

York. Why, here 's a girl ! I think she knows" not 
well. 
There were so many, whom she may accuse. 

War. It's sign she hath been liberal and free. 

Yo7-k. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure. — 
Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat, and thee : 
Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. 

Puc. Then lead me hence : — with whom I leave my 
curse. 
May never glorious sun reflect his beams 
Upon the country where you make abode ; 
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death 
Environ you. till mischief, and despair 
Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves ! 

[Exit, guarded. 

York. Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes. 
Thou foul accursed minister of hell ! 

Enter Cardinal Beaufort, attended. 

Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence 
With letters of commission from the king. 
For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, 
Mov'd with remorse of these outrageous broils, 
Have earnestly implor'd a general peace 
Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French ; 
And here at hand the Dauphin, and his train, 
Approachcth to confer about some matter. 

York. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect ? 
After the slaughter of so many peers, 
So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers. 
That in this quarrel have been overthrown. 
And sold their bodies lor their country's benefit, 
Shall we at last conclude efltminate peace ? 
Have we not lost most part of all the towns, 
By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, 
Our great progenitors had conquered ? — 
0, Warwick. Warwick ! I foresee with grief 
The utter loss of all the realm of France. 

War. Be patient. York ! if we conclude a peace, 
It shall be with such strict and severe covenants. 
As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. 

Enter Charles, attended; Ai-en?on, Bastard, 
Reickier, and other.s. 

Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed, 
That peaceful truce shall be proclaimed in France, 
We come to be informed by yourselves 
What the conditions of that league must be. 

York. Speak, Winchester ; for boiling choler chokes 
The hollow passage of my prison'd' voice, 
By sight of these our baleful enemies. 

Win. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus: — 
That, in regard King Henry gives consent, 
Of mere compassion, and of lenity. 
To ease your country of distressful war. 
And suff"er you to breathe in fruitful peace, 
You shall become true liegeman to his crown. 



' Miserable person. * Often put in the mouths of uneducated persons, for obstinate, by writers of the time. ^ poison'd : in f. e. 



454 



FIEST PART OF 



ACT V. 



And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear 
To pay him tribute, and submit thyself, 
Thou shalt be plac'd as viceroy tinder him, 
And still enjoy thy regal dignity. 

Alcn. Must he be then as shadow of himself ? 
Adorn his temples with a coronet, 
And yet, in substance and authority. 
Retain but privilege of a private man ? 
This proffer is absurd and reasonless. 

Char. 'T is known, already that I am possess'd 
With more than half the Gallian territories. 
And therein rcvcrenc'd for their lawful king : 
Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd, 
Detract so much from that prerogative, 
As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole ? 
No, lord ambassador; I '11 rather keep 
That which I liave, than, coveting for more, 
Be cast from possibility of all. 

York. Insulting Charles ! hast thou by secret means 
Used intercession to obtain a league. 
And now the matter grows to compromise, 
Stand'st thou aloof upon comparisons ? 
Either accept the title thoix usurp'st. 
Of benefit proceedins from our king, 
And not of any challenge of desert, 
Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. 

Reig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy 
To cavil in the course of this contract : 
If once it be neglected, ten to one. 
We shall not find like opportunity. 

Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy 

[A.side to Charles. 
To save your subjects from such massacre, 
And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen 
By our proceeding in hostility ; 
And, therefore take this compact of a truce, 
Although you break it when your pleasure serves. 

War. How say'st thou, Charles ? shall our condition 
stand ? 

Char. It shall ; only reserv'd, you claim no interest 
In any of our towns of garrison. 

York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty; 
As thou art knight, never to disobey, 
Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, 
Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. — 

[Charles, and his Nobles, give tokens of fealty. 
So ; now dismiss your army when ye please : 
Hang up your ensigms, let your drums be still, 
For here we interchange- a solemn peace. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, in conference icith Suffolk : 
Gloster and Exeter foUoicing. 

K. Hen. Your wondrous rare description, noble earl, 
Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me : 
Her virtues, graced with external gifts. 
Do breed love's settled passions in my heart ; 
And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts 
Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, 
So am I driven by breath of her renown, 
Either to suffer shipwreck, or arrive 
Where I may have fruition of her love. 

Svf. Tush ! my good lord, this superficial tale 
Is but a preface of her worthy praise : 
The chief perfections of that lovely dame, 
(Had I sufficient skill to utter them) 
Would make a volume of enticing lines, 
Able to ravish any dull conceit. 
And, which is more, she is not so divine, 

I entertain : in f. e. 



So full replete with choice of all delights. 
But with as humble lowliness of mind, 
She is content to be at your command ; 
Command, I mean, of virtuovis chaste intents, 
To love and honour Henry as her lord. 

K. Hen. And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume. 
Therefore, my lord protector, give consent. 
That Margaret may be England's royal queen. 

Glo. So should I give consent to flatter sin. 
You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd 
Unto another lady of esteem ; 
How shall we, then, dispense with that contract, 
And not deface your honour with reproach ? 

Sif. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths : 
Or one that, at a triumph having vow'd 
To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists 
By reason of his adversary's odds. 
A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds. 
And therefore may be broke without offence. 

Glo. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret, more than that 
Her father is no better than an earl. 
Although in glorious titles he excel ? 

Suf. Yes, my good lord, her father is a king, 
The king of Naples and Jerusalem ; 
And of such great authority in France, 
As his alliance will confirm our peace. 
And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. 

Glo. And so the earl of Armagnac may do. 
Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. 

Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal dower. 
Where Reignier sooner will receive, than give. 

Svf. A dower, my lords ! disgrace not so your king, 
That he should be so abject, base, and poor. 
To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love. 
Henry is able to enrich his queen. 
And not to seek a queen to make him rich. ' 
So worthless peasants bargain for their wives. 
As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. 
Marriage is a matter of more worth. 
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship : 
Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects. 
Must be companion of his nuptial bed ; 
And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, 
The most of all these reasons bindeth us. 
In our opinions she should be preferr'd. 
For what is wedlock forced but a hell. 
An age of discord and continual strife ? 
Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss. 
And is a pattern of celestial peace. 
Whom should we match with Henry, being a king, 
But Margaret, that is daughter to a king ? 
Her peerless f'eature, joined with her birth, 
Approves her fit for none but for a king : 
Her valiant courage, and undaunted spirit, 
(More than in women commonly is seen) 
Will answer our hope in issue of a king ; 
For Henry, son unto a conqueror. 
Is likely to beget more conquerors. 
If with a lady of so high resolve. 
As is fair Margaret, he be link'd in love. 
Then yield, my lords ; and here conclude with me, 
That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she. 

K. Hen. Whether it be through force of your report. 
My noble lord of Suffolk, or for that 
My tender youth was never yet attaint 
With any passion of inflaming love, 
I cannot tell ; but this I am assur'd, 
I feel such sharp dissension in my breast. 
Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear, 



SCENE V. 



KING HENRY YI. 



455 



As I am sick with working of my thoughts. 

Take, therefore, sliipping; post, my lord, to France; 

Agree to any covenants, and procure 

That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come 

To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd 

King Henry's faithful and anointed queen. 

For your expenses and sufficient charge, 

Among the people gather up a tenth. 

Bo gone, I say ; for till you do return, 

I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. — 

And you, good uncle, banish all offence : 

If you do censure me by what you were, 



Not what you are, I know it will excuse 

This sudden execution of my will. 

And so conduct me, whore from company 

I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [Exit. 

Glo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. 

[Exeunt Gloster mxd Exeter. 

Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd ; and thus he goes, 
As did the youthful Paris once to Greece, 
With hope to find the like event in love, 
But prosper better than the Trojan did. 
Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king; 
But 1 will rule both her, the king, and realm. [Exit. 



SECOND PART 



OF 



KING HENRY YI. 



DEAMATIS PERSON^E. 



King Henry the Sixth. 

Humphrey. Duke of (Iloster, liis Uncle. 

Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester. 

Richard Plantagenet. Duke of York. 

Edward and Richard, his Sons. 

Duke of Somerset, 

Duke of Suffolk, of the King's 

Duke of Buckingham, ' Party. 

Lord Clifford, and his Son. 

Earl of Salisbury, ) i- ,, \r ■, i^ ,■ 
Tj. ,,r ' > of the \ork taction. 

Earl of Warwick, j 

Lord Scales, GoYornor of the Tower. Lord 
Say. Sir Humphrey Stafford, and his Bro- 
ther. Sir John Stanley. 

Walter Whitmore. 



A Sea-captain, Master and Master's Mate. 

Two GenthMnen, Prisoners with Suffolk. Vaux. 

Hume and Southwell, Priests. 

Bolingbroke, a Conjurer. A Spirit raised by hiin. 

Thomas Horner, an Armourer. Peter, his 

Man. 
Clerk of Chatham. Mayor of St. Albans. 
SiMPcox, an Impostor. Two Murderers. 
Jack Cade. 
George, John, Dick, Smith, the Weaver, 

INIichael, &c.. Cade's Followers. 
Alexander Iden, a Kentish Gentleman. 
Margaret, Queen to King Henry. 
Eleanor, Duchess of Gloster. 
Margery Jourdain, a Witch. Wife to Simpcox. 



Lords, LadieSj and Attendants; Herald; Petitioners, Aldermen, a Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers; CitizeuSj 

Prentices, Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c. 

SCENE, in various Parts of England. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L — London. A Room of State in the Palace. 

Flourish of Tniinprts : then Hauihoys. Enter.) on one 
side, King Henry, Dtikc of Gloster, Salisbury, 
Warwick, aiid Cardinal Beaufort ; on the other, 
Queen Margaret, led in hy Suffolk : York, So- 
merset, Buckingham, and others following. 
Suf. As by your high imperial majesty 
T had in charge at my depart for France, 
As procurator to your excellence. 
To marry princess IMargarct for your grace ; 
So, in the famou.s ancient city Tours, 
In presence of the kings of France and Sicil, 
The dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretaigne, and Aleufon, 
Seven earls, twelve barons, and twenty reverend bishopsj 
I have perform'd my task, and was cspous'd : 
And humbly now upon )n>^ bended knee, 
In siglit of England and her lordly peers, 
Deliver up my title in the queen 
To your most gracious hands, that are the substance 
Of that great shadow I did represent : 
The happiest gift that ever marquess gave. 
The fairest queen that ever king received. 

K. Hen. Suffolk, arise. — Welcome, queen Margaret : 
T can express no kinder sign of love, 
Than tliis kind kiss. — O Lord ! that lends me life, 
Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness; 
For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face, 
A world of earthly blessings to my soul. 
If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. 

* A compound Saxon word, found in Chaucer, my all dearest. * 



Q. Mar. Great king of England, and my 
lord, 
The mutual conference that my mind hath had 
By day, by night, waking, and in my dreams, 
In courtly company, or at my beads. 
With you mine aldcrlicvcst' sovereign, 
Makes me the bolder to salute my king 
With ruder terms, such as my wit affords, 
And over-joy of heart doth minister. 

A'. Hen. Her sight did ravish, but her grace in speech, 
Her words y-clad wdth wisdom's majesty. 
Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys : 
Such is the fulness of my heart's content. 
Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. 

All. Long live queen Margaret, England's happiness ! 

Q. il/«r. We thank you all. [Flourish. 

Snf. My lord protector, so it please your grace, 
Here are the articles of contracted peace, 
Between our sovereign, and the French king Charles 
For eighteen months, concluded by consent. 

Glo. [Reads.] "Imprimis: It is agreed between the 
French king, Charles, and William de la Poole, mar- 
quess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry, king of Eng- 
land, — that the said Henry shall espouse the lady Mar- 
garet, daughter unto Reignier king of Naples, Sieilia, 
and Jerusalem, and crown her queen of England ere 

the thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, — That the 

duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine, shall be re- 
leased and delivered to the king her father." — [Paus- 
ing.''] 

Not in f. e. 



SCENE II, 



KING HENRY YI. 



457 



K. Hen. Uncle, how now ? 

Glo. Pardon me, gracious lord ; 

Some sudden qualm liath struck me at the heart, 
And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no farther. 

A'. Ilea. Uncle of Winche^<tcr, I pray, read on. 

Car. [Reads.^] " Item : It is farther agreed between 
them, — that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be 
released and delivered over to the king her father; 
and she sent over of the king of England's own proper 
cost and charges, without having any dowry." 

A'. Ken. They please us well. — Lord marquess, kneel 
thee down : 
We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, 
And girt thee with the sword. — Cousin of York, 
We here discharge your grace from being regent 
I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months 
Bi-^ full cxpir'd. — Thanks, uncle Winchester, 
Gloster, York, Buckingham, Somerset, 
Salisbury, and Warwick; 
We thank you all for this great favour done, 
In entertainment to my princely queen. 
Come, let us in; and with all speed provide 
To see her coronation be perform'd. 

[Exetmt King, Queen, and Suffolk. 

Glo. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, 
To you duke Humphrey mu.st unload liis grief, 
Your grief; the common grief of all the land. 
What ! did my brother Henry spend his youth, 
His valovu-, coin, and people, in the wars ? 
Did he so often lodge in open field. 
In winter's cold, and sununer's parching heat, 
To conquer France, his true inlieritance ? 
And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, 
To keep by policy what Henry got ? 
Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, 
Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, 
Received deep scars in France and Normandy? 
Or hath mine uncle Beaufort, and myself. 
With all the learned council of the realm 
Studied so long, sat in the council-house 
Early and late, debating to and fro 
How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe ? 
And hath his highness in his infancy 
Becn^ crowned in Paris, in despite of foes ? 
And shall these labours, and these honours die? 
Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance. 
Your deeds of war, and all our counsel, die ? 
peers of England ! shameful is this league : 
Fatal this marriage ; cancelling your fairie, 
Blotting your names from books of memory, 
Razing the characters of your renown. 
Defacing monuments of conquer'd France, 
Undoing all, as all had never been. 

Car. Nephew, what means this i)assionatedi.scourse? 
This peroration with such circumstance? 
For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still. 

Glo. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can ; 
But now it is impossible we should. 
Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, 
Hath given the duchies of Anjou, and Maine, 
Unto the poor king Reignier, whose large style 
Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. 

Sal. Now, by the death of him that died for all. 
These counties were the keys of Normandy. — 
But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? 

War. For grief, that they are past recovery ; 
For, were there hope to conquer them again. 
My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. 
Anjou and Maine ! myself did win them both ; 



Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer : 
And are the cities that I got with wounds, 
Deliver'd up again with peaceful words ? 
Mort Dieu ! 

York. For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate 
That dims the honour of tliis warlike isle ! 
France should have torn and rent my very heart, 
Before I would have yielded to this league. 
I never read but England's kings have had 
Large sums of gold, and dowries, with their wives; 
And our king Henry gives away his own, 
To match with her that brings no vantages. 

Glo. A pro])er jest, and never heard before, 
That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth, 
For costs and charges in transporting her ! 
She should have stay'd in France, and starv'd in France, 
Before 

Car. My lord of Gloster, now you grow too hot. 
It was the pleasure of my lord the king. 

Glo. My lord of Winchester, L know your mind: 
'T is not my speeches that you do mislike. 
But 't is my presence tliat doth trouble ye. 
Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face 
I see thy fury. If I longer stay, 
We shall begin our ancient bickerings. — 
Lordings, farewell ; and say, when I am gone, 
1 prophesied. France will be lost ere long. [Exit. 

Car. So, there goes our protector in a rage. 
'T is known to you he is mine enemy ; 
Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, 
And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. 
Consider, lords, he is the next of blood, 
And heir apparent to the English crown : 
Had Henry got an empire by his marriage. 
And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west. 
There 's reason he should be displeas'd at it. 
Look to it, lords : let not his smoothing words 
Bewitch your hearts ; be wise, and circumspect. 
What though the common people favour him, 
Calling him " Humphrey the good Duke of Gloster;" 
Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice — 
" Jcsu maintain your royal excellence !" 
With — " God preserve the good duke Humphrey !" 
I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss. 
He will be found a dangerous protector. 

Buck. Why should he, then, protect our sovereign, 
He being of age to govern of himself? — 
Cousin of Somerset, join you with me. 
And all together, with the duke of Suffolk, 
We '11 quickly hoise duke Humphrey from his seat. 

Car. This weighty business will not brook delay ; 
I 'II to the duke of Suffolk presently. [Exit. 

Sam. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's 
pride, 
And greatness of his place be grief to us, 
Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal. 
His insolence is more intolerable 
Than all the princes in the land beside : 
If Gloster be displac'd, he '11 be protector. 

Buck. Or thou, or I, Somerset, will be protector. 
Despite duke Humphrey, or the cardinal. 

[Exeunt Buckingham and Somerskt- 

Sal. Pride went before, ambition follows him. 
While these do labour for their owni preferment, 
Behoves it us to labour for the realm. 
I never saw but Humphrey, duke of Gloster, 
Did bear him like a noble gentleman. 
Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal. 
More like a soldier, than a man o' the church, 



' Not in f. e. a This word is not in the folio,— is added by the MS. emendator, folio, 1032. 



458 



SECOND PAKT OF 



ACT I. 



As stout, and proud, as he were lord of all, 

Swear like a ruffian, and demean himself 

Unlike the ruler of a common- weal. — 

Warwiek, my son, the comfort of my age, 

Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy house-keeping, 

Have won the greatest favour of the commons, 

Excepting none but good duke Humphrey : — 

And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, 

In bringing them to civil discipline ; 

Thy late exploits, done in the heart of France, 

When thou wert regent for our sovereign, 

Have made thee fear'd, and honour'd of the people. — 

Join we together, for the public good. 

In what we can to bridle and suppress 

The pride of Suffolk, and the cardinal, 

With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition ; 

And, as we may, cherish duke Humphrey's deeds, 

While they do tend to profit of the land. 

War. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land^ 
And common profit of his country. 

York. And so says York, for he hath greatest cause. 

Sal. Then let 's make haste away, and look unto the 
main. 

War. Unto the main ? father ! Maine is lost ; 
That Maine, which by main force did Warwick win, 
And would have kept so long as breath did last. 
Main chance, father, you meant ; but I meant Maine, 
Which I will win from France, or el>e be slain. 

[Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury. 

York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French; 
Paris is lost ; the st.ate of Normandy 
Stands on a tickle point now they are gone. 
Suffolk concluded on the articles. 
The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleas'd. 
To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. 
I cannot blame them all : what is 't to them ? 
'T is thine they give away, and not their own. 
Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage. 
And purchase friends, and give to courtezans, 
Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone; 
While as the silly owner of the goods 
Weeps over them, and wrings his helpless' hands, 
And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof. 
While all is shar'd, and all is borne away, 
Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own : 
So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue, 
While his own lands are bargain'd for, and sold. 
Methinks, the realms of England, France, and Ireland, 
Bear that proportion to my flesh and blooid, 
As did the fatal brand Althea burn'd 
Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.' 
Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French ! 
Cold news for me, for I had hope of France, 
Even as I have of fertile England's soil. 
A day will come when York shall claim his own; 
And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts. 
And make a show of love to proud duke Humphrey, 
And when I spy advantage, claim the crown. 
For that 's the golden mark I seek to hit. 
Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, 
Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist. 
Nor wear the diadem upon his head. 
Whose church-like humours fit not for a crown. 
Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve : 
Watch thou, and wake, when others be asleep, 
To pry into the secrets of the state. 
Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love, 
With his new bride, and England's dear-bought queen. 



And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars : 

Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose. 

With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd, 

And in my standard bear the arms of York, 

To grapple with the house of Lancaster ; 

And, force perforce, I '11 make him yield the crown, 

Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down. 

[Exit. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Room in the Duke of 
Gloster's House. 

Enter Gloster and the Dtichc;.^. 

Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd com, 
Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load ? 
Why doth the great duke Humphrey knit his brows, 
As frowning at the favours of the world ? " 
Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth. 
Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight ? 
What seest thovi there ? king Henry's diadem, 
Enchas'd with all the honours of the world? 
If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, 
Until thy head be circled with the same. 
Put forth thy hand; reach at the glorious gold. — 
What, is 't too short ? I '11 lengthen it with mine; 
And having both together heav'd it up. 
We '11 both together lift our heads to heaven, 
And never more abase our sight so low. 
As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. 

Glo. Nell ! sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, 
Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts ; 
And may that thought, when I imagine ill 
Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, 
Bo my last breathing in this mortal world. 
My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. 

Duch. What dream'd my lord ? tell me, and I '11 
requite it 
With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. 

Glo. Methought. this staff, mine office-badge in court. 
Was broke in twain : by whom, I have forgot, 
But. as I think, 't was by the cardinal; 
And on the pieces of the broken wand 
Were plac'd the heads of Edmond duke of Somerset, 
And William de la Poole, first duke of Suffolk. 
This was my dream : what it doth bode God knows. 

Duch. Tut ! this was nothing but an argument. 
That he that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove 
Shall lose his head for his presumption. 
But list to me, my Humphrey ! my sweet duke : 
Methought, I sat in seat of majesty, 
In the cathedral church of Westmin.ster, 
A nd in that chair where kings and queens were crown'd ; 
Where Henry, and dame Margaret, kneel'd to me, 
And on my head did set the diadem. 

Glo. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright. 
Presumptuous dame ! ill-nurtur'd Eleanor ! 
Art thou not second woman in the realm, 
And the protector's wife, belov'd of him ? 
Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command. 
Above the reach or compass of thy thought ? 
And wilt thou still bo hammering treachery, 
To tumble down thy husband, and thyself, 
From top of honour to disgrace's feet ? 
Away from me, and let me hear no more. 

Duch. What, what, my lord ! are you so choleric 
With Eleanor, for telling but her dream ? 
Next time I '11 keep my dreams unto myself 
And not be check'd. 

Glo. Nay, be not angry; I am pleas'd again. 



1 hapless : in f. c. = Meleager, prince of Calydon, died in great torments, when his mother, Althea, threw into the flames the firebrand 
upon the preservation of which his life depended. — Knight. 



SCENE III. 



KING HENRY VI. 



459 



Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord protector, 't is his highness' pleasure, 
You do prepare to ride unto St. Albans, 
Whereas the king and queen do mean to hawk. 

Glo. I go. — Come, Nell ; thou wilt ride with us ? 

Duch. Yes, my good lord, I '11 follow presently. 

[Exeunt Glosteu and Messenger. 
Follow T must ; I cannot go before, 
While Gloster bears this base and humble mind. 
Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, 
I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks. 
And smooth my way upon their headless necks : 
And, being a woman, I will not be slack 
To play my part in fortune's pageant. — 
Where are you there ? Sir John !* nay, fear not, man. 
We are alone ; here's none but thou, and I. 
Enter Hume. 

Hume. Jesus preserve your royal majesty ! 

Buck. What say'st thou ? majesty ! I am but grace. 

Hume. But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice. 
Your grace's title shall be multiplied. 

Duch. What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet 
conferr'd 
With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch 
And Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer. 
And will they undertake to do me good ? 

Hume. This they have promised, — to show your 
A spirit rais'd from depth of under ground, [highness 
That shall make answer to such questions, 
As by your grace shall be propounded him. 

Duch. It is enough : I '11 think upon the questions. 
When from St. Albans we do make return. 
We '11 see these things effected to the full. 
Here, Hume, take this reward : make merry, man, 
With thy confederates in this weighty cause. 

[Exit Duchess. 

Hume. Hume must make merry with the duchess' 
gold, 
INIarry, and shall. But how now. Sir John Hume ! 
Seal up your lips, and give no words but mvim : 
The business asketh silent secrecy. 
Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch: 
Gold cannot come ami,«.s, were she a devil. 
Yet have I gold flies from another coast : 
I dare not say, from the rich cardinal, 
And from the great and new made duke of Suffolk ; 
Yet I do find it so : for, to be plain, 
They, knowing dame Eleanor's aspiring humour, 
Have hired me to undermine the duchess, 
And buz these conjurations in her brain. 
They say, a crafty knave does need no broker ; 
Yet am I Suffolk's, and the cardinal's broker. 
Huine, if you take not heed, you shall go near 
To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. 
Well, so it stands ; and thus, I fear, at last, 
Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck, 
And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall. 
Sort* how it will, I shall have gold for all. [Exit. 

SCENE HI.— The Same. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Peter, and others^ ivith Petitions. 

1 Pet. My masters, let 's stand close : my lord pro- 
tector will come this way by and by, and then we may 
deliver our supplications in sequel'. 

2 Pet. Marry, tlie lord protect him, for he 's a good 
man. Jesu ble.ss him ! 

Enter Suffolk and Queen Mauo.miet. 
1 Pet. Here 'a comes, mcthinks, and the queen with 
him. 



I '11 be the first, sure. 



2 Pet. Come back, fool ! this is the duke of Suffolk, 
and not my lord protector. 

Suf. How now, fellow ! wouldst any thing with me? 

1 Pet. I pray my lord, pardon me : I took ye for my 
lord protector. 

Q. Mar. " To my lord protector !" are your suppli- 
cations to his lord.ship ? Let me see them. What is 
thine ? 

1 Pet. Mine is, an 't please your grace, against John 
Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my 
house, and lands, and wife, and all, from me. 

Siif. Thy wife too ! that is some wrong indeed. — 
What 's yours? — What 's here? [Reads.] '• Again,«t the 
duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of Melford." 
— How now. sir knave? 

2 Pet. Alas ! sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our 
whole township. 

Peter. [Presenting his petition.] Against my master, 
Thomas Horner, for saying, that the duke of York was 
rightful heir to the crown. 

Q. Alar. What say'st thou? Did the duke of York 
say. he was rightful heir to the crown? 

Peter. That my master was ? No, forsooth : my 
master said, that he was j and that the king was an 
usurper. 

Svf. Who is there ? [Enter Servants.]— Tzke this 
fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant 
presently. — We '11 hear more of your matter before the 
king. [Exeunt Serva7its with Peter. 

Q. Mar. And as for you, that love to be protected 
Under the wings of our protector's grace, 
Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. [ Tears the Petition. 
Away, base cuUions ! — Suffolk, let them go. 

All. Come, let 's be gone. [Exeunt Petitioners. 

Q. Mar. My lord of Suffolk, say. is this the guise, 
Is this the fashion in the court of England ? 
Is this the government of Britain's isle, 
And this the royalty of Albion's king? 
What ! shall king Henry be a pupil still, 
Under the surly Gloster's governance ? 
Am I a queen in title and in style. 
And must be made a subject to a duke ? 
I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours 
Thou ran'st a tilt in lionour of my love. 
And stol'st away tiie ladies' hearts of France, 
I thought king Henry had resembled thee, 
In courage, courtship, and proportion ) 
But all his mind is bent to holiness. 
To number Ave-Marias on his beads: 
His champions are the prophets and apostles ) 
His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ ; 
His stixdy is his tilt-yard, and his loves 
Are brazen images of canonizd saints. 
I would, the college of the cardinals 
Would choose him pope, and carry him to RomCj 
And set the triple crown upon his head : 
That were a state fit for his holiness. 

Suf. Madam, be patient : as I was cause 
Your highness came to England, so will I 
In England work your grace's full content. 

Q. Mar. Beside the haught protector, have we 
Beaufort, 
The imperious churchman; Somerset, Buckingham, 
And grumbling York : and not the least of these, 
But can do more in England tlian tiic king. 

Suf. And he of those that can do most of all. 
Cannot do more in England than the Nevils : 
Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. 

Q. Mar. Not all these lords do vex me half so much, 



' Addressed " Sir John" as a priest. 2 Happen. ^ iu the quill : in f. 0. 



460 



SECOND PART OF 



ACT II. 



As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife : 

She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies. 

More like an empress than duke Humplirey's wife. 

Strangers in court do take her for the queen : 

She bears a duke's revenues on her back, 

And in her heart she scorns our poverty. 

Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her ? 

Contemptuous base-born callat' as she is, 

She vaunted 'mongst her minions t' other day. 

The very train of her worst wearing gown 

Was better worth than all my father's lands, 

Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. 

Suf. ]\ladam, myself have lim'd a bush for her j 
And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds, 
That she will light to listen to their lays. 
And never mount to trouble you again. 
So, let her rest ; and, madam, list to me, 
For I am bold to counsel you in this. 
Although we fancy not the cardinal. 
Yet must we join with him, and with the lords, 
Till we have brought duke Humphrey in disgrace. 
As for the duke of York, this late complaint 
Will make but little for his benefit : 
So, one by one, wo will weed all the realm,* 
And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. 
Enter King Henry, York, a7i(l Somerset ; Duke and 
Duchess of Gloster, Cardinal Beaufort, Bucking- 
jiAM. Salisbury, and Warwick. 
K. Hen. For my part, noble lords, I care not which ; 
Or Somerset, or York, all 's one to me. 

York. If York have ill dcmean'd himself in France, 
Then let him be denay'd^ the regentsliip. 

So7n. If Somerset be unworthy of the place. 
Let York be regent : I will yield to him. 

War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea, or no. 
Dispute not that York is the worthier. 

Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. 
War. A cardinal 's not my better in the field. 
Buck. All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick. 
War. Warwick may live to be the best of all. 
Sal. Peace, son ! — and show some reason,Buckingham, 
Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this. 

Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will have it so. 
Glo. Madam, the king is old enough himself 
To give his censure. These are no women's matters. 

Q. Mar. If he be old enough, what needs your grace 
To be protector of his excellence ? 

Glo. Madam, I am protector of the realm, 
And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. 

Suf. Resign it, then, and leave thine insolence. 
Since thou wert king, (as who is king but thou ?) 
The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck : 
The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas, 
And all the peers and nobles of the realm 
Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. 

Car. The commons hast thou rack'd • the clergy's 
bags 
Are lank and lean with thy extortions. 

Som. Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife's attire, 
Have cost a mass of public treasury. 

Buck. Thy cruelty, in execution 
Upon offenders hath exceeded law, 
And left thee to the mercy of the law. 

Q. Mar. Thy sale of offices, and towns in France, 
If they were known, as the suspect is great, 
Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. 

[Exit Gloster. The Queen drops her Fan. 
Give me my fan : what, minion ! can you not ? 

[Giving the Duchess a box on the ear. 



I cry you mercy, madam : was it you ? 

Duch. Was 't I ? yea, I it was, proud French- woman : 
Could I come near your beauty with my nails, 
I 'd set my ten commandments in your face. 

K. Hen. Sweet aunt, be quiet : 'twas against her will. 

Drich. Against her Avill. Good king, look to 't in time ; 
She '11 hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby. 
Though in this place most master wear no breeches, 
She shall not strike dame Eleanor unreveng'd. [Aside. 

[Exit Duchess. 

Bvck. Lord Cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, 
And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds : 
She 's tickled now ; her fume can need no spurs, 
She '11 gallop fast* enough to her destruction. 

[Exit Buckingham. 
Re-enter Gloster. 

Glo. Now, lords, my choler being over-blown 
With walking once about the quadrangle, 
I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. 
As for your spiteful false objections, 
Prove them, and I lie open to the law ; 
But God in mercy so deal with my soul. 
As I in duty love my king and country. 
But to the matter that we have in hand. — 
I say, my sovereign, York is mcetest man 
To be your regent in the realm of France. 

Si(f. Before we make election, give me leave 
To show some reason, of no little force, 
That York is most umneet of any man. 

York. I '11 tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet. 
First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride : 
Next, if I be appointed for the place, 
My lord of Somerset will keep me there, 
Without discharge, money, or furniture, 
Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands. 
Last time I dane'd attendance on his will, 
Till Paris was bcsieg'd, famish'd, and lost. 

War. That can I witness : and a fouler fact 
Did never traitor in the land commit. 

Suf. Peace, headstrong Warwick ! 

War. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace ? 
Enter Servants of Suffolk, bringing in Horner and 

Peter. 

Svf. Because here is a man accus'd of treason : 
Pray God, the duke of York excuse himself ! 

York. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor ? 

A'. Hen. What mean'st thou, Suffolk? tell me, what 
are these ? 

Suf. Please it your majesty, this is the man 
That doth accuse his master of high treason. 
His words were these : — that Richard, duke of York, 
Was rightlul heir unto the English crown. 
And that your majesty was an usurper. 

K. Hen. Say, man, were these thy words ? 

Hor. An 't shall please your majesty, I never said 
nor thought any such matter. God is my witness, I 
am falsely accused by the villain. 

Pet. By these ten bones, my lords, [Holding vp his 
hands.] he did speak them to me in the garret one 
night, as we were scouring my lord of York's armour. 

York. Base dung-hill villain, and mechanical, 
I '11 have thy head for this thy traitor's speech. — 
I do beseech your royal majesty. 
Let him have all the rigour of the law. 

Hor. Alas ! my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the 
words. My accuser is my prentice ; and when I did 
correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow 
upon his knees he would be even with me. I have 
good witness of this : therefore, I beseech your majesty, 



1 A common abusive epithet applied to women. = -vre '11 weed them all at last : in f e. ' Denied. * far : in f. e. Pope also rea Js fast. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENEY VI. 



461 



do not cast away an honest man for a villain's accusa- 
tion. 

K. Hen. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law ? 

GIo. This doom, my gracious lord, if I may judge. 
Let Somerset be regent o'er the French, 
Because in York this breeds suspicion ; 
And let these have a day appointed them 
For single combat in convenient place, 
For he hath witness of his servant's malice. 
This is the law, and this duke Humphrey's doom. 

So7n. I humbly thank your royal majesty. 

Hor. And I accept the combat willingly. 

Pet. Alas ! my loi'd, I cannot fight : for God's sake, 
pity my case ! the spite of this man prevaileth against 
me. 0, Lord have mercy upon me ! I shall never be 
able to figlit a blow. O Lord, my heart ! 

Glo. Sirrah, or you must fight or else be hang'd. 

A'. Hen. Away with them to prison ; and the day 
Of combat shall be the last of the next month. — 
Come, Somerset, we '11 see thee sent away. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. The Duke of Gloster's 
Garden. 

Enter Margery Jourdain, Hume, Southwell, and 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Hume. Come, my masters : the duchess, I tell you, 
expects performance of your promises. 

Boling. Master Hume, we are therefore provided. 
Will her lady.ship behold and hear our exorcisms ? 

Hume. Ay ; what else ? fear you not her courage. 

Boling. I have heard her reported to be a woman of 
an invincible spirit : but it shall be convenient, master 
Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be busy 
below ; and so, I pray you, go in God's name, and leave 
lis. [Exit Hume.] Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate, 
and grovel on the earth : — John Southwell, read you, 
and let us to our work. 

Enter Duchess above. 

Duch. Well said, my masters, and welcome all. To 
this gcer : the sooner the better. 

Boling. Patience, good lady; wizards know their times, 
Deep night, dark night, and silence^ of the night, 
The time of night when Troy was set on fire ; 
The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl. 
And spirits walk, and ghosts break ope^ their graves. 
That time best fits the work we have in hand. 
Madam, sit you, and fear not : whom we raise, 
We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. 

[Here they perform the Ceremonies belonging, and 
make the Circle : Bolingbhoke-, reads, Conjuro, 
te, &c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then 
the Spirit riseth. 

Spir. Adsum. 

M. Jourd. Asmath ! 
By the eternal God, whose name and power 
Thou trcmblest at, answer that I shall ask ; 
For till tliou speak thou shalt not pass from hence. 

Spir. Ask what thou wilt. — That I had said and done ! 

Boling. First of the king : what shall of him become ? 



Spir. The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose ; 
But him outlive, and die a violent death. 

[As the Spirit speaks, Southwell u'rites the answer. 

Boling. What fates await the duke of Suffolk ? 

Spir. By water shall he die, and take his end. 

Boling. What shall befall the duke of Somerset ? 

Spir. Let him shun castles : 
Safer shall he be on the sandy plains 
Than where castles mounted stand. 
Have done, for more I hardly can endure. 

Boling. Descend to darkness, and the burning lake : 
FouP fiend, avoid ! 

[Thunder and lightning. Spirit descends. 
Enter York and Buckingham, ha.stily, with their Guarcls. 

York. Lay hands upon these traitors, and their trash. 
Beldame, I think, we watch'd you at an inch. — 
What ! madam, are you there ? the king and common- 
weal 
Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains : 
My lord protector will, I doubt it not. 
See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. 

Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's king, 
Injurious duke, that threat'st where is no cause. 

Buck. True, maclani, hoiie at all. What call yon 
this ? [Showing her the Papers. 

Away with them ! let them be clapp'd up close. 
And kept asunder. — You, madam, shall with us : 
Stafford, take her to thee. — [Exit Duchess from above. 
We '11 see your trinkets here are all forth-coming • 
All. — Away! [Exeunt Guards, ivith South., Boling., &c. 

York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her 
A pretty plot, well chosen to build vipon ! [well : 

Now, pray, my lord, let 's see the devil's writ. 
What have we here ? [Reads. 

" The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose ; 
But him outlive, and die a violent death." 
Why. this is just 

Aio te, jEacida, Romanes vincere posse. 
Well, to the rest : 

" Tell me, what fate awaits the duke of Suffolk ? — 
By water shall he die, and take his end." — 
'• What shall betide the duke of Somerset ? — 
Let him shun castles ; 
Safer shall he be on the sandy plains, 
Than where castles mounted stand." 
Come, come, my lords ; 
These oracles arc hardly attain'd, 
And hardly understood. 

The king is now in progress towards Saint Albans ; 
Vv^ith him the husband of this lovely lady : 
Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them ; 
A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. 

Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of York, 
To be the post in hope of liis reward. 

York. At your pleasure, my good lord. — Who 's 
within there, ho ! 

Enter a Servant. 
Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick, 
To sup with me to-morrow night. — Away ! [Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— Saint Albans. 
Enter King Henry, Qixcn Margaret, Gloster, Car- 
dinal, and Suffolk, with Falconers, hollaing. 
Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,* 



T saw not better sport these seven years' day ; 
Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high. 
And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. 

K. Hen. But what a point, my lord, your falcon made, 
And what a pitch she flew above the rest. 



1 silent : in f. c. 2 up : in f. e. ^ false : in f. e. * Birds of the brook. 



462 



SECOND PART OF 



ACT II. 



To see how God in all his creatures works ! 
Yea, man and birds are fain of oliiiibiii<; high. 

Si(f. No marvel, an it like your majesty, 
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well : 
They know their master loves to be aloft, 
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. 

Glo. My lord, 't is but a base ignoble mind, 
That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. 

Car. I thought a.s nmch : he "d be above the clouds. 

Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal ; how tliink you by that ? 
Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven ? 

K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy ! 

Car. Thy heaven is on earth ; thine eyes and thoughts 
Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart : 
Perniciovis protector, dangerous peer, 
That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal ! 

Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown so 
peremjitory ? 
Tantane animis calc.stihus irce ? 
Churchmen so hot ? good uncle, hide such malice ; 
And with such holi^e^^s you well can do it.^ 

Siif. No malice, sir ; no more than well becomes 
So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer. 

Glo. As who, my lord ? 

Sitf. Why, as you, my lord ; 

An 't like your lordly lord-protectorship. 

Glo. Why, Suflblk, England knows thine insolence. 

Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. 

A'. Hen. I pr'ythee, peace. 

Good queen ; and whet not on these furious peers. 
For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. 

Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make 
Against this proud protector with my sword. 

Glo. 'Faith, holy uncle, would 't were come to that ! 

[Aside to the Carflinal. 

Car. Marry, when thou dar'st. [Axide. 

Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the matter ; 
In thine own person answer thy abuse. [A.sidc. 

Car. Ay, where thou dar'st not peep : an if thou dar'st, 
This evening on the east side of the grove. [Aside. 

K. Hen. How now, my lords ! 

Car. Believe me, cousin Gloster, 

Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, 
We had had more sport. — Come with thy two-hand 
sword. [Aside to Glo. 

Glo. True, uncle. 

Car. Are you advis'd, the east side of the grove. 

Glo. Cardinal, I am witli you.^ [A.side. 

K. Hen. Why, how now, uncle Gloster ! 

Glo. Talking of hawking : nothing el.^e, my lord. — 
Now, by God's mother, priest, T 11 shave your crown 
For this, or all my fence shall fail. [Aside. 

Car. Medice tcipsum : 
Protector, see to 't well, protect yourself. [Aside. 

K. Hen. The winds grow high : so do your stomachs, 
lords. 
How irksome is this music to my heart ! 
When sucli strings jar, what hope of harmony? 
I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. 
Enter one. crying, " A Miracle .'" 

Glo. What means this noise ? 
Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim ? 

One. A miracle ! a miracle ! 

Sitf. Come to the king : tell him what miracle. 

One. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine. 
Within this half hour hath receiv'd his sight; 
A man that ne'er saw in his life before. 

K. Hen. Now, God be prais'd, that to believing souls 



Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair ! 

Enter the Mayor of St. Albons, and his Brethren ; and 

SiMPcox, borne between two persons in a Chair ; his 

Wife and the Multitude following. 

Car. Here come the townsmen on procession, 
To present your highness with the man. 

K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale. 
Though by his sight his sin be multiplied. 

Glo. Stand by. my masters : bring him near the king : 
His highness' pleasure is to talk wilh him. 

A'. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, 
That we for thee may glorify the Lord. 
What ! hast thou been long blind, and now restor'd ? 

Simp. Born blind, an 't please your grace. 

Wife. Ay, indeed, was he. 

Suf. What woman is this ? ^ 

li'ife. His wife, an 't like your worship. 

Glo. Hadst thou been his mother, thou could'sthave 
better told. 

K. Hen. Where wert thou born ? 

Simp. At Berwick in the north, an 't like your grace. 

K. Hen. Poor soul ! God's goodness hath been great 
to thee : 
Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass. 
But still remember what the Lord hath done. 

Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by 
chance. 
Or of devotion, to this holy shrine ? 

Simp. God knows, of pure devotion ; being call'd 
A hundred times, and oft'ner, in my sleep. 
By good Saint Alban ; who said, — '• Sander, come ; 
Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee." 

Wife. Most true, forsooth ; and many time and oft 
Myself have heard a voice to call him so. 

Car. What ! art thou lame ? 

Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me ! 

Suf. How cam'st thou so ? 

Simp. A fall off of a tree. 

B7/c. A plum-tree, master. 

Glo. How long hast thou been blind ? 

Simp. ! born so, master. 

Glo. What I and wouldst climb a tree ? 

Simp. But that in all my life, when I was a youth. 

Wife. Too true ; and bought his climbing very dear. 

Glo. 'Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that wouldst 
venture so. [sons, 

Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some dam- 
And made me climb with danger of my life. 

Glo. A subtle knave ; but yet it shall not serve. — 
Let me see thine eyes : — wink now : — now open them. — 
In my opinion yet thou seest not well. 

Simp. Yes, master, clear as day; I thank God, and 
Saint Alban. 

Glo. Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of? 

Simp. Bed, master; red as blood. 

Glo. Why, that 's well said. What colour is my 
gown of? 

Simp. Black, forsooth ; coal-black as jet. [of? 

A'. Ken. Why then, thou know'st what colour jet is 

Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. 

Glo. Bui cloaks, and gowns, before this day a many. 

^f\fe. Never, before this day, in all his life. 

Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what 's my name ? 

Simp. Alas ! master, I know not. 

Glo. What 's his name? [Pointing to one.^ 

Simp. I know not. 

6^0. Nor his ? 

Simp. No, indeed, master. 



' With such holiness can you do it : in f. e. 
correction. 3 j^ot in f. e. 



2 In the folio, this and the two preceding speeches are given to Gloster. Theobald made the 



SCENE n. 



KING HENRY YI. 



463 



Glo. What 's thine own name ? 

Simp. Sander Simpcox, an it' it please you, master. 

Glo. Then, Sander, sit thou there, the lyingest knave 
In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind. 
Thou might'st as well have known all our names, as thus 
To name the several colours we do wear. 
Sight may distinguish of colours ; but suddenly 
To nominate them all, it is impossible. — 
My lords. Saint Alban here hath done a miracle ; 
And wovxld ye not think his cunning to be great, 
That could restore this cripple to his legs ?' 

Simp. 0, master, that you could ! 

Glo. My masters of Saint Albans, have you not bea- 
dles in your town, and things called whips ? 

May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. 

Glo. Then send for one presently. 

May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. 

[Exit an Attendant. 

Glo. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [A 
stool brought out.] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save 
yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool, and 
run away. 

Simp. Alas ! master, I am not able to stand alone : 
You go about to torture me in vain. 

Re-enter Attendant^ and a Beadle with a whip. 

Glo. Well, sir, we must have you tind your legs. 
Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool. 

Bead. I will, iny lord. — Come on, sirrah; off with 
your doublet quickly. 

Simp. Alas ! master, what shall I do ? I am not able 
to stand. 

[After the Beadle hath hit him once., he Icap.s 
over the .stool, and rirns aioay ; and the People 
follow and cry, " A Miracle .'" 

K. Hen. God ! seest thou this, and bearest so long ? 

Q. Mar. It made me laugh to see the villain run. 

Glo. Follow the knave ; and take this drab away. 

Wife. Alas ! sir. we did it for pure need. 

Glo. Let them be whijip'd through every market town, 
Till they come to Berwick, from whence they came. 

[Exexint Mayor, Beadle, Wife, ^'c. 

Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. 

Si(f. True, made the lame to leap, and fly away. 

Glo. But you have done more miracles than I ; 
You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. 
Enter Buckingham. 

K. Hen. What tidings with our cousin Buckingham? 

Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. 
A sort^ of nauglily persons, lewdly bent, 
Under the countenance and confederacy 
Of lady Eleanor, the protector's wife. 
The ringleader and head of all this rout, 
I[ave practic'd dangerously against your state, 
I)L'aling with witches, and with conjurers. 
Whom we have apprehended in the fact : 
Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, 
Demanding of king Henry's life and death, 
And other of your highness' privy council. 
As more at large your grace shall understand. 

[Giving a paper. ^ 

Car. And so. my lord protector, by this means 
Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. 
This news. I think, hath turn d your weapon's edge; 
'T is like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. 

Glo. Ambitious churchman, leave t' afflict my heart. 
Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers; 
And, vanqui^hd as I am, I yield to thee, 
Or to the meanest groom. [ones ; 

K. Hen. O God ! what mi-^chiefs work the wicked 



Heaping confusion on tlieir own heads thereby. 

Q. Mar. Gloster, see here the tainture of thy nest J 
And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best. 

Glo. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal, 
How I have lov'd my king, and commonweal; 
And, for my wife. I know not how it stands. 
Sorry I am to hear what I have heard ; 
Noble she is, but if she have forgot 
Honour, and virtue, and convcrs'd with such 
As, like to pitch, defile nobility, 
I banish her, my bed, and company. 
And give her, as a prey to law, and shame. 
That hath di.><honour'd Gloster's honest name. 

K. Hen. Well, for this night, we will repose us here: 
To-morrow, toward London, back again, 
To look into this business thoroughly. 
And call these foul ofl^enders to their answers ; 
And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, 
Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— London. The Duke of York's Garden. 
Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick. 

York. Now, my good lords of Salisbury and Warwick, 
Our simple supper ended, give me leave. 
In this close walk, to satisfy myself 
In craving your opinion of my title. 
Which is infallible, to England's crown. 

Sil. My lord, I long to hear it at the full. 

War. Sweet York, begin ; and if tliy claim be good, 
The Nevils are thy subjects to command. 

York. Then thus : — 
Edward the third, my lords, had seven sons : 
The first, Edward the Black Prince, prince of Wales; 
The second, William of Hatfield ; and the third, 
Lionel, duke of Clarence ; next to whom. 
Was John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster; 
The fifth was Edmond Lanirley, duke of York ; 
The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of Gloster ; 
William of Windsor was the seventh, and la-st. 
Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father, 
And left behind him Richard, liis only son; 
Who, after Edward the third's death, reign'd as king, 
Till Henry Bolingbroke, duke of Lancaster, 
The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, 
Crown'd by the name of Henry tlie fourth. 
Seized on the realm ; depos'd the rightful king ; 
Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came, 
And him to Pomfret ; where, as all you know, 
Harmless Richard was murdcr'd traitorously. 

War. Father, tlie duke hath told the very truth : 
Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. [right ; 

York. Which now they hold by force, and not by 
For Richard, tlie fir.^t son's lieir being dead, 
The issue of the next son should have reign'd. 

Sal. But William of Hatfield died without an heir. 

York. The third son. duke of Clarence, from whose 
line 
I claim the crown, had issue — Philippe, a daughter, 
Who married Edmond Mortimer, earl of March; 
Edmond had issue — Roger, earl of March : 
Roger had issue — Edmond, Anne, and Eleanor. 

Sal. This Edmond, in the reign of Bolingbroke, 
As I have read, laid claim unto the crown ; 
And but for Owen Glendowcr, had been king, 
Who kept him in captivity, till he died. 
But to the rest. 

York. His eldest sister, Anne, 

My mother, being heir unto the crown, 



• This speech is printed as prose in the folio. ' Company. • Not in f. e. 



464 



SECOI^D PAET OF 



ACT n. 



Married Richard, earl of Cambridge ; who was 

To Edmond Langley, Edward the third's fifth son, son. 

By her I claim the kingdom : she was heir 

To Roger, earl of March ; who was the son 

Of Edmond Mortimer ; who married Philippe, 

Sole daughter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence : 

So, if the issue of the elder son 

Succeed before the younger, I am king. 

War. What plain proceeding is more plain than this ? 
Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, 
The fourth son : York claims it from the third. 
Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign : 
It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee, 
And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. — 
Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together ; 
And, in this private plot' be we the first, 
That shall salute oiir rightful sovereign 
With honour of his birthright to the croviTi. 

Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, England's 
king ! 

York. We thank you, lords. But I am not your king. 
Till I be crown'd, and that my sword be stain'd 
With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster ; 
And that 's not suddenly to be perform'd, 
But with advice, and silent secrecy. 
Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days, 
Wink at the duke of Suffolk's insolence. 
At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition. 
At Buckingham, and all the crew of them, 
Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock. 
That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey. 
'T is that they seek ; and they, in seeking that, 
Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. 

Sal. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at 
full. 

War. My heart assures me, that the earl of Warwick 
Shall one day make the duke of York a king. 

York. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself, 
Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick 
The greatest man in England, but the king. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HL— The Same. A Hall of Justice. 
Trumpets sounded. Enter King Henry, Queen Mar- 
garet. Gloster, York, Suffolk, and Salisbury ; 
the Duchess of GhosTKR, Margery Jourdain, South- 
well, HuiME, and Bolingbroke, under guard. 
K. Hen. Stand forth, dame Eleanor Cobham, Glos- 
ter's wife. 
In sight of God and us, your guilt is great : 
Receive the sentence of the law, for sin 
Such as by God's book is adjudg'd to death. — 
You four, from hence to prison back again ; 

{To Jourd., ^'c. 
From thence, unto the place of execution : 
The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ai=hes. 
And you three shall be strangled on the gallows. — 
You, madam, for you are more nobly born. 
Despoiled of your honour in your life, 
Shall, after three days' open penance done, 
Live in your country here, in banishment. 
With Sir John Stanley in the Isle of Man. 

Buch. Welcome is banishment; welcome were my 

death. 
Glo. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee : 
I cannot justify whom the law condemns — 
[Exeunt the Duchess, and the other Prisoners, guarded. 
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. 
Ah, Humphrey ! this dishonour in thine age 



Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground. — 



I beseech 



give me leave to go 



your majesty, ^., ...^.v. .^ ^^ , 

Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease. 

K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey, duke of Gloster. Ere thou 
Give up thy staff; Henry will to liimself [go, 

Protector be ; and God shall be my hope. 
My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet. 
And go in peace, Humphrey ; no less belov'd. 
Than when thou wert protector to thy king. 

Q. 3Jar. I see no reason why a king of years 
Should be protected like a child by peers. ^ 
God and king Henry govern England's helm.^ 
Give up your staff, sir, and tlie king his realm. 

Glos. My staff? — here, noble Henry, is my staff; 
To think I fain would keep it makes me laugh.* 
As willingly do I the same resign, 
As e'er thy father Henry made it mine : 
And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it, 
A s others would ambitiously receive it. 
Farewell, good king ; when I am dead and gone, 
May honourable peace attend thy throne. [Exit. 

Q. Mar. Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret 
queen ; 
And Humphrey, duke of Gloster, scarce himself, 
That bears so shrewd a maim : two pulls at once, — 
His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off; 
This staff of honour raught' — there let it stand, 
Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. 

Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his sprays; 
Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her proudest^ days. 

York. Lords, let him go. — Please it your majesty. 
This is the day appointed for the combat ; 
And ready are the appellant and defendant, 
The armourer and his man to enter lists. 
So please your higVmcss to beliold the fight. 

Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord : for purposely, therefore. 
Left I the court to see this quarrel tried. 

K. Hen. 0' God's name, see the lists and all things 
Here let them end it, and God defend the right ! [fit : 

York. I never saw a fellow worse bestead. 
Or more afraid to figiit, than is the appellant, 
The servant of this armourer, my lords. 
Enter, on one side, Horner, and his Neighbours, drink- 
ing to him so much that he is drunk; and he enters 
bearing his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it ; a 
drum before him: at the other side, Peter, with a 
drum and a .similar staff ; accompanied by Prentices 
drinking to him. 

1 Neigh. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in 
a cup of sack. And fear not, neighbour, you shall do 
well enough. 



2 Neigh. 
charneco.' 

3 Neigh. 
neislibour : 



And here, neighboiir, here 's a cup of 



beer. 



And here 's a pot of good double 
drink, and fear not your man. 
Hor. Let it come, i' faith, and I '11 pledge you all ; 
and a fig for Peter ! 

1 Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee ; and be not 
afraid. 

2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master : 
fight for credit of the prentices. 

Peter. I thank you all : drink, and pray for me, I 
pray you, for, I think, I have taken my last draught in 
this world. — Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee my 
apron ; and. Will, thou shalt have my hammer : — and 
here, Tom, take all the money that I have. — Lord, 
bless me ! I pray God, for I am never able to deal 
with my master, he hath learnt so much fence already. 



1 Spot. 2 The words " by jieer.s." are not in f. e. 3 realm : in folio ; Johnson made the change. 
away, e youngest : in f. e. 'A wine made at a place of that name near Lisbon. 



* This line is not in f. e. s Taken 



SCENE IV. 



KING HENRY YL 



465 



Sal. Come, leave your drinking both, and fall to 
blows. — 
Sirrah, what 's thy name ? 

Peter. Peter, forsooth. 

Sal. Peter ! what more ? 

Peter. Thump. 

Sal. Thump! then see thou thump thy master well. 

Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon 
my man's instigation, to prove him a knave and myself 
an honest man : and touching the duke of York, I will 
take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the 
king, nor the queen. A.nd therefore, Peter, have at 
thee with a downright blow." 

York. Despatch : tliis knave's tongue begins to double. 
Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants. 

[Alarum. They fight., and Peter, strikes down his 
^Master. 

Hor. Hold. Peter, hold, I confess, I confess treason. 

[Dies. 

York. Take away his weapon. — Fellow, thank God, 
and the good wine in thy master's way. 

Peter. God ! have I overcome mine enemies in 
this presence? O Peter ! thou hast prevailed in right. 

K. Hen. Go, and take hence that ti-aitor from our 
sight ; 
For by his death we do perceive his guilt : 
And God in justice hath reveal'd to us 
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, 
Which he had thought to have murder'd wi'ongfully. — 
Come, fellow ; follow us for thy reward. [Exeimt. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. A Street. 

Enter Gloster ami Servants, in mourning Cloaks. 

Glo. Thus, sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud ; 
And after summer evermore succeeds 
Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold : 
So, cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. — 
Sirs, wdiat 's o'clock ? 

Serv. Ten, my lord. 

Glo. Ten is the hour that was appointed me 
To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess : 
Uneath' may she endure the flinty streets. 
To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. 
Sweet Neil, ill can thy noble mind abrook 
The abject people, gazing on thy face 
With envious' looks, laugh inn at thy shame, 
That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels. 
When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. 
Rut, soft ! I think, she comes ; and I '11 prepare 
My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. 
Enter the Duchess of Gloster, in a ivhite .sheet, unth 

verses ivrittcn upon her back^ her feet bare, and a taper 

burning in her hand ; Sir John Stanley, a Sheriff, 

and Officers. 

Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her from the 
sheriff. 

Glo. No, stir not for your lives : let her pass by. 

Di'ch. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame ? 
Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze: 
See, how the giddy multitude do point. 
And nod llieir heads, and throw their eyes on thee. 
All, Gloster ! hide thee from their hateful looks ; 
And in thy closet pent up rue my shame, 
And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine. 

Glo. Be patient, gentle Nell : forget this grief. 

Diich. Ah. Gloster! teach me to forget myself; 
For. wliilst I think I am thy married wife. 
And thou a prince, protector of this land, 



Mcthinks, I should not thus be led alons, 

Maifd up in shame, witli papers on my back, 

And foUow'd with a rabble, that rejoice 

To see my tears, and hear my deep-fet groans. 

The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet ; 

And when I start the envious people laugh. 

And bid me be advised how I tread. 

Ah, Humphrey ! can I bear this shameful yoke? 

Trow'st thou, that e'er I '11 look upon the world, 

Or count them happy that enjoy the sun ? 

No ; dark shall be my light, and night my day : 

To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell. 

Sometime I '11 say I am duke Humphrey's wife, 

And he a prince, and ruler of the land; 

Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was, 

As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess, 

Was made a wonder, and a pointing-stock. 

To every idle rascal follower. 

But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame : 

Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death 

Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will ; 

For Suflblk, — he that can do all in all 

With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all. — 

And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest, 

Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings ; 

And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee. 

But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar'd, 

Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. 

Glo. Ah, Nell! forbear; thou aimcst all awry: 
I must offend before I be attainted ; 
And had I tA^'cnty times so many foes, 
And each of them had twenty times their power, 
All these could not procure me any scathe. 
So long as I am loyal, true, and crimclers. 
Wculdst have me rescue thee from this reproach ? 
Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away, 
But I in danger for the breach of law. 
Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell ; 
I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience : 
These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. 
Enter a Herald. 

Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's parlia- 
ment, holden at Bury the first of this next month. 

Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before ? 
This is close dealing. — Well, I will be there. 

[Exit Herald. 
]My Nell, I take my leave : — and, master sheriff. 
Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. 

Sher. An't please your grace, here my commis.'^^ion 
And Sir John Stanley is appointed nov,r [stays; 

To take her with him to the Isle of Man. 

Glo. Must you, sir John, protect my lady here ? 

Stan. So am I given in charge, may 't please your 
grace. 

Glo. Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray 
You use her well. The world may laugh again ; 
And I may live to do you kindness, if 
You do it her: and so, sir John, farewell. 

Duch. What ! gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell ? 

Glo. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. 

[Exeunt Gloster and Servants. 

Duch. Art thou gone so ? All comfort go with thce^ 
For none abides with me : my joy is deatii ; 
Death, at wliose name I oft have been afear'd, 
Because I wislrd this world's eternity. — 
Stanley, I pr'yfhee, go, and take me hence ; 
I care not whither, for I beg no favour. 
Only convey mc wlierc thou art commanded. 



1 Pome moJ. eds. add : " as Bevis. of Southampton, fell upon Ascapnrt," from the old play of the " First Part of the Contention," on 
■wliich the present drama w-as founded. - Scarcely, not easily. ' JIalicious. 



466 



SECOND PART OF 



ACT III. 



Stan. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man ■ 
There to be us'd according to your state. 

Duch. That 's bad enougli, for I am but reproach : 
And shall I. then, be us'd reproachfully ? 

Stan. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's lady : 
According to that state you shall be used. 

Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, 
Although thou hast been conduct of my shame ! 

Sher. It is my office • and, madam, pardon me. 



Buck. Ay, ay. farewell : thy office is discharg'd. — 
Come. Stanley, shall we go ? 

Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, 
And go we to attire you for our journey. 

Duch. My shame will not be shifted with my sheet : 
No, it will hang upon my richest robes, 
And show itself, attire me how I can. 



Go, lead the way : I long to see my prison. 



\Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— The Abbey at Bury. 
A Sennet.^ Enter to the Parliament, King Henry, 

Qtiecn Margaret, Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, 

York, Buckingham, and others. 

K. Hen. I muse, my lord of Gloster is not come: 
"T is not his wont to be the hindmost man. 
Whate'cr occasion keeps him from us now'. 

Q. Mar. Can you not see, or will you not observe 
The strangeness of his alter'd countenance ? 
With what a majesty he bears himself; 
How insolent of late he is become. 
How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself ? 
We know the time since he was mild and afiable ; 
And if we did but glance a far-off look, 
Immediately he was upon his knee, 
That all the court admir'd him for submission : 
But meet him now, and, be it in the morn. 
When every one will give the time of day, 
He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye, 
And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, 
Disdaining duty that to us belongs. 
Small curs are not regarded when they grin. 
But great men tremble when the lion roars ; 
And Humphrey is no little man in England. 
First note, that he is near you in descent. 
And should you fall, he is the next will mount. 
Me seemeth, then, it is no policy. 
Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears, 
And liis advantage following your decease, 
That he should come about your royal person. 
Or be admitted to your highness' council. 
By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts, 
And, when he please to make commotion, 
'T is to be fear'd, they all will follow him. 
Now 't is the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted : 
Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden. 
And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. 
The reverend care I bear unto my lord 
Made me collect these dangers in the duke. 
If it be fond,^ call it a woman's fear ; 
Which fear if better reasons can supplant, 
I will subscribe and say, I wrong'd the duke. 
My lords of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, 
Reprove my allegations if you can. 
Or else conclude my words effectual. 

Suf. Well hath your highness seen into this duke ; 
And had I first been put to speak my mind, 
I think, I should have told your grace's tale. 
The duchess by his subornation, 
Upon my life, began her devilish practices : 
Or if he were not privy to those faults. 
Yet, by reputing of his high descent, 
As next the king he was siiccessive heir. 



And sixch high vaunts of his nobility. 
Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess. 
By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. 
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep, 
And in his simple show he harbours treason. 
The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb : 
No, no. my sovereign ; Glcster is a man 
Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit. 

Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law, 
Devise strange deaths for small offences done ? 

York. And did he not, in his protectorship. 
Levy great sums of money through the realm 
For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it ? 
By means whereof the towns each day revolted. 

Buck. Tut ! these are petty faults to faults unknown. 
Which time will bring to light in smooth duke Hum- 
phrey. 

K. Hen. My lords, at once : the care you have of us, 
To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot. 
Is worthy praise ; but shall I speak my conscience ? 
Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent 
From meaning treason to our royal person. 
As is the sucking lamb, or harmless dove. 
The duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given. 
To dream on evil, or to work my downfall. 

Q. Mar. Ah ! what 's more dangerous than this fond 
affiance ? 
Seems he a dove ? his feathers are but borrow'd, 
For he 's disposed as the hateful raven. 
Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him, 
For he 's inclin'd as is the ravenous wolf,^ 
Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit ? 
Take heed, my lord ; the welfare of us all 
Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. 
Enter Somerset. 

Som. All health unto my gracious sovereign ! 

K. Hen. Welcome, lord Somerset. What 's the news 
from France ? 

Som. That all your interest in those territories 
Is utterly bereft you : all is lost. 

K. Hen. Cold news, lord Somerset ; but God's will 
be done. 

York. Cold news for me ; for I had hope of France, 

[Aside. 
As firmly as I hope for fertile England. 
Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, 
And caterpillars eat my leaves away ; 
But I will remedy this gear* ere long, 
Or sell my title for a glorious grave. 
Enter Gloster. 

Glo. All happiness unto my lord the king ! 
Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long. 

Suf. Nay, Gloster. know, that thou art come too soon, 
Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art. 



> Sounding of trumpets. " Foolish. 3 Folio : are— wolves. * Affair. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY YI. 



46T 



I do arrest thee of high treason here. 

Gh. Well, Suffolk, yet Hhou shalt not see me blush. 
Nor change my countenance for this arrest : 
A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. 
The purest spring is not so free from mud, 
As I am clear from treason to my sovereign. 
Who can accuse me ? wherein am I guilty ? 

York. 'T is thought, my lord, that you took bribes of 
France. 
And, being protector, stay'd the soldier's pay ; 
By means whereof liis highness hath lost France. 

Glo. Is it but thought so? What are they that 
think it ? 
I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, 
Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. 
So help me God, as I have watch'd the night. 
Ay, night by night, in studying good for England. 
That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, 
Or any groat I hoarded to my use, 
Be brought against me at my trial day. 
No : many a pound of mine own proper store. 
Because I would not tax the needy commons. 
Have I disbursed to the garrisons, 
And never ask'd for restitution. 

Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. 

Glo. I say no more than truth, so help me God ! 

York. In your protectorship you did devise 
Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of, 
That England was defam'd by tyranny. 

Glo. Why, 't is well known that, whiles I was 
protector. 
Pity was all the fault that was in me ; 
For I should melt at an offender's tears, 
And lowl)^ words were ransom for their fault : 
Unless it were a bloody murderer, 
Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers, 
I never gave them condign punishment. 
Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd 
Above the felon, or what trespass else. 

Svf. My lord, these faults are easily, quickly an- 
swer'd ; 
But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge. 
Wlicreof you cannot easily purge yourself. 
I do arrest you in his highness' name ; 
And here commit you to my lord cardinal 
To keep, until your farther time of trial. 

K. Hen. My lord of Gloster, 't is my special hope, 
That you will clear yourself from all .suspect^ : 
]\Iy conscience tells me you are innocent. 

Glo. Ah, gracious lord ! these days are dangerous : 
Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition, 
And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand ; 
Foul subornation is predominant, 
And equity exil'd your highness' land. 
I know, (heir coinplot is to have my life ; 
And if my death might make this island happy, 
And prove the period of their tyranny, 
I would expend it with all willingness ; 
But mine is made the prologue to their play, 
For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, 
Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. 
Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, 
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate ; 
Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue 
The envious load that lies upon his heart ; 
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, 
Whose overweening arm [ have pluck'd back, 
By false accuse doth level at my life. — 
And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, 



Causeless have laid disgraces on my head, 
And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up 
My liefest-" liege to be mine enemy. — 
Ay, all of you have laid your lieads together : 
Myself had notice of your conventicles. 
And all to make away my guiltless life. 
I shall not want false witness to condemn me, 
Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt ; 
The ancient proverb will be well effected, — 
A staff is quickly found to beat a dog. 

Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable. 
If those that care to keep your royal person 
From treason's secret knife, and traitor's rage, 
Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at. 
And the offender granted scope of speech, 
"T will make them cool in zeal unto your grace. 

Stif. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady, here, 
With ignominious words, though clerkly coueh'd, 
As if she had suborned some to swear 
False allegations to o'erthrow his state ? 

Q. Mar. But I can give the loser leave to chide. 

Glo. Far truer spoke, than meant: I lose, indeed. 
Beshrew the winners, for they played me false ; 
And well such losers may have leave to speak. 

Buck. He '11 "WTest the sense, and hold us here all 
day. — 
Lord Cardinal, he is your prisoner. 

Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure. 

Glo. Ah ! thus king Henry throws away his crutch. 
Before his legs be firm to bear his body : 
Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side. 
And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. 
Ah, that my fear were false ! ah, that it were ! 
For, good king Henry, thy decay I fear. 

[Exeunt Attendants with Gloster. 

K. Hen. My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best, 



Do, or undo, as if ourself were here. 



[Rising.^ 



Q. Mar. What ! will your highness lea.ve the par- 
liament? 
IC. Hen. Ay, Margaret, my heart is drown'd with 
grief. 
Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes ; 
My body round engirt with misery. 
For what 's more miserable than discontent ? 
Ah, uncle Humphrey ! in thy face I see 
The map of honour, truth, and loyalty; 
And yet. good Hmnphrey, is the hour to come, 
That e'er I prov'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith. 
W^hat lowering star now envies thy estate, 
That these great lords, and Margaret our queen, 
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life ? 
Tliou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong : 
And as the butcher takes away the calf. 
And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays. 
Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house ; 
Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence : 
And as the dam runs lowing up and down, 
Looking the way her harmless young one went. 
And can do nought but wail her darling's loss; 
Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case. 
With sad unhelpful tears : and with dimm'd eyes 
Look after him, and cannot do him good. 
So mighty arc his vowed enemies. 
His fortunes I will weep ; and 'twixt each groan, 
Say — " Who 's a traitor ? Gloster he is none." [Exit. 
Q. Mar. Fair lords, cold snow melts with the sun's 
hot beams. 
Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, 
Too full of foolish pity ; and Gloster's show 



1 From the second folio. ^ suspense : in f. e. ' Dearest. * Not in f. e. 



468 



SECOND PART OF 



ACT III. 



Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile 
With sorrow snares relenting passengers ; 
Or as the snake, rollM in a flowering bank, 
With shining chequer'd slough, doth sting a child. 
That for the beauty thinks it excellent. 
Believe me, lords, Avero none more wise than I, 
(And yet herein [ judge mine own wit good) 
This Gloster should be quickly rid the world, 
To rid us from the fear we haA^e of him. 

Car. That he should die is worthy policy, 
But yet wo want a colour for his death : 
'T is meet he be condemn'd by course of law. 

Sitf. But, in my mind that were no policy: 
The king will labour still to save his life ; 
The commons haply rise to saA^e his life : 
As yet AA'c have but trivial argument. 
More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death. 

York. So that, by this, you Avould not have him die. 

Svf. Ah ! York, no man aliA'e so fain as I. 

York. 'T is York that hath most reason for his 
death. — 
But, my lord cardinal, and you, lord Suffolk, 
Say, as you think, and speak it from your souls, 
Wer 't not all one an empty eagle were set 
To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, 
As place duke Humphrey for the kind's protector? 

Q. Mar. So the poor chicken should be sure of death. 

Suf. Madam, ' t is true : and Aver 't not madness, 
then. 
To make the fox surA'eyor of the fold ? 
Who, being accus'd a crafty murderer, 
His guilt should be but idly posted over, 
Because his purpose is not executed ? 
No ; let him die. in that he is a fox, 
By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock. 
Before his chaps be stain'd Avith crimson blood. 
As Humphrey's proA-'d by reasons to my liege. 
And do not stand on quillets how to slay him : 
Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty 
Sleeping, or Avaking, 't is no matter hoAA-, 
So he be dead : for that is good deceit 
Which mates' him first, that first intends deceit. 

Q. Mar. Thrice noble Suffolk, resolutely spoke. 

Suf. Not resolute, except so much were done, 
For things are often spoke, and seldom meant ; 
But, that my heart accordeth Avith my tongue. — 
Seeing the deed is meritorious. 
And to preserve my sovereign from his foe. — 
Say but the AA'ord, and I will be his priest. 

Car. But I Avould have him dead, my lord of Suffolk, 
Ere you can take due order for a priest. 
Say, you consent, and censure well the deed, 
And I '11 provide his executioner : 
I tender so the safety of my liege. 

Suf. Here is my hand ; the deed is AA-orthy doing. 
Q. Mar. And so say I. 

York. And I : and uoaa- avc three have spoke it, 
It skills^ not greatly AAiio impugns our doom. 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain, 
To signify that rebels there are up, 
And put the Englishmen unto the SAvord. 
Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime. 
Before the AA'ound do grow incurable ; 
For, being green, there is great hope of help. 

Car. A breach that craA'cs a quick expedient' stop. 
What counsel giA'c you in this weighty cause ? 

York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither. 
'T is meet that lucky ruler be employ'd ; 

^Destroys, confmtnds. ^Matters. ^Expeditious. * yoiirish. 



Witness tlie fortune he hath had in France. 

Som. If York, Avith all his far-fet policy, 
Had been the regent there instead of me. 
He never would haA^e stay'd in France so long. 

York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done. 
I rather would have lost my life betimes. 
Than bring a burden of dishonour home. 
By staying there so long, till all Avcre lost. 
Show me one scar character'd on thy skin : 
Men's flesh preserv'd so Avhole do seldom AA"in. 

Q. Mar. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging 
fire. 
If Avind and fuel be brought to feed it AA'ith. — 
No more, good York ; — sweet Somerset, bo still : — 
Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent therCj 
Miaht happily liaA^e prov'd far worse than his.- 

York. What. AA^orse than nought ? nay. then a 
shame take all. 

Som. And, in the number, thee, that Avishest shame. 

Car. My lord of York, try AA'hat your fortune is. 
The uncivil kernes of Ireland are in arms, 
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen : 
To Ireland Avill you lead a band of men. 
Collected choicely, from each county some, 
And try your hap against the Irishmen ? 

York. I Avill. my lord, so please his majesty. 

Suf. Why our authority is his consent. 
And what we do establish, he confirms : 
Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. 

York. I am content. ProAqde nic soldiers, lords. 
Whiles I take order for mine OAvn 'alfairs. 

Suf. A charge, lord York, that t Avill see perform'd. 
But now return we to the false duke Humphrey. 

Car. No more of him ; for I Avill deal Avith him, 
That henceforth, he shall trouble us no more : 
And so break oft'; the day is almost spent. 
Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. 

York. My lord of Suffolk. Avithin fourteen days, 
At Bristol I expect my soldiers. 
For there I '11 ship them all for Ireland. 

Suf. I '11 see it truly done, my lord of York. 

[fJxeunt all hid York. 

York. NoAv, Y'ork, or ncA'cr, steel thy I'eari'ul thoughts, 
And change misdoubt to resolution : 
Be that thou hop'st to be, or Avhat thou art 
Resign to death ; it is not worth the enjoying. 
Let palc-fac'd fear keep Avith the mean-born man, 
And find no harbour in a royal heart. 
Faster than spring-lime shoAA'ers comes thought on 

thought, 
And not a thought but thinks on dignity. 
My brain, more busy than the labouring spider, 
WeaA'cs tedious snares to trap mine enemies. 
Well, nobles, Avell ; 't is politicly done. 
To send me packing with an host of men : 
I fear me you but Avarm the starA'cd snake. 
Who. eherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts- 
'T AA-as men I lack'd, and you Avill give them me: 
I take it kindly ; yet, be Avell assur'd. 
You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. 
Whiles I in Ireland march* a mighty band, 
I Avill stir up in England some black storm. 
Shall bloAV ten thousand souls to heaven, or hell; 
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage 
Until the golden circuit on my head, 
Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams, 
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaAV.' 
And, for a minister of my intent, 
I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentishman, 

' Sudden gust of wind. 



SCENE n. 



KING HENRY VI. 



4G9 



John Cade of Asliford, 

To make commotion, as full well he can, 

Under the title of John Mortimer. 

In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade 

Oppose himself against a troop of kernes : 

And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts 

Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine : 

And. in the end being rescu'd, I have seen 

Him caper upright, like a wild Morisco^. 

Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells. 

Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kerne, 

Hath he conversed with the enemy. 

And undiscover'd come to me again, 

And given me notice of their villainies. 

This devil here shall be my substitute ; 

For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, 

In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble : 

By this I shall perceive the commons' mind. 

How they affect the house and claim of York. 

Say, he be taken, raek'd, and tortured, 

I know, no ]xiin they can inflict upon liim 

Will make him say I mov'd him to those arms. 

Say, that he thrive, as 't is great like he will. 

Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength, 

And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd ; 

For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be. 

And Henry put apart, then next for me. \Ilxit. 

SCENE II.— Bury. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter certain Murderers^ running over the Stage.^ 

1 3Iur. Run to my lord of Suffolk ; let him know, 
We have despatch'd the duke, as he commanded. 

2 iilur. 0, that it were to do ! — What have we done ? 
Didst ever hear a man so penitent? 

1 Mur. Here comes my lord. 

filter Suffolk. 

Svf. Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing? 

1 Mur. Ay, my good lord, he 's dead. 

Svf. Why, that 's well said. Go, get you to my house ; 
I will reward you for this venturous deed. 
The king and all the peers are here at hand. 
Have you laid fair the bed ? are all things well. 
According as I gave directions? 

1 Mur. 'T is, my good lord. 

Suf. Away ! be gone. [Exeunt Murderers. 

Sound Trumpets. Enter King Hemiy, Queen Mar 



CARET, Cardinal Beaufort, 



King Henry, 

Somerset, Lords and 



others. 

K. lien. Go, call our uncle to our presence straight : 
Say, we intend to try his grace to-day, 
If he be guilty, as 'tis published. 

Suf. I '11 call him presently, my noble lord. [Exit. 

K. Hen. Lords, take your places ; and, I pray you all, 
Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster, 
Than from true evidence, of good esteem. 
He be a]iprov'd in practice culpable. 

Q. jSlar. God forbid any malice should prevail, 
Tiiat faultless may condemn a noble man ! 
Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion ! 

K. Hen. I thank thee, Meg ; these words content 
me much. — 

Re-enter Suffolk. 
How now ! why look'st thou pale ? why tremblest thou ? 
Where is our uncle? what's tlie matter, SafTolk ? 

Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord ; Gloster is dead. 

Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend ! 

Car. God's secret judgment ! — I did dream to-night, 
The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. 

[The King swoons. 

1 Morris-dancer. * Murderers, hastily : in f. e. ^ Not in folios. 



Q. Mar. How fares my lord ? — Help, lords ! the 

king is dead. 
Som. Rear up his body: wring him by the nose. 
Q. Mar. Faui, go ; help, help ! — 0, Hcniy. ope thine 



eves , 



Suf. He doth revive again. — j\Iadam, be patient. 

K. Hen. heavenly God ! 

Q. M'lr. How fares my gracious lord ? 

Suf. Comfort, my sovereign ! gracious Henry, com- 
fort ! 

K. Hen. What ! doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me ? 
Came he right now to sing a raven's note. 
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers. 
And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren, 
By crying comfort from a hollow breast. 
Can chase away the first-conceiA'cd sound? 
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words. 
Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say : 
Their touch afl\-ights me as a serpent's sting. 
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight ! 
Upon thine eye-balls nuirderous tyranny 
Sits in grim majesty to fright the world. 
Look not upon mc, for thine eyes arc wounding. — 
Yet do not go away : — come. iDasilisk, 
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight ; 
For in the shade of death I shall find joy, 
In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead. 

Q. Mar. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus ? 
Although the duke was enemy to him. 
Yet he, most Christian-lil^e, laments his death : 
And for myself, foe as he was to me. 
Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans, 
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life, 
I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans. 
Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs, 
And all to ha,ve the noble duke alive. 
What know I how the world may deem of me? 
For it is known, we were but hollow friends; 
It may be judg'd, I made the duke away : 
So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded, 
And princes' courts be fiU'd with my reproach. 
This get I by his death. Ah me, unhappy, 
To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy ! 

A'. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man ! 

Q. Mar. Be woe for me. more wretched than he is. 
What ! dost thou turn away, and hide tliy face ? 
I am no loathsome leper ! look on me. 
What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf? 
Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen. 
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb ? 
Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy : 
Erect his statue, then^, and worship it. 
And make my image but an alehouse sign. 
Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea, 
And twice by awkward wind from England's bank 
Drove back again unto my native clime? 
What boded this, but well-forewarning wind 
Did seem to say, — Seek not a scorpion's nest, 
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore. 
What did I then, but eurs'd th' ungentle* gusts, 
And he that loos"d them from their brazen caves ; 
And bade them blow towards Enuland"s blessed shore, 
Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock. 
Yet yEolus would not be a murderer, 
But left that hateful oflice unto thee : 
The pretty vaulting sea refus"d to drown me. 
Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore, 
With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness: 
The splitting rocks cower'd iu the sinking sands, 

•• tiie gentle : in f. e. 



4Y0 



SECOND PART OF 



ACT III. 



And would not dash me with their ragged sides, 
Because thy flinty lieart, more hard than they, 
Might in thy palace perish Margaret. 
As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs. 
When from the shore the tempest beat us back, 
I stood upon the hatelics in the storm; 
And when the dusky sky began to i"ob 
My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, 
I took a costly jewel from my neck, — 
A heart it was. bound in with diamonds, — 
And threw it towards thy land. The sea receiv'd it. 
And so I wish'd thy body might my heart : 
And even with this I lost fair England's view, 
And bade mine eyes be packing with my heai't, 
And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles. 
For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. 
How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue 
(The agent of the foul incon.-tancy) 
To sit and witch^ mo, as Ascanius did, 
When he to madding Dido would unfold 
His father's acts, connnenc'd in burning Troy? 
Am I not witch'd like her, or thou not false like him? 
Ah me ! I can no more. Die, Margaret, 
For Henry weeps that thou do.^t live so long. 
Noise li'ithin. Enter Warwick and Salisbury. The 
Commons press to the dour. 

War. It is reported, mighty sovereign, 
That good duke Humidirey traitorously is murder'd 
By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means. 
The commons, like an angry hive of bees 
That want their leader, scatter up and down. 
And care not who they sting in his revenge. 
Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny, 
Until they hear the order of his death. 

K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 't is too true ; 
But how he died, God knows, not Henry. 
Enter his chamber, view his breatliless corpse, 
And comment tlien upon his sudden deatli. 

War. That I shall do. my liege. — Stay, Salisbury, 
With the rude multitude, till I return. 
» [Warwick goes into an inner Room, and 

Salisbury retires. 

K. Hen. thou that judgest all things, stay my 
thoughts ! 
My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul, 
Some violent hands were laid on Humplu'ey's life. 
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God, 
For judgment only doth belong to thee. 
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips 
With twenty thousand kisses, and to rain' 
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears, 
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk. 
And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling ; 
But all in vain are these mean obsequies, 
And to survey his dead and earthy image. 
What were it but to make my sorrow greater ? 
The Doors of an inner Chamber are thrown open., and 

Gloster is discovered dead in his Bed ; Warwick 

and others standing by it. 

War. Come hither, gracious sovereign ; view this 
body. 

K. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is made ; 
For with his soul fled all my worldly solace, 
And, seeing him, I see my life in death. 

War. As surely as my soul intends to live 
With that dread King, that took our state upon him 
To free us from his Father's wrathful curse, 
I do believe that violent hands were laid 
Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. 

1 •watch : in folio. 2 drain : in f. e. 



Svf. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue ! 
What instance gives lord Warwick for his vow ? 

War. See, how the blood is settled in his face. 
Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, 
Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless. 
Being all descended to the labouring heart ; 
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death. 
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy : 
Which with the heart there cools, and ne"er returneth 
To blush and beautify the check again. 
But see, his face is black, and full of blood ; 
His eye-balls farther out than when he liv'd. 
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man : 
His hair uprcar'd, his nostrils .stretch'd with struggling; 
His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd, 
And tugg"d for life, and was by strength subdtied. 
Look on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking ; 
His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged, 
Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd. 
It cannot be but he was murder'd here ; 
The least of all these signs were probable. 

Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to 
death ? 
Myself, and Beaufort, had him in protection, 
And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. 

War. But both of you were vow'd duke Humphrey's 
foes. 
And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep : 
'T is like, you would not feast him like a friend, 
And 't is well seen he found an enemy. 

Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen 
As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death. 

War. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding fresh. 
And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, 
But will suspect 't was he that made the slaughter ? 
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest. 
But may imagine how the bird was dead. 
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak ? 
Even so suspicious is this tragedy. 

Q. Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk ? where 's your 
knife ? 
Is Beaufort term'd a kite ? where arc his talons ? 

Svf. I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men ; 
But here 's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease. 
That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart. 
That slanders me with murder's crimson badge. — 
Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshire, 
That I am faulty in duke Humphrey's death. 

\Excvnt Cardinal. SoM., and others. 

War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare 
him ? 

Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit, 
Nor cease to bo an arrogant controller. 
Though Suffolk dares him twenty thousand times. 

War. Madam, be still, with reverence may I say ; 
For every word you speak in his behalf 
Is slander to your royal dignity. 

Svf. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour, 
If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much, 
Thy mother took into her blameful bed 
Some stern uiitutor'd churl, and noble stock 
Was graft with crab-tree slip ; whose fruit thou aft. 
And never of the Nevils' noble race. 

War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee, 
And I should rob the dcathsman of his fee, 
Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, 
And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, 
I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee 
Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech, 



SCENE II. 



KING HENEY YI. 



471 



And say, it was thy mother that thou meant'st ; 
That thou thyself wast born in bastardy : 
And. alter all this tearful homage done, 
Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell, 
Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men. 

Svf. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood. 
If from this presence thou dar'st go with me. 

War. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence. 
Unworthy though thou art, I '11 cope with thee, 
And do some service to duke Humplirey's ghost. 

[Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick. 

K. Hen. What stronger breast-plate than a heart 
untainted ? 
Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just ; 
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, within. 
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. \A noise 

Q. 3Iar. What noise is this ? 
Re-enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their Weapons 

drawn. 

K. Hen. Why, how now, lords ! your wrathful weap- 
ons drawn 
Here in our presence ! dare you be so bold ? — 
Why, what tumultvxous clamour have we here ? 

.S'(^/. The traitorous Warwick, with the men of Bury, 
Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. 

Noise of a Crowd ivithin. Re-enter Salisbury. 

Sal. Sirs, stand apart ; [Speaking to those within. 
the king shall know your mind. — 
Dread lord, the commons send you word by me, 
Unless lord Sutiblk straight be done to death. 
Or banished fair England's territories. 
They will by violence tear him from your palace, 
And torture him with grievous lingering death. 
They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died ; 
They say, in him they fear your higlmess' death ; 
And mere instinct of love, and loyalty, 
Free from a stubborn opposite intent, 
As being thought to contradict your liking. 
Makes them thus forward in his banishment. 
They say, in care of your most royal person. 
That, if your highness should intend to sleep, 
And charge, that no man should disturb your rest, 
111 pain of your dislike, or pain of death. 
Vet notwitlistanding such a strait edict. 
Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, 
That slily glided towards your majesty. 
It were but necessary you were wak'd ; 
Lest, being suHcr'd in that harmful slumber. 
The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal : 
And tiierefore do they cry, though you forbid. 
That they will guard you, whe'r you will or no, 
From such fell serpents as false Sutfolk is ; 
With whose envenomed and fatal sting. 
Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, 
They say, is shamefully bereft of life. 

Commons. [Jf'ithi)i.] An answer from the king, my 
lord of Salisbury ! 

Saf. "T is like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds. 
Conhl send such message to their sovereign : 
But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, 
To sliow how quaint an orator you are : 
But all the honour Salisbury hath won, 
Is. that lie was the lord ambassador, 
Sent from a sort' of tinkers to the king. 

Commons. \Within.\ An answer from the king, or 
we will all break in ! 



K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me, 
I thank them for their tender loving care. 
And had I not been 'cited so by them. 
Yet did I purpose as they do entreat ; 
For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy 
Mischance vmto my state by Suffolk's means : 
And therefore, by his majesty I swear, 
Whose far unworthy deputy I am. 
He shall not breathe infection in this air 
But three days longer, on the pain of death. [Exit Sal. 

Q. Mar. Henry ! let me plead for gentle Suffolk. 

.K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk. 
No more, I say : if thou dost plead for him. 
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. 
Had I but said, I would have kept my word, 
But, when I swear, it is irrevocable. — 
If after three days' space thou here be'st found 
On any ground that I am ruler of, 
The world shall not be ransom for thy life. — 
Come, Warwick, come ; good Warwick, go with me, 
I have great matters to impart to thee. 

[Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, Lords., fyc. 

Q. Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with you ! 
Heart's discontent, and sour affliction. 
Be playfellows to keep you company. 
There 's two of you ; the devil make a third. 
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps ! 

Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations, 
And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. 

Q. Mar. Fie, coward woman, and soft-hearted 
■WTctch ! 
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy ? 

Suf. A plague upon them ! wherefore should I curse 
them ? 
Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,^ 
I would invent as bitter-searching terms. 
As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, 
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, 
With full as many signs of deadly hate. 
As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave. 
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words ; 
jNline eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint ; 
My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract ; 
Ay, every joint should seem to cur.se and ban : 
And even now my burden'd heart would break, 
Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink ! 
Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste ! 
Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees ! 
Their chiefest prospect, mvirdering basilisks ! 
Their softest touch, as sharp' as lizard's stings ! 
Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss. 
And boding screech-owls make the concert full ! 
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell — 

Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk : thou torment'st 
thyself; 
And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass, 
Or like an overcharged gun, recoil. 
And turn the force of them upon thyself. 

Svf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave ? 
NoWj by the ground that I am banish'd from, 
Well could I curse away a winter's night. 
Though standing naked on a mountain top, 
Where biting cold would never let grass grow, 
And think it but a minute spent in sport. 

Q. Mar. ! let me entreat thee, cease. Give me 
thy hand, 



' Company. = "Thoy do affyrme that thi.s herbe cometh of the sped of some convicted dead men, and also without the death of some 
lyvinee tliinse. it cannot be drawen out of the earth to man'.s use. Therefore, they did tye .some dopRe or other lyvinfje beaste unto the 
roote thereof with a corde. and dicped the earth in compa-sse round about, and in the rneantyme stopped their own earcs for feare ot the terri- 
ble shriek and cry of this Mnndrnrk In which cry it doth not only die itselfe, but the feare thereof killeth the doRRe or beast which pulleth 
it out of the earth.''— i>K««i««'5 ^•JGiiltvarke of Defence against ISirkness" : folio, 1579 ; quoted by Reed. 3 smart : in f. e. 



472 



SECOND PAET OF 



ACT III. 



That I may dew it with my mournful tears ; 
Nor let the rain of heaven wot this place, 
To wash away my woeful monuments. 

! could this kiss be printed in thy hand, 
That thou might'st think upon these by the seal, 
Through whom a thousand sighs are brcath'd for thee. 
So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; 

'T is but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by. 
As one that surfeits, thinking on a want. 

1 will repeal thee, or, be well assur'd, 
Adventure to be banished myself ; 
And banished I am, if but from thee. 

Go ; speak not to me : even now be gone. — 

! go not yet. — Even thus two friends condemn'd 
Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, 
Leather a hundred times to part than die. 

Yet now farewell ; and farewell life with thee. 
Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished. 
Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee. 
'T is not the land I care for, wert thou thence : 
A wilderncFS is populous enough, 
So Suffolk had thy heavenly company ; 
For where thou art, there is the world itself, 
With every several pleasure in the world, 
And v/'hero thou art not, desolation. 

1 can no more. — Live thou to joy thy life ; 
Myself to^ joy in nought, but that thou liv'st. 

Eiiter Vaux. 

Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast ? what news, I 
pr'ythee ? 

Vatix. To signify unto his majesty. 
That cardinal Beaufort is at point of death; 
For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, 
That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air, 
Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. 
Sometime he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost 
Were by his side ; sometime he calls the king, 
And whispers to his pillow, as to him, 
The secrets of his overcharged soul : 
And I am sent to tell his majesty, 
That even now he cries aloud for him. 

Q. 3Iar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king. 

[Exit Vaux. 
Ah me ! what is this world ? what news are these ? 
But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, 
Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure ? 
Why only, Sulfolk, mourn I not for thee. 
And with the southern clouds contend in tears ? 
Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows. 
Now, get thee hence : the king, thou know'st, is coming : 
If thou be found by me, thou art but dead. 

Svf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live ; 
And in thy sight to die, what were it else, 
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap ? 
Here could I breathe my soul into the air, 
As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe. 
Dying with mother's dug between its lips ; 
Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad, 
And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes. 
To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth : 

1 no : in f. e. ' Not in f. e. 



So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul, 

Or I should breathe it so into thy body, 

And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium. 

To die by thee, were but to die in jest : 

From thee to die, were torture more than death. 

! let me stay, befal what may befal. 

Q. Mar. Away ! though parting be a fretful corro- 
sive. 
It is applied to a.deathful wound. 
To France, sweet Suffolk : let me hear from thee ; 
For wheresoe'r thou art in this world's globe, 

1 '11 have an Iris that shall find thee out. 

Svf. I go. 

Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee. 

Suf. A jewel, lock'd into the woeful'st casket 
That ever did contain a thing of worth. ^ 

Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we : 
This way fall I to death. 

Q. Mar. This way for me. 

{Exeunt^ severally. 

SCENE III. — London. Cardinal Beaufort's Bed- 

, chamber. 

Enter King Henry, Salisbury, Warwick, and others. 
The Cardinal in bed; Attendants with him. 
K. Hen. How fares my lord ? speak, Beaufort, to thy 

king. 
Car. If thou be'st death, I '11 give thee England's 
treasure. 
Enough to purchase such another island, 
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. 

A'. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life. 
Where death's approach is seen so terrible ! 

War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. 
Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. 
Died he not in his bed ? where should he die ? 
Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no ? — 

! torture me no more, I will confess. — 
Alive again? then show me where he is : 

1 '11 give a thousand pound to look upon him. — 
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. — 
Comb down his hair : look ! look ! it stands upright, 
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul. — 
Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary 
Bring the .strong poison that I bought of him. 

K. Hen 0, thou eternal mover of the heavens, 
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch ! 
! beat away the busy meddling fiend. 
That lays strong siege unto this vrretch's soul, 
And from his bosom purge this black despair. 

V/ar. See, how the pangs of death do make him grin. 

Sal. Disturb him not ; let him pass peaceably. 

K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if 't God's good pleasure be. 
Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss. 
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. — Car. dics.'^ 
He dies, and makes no sign. — God, forgive him ! 

War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. 

K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. — 
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close. 
And let us all to meditation. [Exeunt. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY VI. 



473 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— Kent. The Sea-shore near Dover. 
Firing heard at Sea. Then enter from a Boat, a Cap- 
tain, a Master, a Master's- Mate, Walter Whit- 
more, and others; icilh them Suffolk, disguised; 
and other Gentlemen, jjrisoners. 
Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day- 
Is crept into the bosom of the sea, 
And now loud-howling wolve.? arouse the jades 
That drag the tragic melancholy night ; 
Who with their droAvsy, slow, and flagging wings 
Clip' dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws 
B"eatho foul contagious darkness in the air. 
Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize 3 
For whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs. 
Here shall they make their ransom on the sand. 
Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore. — 
Master, this prisoner freely give I thee ; — 
And, thou that art his mate, make boot of tliis ; — 
The other, [Pointing to Hvffoi.k,] Walter Whitmore, 
is thy share. 
1 Gent. What is my ransom, master ? let me know. 
3Iast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your 

head. 
Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours. 
Cap. What ! think you much to pay two thousand 
crowns, 
And bear the name and port of gentlemen ? — 
Cut both the villains' throats! — for die you shall: 
Can^ lives of those which we have lost in fight, 
Bo counterpois'd with such a petty sum ? 

1 Gent. I '11 give it, sir ; and therefore spare my life. 

2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it straight. 
IVhit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, 

And. therefore, to revenge it shalt thou die ; [To Suf. 
And so should these, if I might have my will. 

Cap. Be not so rash : take ransom ; let him live. 

Siif. Look on my George : I am a gentleman. 
Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. 

Whit. And so am I ; my name is Walter Whitmore. 
How now ! why start'st thou ? what, doth death atfright ? 

Snf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death. 
A cunning man did calculate my birth. 
And told me that by water I should die : 
Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded ; 
Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded. 

iVhit. Gaultier, or Walter, which it is, I care not: 
Never yet did base dishonour blur our name, 
But with our sword Ave wip'd away the blot : 
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge. 
Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd, 
And I proclaim'd a coward through the world ! 

[Lays hold on Suffolk. 

Suf. Stay, Whitmore : for thy prisoner is a prince, 
The duke of Suflblk, William de la Poole. 

Whit. The duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags ! 

Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke : 
Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I ?^ 

Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. 

Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's blood, 
The honourable blood of Lancaster, 
Must not be shed by sueli a jaded groom. 
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup ? 



Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule, 
And thought thee happy when I shook my head ? 
How often liast tliou waited at my cup, 
Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, 
When I liavc feasted with queen Margaret? 
Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall'n ; 
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride. 
How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood. 
And duly waited for my coming forth. 
This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf. 
And Iherelbre shall it charm thy riotous tongue. 

Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the foul-tongu'd 
slave?" 

Cap. Fn-st let my words stab him, as he hath me. 

Suf. Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou. 

Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long boat's side 
Strike off his head. 

Suf. Thou dar'st not for thy own. 

Cap. Yes. Poole. ^ 

Suf. ' Poole ? 

Cap. Poole, Sir Poole, loi'd? 

Ay, kennel, puddle, sink ; whose filth and dirt 
Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. 
Now, will I dam up this thy yawning mouth. 
For swallowing the treasure of the realm : 
Tliy lips, tliat kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground ; 
And thou, that smil'st at good duke Humphrey's death, 
Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, 
Who in contempt shall liiss at thee again: 
And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, 
For daring to affy a mighty lord 
Unto the daughter of a worthless king. 
Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. 
By devilish policy art thou grown great. 
And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd 
With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. 
By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France: 
The false revolting Normans thorough thee 
DLsdain to call us lord; and Picardy 
Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts. 
And sent the ragged soldiers wounded liome. 
The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all. 
Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, 
As hating thee, are rising up in arms : 
And now the house of York — thrust from the crowni, 
By shameful murder of a guiltless king. 
And lofty, proud, encroaching tyranny, — 
Burns with revenging fire ; whose hopeful colours 
Advance our half-fac'd sun, striving to shine,* 
Under the which is writ — Invitis nubibus. 
The commons, here in Kent, are up in arms ; 
And to conclude, reproach, and beggary, 
Arc crept into the palace of our king, 
And all by tliee. — Away! — Convey him hence. 

Suf. 0, that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder 
Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges ! 
Small things make base men proud : this villain, here, 
Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more 
Than Bargulus the strong lllyrian pirate.' 
Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. 
It is impossible, that I .should die 
By such a lowly vassal as thyself. 
Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me : 



»" Embrnre. 2 The : in f. e. 3 This line, not in the foho, is from the old plav of the " Contention." * the forlorn swain : m f. e. 
« These words and tlie following Poole, are from the " Contention." « The device of Edward III., " the rays of the sun dispersing themselves 
out of a cloud." — Camden. ' Bargulus, lUyrius \a.tro.-~Ciceroiiis Officia, Lib. III., c. ii. 



474 



SECOND PAKT OF 



ACT V. 



I go of message from the queen to France ; 

I cliarge thee, waft me safely cross the channel. 

Cap. Walter !— 

Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. 

Siif. Pene gelidus timor occupat artus : — it is thee I 
fear. [thee. 

Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave 
What ! are ye daunted now ? now will ye stoop ? 

1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him ; speak him 
fair. 

Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, 
Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. 
Far be it we should honour such as these 
With humble suit : no, rather let my head 
Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any, 
Save to the God of heaven, and to my king ; 
And sooner dance upon a bloody pole, 
Than stand uncover'd to the \ailgar groom. 
True nobility is exempt from fear : 
More can I bear, than you dare execute. 

Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. 

Svf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can, 
That this my death may never be forgot. — 
Great men oft die by vile bezonians^ : 
A Roman sworder and banditto slave 
Murder'd sweet TuUy ; Brutus' bastai-d hand 
Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders 
Pompey the great, and Suffolk dies by pirates. 

\Exit Suf., u'ith Whit., and others. 

Cap. And as for these whose ransom we have set, 
It is our pleasure one of them depart : 
Therefore, come you with us, and let him go. 

\Exeimt all but the first Gentleman. 
Re-enter Whitmore, with Suffolk's hoily. 

Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie, 
Until the queen, his mistress, bury it. [Exit. 

1 Gent. O, barbarous and bloody spectacle ! 
His body will I bear xmto the king : 
If he revenge it not, yet will his friends : 
So will the queen, that living held him dear. 

[Exit, with the Body. 

SCENE II.— Blackheath. 
Enter George Bevis and John Holland. 

Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a 
lath : they have been up these two days. 

John. They have the more need to sleep now then. 

Geo. I tell thee, Jack Cade, the clothier, means to 
dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new 
nap upon it. 

John. So he had need, for 't is threadbare. Well, I 
say, it was never merry world in England, since gen- 
tlemen came up. 

Geo. miserable age ! Virtue is not regarded in 
handicrafts-men. 

John. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons. 

Geo. Nay more : the king's council are no good work- 
men. 

John. True; and yet it is said. — labour in thy voca- 
tion : which is as much as to say, — let the magistrates 
be labouring men ; and therefore should we be magis- 
trates. 

Geo. Thou hast hit it ; for there 's no better sign of 
a brave mind, than a hard hand. 

John. I see them ! I see them ! There 's Best's son, 
the tanner of Wingham. 

Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemies to make 
dog's leather of. 

John. And Dick, the butcher. 



Geo. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and ini- 
quity's throat cut like a calf. 

John. And Smith, the weaver. 

Geo. Argo. their thread of life is spun. 

John. Come, come; let 's fall in with them. 

Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the Bntcher, Smith the 
Weaver^ ««(/ others in great number'^. 

Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our supposed 
father, — 

Dick. Or rather, of stealing a cade^ of herrings. 

[Aside. 

Cade. — For our enemies shall fall before us, in- 
spired with the spirit of putting down kings and princes. 
— Command silence. [Noise.* 

Dick. Silence ! 

Cade. My father was a Mortimer, — ^ 

Dick. He was an honest man and a good bricklayer. 

[Aside. 

Cade. My motlier a Plantagenet, — 

Dick. I knew her well ; she was a midwife. [Aside. 

Cade. My wife descended of the Lacics. — 

Dick. She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and sold 
many laces. [A.mle. 

Smith. But, now of late, not able to travel with her 
furred pack, she washes bucks here at home. [Aside. 

Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house. 

Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable, and 
there was he born under a hedge; for his father had 
never a house, but the cage. [Aside. 

Cade. Valiant I am. 

Smith. 'A mu.'^t needs, for beggary is valiant. [A-side. 

Cade. I am able to endure much. 

Dick. No question of that, for I have seen him 
whipped three market days together. [Aside. 

Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire. 

Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of 
proof. 

Dick. But, methinks, he should stand in fear of fire, 
being burnt i' the hand for stealing of sheep. [Aside. 

Cade. Be brave then ; for your captain is brave, and 
vows reformation. There shall be in England seven 
half-penny loaves sold for a penny : the three-hooped 
pot shall iiave ten hoops ; and I will make it felony, to 
drink .'^mall beer. All the realm shall be in common, 
and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. And, 
when I am king, (as king I will be) — 

All. God save your majesty ! 

Cade. I thank you, good people : — there shall be no 
money; all shall eat and drink on my score; and I 
will apparel them all in one livery, that they may 
agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. 

Dick. The first thing we do, let 's kill all the lawyers. 

Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lament- 
able thing, that the skin of an innocent lamb should 
be made parchment ? that parchment, being scribbled 
o'er, should undo a man? Some say, the bee stings; 
but I say, 't is the bee's wax, for I did but seal once to 
a thing, and I was never mine owii man since. How 
now ! who 's there ? 

Elder some., bringing in the Clerk of Chatham. 

Smith. The clerk of Chatham: he can write and 
read, and cast accompt. 

Cade. monstrous ! 

Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies. 

Cade. Here 's a villain ! 

Smith. H' as a book in his pocket, with red letters in 't. 

Cade. Nay then, he is a conjurer. 

Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write court- 
hand. 



> A term of contempt. 2 with infinite numbers : in folio. 3 Latin, cadus, a cask. * Not in f. e. 



SCENE IV. 



laNG HENRY YI. 



475 



Cade. I am sorry for 't : the man is a proper man, 
of mine honour ; unless I find him guilty, he shall not 
die. — Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee : what 
is thy name ? 

Clerk. Emmanuel. 

Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters. — 
'T will go hard with you. 

Cade. Let me alone. — Dost thou use to write thy 
name, or hast thou a mark to Ihyself, like an honest 
plain-dealing man ? 

Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought 
up that I can write my name. 

All. He hath confessed : away with him ! he 's a 
villain, and a traitor. 

Cade. Away with liiin, I say ! hang him with his 
pen and ink-horn about his neck. 

\ Exeunt sojne ivith the Clerk. 
Enter Michael. 
■ Mich. Where 's our general ? 

Cade. Here I am, thou pnrticiilar fellow. 

Mich. Fly, fly, fly! sir Humpiircy Stafford and his 
brother are hard by, with the king's forces. 

Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I "11 fell thee dovsai. 
He shall be encountered with a man as good as him- 
self : he is but a knight, is 'a ? 

3Iich. No. 

Cade. To equal him. I will make myself a knight 
presently. [Kneels.] — Rise up sir John Mortimer. 
[Rises.y Now have at him. 

Enter Sir Humphrey Stafford, and William his 
Brother., U'ith Drum and Forces. 

Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, 
Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down: 
Home to j'our cottages, forsake this groom. 
The king is merciful, if you revolt. 

W. Staff. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood, 
If you go forward : therefore yield, or die. 

Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass^ not ; 
It is to you, good people, that I speak, 
Oer whom in time to come I hope to reign; 
For I am rightful heir unto the crown. 

Staf. Villain ! thy father was a plasterer : 
And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not? 

Cade. And Adam was a gardener. 

W. Staff. And what of that? 

Cade. JNIarry, this : — Edmund Mortimer, earl of 
March, 
Married the duke of Clarence's daughter, did he not ? 

Staf. Ay, sir. 

Cade. By her he had two children at one birth. 

W. Staff. That 's false. 

Cade. Ay. there 's the question ; but, I say, 't is true. 
The elder of them, being put to nurse. 
Was by a.bcggar- woman stol'n away ; 
And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, 
Became a bricklayer when he came to age. 
His son am I : deny it, if you can. 

Dick. Nay, "t is too true ; therefore, he shall be king. 

Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, 
and tlie bricks are alive at this day to testify it : there- 
fore, deny it not. 

Staf. And will you credit this base drudge's words, 
That speaks he knows not what? 

All. Ay, marry, will we ; tlierefore, get ye gone. 

W. Staff, .lack Cade, the duke of York hath taught 
you this. 

Cade. He lies, for I invented it myself. [Aside.] — 
Go to, sirrah : tell tlie king from me, that for his 
father's sake, Henry the fifth, in whose time boys went 



to span-counter for French crowns, I am content he 
shall reign ; but I '11 be protector over him. 

Dick. And, furthermore, we '11 have the lord Say's 
head, for selling the dukedom of Maine. 

Cade. And good reason ; for thereby is England 
maimed, and fain to go with a staff, but that my puis- 
sance holds it up. Fellow kings. I tell you that that 
lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth, and made it 
an eunuch ; and more than that, he can speak French, 
and therefore he is a traitor. 

Staf. O, gross and miserable ignorance ! 

Cade. Nay, answer, if you can : the Frenchmen are 
our enemies : go to, then, I ask but this ; can he that 
speaks with the tongue of an enemy be a good coun- 
sellor, or no ? 

All. No, no : and therefore we '11 have his head. 

W. Staff. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail, 
Assail them with the army of the king. 

Staf. Herald, away ; and, throughout every town, 
Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade; 
That those which fly before the battle ends, 
May, even in their wives' and children's sight, 
Be hang'd up for example at their doors. — 
All you, that be the king's friends, follow me. 

[E.rcinit the two Staffords and Forces. 

Cade. And you, that love the commons, follow me. — 
Now show yourselves men ; 't is for liberty. 
We will not leave one lord, one gentleman : 
Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon, 
For they are thrifty honest men, and such 
As would (but that they dare not) take our parts. 

Dick. They are all in order, and march toward us. 

Cade. But then are we in order, when we are most 
out of order. Come : march ! forward ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— Another Part of Blackheath. 

Alarums. The tu'o Parties enter, and fight ^ and both the 
Staffords are slain. 

Cade. Where 's Dick, the butcher of Asliford? 

Dick. Here, sir. 

Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, 
and thou bchavcdst thyself as if thou hadst been in 
thine own slavighter-house : therefore, thus will I re- 
ward thee, — The Lent shall be as long again as it is ; 
and thou shalt have a license^ to kill for a hundred 
years, lacking one. 

Dick. I desire no more. 

Cculc. And, to speak the truth, thou deservest no less. 
This monument of the victory will I bear ; [Putting on 
Stafford's armour,'^] and the bodies shall be dragged 
at my horses' heels, till I do come to London, where we 
will have the mayor's sword borne before us. 

Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, break open 
the jails, and let out the prisoners. 

Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come : let 's 
march towards London. [Exeu7it. 

SCENE IV.— London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter R'ing- Henry, reading a Supjjlication ; the Duke of 

Buckingham, and Lord Say ivith him : at a distance^ 

Queen Margaret mourning over Suffolk's Head. 

Q. Mar. Oft have I heard that grief softens the 

mind, [Aside.^ 

And makes it fearful and degenerate; 

Think, therefore, on revenge, and cease to weep. 

But who can cease to weep, and look on this ? 

Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast; 

But where 's the body that I should embrace ? 



> Not in f. e. 2 Care. ' Butchers -n-ere only allowed to kill in Lent, by special license. * * Not in f. e. 



476 



SECOND PAET OF 



ACT IT, 



Buck. What answer makes your grace to the rebels' 
supplication ? 

K. Hen. I '11 send some holy bishop to entreat ; 
For God forbid, so many simple souls 
Should perish by the sword ! And I myself, 
Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, 
Will parley with Jack Cade their general. — 
But stay, I '11 read it over once again. 

Q- Mar. Ah, barbarous villains ! hath this lovely 
face \Aside.^ 

Rul'd like a wandering planet over me, 
And could it not enforce them to relent, 
That were unworthy to behold the same ? 

K. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have 
thy head. 

Say. Ay, but I hope, your highness shall have his. 

K. Hen. How now, madam ! 
Lamenting still, and mourning Suffolk's death ? 
I fear me, love, if that I had been dead, 
Thou wouldest not liave mouni'd so much for me. 

Q. Mar. No, my love ; I should not mourn, but die 
for thee. 

Enter a Messenger. 

K. Hen. How now ! what nev^s ? why com'st thou 
in such haste? 

Mess. The rebels are in Southwark : fly, my lord ! 
Jack Cade proclaims himself lord Mortimer, 
Descended from the duke of Clarence' house. 
And calls your grace usurper openly, 
And vows to crown himself in Westminster. 
His army is a ragged multitude 
Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless : 
Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death 
Hath given them heart and courage to proceed. 
All scholars, lawyers, courtici's, gentlemen, 
They call false caterpillars, and intend their death. 

K. Hen. O graceless men ! they know not what 
they do. 

Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenilworth^, 
Until a power be rais'd to put them down. 

Q. Mar. Ah ! were the duke of Sviffolk now alive. 
These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd. 

K. Hen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee, 
Therefore away with us to Kenilworth. 

Say. So might your grace's per.¥on be in danger. 
The sight of me is odious in their eyes ; 
And therefore in this city will I stay. 
And live alone as secret as I may. 

Enter another Messenger. 

2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London-bridge : the 
Fly and forsake their houses. [citizens 

The rascal people, thirsting after prey. 
Join with the traitor ; and they jointly swear, 
To spoil the city, and your royal court. 

Buck. Then linger not, my lord : away, take horse. 

K. Hen. Come, Margaret : God. our hope, will suc- 
cour us. 

Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deeeas'd. 

K. Hen. Farewell, my lord ; \To Lord Say.] trust 
not the Kentish rebels. 

Buck. Trust no body, for fear you be betray'd. 

Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence, 
And therefore am I bold and resolute. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— The Same. The Tower. 
Enter Lord Scales, and others, tralking on the Walls. 
Then enter certain Citizens^ below. 
Scales. How now! is Jack Cade slain? 



1 Cit. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain ; for they 
have won the bridge, killing all those that withstand 
them. The lord mayor craves aid of your honour from 
the Tower, to defend the city from the rebels. 

Scales. Such aid as I can spare, you shall command, 
But I am troubled here with them myself: 
The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. 
But get you to Smithfield, and gather head. 
And hither I will send you Matthew Gough. 
Fight Ibr your king, your country, and your lives ; 
And so farewell : rebellion never thrives.^ [Exeunt. 

SCENE VL— The Same. Cannon Street. 

Enter Jack Cade, and his Followers. He strikes his 

Staff on London-.stone. 

Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. <And here, 

sitting upon London-stone, I charge and command, 

that, of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing 

but claret wine this first year of our reign. And now, 

henceforward, it shall be treason for any that calls me 

other than lord Mortimer. 

Enter a Soldier , running. 
Sold. Jack Cade ! Jack Cade ! 

Cade. Knock him dowar there. [They kill him. 

Smith. If this fellow be wise, he '11 never call you 

Jack Cade more : I think, he hath a very fair warning. 

Dick. My lord, there 's an army gathered together 

in Smithfield. 

Cade. Come, then, let 's go fight with them. But, 
first, go and set London-bridge on fire ; and, if you 
can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let 's away. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VH.— The Same. Smithfield. 
Alarum. Enter, on one side, Cade and his Company ; 

on the other, the Citizens, and the King's Forces, 

headed by MkTTHEW GovGH. They fight ; the Citi- 
zens are routed, and Matthew Gough is slain. 

Cade. So, sirs. — Now go some and pull down the 
Savoy ; others to the imis of court : down with them 
all. 

Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship. 

Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that 
word. 

Dick. Only, that the laws of England may come out 
of your mouth. 

John. Mass, 't will be sore law. then ; for he was 
thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 't is not whole 
yet. [Aside. 

Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law; for his 
breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. [Aside. 

Cade. I have thouglit upon it ; it shall be so. Away . 
burn all the records of the realm : my mouth shall be 
the parliament of England. « 

John. Then we are like to have biting statutes, 
unless his teeth be pulled out. [Aside. 

Cade. And henceforward all things shall be in 
common. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize ! here 's the lord Say, 
which sold the towns in France ; he that made us pay 
one and twenty fifteens*, and one shilling to the pound, 
the last subsidy. 

Enter George Bevis, ivith the Lord Say. 

Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. — 
Ah, thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord ! 
now art thou within pcint-blankof our jurisdiction regal. 
What canst thou answer to my majesty, for giving up 



I Not in f. e. 
one-fifteenth. 



2 Folio : Killingworth ; the old pronunciation of the name. 3 Farewell, for I must hence again : in f. e. * A tax of 



SCENE VIII. 



KING IIENEY YI. 



47T 



of Normandy unto monsieur Basimecn, tlie dauphin of 
Fraaice ? Be it known unto tlice by these presents, 
even the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I am the 
besom that must sweep the court cleim of such filth as 
thou art. Thou hast mcst traitorously corrupted the 
youth of the reahn in erecting a grammar-school : and 
whereas, before, our fore-fathers had no other books 
but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing 
to be used; and, contrary to the king, his crown, and 
dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved 
to thy face, that thou hast men about thee, that usually 
talk of a noun, and a verb, and such abominable words 
as no Christian ear can endure to hear. Thou hast 
appointed justices of peace, to call poor men before 
them about matters they were not able to answer: 
moreover, thou hast put them in prison ; and because 
tliey could not read, thou hast hanged them : when, 
indeed, only for that cause they have been most worthy 
to live. Thou dost ride in a foot-cloth, dost thou not? 

Say. What of that ? 

Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse 
Avcar a cloak, when honester men than thou go in their 
hose and doublets. 

Dick. And work in their shirt too ; as myself, for 
example, that am a butcher. 

Say. You men of Kent, — 

Dick. What say you of Kent ? 

Say. Nothing but this : 't is honna terra, mala gens. 

Cade. Away with him ! away with him ! he speaks 
Latin. 

Say. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you 
will. 
Kent, in the commentaries Ca?sar writ. 
Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle: 
Sweet is the country, because full of riches ; 
The people liberal, valiant, active, worthy. 
Which makes me hope you arc not void of pity. 
I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy ; 
Yet, to recover them, would lose my life, 
.lustice with favour have I always donej 
l*i-aycrs and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never. 
When have I aught exacted at your hands, 
Kent, to maintain the king, the realm, and you ? 
Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks, 
Because my book preferr'd me to the king : 
And, seeing ignorance is the curse of God, 
Knowledge the wing Avherewitli we fly to heaven, 
Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits, 
You cannot but forbear to murder me. 
This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings 
For your behoof. — 

Cade. Tut ! when struck'st thou one blow in the 
field ? 

Say. Great men have reaching hands : oft have I 
struck 
Those that I never saw, and struck them dead. 

Geo. monstrous coward ! what, to come behind 
folks? 

Say. These cheeks are pale for watching for your 
good. 

Cade. Give him a box o' the ear, and that will make 
'cm red again. 

Say. Long sitting, to determine poor men's causes, 
Ilaih made me full of sickness and diseases. 

Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle, then, and the 
hclp^ of hatchet. 

Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man ? 

Say. The palsy, and not fear, provoketh me. 



Cade. Nay, he nods at us ; as who should say, I '11 be 
even with you. I 'il see if his head will stand steadier 
on a pole, or no. Take him away, and behead him. 

Say. Tell me, wherein have I offended most ? 
Have I affected wealth, or honour ; speak ? 
Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold? 
Is my apparel sumptuous to behold ? 
; Whom have I injnr'd, that ye seek my death? 
I These hands are free from guiltless blood-sliedding, 
! This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts. 
{ 0, let me live. 

Cade. I feel remorse in myself with his words ; but 
I '11 bridle it : he shall die, an it be but for pleading so 
well for his life. — Away with him ! he has a familiar 
under his tongue : he speaks not o' God's name. Go, 
take him away, 1 say, and strike off his head presently; 
and then break into his son-in-law's house, sir James 
Cromer, and strike off his head, and bring them both 
upon two poles hither. 

All. It shall be done. 

Say. Ah, countrymen ! if when you make your 
prayers, 
God shall be so obdurate as yourselves, 
How would it fare with your departed souls? 
And therefore yet relent, and save my life. 

Cade. Away with him, and do as I command ye. 

[Exeunt some with Lord Say. 
The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head 
on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute : there shall 
not a maid be married, but she .shall pay to me her 
maidenhead, ere they have it. Men shall hold of me 
in capite ; and we charge and command, that their 
wives be as free as heart can wish, or tongue can tell. 

Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Chcapside, and 
take up commodities upon our bills"'' ? 

Cade. Marry, presently. 

All. brave ! 
Re-enter Rebels, inth the Heads of Lord Sat and his 
Son-in-lauK 

Cade. But is not this braver ^ — Let them kiss one 
another, for tiiey loved well, when they were alive. 
[Jotcl them, together.'-'] Now part them again, lest they 
consult about the giving up of some more towns in 
France. Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city until 
niglit ; for with these borne before us, instead of maces, 
will we ride through the streets ; and at every corner 
have them kiss. — Away ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE VIII.— Soufhwark. 
Alartmi. Enter Cade, and all his Rabblement. 

Cade. Up Fish-street ! down Saint Magnus' corner ! 
kill and knock down ! throvv- them into Tliamcs ! — [A 
Parley .sounilcd, then a Retreat.] What noise is this I 
hear ? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat or parley, 
when I command them kill ? 
Enter Buckingham, and Old Clifford, with Forces. 

Buck. Ay, here they be that dare, and will disturb 
thee ; 
Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king 
Unto the commons whom thou hast misled : 
And here pronounce free jiardon to them all. 
That will forsake thee, and go home in peace. 

Clif. What say ye, countrymen ? will ye repent' ? 
And yield to mercy, whilst 't is olfer'd you, 
Or let a rebel' lead you to your deaths ? 
Wlio loves the king, and will embrace his pardon, 
Fling up his cap, and say — God save his majesty ! 
Who hateth him. and honours not his father, 



* Farmer reads : "pap of hatchet," a coUoq^iial phrsu^e of the time. 
' rabble : in f. e. 



2 Weapons, resembling pikes. ^ Not in f. e. * relent: in f. e. 



478 



SECOIN^D PAET OF 



ACT rv. 



Henry the fifth, that made all France to quake, 
Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by. 

AH. God save the king ! God save the king ! 

Cade. What ! Buckingham, and Clifford, are ye so 
brave ? — And you. base peasants, do ye believe him ? 
will you needs be hanged with your pardons about 
your necks ? Hath* my sword therefore broke through 
London Gates, that you sliould leave me at the White 
Hart in Southwark ? I thought ye would never have 
given out these arms, till yovi had recovered your 
ancient freedom ; but you are all recreants, and das- 
tards, and delight to live in slavery to the nobility. 
Let them break your backs with burdens, take your 
houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daugh- 
ters before your faces. For me, — I will make shift for 
one ; and so — God's curse 'light upon you all ! 

All. We '11 follow Cade : we '11 follow Cade. 

Ciif. Is Cade the son of Henry the fifth. 
That thus you do exclaim, you '11 go with him ? 
Will he conduct you through the heart of France, 
And make the meanest of you earls and dukes ? 
Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to ; 
Nor knows he how to live, but by the spoil. 
Unless by robbing of your friends, and us. 
Wer 't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar, 
The fearful French, whom you late vanquished, 
Should make a start o'er seas, and vanquish you ? 
Methinks, already, in this civil broil, 
I see them lording it in London streets. 
Crying — Villageois ! unto all they meet. 
Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry. 
Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy. 
To France, to France ! and get what you have lost : 
Spare England, for it is your native coast. 
Henry hath money, you are strong and manly : 
God on our side, doubt not of victory. 

All. A Cliflbrd ! a Clifford ! we '11 follow the king, 
and Clifford. 

Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro, 
as this multitude? the name of Henry the fifth hales 
them to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them leave 
me desolate. I see them lay their heads together, to 
surprise me : my sword, make way for me, for here is 
no staying. — In despite of the devils and hell, have 
through the very midst of you ; and heavens and 
honour be witness, that no want of resolution in me, 
but only my followers' base and ignominious treasons, 
makes mo betake me to my heels. [Exit. 

Bvck. What ! is he fled ? go some, and follow him ; 
And he, that brings his head unto the king, 
Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. 

[Exeunt some of them. 



Follow me, soldiers : we '11 devise a mean 



[Exeunt. 



To reconcile you all unto the king. 

SCENE IX.— Kenilworth Castle. 
Sound trumpets. Enter King He^irYj Queen Margaret, 
and So.MERSET, on the Terrace of the Castle. 
K. Hen. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne, 
And could command no more content than I? 
No sooner was I crept out of my cradle, 
But I was made a king, at nine months old : 
Was never subject long'd to be a king, 
As I do long and wish to be a subject. 

Enter Buckingham and Clifford. 
Buck. Health, and glad tidings, to your majesty ! 



K. Hen. Why, 
surpris'd? 



Buckingham, is the traitor, Cade, 



Or is he but retir'd to make him strong ? 
Enter, below, a number o/ Cade's Followers, with Halters 
about their A'^ecks. 

Clif. He 's fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield. 
And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, 
Expect your highness' doom, of life, or death. 

A'. Hen. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates, 
To entertain my vows of thanks and praise ! — 
Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives, 
And show'd how well you love your prince and country : 
Continue still in this so good a mind, 
And Henry, though he be infortunate, 
Assure yourselves, will never be unkind : 
And so, with thanks, and pardon to you all, 
I do dismiss you to your several countries. 

All. God save the king ! God save the king ! 
Enter a Messenger. 

3Iess. Please it your grace to be advertis'd. 
The duke of York is newly come from Ireland, 
And with a pui.^sant, and united^ power 
Of Gal lowgl asses,''' and stout Irish' kernes, 
Is marching hitherward in proud array; 
And still proclaimcth. as he comes along. 
His arms* are only to remove from thee 
The duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. 

K. Hen. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and York 
distre.ss'd. 
Like to a ship, that, having scap"d a tempest. 
Is straightway calin'd, and boarded with a pirate. 
But now is Cade driven back, his men dispers'd, 
And now is York in arms to second him. — 
I pray thee, Buckingham, then go and meet him, 
And ask him, what 's the reason of these arms ? 
Tell him, I'll send duke Edmund to the tower; — 
And, Somerset, we will cominil thee thither, 
Until his army be dismiss'd from him. 

Som. My lord, 
I '11 yield myself to prison willingly. 
Or unto death to do my country good. 

A'. Hen. In any case, be not too rough in terms, 
For he is fierce, and cannot brook hard language. 

Buck. I will, my lord ; and doubt not so to deal, 
As all things shall redound unto your good. 

K. Hen. Come, wife, let 's in, and learn to govern 
better ; 
For yet may England curse my WTetched reign. [Exeunt. 

SCENE X.— Kent. Iden's Garden. 
Eiiter Cade. 

Cade. Fie on ambition ! fie on myself : that have a 
sword, and yet am ready to famish ! These five days 
have I hid me in thc^e woods, and durst not peep out, 
for all the country is laid for me ; but now am I so 
hungry, that if I might have a lease of my life for a 
thousand years, I could stay no longer. Wherefore, o'er 
a brick- wall have I climbed into this garden, to see if I 
can eat grass, or pick a sallet another while, which is 
not amiss to cool a man's stomach this hot weather. 
And, I think, this word sallet was born to do me 
good : for, many a time, but for a sallet,^ my brain-pan 
had been cleft with a brown bill ; and, many a time, 
when I have been dry and bravely marching, it hath 
served me instead of a quart-pot to drink in ; and now 
the word sallet must serve me to feed on. 
Enter Iden, with Servants. 

Iden. Lord ! who would live turmoiled in the court. 
And may enjoy such quiet walks as these ? 
This small inheritance, my father left me, 



' a mighty : in f. e. 2 Tall, able-bodied men, armed (says Banaby Rich's Ireland, 1610), with " a bcuII, a shirt of mail, and a Gallowglas 
axe'- — the kerne was a common foot soldier. 3 This word is not in f. e. * Dyce reads : aims. * This word also means a helmet. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRT VI. 



479 



Coutenteth me, and 's worth a monarchy. 
I .seek not to wax great by others" waning', 
Or gather wealth I care not with what envy : 
Sulliccth that I have maintains my state, 
And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. 

Cade. Here "s the lord of the soil come to seize me 
for a stray, for entering his fee-siinplc without leave. 
A villain! thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand 
crowns of the king by carrying my head to him ; but 
I "11 make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my 
sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part. 

Idcn. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be, 
I know thee not : why then should I betray thee ? 
Is 't not enough, to break into my garden, 
And like a thief to come to rob my grounds, 
Climbing my walls in spite of me, the owner. 
But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms ? 

Cade. Brave thee ? ay, by the best blood that ever 
was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well : 
I have eat no meat these five days ; yet, come thou and 
thy fine men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as 
a door nail, I pray God I may never eat grass more. 

Iden. Nay. it shall ne'er be said, while England stands, 
Tliat Alexander Iden, squire of Kent, 
Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man. 
Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine ; 
See if thou canst outface me with thy looks. 
8et limb t.o limb, and thou art far the lesser; 
Thy hand is but a finger to my fist ; 
Thy leg a stick, compared witli this truncheon : 
My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast ; 
And if mine arm be heaved in the air. 
Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth. 
As for words, whose greatness answers words, 
Let this my sword report what speech forbears. 



Cade. By my valour, the most complete champion 
that ever I heard. — Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut 
not out the burly-boned clown in chines of beef ere 
thou sleep in tliy sheath, I beseech Jove on my knees, 
thou mayest be turned to hobnails. [They fight. Cade 
falls.] ! I am slain. Famine, and no other, hath 
slaiir me : let ten thousand devils come against me, 
and give me but the ten meals I have lost, and I 'd 
defy them all. Wither, garden: and be henceforth a 
burying-place to all that do dwell in this house, be- 
cause the unconquered soul of Cade is fled. 

Iden. Is 't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous 
traitor ? 
Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed. 
And hang thee o'er my tomb, when I am dead : 
Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point, 
But thou slialt wear it as a herald's coat. 
To emblaze the honour that thy master got. 

Cade. Iden, farewell : and be proud of thy victory. 
Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and 
exhort all the world to be cowards ; for I, that never 
feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour. 

[Dies. 

Men. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be my 
judge. 
Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee ! 
And as I thrust thy body with my sword. 
So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to liell. 
Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels 
Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave. 
And there cut off thy most ungracious head ; 
Which I will bear in triumph to the king. 
Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. 

[Exit, dragging out the Body. 



ACT V 



SCENE I.— The Same. The Fields between Dartford 
and Blackheath. 

Tlie King's Camp on one side : on the other, cuter York 

attended, with Drum and Colours ; his Irish Forces 

at some distance. 

York. From Ireland thus comes York, to claim his 
right. 
And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head : 
Ring bells, aloud : burn, bonfires, clear and bright. 
To entertain great England's lawful king. 
Ah. sancta majestas ! who would not buy thee dear? 
Let them obey, that know not how to rule ; 
This hand was made to handle nought but gold : 
I cannot give due action to my words. 
Except a sword, or sceptre, balance it. 
A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul. 
On which I '11 toss the flower-de-luce of France. 

Enter Blckingham. 
Whom have we here? Buckingham, to di.sturb me? 
The king hath sent him, sure : I must dissemble. 

Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee 
well. 

York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy 
greeting. 
Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure ? 

Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege. 
To know the reason of "these arms in peace ; 
Or why, thou — being a subject as I am, — 

' f. e. : warning j the correction was made by Pope. 



Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn. 
Should'st raise so great a power without his leave, 
Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. 

York. Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. 

[Aside. 

! I could hcAV up rocks, and fight with flint, 

1 am so angry at these abject terms; 
And now, like Ajax Telamonius. 

On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury. 

I am far better born than is the king. 

More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts; 

But I nuist make fair weather yet a while. 

Till Henry be more weak, and I more strong. — 

Buckingham, I pr'ytliec pardon me. 

That I have given no answer all this while : 

My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. 

The cause why I have brought this army hither, 

Is to remove proud Somerset from the king, 

Seditions to his grace, and to the state. 

Buck. That is too much presumption on thy part ; 
But if thy arms be to no other end, 
The king hath yielded unto thy demand : 
The duke of Somerset is in the Tower. 

York, l^pon thine honour, is he prisoner? 

Buck. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner. 

York. Then, Buckingham. I do dismi.ss my powers. — 
Soldiers, I thank you all ; disperse yourselves: 
Meet me to-morrow in Saint (George's field. 
You shall have pay, and every thing you wish. 



r«N 




480 



SECOND PART OF 



ACT V. 



And let my sovcrciirn. virtuous Henry, 
Command my eldest son, — nay, all my sons, 
As pledijcs of my fealty and love ; 
I'll send them all, as willing as I li^-e : 
Lands, goods, lior;~e, armour, any thing I have 
Is his to use, so Somerset may die. 

Buck. York, I commend this kind submission : 
Wc twain will go into his highness' tent. 
Enter King Henuy attended. 

K. Hen. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm 
to us, 
That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm ? 

York. In all submission and humility, 
York doth present himself unto your highness. 

K. Hen. Then what intend these forces thou dost 
bring ? 

York. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence; 
And fight against that monstrous rebel. Cade, 
Who since I heard to be discomfited. 

Enter Iden, with Cade's Head. 

Iden. If one so rude, and of so mean condition, 
May pass into the presence of a king, 
Lo ! I present your grace a traitor's head. 
The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. 

K. Hen. The head of Cade ? — Great God, how just 
art thou ! — 
! let me view his visage being dead. 
That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. 
Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him? 

Iden. I was, an 't like your majesty. 

A'. Hen. How art thou call'd, and what is thy de- 
gree ? 

Iden. Alexander Iden, that 's my name ; 
A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. 

Buck. So please it you, my lord, 't were not amiss. 
He were created kniglit for his good service. 

K. Hen. Iden, kneel down : [He kneels^ rise up a 
knight. 
"We give thee for reward a thousand marks ; 
And will, that thou henceforth attend on us. 

Men. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, [Rising.^ 
And never live but true unto his liege. 

K. Hen. See. Buckingham ! Somerset comes with 
the queen : 
Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke. 

Ei^ter Queen Margaret and Somerset. 

Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his 
head, 
But boldly stand, and front him to his face. 

York. How now ! is Somerset at liberty ? 
Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts. 
And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. 
Shall I endure the sight of Somerset ? — 
Ealse king, why hast thou broken faith with me, 
Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse ? 
King did I call thee? no, thou art not king; 
Not fit to govern and rule multitudes. 
Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. 
That head of thine doth not become a crown; 
Tliy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff. 
And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. 
That gold must round engirt these brows of mine; 
Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, 
Is able with the change to kill and cui'e. 
Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up, 
And with the same to act controlling laws. 
Give place : by heaven, thou shalt rule no more 
O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler. 

Som. monstrous traitor! — I arrest thee, York, 

1 Not in f. e. 2 tiif,y .. jj, folio. Theobald made the correction. 



Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown. 
Obey, audacious traitor : kneel for grace. 

York. Wouldst have me kneel ? first let me ask of 
these, ^ 
If they can brook I bow a knee to man? 
Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail : 

[Exit an Attendant. 
I know, ere they will have me go to ward. 
They 'U pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. 

Q. Mar. Call hither Cliflbrd; bid him come amain. 
To say, if that the bastard boys of York 
Shall be the surety for their traitor father. 

York. blood-besT)ottcd Neapolitan, 
Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge. 
The sons of York, thy betters in their birth. 
Shall be their father's bail : and bane to those^ 
That for )ny surety will refuse the boys. 
Enter Edward and Richard Plantacexet, with 

ForceSj at one side; at the other, witli Forces also, 

old Clifford and his Son. 
See where they come : I '11 warrant they '11 make it 
good. 

Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their bail. 

Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the king! 

[Kneels. 

York. I thank thee, Clifibrd : say, what news with 
thee ? 
Nay, do not fright us with an angry look: 
We are thy sovereign, Clifi'ord: kneel again; 
For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. 

Clif. This is my king, York : I do not mistake; 
But thou mistak"st me much, to think I do. — 
To bedlam with him ! is tlie man grown mad ? 

K. Hen. Ay, Clifford ; a bedlam and ambitious 
humour 
Makes him oppose himself against his kinir. 

Clif. He is a traitor : let liim to the Tower, 
And chop away that factious pate of his. 

Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will net obey : 
His sons, he says, shall give their words for him. 

York. Will you not, sons ? 

Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. 

Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons shall. 

Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here ! 

York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so ; 
I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. — 
Call hitlier to the stake my two brave bears, 
That with the very shaking of their chains 
They may astonish these fell-looking^ curs : 
Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come to me. 
Drums. Enter Warwick and. Salisbury, icitli Forces. 

Clif. Are these thy bears? we '11 bait thy bears to 
death. 
And manacle the bear-ward in their chains. 
If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place. 

Rich. Oft have I seen a liol o'crwecning cur 
Run back and bite, because he was withheld ; 
Who, having* sufl'er'd with the bear's fell paw, 
Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cry'd : 
And such a piece of service will you do. 
If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick. 

Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, 
As crooked in thy manners as thy sliape ! 

York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. 

Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn your- 
selves. 

K. Hen. M''hy, Warwick, hatli thy knee forgot to 
bow ? — 
Old Salisbury, — shame to thy silver hair, 

3 fell-lurking : in f. e. * beins; : in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



KING HENRY YI. 



481 



Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son ! — 
What, wilt thou on thy dcath-bcd play the ruffian, 
And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles ? 
! where is faith? ! where is loyalty? 
If it be banish'd from the frosty head, 
Where shall it find a harbour in the earth ? — 
Wili thou go dig a grave to fnid out war. 
And shame thine honourable age with blood ? 
Why art thou old, and want'st experience ? 
Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? 
For shame ! in duty bond thy knee to me. 
That bows unto the grave with mickle age. 

Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself 
The title of this most renowned duke ; 
And in my conscience do repute his grace 
The riiihtful heir to England's royal seat. 

K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me ? 

Sal. I have. 

K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such 
an oath ? 

Sal. It is great sin to swear unto a sin, 
But greater sin to keep a sinful oath. 
Wlio can be bound by any solemn vow 
To do a murderous deed, to rob a man. 
To force a spotless virgin's chastity, 
To reave the orphan of his patrimony. 
To \ATing the w"idow from her custom'd right, 
And have no other reason for this wrong. 
But that he was bound by a solemn oaih ? 

Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. 

K. Hen. Call liuckingham, and bid him arm himself. 

York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast, 
[ am resolv'd for death, or^ dignity. 

Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. 

War. You were best to go to bed, and dream again. 
To keep thee from the tempest of the field. 

Clif. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm, 
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day ; 
And that I "11 write upon thy burgonet, 
Mi<iht 1 but know thee by thy houseliold badge. 

War. Now, by my father's badge, old Ncvil's crest, 
The rampant bear chain' d to the ragged staff, 
This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet, 
(As on a mountain-top the cedar shows. 
That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm) 
Even to affright thee with the view thereof. 

Clif. And from tliy burgonet I '11 rend thy bear. 
And tread it underfoot with all contempt. 
Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear. 

Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, 
To quell the rebels, and their 'complices. 

Rich. Fie ! charity ! for shame ! speak not in spite. 
For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night. 

Y. Clif. Foul stigmatic, that 's more than thou canst 
tell. 

Rich. If not in heaven, you 'II surely sup in hell. 

[Exeunt severally. 

SCENE II.— Saint Albans. 
Alannns : Excitrsion.s. Enter Warwick. 
War. Clifford of Cumberland! 'tis Warwick calls: 
And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, 
Now, wlieia the angry trumpet sounds alarm, 
And dead mens cries do (ill the empty air, 
Clilford, I say, come fortli and fight with me ! 
Proud northern lord, Clifford of t'umbcrland, 
Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. 

Enter York. 
How now, my noble lord ! what, all a-foot ? 

* and : in folio. 



York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed; 
But match to match I have encounter'd him, 
And made a prey for carrion kites and crows 
Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well. 
Enter Clifford. 

War. Of one or both of us Ihe time is come. 

York. Hold, Warwick ! seek thee out some other 
chacc. 
For I myself must hunt this deer to death. 

If «/-. Then, nobly, York ; 't is for a cro^vn thou 
As [ intend, Clilford, to thrive to-day, [fight'st. — 

It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. 

[Exit Warwick. 

Clif. What scest thou in me, York ? why dost thou 
pause ? 

York. Witli thy brave bearing should I be in love. 
But that thou art so fast mine enemy. 

Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem. 
But that 't is shown ignobly, and in treason. 

York. So let it help me now against thy sword, 
As I in justice and true right express it. 

Clif My soul and body on the action both ! — 

York. A dreadful lay ! — address thee instantly, 

Clif. La Jin couronne les muvres. 

[They fight.1 and Cl.ifforv falls and dies. 

York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art 
still. 
Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will ! [Exit. 
Enter young Clifford. 

Y. Clif. Shame and confusion ! all is on the rout : 
Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds 
Where it should guard. war ! thou son of hell, 
Whom angry heavens do make their minister, 
Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part 
Hot coals of vengeance ! — Let no soldier fly : 
He that is truly dedicate to war. 
Hath no self-love ; nor he, that loves himself. 
Hath not cs.scntially, but by circumstance. 
The naine of valour. — ! let the vile world end, 

[Seeing his Father's body. 
And the premised flames of the last day 
Knit earth and heaven togetlier ! 
Now let the general trumpet blow his blast. 
Particularities and petty sounds 
To cease ! — Wast thou ordain'd, dear father. 
To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve 
The silver livery of advised age, 
And, in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus 
To die in ruffian battle ? — Even at this sight. 
My heart is turn'd to stone : and while 't is mine. 
It shall be stony. York not our old men spares; 
No more will I their babes : tears virginal 
Shall be to me even as the dew to fire ; 
And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims. 
Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. 
Henceforth I will not have to do with pity: 
Meet I an infant of the house of York, 
Into as many gobbets will I cut it. 
As wild Medea young Absyrtus did : 
In cruelty will I seek out my fame. 
Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house : 

[Taking up the Body. 
As did JEneas old Anchiscs bear, 
So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders ; 
But then, ^Eneas bare a living load. 
Nothing so heavy as th'^se woes of mine. [Exit. 

Enter Richard Plantagenet and SoM-Erskt, fighting : 
Somerset is slain. 

Rich. So, lie thou there; — 



31 



482 



SECOND PART OF KING HENEY VI. 



ACT V. 



For, underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, 
The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset 
Hath made the wizard famous in his death. 
Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still : 
Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit. 

Alarums : Excursions. Enter King Henry, Queen 
Marg.4RET. and others, Jiying. 

Q. Mar. Away, my lord ! you are slow : for shame, 
away ! 

K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens ? good Marga- 
ret, stay. 

Q. 3Iar. What are you made of? you'll nor fight, 
nor fly : 
Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence, 
To give the enemy way ; and to secure us 
By what we can, which can no more but fly. 

[Alarum afar off. 
If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom 
Of all our fortunes : but if we haply scape, 
(As well we may, if not through your neglect) 
We shall to London get ; where you are lov'd. 
And where this breach, now in our fortunes made, 
May readily be stopp'd. 

Enter young Clifford. 

Y. Clif. But that my heart 's on future mischief set, 
I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly ; 
But fly you must : uncurable discomfit 
Reigns in the hearts of all our present friends.* 
Away, for your relief; and we will live 
To see their day, and them our fortune give. 
Away, my lord, away ! Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— Fields near Saint Albans. 
Alarum: Retreat. Flourish; then ejiter York, Rich ajit) 
Plantagenet, Warwick, and Soldiers, with Drum 
and Colours. 

York. Old" Salisbury, who can report of him ? 



That winter lion, who in rage forgets 
Aged contusions and all bruise^ of time, 
And, like a gallant in the bloom* of youth. 
Repairs him with occasion? this happy day 
Is not itself, nor have we won one foot. 
If Salisbury be lost. 

Rich. My noble father, 

Three times to-day I holp him to his horse. 
Three times bestrid him; thrice I led him off, 
Persuaded him from any farther act : 
But still, where danger was, still there I met him; 
And like rich hangings in a homely house, 
So was his will in his old feeble body. 
But, noble as he is, look where he comes. 

Enter Salisbury. 

Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou Tfought to 
day; 
By the mass, so did we all. — I thank you, Richard : 
God knows how long it is I have to live. 
And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to-day 
You have defended me from imminent death. — 
Well, lords, we have not got that which we have : 
'T is not enough our foes are this time fled, 
Being opposites of such repairing nature. 

York. I know our safety is to follow them ; 
For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, 
To call a present court of parliament : 
Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth. — 
What says lord Warwick? shall we after them? 

War. After thein ? nay, before them, if we can. 
Now, by my hand, lords, 't was a glorious day : 
Saint Albans' battle won by famous York, 
Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. — 
Sound, drums and trumpets ! — and to London all ; 
And more such days as these to us befall ! 

[Exeunt. 



' parts : in f. e. ; altered by Steevens, to party. 2 Of : in f. e. 3 brush : in f. e. * brow : in f. 0. 



THIRD PAET 



OF 



KING HENRY VI. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



on King Henry's 
side. 



KiMG Henry the Sixth. 

Edward, Prince of Wales, his Son. 

Lewis XL, King of France. 

Duke of Somerset, 

Duke of Exeter, 

Earl of Oxford, 

Earl of Northumberland, 

Earl of Westmoreland, 

Lord Clifford, 

Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York. 

Edward, Earl of March, afterwards King 

Edward IV., 
Edjmund, Earl of Rutland, 
George, afterwards Duke of Clarence, 
Richard, afterwards Duke of Gloucester, 
Duke of Norfolk, 
Marquess of Montague, 
Earl of Warwick, 
Earl of Pembroke, 
Lord Hastings, 
Lord Stafford, 

SCENE, during part of the Third Act, in France; 



his 
Sons. 



of the Duke of 
York's party. 



Sir John Mortimer, ) Uncles to the Duke of 

Sir Hugh Mortimer, j York. 

Henry, Earl of Richmond, a Youth. 

Lord Rivers, Brother to Lady Gi'ey. Sir Wil- 
liam Stanley. Sir John Montgomery. Sir 
John Somerville. Tutor to Rutland. Mayor 
of York. Lieutenant of the Tower. A Noble- 
man. Two Keepers. A Huntsman. A Son 
that has killed his Father. A Father that has 
killed his Son. 

Queen Margaret. 

Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Edward IV. 

Bona, Sister to the French Queen. 

Soldiers, and other Attendants on King Henry 
and King Edward, Messengers, Watchmen, 
&c. 



during the rest of the Play in England. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— London. The Parliament-House. 
Drums. Some SoUIiers of York^s party break in. Then, 
enter the Duke of York, Edward, Richard, Nor- 
folk, Montague, Warwick, and others, with white 
Roses in their Hats. 

War. I w^onder how the king escap'd our hands. 
York. While we pursued the horsemen of the north. 
He slily stole away, and left his men : 
Whereat the great lord of Northumberland, 
Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, 
Cheer'd up the drooping army ; and himself. 
Lord Clifford, and lord Stafford, all abreast, 
Charg'd our main battle's front, and, breaking in, 
Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. 

Ediv. Lord Stafford's father, duke of Buckingham, 
Is either slain, or wounded dangerously :^ 
I cleft his beaver with a downright blow ; 
That this is true, father, behold his blood. 

[Shoiving his bloody Sword. 
Mont. And, brother, here 's the earl of Wiltshire's 
blood. [To York, showing his. 

Whom I encounter'd as the battles joined. 

Rich. Speak thou for me. and tell them what I did. 
[Throwing doivn the Ihtke of Somerset's Head. 
York. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons. — 
But, is your grace dead, my lord of Somerset ? 

1 Dangerous : in f. e. 



Norf. Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt ! 

Rich. Thus do 1 hope to shake king Henry's head. 

War. And so do I. — Victorious prince of York, 
Before I see thee seated in that throne. 
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, 
I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. 
This is the palace of the fearful king. 
And this the regal seat : possess it, York ; 
For this is thine, and not king Henry's heirs'. 

York. Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will ; 
For hither we have broken in by force. 

Norf. We '11 all assist you : he, that flies, shall die. 

York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk. — Stay by me, my 
lords : — 
And, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night. 

War. And, when the king comes, offer him no 
violence. 
Unless he seek to thrust you out by force. [They retire. 

York. The queen this day here holds her parlia- 
ment, 
But little thinks we shall be of her council. 
By words or blows here let us win our right. 

Rich. Arm'd as w^e are, let 's stay within this house. 

War. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, 
Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king, 
And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice 
Hath made us by-words to our enemies. 



484 



THIRD PART OF 



ACT I. 



York. Then leave me not, my lords ; be resolutej 
I mean to take possession of my right. 

War. Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, 
The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, 
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. ' 
I'll plant Plantagcnet, root him up who dares. — 
Resolve thee, Ricliard ; claim the English crown. 

[Warwick leads Yo\i^ to the Throne^ who scats himself. 
[Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, Northum- 
berland, Westmoreland, Exeter, and others., with 

red Roses in their Hats. 

K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, 
Even in the chair of state ! belike, he means, 
Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer. 
To aspire unto the crown, and reign as king. — 
Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father ; — 
And thine, lord Clifford : you have vow'd revenge 
On liim, his sons, his favourites, and his friends. 

North. If I be not, heavens be reveng'd on me ! 

Clif. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel. 

West. Wliat ! shall we suffer this ? let 's pluck him 
down : 
My heart for anger burns : I cannot brook it. 

K. Hen. Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland. 

Clif. Patience is for poltroons, such as he : 
He durst not sit there had your father liv'd. 
My gracious lord, here in the parliament 
Let us a.ssail the family of York. 

North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin : be it so. 

K. Hen. Ah ! know you not, the city favours them, 
And they have troops of soldiers at their beck ? 

Exe. But when the duke is slain, they 'U quickly fly. 

K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from Hem-y's 
heart, 
To make a shambles of the parliament-house ! 
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats, 
Shall be the war that Henry means to use. 

[They advance to the Duke. 
Thou factious duke of York, descend my throne. 
And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet : 
I am thy sovereign. 

York. I am thine. 

Exe. For shame ! come down : he made thee duke 
of York. 

York. 'T was my inheritance, as the earldom^ was. 

Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. 

War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown 
In following this usurping Henry. 

Clif. Whom should he Ibllow, but his natural king? 

War. True, Clifford ; tliat is Richard, duke of York. 

K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my 
throne ? 

York. It must and shall be so. Content thyself. 

War. Be duke of Lancaster : let him be king. 

West. He is both king and duke of Lancaster ; 
And tliat the lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. 

War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget. 
That we are tliose which chas'd you from the field, 
And slew your fathers, and with colours spread 
March'd through the city to the palace gates. 

North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; 
And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. 

West. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons. 
Thy kinsmen, and thy friends, I '11 have more lives. 
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. 

Clif Urge it no more ; lest that instead of words 
I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger, 
As shall revenge his death before I stir. 



War. Poor Clifford ! how I scorn his worthless 
tin-eats. 

York. Will you, we show our title to the crown ? 
If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. 

K. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown ? 
Thy father was, as thou art, duke of York ; 
Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, earl of March. 
I am the son of Henry the fifth, 
Who made tlie Dauphin and the French to stoop. 
And sciz'd upon tlieir towns and provinces. 

War. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. 

A'. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not I : 
When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old. 

Rich. You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, 
you lose. 
Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. 

Edw. Sweet father, do so : set it on your head. 

Mont. Good brother, [To York,] as thou lov'st and 
honour'st arms. 
Let 's fight it out, and not stand cavilling thus. [fly. 

Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will 

York. Sons, peace ! 

K. Hen. Peace thou, and give king Henry leave to 
speak. 

War. Plantagenet shall speak first : hear him, lords ; 
And be you silent and attentive too. 
For he that interrupts him shall not live. 

K. Hen. Think'st thou, that I will leave my kingly 
throne, 
Wliercin my grandsire, and my father, sat ? 
No : first shall war unpeople this my realm ; 
Ay, and their colours — often borne in France, 
And now in England, to our heart's great sorrow, — 
Shall be my winding sheet. — Why faint you, lords ? 
My title 's good, and better far than his. 

War. Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king. 

A'. Hen. Henry the fourth by conquest got the 
crown. 

York. 'T was by rebellion against his king. 

K. Hen. I know not what to say : my title 's 
weak. — [Asidc.^ 

Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir ? 

York. What then ? 

K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful king; 
For Richard, in the view of many lords, 
Resign'd the crown to Henry the fourth, 
W^hose heir my father was, and I am his. 

York. He rose against him, being his sovereign, 
And made him to resign his crown perlbrce. 

War. Suppose, my lords, he did it uneonstrain'd. 
Think you, 't were prejudicial to his crown ? 

Exe. No : for he could not so resign his crown. 
But tliat the next heir should succeed and reign. 

K. Hen. Art thou against us. duke of Exeter? 

Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. 

York. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not ? 

Exe. My conscience tells me he is lawful king. 

K. Hen. All will revolt from me, and turn to him. 

North. Plantagenet, for all tlie claim thou lay!st, 
Think not, that Henry shall be so depos'd. 

War. Depos'd he shall be in despite of all. 

North. Thou art deceiv'd : 't is not thy southern 
power, 
Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, 
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, 
Can set the duke up in despite of me. 

Clif King Henry, be thy title right or viTong, 
Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence : 



> An allusion to the falcon. 2 The "True Tragedy of Richaxd, Duke of York," the old play on which this drama was founded, has 
kingdom. ^ Not in f. e. 



SCENE n. 



KING HENRY YI. 



485 



May tliat ground gape, and swallow me alive, 
Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father ! 

K. Hen. Clilford, how thy words revive my heart! 

York. Henry of Lancaster, resign my' crown. — 
What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? 

Ifa/-. Do right unto this princely duke of York, 
Or I will fill the house with armed men, 
And, o'er the chair of state, where now he sits, 
Write up his title with usurping blood. 

[He stamps, and the Soldiers. show themselves. 

K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, hcarmc but one word. 
Let me for this my life-time reign as king. 

York. Confirm the crown to me, and to mine heirs, 
And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st. 

K. Hen. I am content : liichard Plantagenct, 
Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. 

Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your son ? 

War. What good is this to England, and himself? 

West. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry ! 

Clif. How hast thou injur'd botli thyself and us ! 

West. I cannot stay to hear these articles. 

North. Nor L 

Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. 

West. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, 
\\\ whose cold blood no spark of honoixr bides. 

North. Be thou a prey mito the house of York, 
And die in bands for this unmanly deed ! 

Clif. In dreadful war may'st thou be overcome, 
Or live in peace, abandon'd and despis'd ! 

[Exeunt Northumberland, Clifford, and 
Westmoreland. 

War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. 

Exe. They seek revenge, and therefore will not yield. 

A'. Hen. Ah, Exeter ! 

War. Why should you sigh, my lord ? 

K. Hen. Not for myself, lord Warwick, but my son, 
Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. 
But be it as it may, I here entail 

The crown to thee, and to thine heirs for ever ; \To York. 
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath 
To cease this civil war. and whilst I live. 
To honour me as thy king and sovereign ; 
And neither by treason, nor liostility, 
To seek to put me down and reign thyself. 

York. This oath I willingly take, and will perform. 

[Cominp: from, the Throne. 

War. Long live king Henry ! — Plantagenct, em- 
brace him. 

K. Hen. And long live thou, and these thy forward 
sons ! 

York. Now York and Lancaster are rcconcil'd. 

Exe. Aecurs'd be lie, that seeks to make them foes ! 
[Sennet. The Lords come fonvard. 

York. Farewell, my gracious lord : I '11 to my castle. 

War. And I'll keep London with my soldiers. 

Norf. And I to Norfolk with my followers. 

Mont. And I vmto the sea, from whence I came. 
[Eftnnt York, and his Sons, Warwick, Norfolk, 
Montague, Soldiers, and Attendants. 

K. Hen. And I. with grief and sorroAV, to the court. 

Enter Queen Margaret ajir/ the Prince o/ Wales. 

Exe. Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her 
anger; 
I '11 steal away. 

A'. Hen. Exeter, so will T. [Going. 

Q. Mar. Nay, go not from ine : I will follow thee. 

K. Hen. Bo patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. 

Q. Mar. Who can be patient in such extremes? 
Ah, wretched man ! would I had died a maid, 

1 thy : in f. e. 2 p^ey. » 



And never seen thee, never borne thee son, 

Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a fatlier ! 

Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus ? 

Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as I, 

Or felt that pain which 1 did for him once, 

Or nourish'd him, as I did with my blood. 

Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, 

Rather than have made that savage duke thine heir, 

And disinherited thine only son. 

Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me. 
If you be king, why should not I succeed ! 

K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret ; — pardon me, sweet 
son : — 
The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforc'd me. 

Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee ! art thou king, and wilt be 
fore'd ? 
I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch ! 
Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me, 
And given unto the house of York such head. 
As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. 
T' entail him and his heirs unto the crown, 
What is it, but to make thy sepulchre. 
And creep into it far before thy time ? 
Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais; 
Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas ; 
The duke is made protector of the realm ; 
And yet shalt thou be safe ? such safety finds 
The trembling lamb, environed with wolves. 
Had I been there, which am a silly woman. 
The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes, 
Before I would have granted to that act ; 
But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour : 
And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself, 
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, 
Until that act of parliament be repeal'd, 
Whereby my son is disinherited. 
The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours, 
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread; 
And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace, 
And utter ruin of the house of York. 
Thus do I leave thee. — Come, son, let's away: 
Our army is ready ; come, we '11 after them. 

K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. 

Q. Mar, Thou hast spoke too much already : get thee 
gone. 

K. Hen. Gentle son F.dward. thou wilt stay with mc ? 

Q. Mar. Ay, to be murdcrd by his enemies. 

Prince. When I return with victory from the field, 
I '11 see your grace ; till then, I '11 follow her. 

Q. Mar. Come, son ; away ! we may not linger thus. 
[Exeunt Queen Margaret, and the Prince. 

K, Hen. Poor queen ! how love to me. and to her son, 
Hath made her break out into terms of rage. 
Rcveng'd may she be on that hateful duke. 
Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire. 
Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle 
Tire^ on the flesh of me. and of my son ! 
The loss of those three lords torments my heart : 
I '11 write unto them, and entreat them fair. — 
Come, cousin ; you shall be the messcnser. 

Exe. And t, I hope, shall reconcile them all. [Exetint. 

SCENE II.— A Room in Sandal Castle, near Wakefield. 
Enter Edward, Richard, and Montague. 
Rich. Brother, thouiih I be youngest, give mc leave. 
Edw. No ; I can belter play the orator. 
Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. 

Enter York. 
York. Why, how now, sons, and brother ! at a strife ? 



48G 



THIED PAET OF 



ACT I. 



What is your quarrel ? how began it first ? 

Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention. 

York. About what? 

Rick. About that which concerns your grace, and us ; 
The crown of England, father, which is yours. 

York. Mine, boy ? not till king Henry be dead. 

Rich. Your right depends not on his life, or death. 

Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: 
By giving tlie house of Lancaster leave to breathe, 
It will outrun you, father, in the end. 

York. I took an oath that he should quietly reign. 

Edu'. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken : 
I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. 

Rich. No ; God forbid, your grace should be forsworn. 

York. I sliall be, if I claim by open war. 

Rich. I "11 prove the contrary, if you 'II hear me speak. 

York. Thou canst not, son : it is impossible. 

Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took 
Before a true and lawful magii^trate, 
That hath authority over him that swears : 
Henry had none, but did usurp the place ; 
Then, seeing 't was he that made you to depose, 
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. 
Tlierefore, to arms ! And, father, do but think, 
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown, 
Within whose circuit is Elysium, 
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. 
Why do we linger thus ? I cannot rest, 
Until tlie white rose, that I wear, be dyed 
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. 

York. Richard, enough : I will be king, or die. — 
Brother, thou shalt to London presently. 
And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. — 
Thou, Richard, shalt to the duke of Norfolk, 
And tell him privily of our intent. — 
You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham, 
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise : 
In them I trust ; for they are soldiers, 
Witty, courteous, liberal, full of .spirit. — 
While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, 
But that I seek occasion how to rise, 
And yet the king not privy to my drift, 
Nor any of the house of Lancaster ? 

Enter a Messenger. 
But. stay. — What news ? Why com'st thou in such post? 

Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and lords, 
Intends here to besiege you in your castle. 
She is hard by with twenty thousand men, 
And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. 

York. Ay, with my sword. What, think'st thou, 
that we fear them ? — 
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; 
My brother Montague shall post to London. 
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, 
Whom we have left protectors of the king, 
Witli powerful policy strengthen themselves. 
And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths. 

Mont. Brother, I go : I '11 win them, fear it not : 

And thus most humbly I do take my leave. [Exit. 

Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer. 

York. Sir John, and sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, 
You are come to Sandal in a happy hour ; 
The army of the queen mean to besiege us. 

Sir John. She shall not need, we '11 meet her in the 
field. 

York. What, with five thousand men ? 

Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. 
A woman's general ; what should we fear ? ^ 

[A March afar off. 

1 Ovid—Epist. Phyllis to Demophoon. 



Edw. I hear their drums : let 's set our men in order, 
And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. 

York. Five men to twenty ! — though the odds be great, 
I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. 
Many a battle have I won in France, 
When as the enemy hath been ten to one : 
Why should I not now have the like success ? 

[Alarum. Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Plains near Sandal Castle. 
Alarums: Excursions. Enter RvTZkUD, and his Tutor.. 

Rut. Ah ! whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands ? 
Ah, tutor ! look, where bloody Clifford comes. 
Enter Clifford and Soldiers. 

Clif. Chaplain, away : tliy priesthood saves thy life. 
As for the brat of this accursed duke, 
Whose father slew my father, he shall die. 

Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company. 

Clif. Soldiers, away with him. 

Tut. Ah, Clifford ! murder not this innocent childj 
Lest thou be hated both of God and man. 

[Exit, forced off by Soldiers. 

Clif. How now ! is he dead already ? Or, is it fear, 
That makes him close his eyes ? — I '11 open them. 

Rut. So looks the pent up-lion o'er the wretch 
That trembles under his devouring paws : 
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey. 
And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder. — 
Ah, gentle Clifford ! kill me with thy sword. 
And not with such a cruel threatening look. 
Sweet Clifford ! hear me speak before I die : 
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath : 
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live. 

Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy : my father's 
blood 
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. 

Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again : 
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. 

Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine. 
Were not revenge sufficient for me. 
No : if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves, 
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains. 
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. 
The sight of any of the house of York 
Is as a fury to torment my soul ; 
And till I root out their accursed line. 
And leave not one alive, I live in hell. 
Tlierefore — 

Rut. O ! let me pray before I take my death. — 
To thee I pray : sweet Clifford, pity me ! 

Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 

Rut. I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me? 

Clif Thy father hath. 

Rut. But 't was ere I was born. 

Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me. 
Lest, in revenge thereof, sith God is just, 
He be as miserably slain as I. 
Ah ! let me live in prison all my days. 
And when I give occasion of offence. 
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 

Clif. No cause ? 
Thy father slew my father : therefore, die. 

[Ci.iFFORD stabs him. 

Rut. Dii faciant^ laudis summa sit ista tuce!^ [Dies. 

Clif. Plantagenet ! I come, Plantagenet ! 
And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade. 
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood 
Congeal'd with this do make me wipe off both. [Exit. 



SCENE IV. 



KING HENRY VI. 



487 



SCENE IV.— The Same. 
Alarum. Enter York. 

York. The army of the queen hath got the field : 
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me ; 
And all my followers to the eager foe 
Turn back, and fly like ships before the wind, 
Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves. 
My sons — God knows, what hath beclianced them, 
But this I know, — they have demean'd themselves 
Like men born to renown by life or death. 
Three times did Richard make a lane to me, 
And thrice cried, — '■ Courage, father ! fight it out :" 
And full as oft came Edward to my side, 
With purple falchion, painted to the hilt 
In blood of those that had encounter'd him : 
And when the hardiest warriors did retire, 
Richard cried, — " Charge ! and give no foot of 

ground !" 
And cried, — •' A crown, or else a glorious tomb ! 
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre !'' 
With this, we charg'd again ; but, out alas ! 
We bodg'd again : as I have seen a swan 
With bootless labour swim against the tide, 
And spend her strength with over-matching waves. 

[A short Alarum luithin. 
Ah, hark ! the fatal followers do pursue, 
And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury ; 
And, were I strong. I would not shun their fury. 
The sands are number'd that make up my life ; 
Here must I stay, and here my life must end. 
Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumberland, 

and Soldiers. 
Come, bloody Clifford, — rough Northumberland, — 
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage. 
I am your butt, and I abide your shot. 

North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. 

Clif. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm 
With downriglit payment show'd unto my father. 
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car, 
And made an evening at the noon-tide prick. 

York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth 
A bird that will revenge upon you all; 
And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, 
Scorning Avhateer you can afflict we with. 
Why come you not? — what ! multitudes, and fear? 

Clif. So cowards fight when they can fly no farther ; 
So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons ; 
So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, 
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. 

York. 0, Clifford ! but bethink thee once again, 
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time ; 
And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face, 
And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice. 
Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly crc this. 

Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word. 
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. 

Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thousand causes 
I would prolong awhile llie traitor's life. — 
Wnith makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland. 

North. Hold, Clifford ! do not honour him so much 
To ]irick thy finger, though to wound his heart : 
What valour were it, when a cur dolh grin. 
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth. 
When he might spurn him with his foot away? 
It is war's prize to take all vantages, 
And ten to one is no impeach of valour. 

[They lay hands on York, ivho .'struggles. 

Clif. Ay, ay- so strives the woodcock with the gin. 

» Reached. 2 Not in f. e. ' Impale, encircle. 



North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. 

[York is taken prisoner. 

York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty ; 
So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd. 

North. What would your grace have done unto him 
now? 

Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumber- 
land, 
Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, 
That raught' at mountains with outstretched arms. 
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. — 
What ! was it you, that would be England's king ! 
Was 't you that revell'd in our parliament, 
And made a preachment of your high descent? 
Where are your mess of sons to back you now, 
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George ? 
And where 's that valiant crook-back prodigy, 
Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice, 
Was wont to clieer his dad in mutinies ? 
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland ? 
Look, York : I stain'd this napkin with the blood 
That valiant Clifford with his rapier's point 
Made issue from the bosom of the boy ; 
And, if thine eyes can water for his death, 
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. [Tlirowingit.- 
Alas, poor York ! but that I hate thee deadly, 
I should lament thy miserable state. 
I pr'ythee, grieve to make me merry, York : 
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails, 
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death ? 
Why art thou patient, man ? thou shouldst be mad j 
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. 
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. 
Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport : 
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. — 
A crowni for York ! — and, lords, bow low to him. 
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. — 

[Putting a Paper Crown on his Head. 
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king. 
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair : 
And this is he was his adopted heir. — 
But how is it, that great Plantagenet 
Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath ? 
As I bethink me, you should not be king. 
Till our king Hciwy had shook hands with death. 
And will you pale^ your head in Henry's glory, 
And rob his temples of the diadem. 
Now in his life, against your holy oath? 

! 't is a fault too, too unpardonable. — 

Off" with the cro\^^^ ; and, with the crown, his head ! 
And whilst we breathe take time to do him dead. 

Clif. That is my office for my father's sake. 

Q. Mar. Nay, stay : let 's hear the orisons he makes. 

York. She-wolf of France, but woi'se than wolves of 
France ; 
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth, 
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex. 
To triumph, like an Amazonian trull. 
Upon their woes whom fortiuie captivates ? 
But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging. 
Made impudent with use of evil deeds, 

1 would essay, proud queen, to make thee blush : 
To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom dcriv'd, 
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not 

shameless. 
Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, 
Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem, 
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. 
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult ? 



_ 



4:88 



THIRD PAET OF 



ACT n. 



It needs not, nor it bools tliee not, proud queen; 

Unless the adage must be verified. 

That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 

'T is beauty that doth oft make women proud; 

But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small. 

'T is Adrtue that dotli make them most admir'd ; 

The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at. 

'T is government that makes them seem divine; 

The want thereof makes thee abominable. 

Thou art as opposite to every good, 

As the antipodes are unto us. 

Or as the south to tlie septentrion. 

0, tiger's lieart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide ! 

How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, 

To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, 

And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? 

Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; 

Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. 

Bid'st thou me rage ? why, now thou hast thy wish : 

Wouldst have me weep ? why. now thou hast thy will : 

For raging wind blows up incessant showers, 

And, when the rage allays, the rain begins. 

These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies, 

And every drop cries vengeance for his death, 

'Gainst tliee, fell Cliflbrd, and thee, false French-woman. 

North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so. 
That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. 

York. That face of his 

The hungry cannibals would not have toueh'd. 
Would not have stain'd the rose's hues^ with blood : 
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, 



! ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. 
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears : 
This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, 
And I with tears do wash the blood away. 
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this ; 

[Throu'iyig it back to her. 
And if thou tell'st the heavy story right. 
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears ; 
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears. 
And say, — "Alas ! it was a piteous deed."' — 
There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse; 
And in thy need such comfort come to thee, 
As now I reap at tliy too cruel hand ! 
Hard-hearted Clifford, take mc from the world : 
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads ! 

North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, 
T should not, for my life, but weep with him. 
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. 

Q. Mar. What! weeping-ripe, my lord Northumber- 
land ? 
Think but upon the wrong he did us all. 
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.' 

Clif. Here 's for my oath : here 's for my father's 
death. ISlahhixa: him. 

Q. 3Iar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. 

[Stabbing him. 

Yo7-k. Open thy gate of mercy, gi'acious God ! 
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. 

[Dies. 

Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates : 
So York may overlook the town of York. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 



ACT II 



SCENE I. — A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in Here- 
fordshire. 
A March. Enter Edward and Richard, with their 

Power. 

Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scaped ; 
Or whether he be 'scaped away, or no. 
From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit. 
Had he been ta'en, we shovild have heard the news; 
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news ; 
Or had he 'scaped, methinks. we should have heard 
The happy tidings of his good escape. — 
How fares my brother ? why is he so sad ? 

Rich. I cannot joy, until I be rcsolv'd 
Where our right valiant father is become. 
I saw him in the battle range about. 
And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. 
Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop. 
As doth a lion in a herd of neat : 
Or as a bear encompass'd round with dogs, 
Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, 
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. 
So far'd our father with his enemies : 
So fled his enemies my warlike father : 
Methinks, 't is prize^ enough to be his son. 
See, how the morning opes her golden gates. 
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun : 
How well resem.bles it the prime of youth, 
Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love ! 

Edir. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns ! | 

Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun, 1 

1 Would not have toueh'd, would not have stain'd vi'ith : in f. e. 
blowing^' : is the direction in the " True Tragedy." 



Not separated with the racking clouds. 

But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. 

See, see ! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, 

As if they vow"d some league inviolable : 

Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun ! 

In this the heavens figure some event. 

Edw. 'T is wondrous strange ; the like yet never 
heard of. 
I think, it cites us, brother, to the field. 
That we, the sons of brave Planta genet, 
Eacli one already blazing by our meeds. 
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together, 
And over-shine the earth, as this the world. 
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear 
Upon my target three fair shining suns. 

Rich. Nay, bear three daughters : by your leave I 
speak it ; 
You love the breeder better than the male. 

Enter a Messenger in haste.'-' 
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell 
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ? 

3Iess. Ah ! one that was a woful looker on, 
When as the noble duke of York was slain, 
Your princely father, and my loving lord. 

Edw. ! speak no more, Ibr I have heard too much. 

Rich. Say, how he died, for I will hear it all. 

Mess. Environed he v.^as with many foes ; 
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy 
Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy. 
But Hercules himself must yield to odds ; 
And many strokes, though with a little axe, 

2 " True Tragedy" : pride. ' in haste : not in f. e. " Enter one 



SCENE I. 



KING HENKY YL 



489 



Hew down, and fell the liardest-timber'd oak. 

By many hands your father was subdu'd ; 

But only tslaugliter'd by the ireful arm 

Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen, 

Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite ; 

Laugh'd in las face; and, when Avith grief he wept, 

The ruthless queen gave him. to dry his cheeks, 

A napkin steeped in the harmless blood 

Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: 

And, after many scorns, many foul taunts. 

They took his head, and on the gates of York 

They set the same : and there it doth remain, 

The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. 

Edw. Sweet duke of York ! our prop to lean upon, 
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. 

Clifford ! boisterous Clifford ! thou hast slain 
The flower of Europe for his chivalry ; 

And treacherously hast thou vanquished him. 

For hand to hand he would have vanquished thee. 

Now. my soul's palace is become a prison : 

Ah ! would she break from hence, that this my body 

Might in the ground be closed up in rest, 

For never henceforth shall I joy again ; 

Never, ! never, shall I see more joy. 

Rich. I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture 
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-bvu'ning heart ; 
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden, 
For self-same wind, that I should speak withal. 
Is kindling coals that fire all my breast, 
And burn me up with flames that tears would quench. 
To weep is to make less the depth of grief. 
Tears, then, for babes ; blows, and revenge, for me ! — 
Richard, I bear thy name ; I '11 venge thy death, 
Or die renowned by attempting it. 

Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with 
thee ; 
His dukedom and his chair with me are left. 

Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, 
Sliow thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: 
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; 
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. 
March. Enter Warwick and Montague, ivith their 
Army. 

Tf ar. How now, fair lords ! What fare ? what news 
abroad ? 

Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount 
Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance. 
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, 
The words would add more anguish than the wounds. 

0. valiant lord ! the duke of York is slain. 

Edw. 0, Warwick ! Warwick ! that Plantagenet, 
Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption, 
Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death. 

War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; 
And now. to add more measure to your woes, 

1 come to tell you things sith then befallen. 
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, 
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, 
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run. 
Were brought me of your loss, and his depart. 

1. then in London, keeper of the kinir, 
IMuster"d my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,^ 
Mareh'd towards Saint Albans to intercept the queen. 
Roaring the king in my behalf along ; 

For by my scouts I was advertised, 
That she was coming with a full intent 
To dash our late decree in parliament, 



Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession. 
Short tale to make, — we at Saint Albans met : 
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought ; 
Rut, whether 't was the coldness of the king, 
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, 
That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen, 
Or whether 't was report of her success, 
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, 
Who thunders to his captives blood and death, 
I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth, 
Their weapons like to lightning came and went: 
Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight, 
Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail. 
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. 
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause. 
With promise of high pay, and great rewards, 
Rut all in vain ; they had no heart to fight, 
And we in them no hope to win the day; 
So that we fled : the king luito the queen. 
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself. 
In haste, poste-haste, are come to join witli you; 
For in the marches here, we heard, you were, 
Making another head to fight again. 

Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle War- 
wick ? 
And when came George from Rurgundy to England ? 

War. Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers; 
And for your brother, he was lately sent 
From your kind aunt, duchess of Rurgundy, 
With aid of soldiers to tliis needful war. 

Rich. 'T was odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled : 
Oft have 1 heard his praises in pursuit. 
Rut ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire. 

War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost tliou hear; 
For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine 
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, 
And wring the awful sceptre from his fist. 
Were he as famous, and as bold in war, 
As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. 

Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick ; blame me not : 
'T is love, I bear thy glories, ma,kes me speak. 
Rut in this troublous time what's to be done ? 
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, 
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns. 
Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? 
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes 
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? 
If for the last, say^ — Ay. and to it, lords. 

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you 
out. 
And therefore comes my brother Montague. 
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, 
With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland, 
And of their feather many more proud birds. 
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. 
He swore consent to your succession. 
His oath enrolled in the parliament ; 
And now to London all the crew are gone. 
To frustrate both his oalh, and what beside 
May make against the house of Lancaster : 
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong. 
Now. if the help of Norfolk, and myself. 
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March, 
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure. 
Will but amount to five and twenty thousawd. 
Why, Via ! to Loudon will we march amain,^ 
And once again bestride our foaming steeds, 



1 Some mod. eds. insert the line : 

And very well appointed, as I thought, 
from the " True Tragedy." 3 From the ■' True Tragedy." 



490 



THIRD PART OF 



ACT II. 



And once again cry — Charge ! upon our foes ; 
But never oiice again turn back, and fly. 

Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick 
speak. 
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, 
That cries — Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. 

Ediv. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; 
And when thou fail'st', (as God forbid the hour !) 
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend ! 

War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York : 
The next degree is, England's royal throne ; 
For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd 
In every borough as we pass along ; 
And he that throws not up his cap for joy. 
Shall for tlie fault make forfeit of his head. 
King Edward, — valiant Richard, — Montague, — 
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown, 
But sound the trumpets, and about our task. 

Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, 
As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, 
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. 

Edw. Then strike up, drums ! — God, and Saint 
George, for us ! 

Enter a Messenger. 

War. How now : what news V 

Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends yovi word by me, 
The queen is coming with a puissant host, 
And craves your company for speedy counsel. 

War. Why then, it sorts: brave warriors, let 's away. 

"[Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Before York. 
Flourish. Enter King Henry, Qnecn Margaret, the 
Prince of Wales, Clifford, and Northumberland, 
with Drums and Trumpets. 

Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of 
York. 
Yonder 's the head of that arch-enemy, 
That sought to be encompass'd with your crown : 
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord ? 

K. Hea. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their 
wreck : 
To see this sight, it irks my very soul. — 
Withhold revenge, dear God ! 't is not my fault ; 
Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow. 

Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity 
And harmful pity, must be laid aside. 
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks ? 
Not to the beast that would usurp their den. 
Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick ? 
Not his that spoils her young before her face. 
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? 
Not he that sets his foot upon her back. 
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on ; 
And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. 
Ambitious York did level at thy crown ; 
Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows ; 
He, but a duke, would have his son a king, 
And raise his issue like a loving sire ; 
Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, 
Didst yield consent to disinherit him, 
Which argued thee a most unloving father. 
Unreasonable creatures feed their young ; 
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, 
Yet, in protection of their tender ones, 
Who hath not seen them, even with those wings 
Which sometime they have us'd in fearful flight. 
Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest. 



Oflfering their owTi lives in their young's defence ? 

For shame, my liege ! make them your precedent. 

Were it not pity, that this goodly boy 

Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, 

And long hereafter say unto his child, — 

" What my great-grandfather and grandsire got, 

My careless father fondly^ gave away." 

Ah ! what a shame were this. Look on the boy; 

And let his manly face, which promiseth 

Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart 

To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. 

K. Hen. Full well hath Cliflbrd play'd the orator, 
Inferring arguments of mighty force. 
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear, 
That things ill got had ever bad success? 
And happy always was it for that son. 
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell ? 
I '11 leave my son my virtuous deeds behind, 
And would my father had left me no more; 
For all the rest is held at such a rate. 
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep, 
Than in possession any jot of pleasure. — 
Ah. cousin York ! would thy best friends did know, 
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here ! 

Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits : our foes 
are nigh, 
And this soft carriage^ makes your followers faint. 
You promis'd knighthood to our forward son : 
Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently. — 
Edward, kneel down. 

K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight ; 
And learn this lesson, — Draw thy sword in right. 

Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, 
I '11 draw it as apparent to the crown, 
And in that quarrel use it to the death. 

Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness : 
For. with a band of thirty thousand men. 
Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York; 
And, in the towns, as they do march along, 
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him. 
Darraign* your battle, for they are at hand. 

Clif. I would, your highness would depart the field : 
The queen hath best success when you are absent. 

Q. ilior. Ay, my good lord, and leave us to our for- 
tune. 

A'. Hen. Why, that 's my fortune too ; therefore I '11 
stay. 

North. Be it with resolution, then, to fight. 

Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords. 
And hearten those that fight in your defence. 
Unsheath your sword, good father : cry, •' Saint 

George !" 
March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Warwick, 
Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. 

Edw. NoAV, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace. 
And set thy diadem upon my head, 
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ? 

Q. 3Iar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy : 
Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, 
Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king ? 

Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee : 
I was adopted heir by his consent ; 
Since when, his oath is broke: for, as I hear, 
You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, 
Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament. 
To blot out me, and put his own son in. 



1 The old play : faint'st. Malone and most eds. : fall'st. 
meaning of the -word in the text. 



3 Foolishly. 3 courage : in f. e. * The old play : Prepare ; the modern 



SCENE III. 



KING HENKY YI. 



491 



CHf. And reason too : 
Who sliould succeed the father, 'bxit the son ? 

Rich. Arc you there, butcher? — ! I cannot speak. 

Clif. Ay, crook-back ; here I stand, to answer thee, 
Or any he the proudest of thy sort. 

Rich. 'T was you that kill'd young Rutland, was it 
not? 

Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. 

Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. 

War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the 
crown ? 

Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick ! 
dare you speak ? 
When you and I met at Saint Albans last. 
Your legs did better service than your hands. 

War. Then 't was my turn to fly, and now 't is thine. 

CUf. You said so much before, and yet you fled. 

War. 'T was not your valour, Clifford, drove me 
thence. 

North. No, nor your manhood that durst make you 
stay. 

Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. 
Break off" the parley j for scarce I can refrain 
The execution of my big-swoln heart 
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. 

Clif. I slew thy father : call'st thou him a child ? 

Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward, 
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ; 
But ere sun-set I '11 make thee curse the deed. 

K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear 
nie speak. 

Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. 

K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue : 
I am a king, and privilcg'd to speak. 

Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting 
here. 
Cannot be cur'd by words : therefore be still. 

Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword. 
By him tliat made us all, I am rcsolv'd, 
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. 

Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? 
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day. 
That ne'er sliall dine, unless thou yield the crown. 

War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head ; 
For York in justice puts his armour on. 

Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is right. 
There is no wrong, but every thing is right. 

Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; 
For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. 

Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam ; 
But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic', 
iSIark'd by the destinies to be avoided. 
As venom toads, or lizard.s' dreadful stings. 

Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, 
Whose father bears the title of a king, 
(As if a channel'-' should be call'd the sea) 
Sham'.*t thou not, knowing whence thovi art extraught, 
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart ? 

Edw. A wisp of straw^ were wor( h a thousand crowns. 
To make this shameless callat* know herself. — 
Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, 
Although thy husband may be Menelaus; 
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd 
By that false woman, as this king by thee. 
His father rcvell'd in the heart of Franco, 
And tam'd the king, and made the Dauphin stoop ; 
And, had he match'd according to his state, 
He might have kept that glory to this day ; 



But, when he took a beggar to his bed. 
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day. 
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, 
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, 
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. 
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride ? 
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept, 
And we, in pity of the gentle king, 
Had slipp'd our claim until another age. 

Geo. But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, 
And that thy summer bred us no increase, 
We set the axe to thy usurping root : 
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, 
Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike. 
We '11 never leave, till we have liewn thee down, 
Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. 

Edw. And in this resolution I defy thee ; 
Not willing any longer conference. 
Since thou deniedst the gentle king to speak. — 
Sound trumpets ! — let our bloody colours wave, 
And either victory, or a welcome grave.* 

Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. 

Edw. No, wrangling woman ; we '11 no longer stay: 
These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. 

{Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— A Field of Battle near Towton. 
Alarums : Excursions. Enter Warwick. 

War. Forspent with toil, as runners win a race, 
I lay me down a little while to breathe ; 
For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, 
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, 
And, spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile. 
Enter Edward, running. 

Edw. Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death; 
For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. 

War. How now, my lord ! what hap ? what hope of 
good ? 

Enter George. 

Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair : 
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us. 
What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? 

Edii}. Bootless is flight ; they follow us with wings. 
And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. 
Enter Richard. 

Rich. Ah, Warwick ! why hast thou withdrawn 
thyself? 
Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, 
Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance j 
And, in the very pangs of death he cried, 
Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, 
'■ Warwick, revenge ! brother, revenge my death !" 
So, underneath the bellies of their steeds. 
That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, 
The noble gentleman gaA'c up the ghost. 

War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood : 
I '11 kill my horse, because I will not fly. 
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, 
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage, 
And look upon, as if the tragedy 
Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors ? 
Here on my knee I vow to God above. [Kneeling.^ 
I '11 never pause again, never stand still. 
Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine, 
Or fortune given me measure of revenge. 

Edw. Warwick ! I do bend my knee with thine; 

{Kneeling.'' 
And in this vow do chain my .soul to thine. 



' One marked with a stigma. = Formerly synonymous, says Malone, with kennel. ^ Often applied to an abandoned woman. « A loiv, 
abandoned woman. ' or else a grave : iu f. e. '' "> Not in f. e. 



492 



THIKD PART OF 



ACT n. 



And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, 
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, 
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings ; 
Beseeching thee. — if with thy will it stands, 
That to my foes this body must be prey, — 
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope. 
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul. — [Rising.^ 
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, 
Where'er it be, in heaven, or in earth. 

Rich. Brother, give me thy hand ; — and. gentle 
Warwick, 
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms. 
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe, 
That winter should cut off our spring-time so. 

War. AAvay, away ! Once more, sweet lords, fare- 
well. 

Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, 
And give them leave to fly that will not stay. 
And call them pillars that will stand to us; 
And if we thrive promise them such rewards 
As victors wore at the Olympian games. 
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts ; 
For yet is hope of life, and victory. — 
Forcslow^ no longer; make we hence amain. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. Another Part of the Field. 
Excursion.^. Enter Richard and Clifford. 

Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone. 
Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York, 
And this for Rutland ; both bound to revenge, 
Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. 

Clif. Now, Iiichard, I am with thee here alone. 
This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York, 
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland : 
And here 's tlie heart that triumplis in their death, 
And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and brother. 
To execute the like upon thyself: 
And so, have at thee. 

[They fight. Warwick enters; Clifford ^/c5. 

Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase ; 
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt.^ 

SCENE v.— Another Part of the Field. 
Alarum. Enter Kins; Henry. 
K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war, 
When dying clouds contend with growing light ; 
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, 
Can neither call it perfect day nor night. 
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea 
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind : 
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea 
Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind : 
Sometime, the flood prevails ; and then, the wind; 
Now. one the better, then, another best ; 
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, 
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered : 
So is the equal poise of this fell war. 
Here, on this molehill, will I sit me down. 
To whom God will, there be the A-ictory ; 
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, 
Have chid me from the battle, swearing both. 
They prosper best of all when I am thence. 
Would I were dead ! if God's good will were so; 
For what is in this world but grief and woe ? 
O God ! methinks, it were a happy life, 
To be no better than a homely swain ; 
To sit upon a hill, as I do now, 
To carve out dials quaintlj', point by point, 
Thereby to see the minutes how they run : 

1 Not in f. e. 



killed his Father^ with 



How many make the hour full complete. 
How many hours bring about the day, 
' How many days will finish up the year, 
How many years a mortal man may live. 
When this is known, then to divide the times: 
So many hours must I tend my flock ; 
So many hours must I take my rest; 
So many hours must I contemplate ; 
So many hours must I sport myself; 
So many days my ewes have been witli young ; 
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; 
So many months ere I shall shear the fleece : 
So minutes, hours, days, months and years, 
Pass'd over to the end they were created. 
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 
Ah. what a life were this ! how sM'eet ! hoy lovely ! 
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, 
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 
To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? 
O ! yes it doth ; a thousand fold it doth. 
And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds, 
His cold thin drink out of liis leather bottle, 
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, 
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 
Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 
His viands sparkling in a golden cup. 
His body couched in a curious bed. 
When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him 
Alarum. Enter a Son that hath ~ 

the (lead Body. 

Son. Ill blows the Avind that profits no body. 
This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight. 
May be possessed with some store of crowns ; 
And I, that haply take them from him now. 
May yet ere night yield both my life and them 
To some man else, as this dead man to me. — 
Who 's this? — God ! it is my father's face. 
Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. 
heavy times, begetting such events ! 
From London by the king was I press'd forth ; 
My fattier, being the earl of Warwick's man. 
Came on the part of York, press'd by his master ; 
And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life. 
Have by my hands of life bereaved him. — 
Pardon me. God, I knew not what I did ; — 
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee. — 
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks. 
And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill. 

K. Hen. piteous spectacle ! bloody times ! 
Whiles lions war and battle for their dens. 
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. 
Weep, wretched man, I '11 aid thee, tear for tear ; 
And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war. 
Be blind with tears, and brcnk o'crcharg'd with grief 

Enter a Father, uho has killed his Son, bearing the 
Body. 

Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me. 
Give me thy gold, if thou liast any gold, 
For I have bought it with an hundred blows. — 
But let me see : — is this a foeman's face ? 
All, no, no, no ! it is mine only son ! — 
Ah, boy ! if any life be left in thee. 
Throw up thine eye : see, see, what showers arise, 
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart 
Upon thy wounds, tlint kill mine eye and heart ! — 
0, pity, God, this miserable age ! — 
What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, 
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural. 



2 Delay. 3 Two similar lines are found in the Second part of Henry VI., Act iv., So. ii. 



SCENE VI. 



KIXG IIENEY YI. 



493 



This deadly quarrel daily doth beget ! — 

boy ! thy father gave thee life too soon, 
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late. 

K. Hen. Woe above woe ! grief inore than common 
grief ! 
0, tliat my death would stay these ruthful deeds ! — 
0, pity, pity ! gentle heaven, pity ! — 
The red rose and the white are on his face, 
The fatal colours of our striving houses : 
The one his purple blood right well resembles, 
The other his pale cheeks, methinks. prcsenteth; 
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish ! 
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. 

Son. How wall my mother, for a father's death, 
Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied ? 

Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son. 
Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied ? 

K. Hen. How will the country, for these woful 
chances, 
IMisthink the king, and not be satisfied ? 

Son. Was ever son so rued a father's death ? 

Fath. Was ever father so bemoan'd a son ? 

K. Hen. Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe? 
Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much. 

Son. I '11 bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. 

[ Exit ivilh the Body. 

Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding- 
sheet ; 
My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre. 
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go. 
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell ; 
And so obsequious will thy father be, 
E'en' for the loss of thee, having no more. 
As Priam was for all his valiant sons. 

1 '11 bear thee hence ; and let them fight that will, 
For I have murder'd where I should not kill. 

[Exit icith the Body. 

K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care. 
Here sits a king more woful than you are. 
Alarums: Excursion.';. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince 
o/ Wales, and Exeter. 

Prince. Fly, father, fly ! for all your friends are fled, 
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull. 
Away ! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 

Q. 3Iar. Mount you, my lord : towards Berwick post 
amain. 
Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds, 
Having tlie fearful flying hare in sight. 
With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath. 
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands. 
Are at our backs ; and therefore hence amain. 

Exe. Away ! for vengeance comes along with them. 
Nay. stay not to expostulate ; make speed, 
Or else come aft(y : I '11 away before. 

K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter : 
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 
W^hither the queen intends. Forward ! away ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— The Same. 
A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded. 
Clif. Here burns my candle out ; ay, here it dies, 
Which, while it lasted, gave King Henry light. 
0, Lancaster ! I fear thy overthrow. 
More than my body's parting with my soul. 
iNIy love, and fear, glued many friends to thee ; 
And now I fall thy tough commixtures melt, 
Impairing Henry, strengthening mis-proud York. 



The conunon people swarm like summer-flies :- 
And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun ? 
And who shines now but Henry's enemies ? 

Phopbus ! hadst thou never given consent 
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds. 
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth ; 
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do. 
Or as thy father, and his father, did, 

Giving no ground unto the house of York. 

Th(^ never, then, had sprung like summer flies ; 

I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm, 

Had left no mourning widows for our death. 

And thou this day liadst kept thy chair in peace. 

For what doth chcrLsh weeds but gentle air ? 

And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity ? 

Bootless are plaints, and cureles:s are my wounds. 

No way to fly, nor strength to hold out fliglit : 

The foe is merciless, and will not pity ; 

For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity. 

The air hath got into my deadly wounds, 

And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. — 

Come. York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest ; 

1 stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. 

[He faints. 
Alarum and Retreat. Enter Edward, George, Richard, 



Edw. 



jMontague, Warwick, and Soldiers. 



Now breathe we, lords 
pause 



good fortune bids us 



And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. — 

Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, 

That led calm Henry, though he were a king, 

As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, 

Command an argosy to stem the waves. 

But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? 

War. No, 't is impossible he should escape ; 
For, thougli before his face I speak the words, 
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave, 
And wheresoe'er he is, he 's surely dead. 

[Clifford groans.^ 

Rich. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy- 
leave ? 
A deadly groan, like life and death's departing: 
See who it is. 

Edw. And, now the battle 's ended. 

If friend, or foe, let him be gently used. 

[Clifford dies. 

Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford : 
Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch 
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, 
But set his murdering knife unto the root 
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring ; 
I mean, our princely father, duke of York. 

IVar. From off" the gates of York fetch dowTi the 
head. 
Your father's head, which Clifford placed there ; 
Instead whereof, let this supply the room : 
Measure for measure must be answered. 

Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, 
That nothing sung but death to us and ours : 
Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, 
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. 

[Soldiers'^ bring the Body forward 

War. I think his understanding is bereft. — 
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? 
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, 
And lie nor sees, nor hears us. what we say. 

Rich. 0, would he did ! and .so, perhaps, he doth: 
'T is but his policy to counterfeit, 



' Bad : in f. e. ; changed by Rowe. from '" men."" in the folio, 
add : and dies ; and omit the stage direction a few lines below. 



2 This line was inserted by Theobald, from the " True Tragedy." 
* Attendants : in f. e. 



3f. e. 



494 



THIRD PART OF 



ACT in. 



Because he would avoid such bitter taunts 
Which in the time of death he gave our father. 

Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager' ■«'Drds. 

Rich. Clifford ! ask mercy, and obtain no grace. 

[They pull him to and fro.'^ 

Edw. Clifford ! repent in bootless penitence. 

War. Clifford ! devise excuses for thy faults. 

Geo. While M'e devise fell tortures for thy faults. 

Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. 

Edw. Thou pitiedst Ptutland ; I will pity thee. 

Geo. Where 's captain Margaret to fence you now ? 

War. They mock thee, Clifford : swear as thou wast 
wont. 

Rich. What ! not an oath ? nay then, the world goes 
hard, 
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. — 
I know by that, he 's dead ; and, by my soul, 
If this right hand would buy two hours' life. 
That I in all despite might rail at him, [blood 

This hand should chop it off; and with the issuing 
Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst 
York and young Rutland could not satisfy. 

War. Ay, but he 's dead. Off with the traitor's head, 
And rear it in the place your father's stands. — 



And now to London with triumphant march. 

There to be crowned England's royal king : 

From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, 

And ask the lady Bona for thy queen. 

So shalt thou sinew both these lands together ; 

And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread 

The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again : 

For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, 

Yet look to have them buz. t' offend thine ears. 

First, will I see the coronation, 

And then to Brittany I '11 cross the sea. 

To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. 

Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; 
For in thy shoulder do I build my seat. 
And never will I undertake the thing, 
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting^ — 
Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster ; 
And George, of Clarence : — Warwick, as ourself, 
Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best. 

Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence, George of Gloster, 
For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous. 

War. Tut ! that 's a foolish observation : 
Richard, be duke of Gloster. Now to London, 
To see these honours in possession. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— A Chace in the North of England. 
Enter two Keepers^ ivith Cross-bows in their Hands. 

1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we '11 shroud 

ourselves ; 
For through this la\Ani anon the deer will come, 
And in this covert will we make our stand, 
Culling the principal of all the deer. 

2 Keep. I '11 stay above the hill, so both may shoot. 

1 Keep. That cannot be ; the noise of thy cross-bow 
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. 

Here stand we both, and aim we at the best : 

And, for the time shall not seem tedious, 

I 'II tell thee what.befel me on a day, 

In this self-place, where now we mean to stand. 

2 Keep. Here comes a man : let 's stay till he be past. 
E7iter King Henry, disguised as a churchman,^ with a 

Prayer-book. 
K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love, 
To greet mine owai land witii my wishful sight. 
No, Harry, Harry, 't is no land of thine ; 
Thy place is fiU'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, 
Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed : 
No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, 
No humble suitors press to speak for right, 
No, not a man comes for redress of thee. 
For how can I help them, and not myself? 

1 Keep. Ay, here 's a deer whose skin 's a keeper's fee. 
This is the quondam king : let 's seize upon him. 

K. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities* ; 
For wise men say, it is the wisest course. 

2 Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. 
1 Keep. Forbear a while ; we '11 hear a little more. 
K. Hen. My queen and son are gone to France for aid ; 

And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick 
Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister 
To wife for Edward. If this news be true, 
Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost ; 
For Warwick is a subtle orator, 



And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. 

By this account, then, Margaret may win him, 

For she 's a woman to be pitied much : 

Her sighs will make a battery in his breast, 

Her tears will pierce into a marble heart ; 

The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn. 

And Nero will be tainted with remorse, 

To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears. 

Ay, but she 's come to beg ; Warwick, to give : 

She on his left side craving aid for Henry, 

He on his right asking a wife for Edward. 

She weeps, and says — her Henry is depos'd ; 

He smiles, and says — his Edward is mstall'd ; 

That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more, 

Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the WTong, 

Inferreth arguments of mighty strength ; 

And. in conclusion, wins the king from her. 

With promise of his sister, and aught else, 

To strengthen and support king Edward's place. 

Margaret ! thus 't will be ; and thou, poor soul, 

Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn. 

2 Keep. Say, what art thou talkest of kings and 
queens? [Coming forward.^ 

K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was 
born to : 
A man at least, for less I should not be ; 
And men may talk of kings, and why not I ? 

2 Keep. Ay. but tliou talk'st as if thou wert a king. 

K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind ; and that 's enough. 

2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown ? 

K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head; 
Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones, 
Nor to be seen : my crown is call'd, content : 
A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy. 

2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, 
Your crown, content, and you, must be contented 
To go along with us ; for. as we think, 
You are the king, king Edward hath depos'd ; 
And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance, 



1 Sour^ sharp, a Not in f. e. 3 The words, as a churchman : notin f. e. * adversaries : in folio. Pope changed the word, s Not inf. e. 



SCENE n. 



KING HENKY VL 



495 



Will apprehend you as his enemy. 

K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break an oath ? 

2 Keep. No, never such an oath ; nor will not now. 

K. Hen. Where did you dwell when I was king of 
England ? 

2 Keep. Here in this country, where we now remain. 

K. Hen. I was anointed king at nine months old, 
My father and my grandfather, were kings. 
And you were sworn true subjects unto me ; 
And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths ? 

1 Keep. No ; 
For we were subjects, but while you were king. 

K. Hen. Why, am I dead ? do I not breathe a man ? 
Ah, simple men ! you know not what you swear. 
Look, as I blow this feather from my face, 
And as the air blows it to me again. 
Obeying with my wind when I do blow, 
And yielding to another when it blows. 
Commanded always by the greater gust. 
Such is the lightness of you common men. 
But do not break your oaths ; for of that sin 
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. 
Go where you will, the king shall be commanded, 
And be you kings ; command, and I 'II obey. 

1 Keep. We are true subjects to the king, king Ed- 
ward. 

K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, 
If he were seated as king Edward is. 

1 Keep. We charge you, in God's name, and in the 
king's. 
To go with us unto the officers. 

K. Hen. In God's name, lead : your king's name be 
obey'd : 
And what God will, that let your king- perform ; 
And what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter King Edward, in state., croivned^^ Gloster, Cla- 
rence, and Lady Grey. 

K. Ediv. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Albans' field 
This lady's hu.sband, sir John Grey, was slain, 
His land then seiz'd on by the conqueror : 
Her suit is now to repossess those lands, 
Which we in justice cannot well deny, 
Because in quarrel of the house of York 
The worthy gentleman did lose his life. 

Glo. Your highness shall do well, to grant her suit: 
It were dishonour to deny it her. 

K. Edw. It were no less ; but yet I '11 make a pause. 

Glo. Yea; is it so? [Aside. 

I see, the lady hath a thing to grant, 
Before the king will grant her humble suit. 

Clar. He knows the game : how true he keeps the 
wind ! [Aside. 

Glo. Silence ! [Aside. 

K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of 3'our suit. 
And come some other time to know our mind. 

L. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay : 
May it please your highness to resolve me now, 
And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me. 

Glo. Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you all your 
lands. 
An if what pleases him shall pleasure you 



Fight closer, or, good faith, you '11 catch a blow. 



Aside. 
Aside. 
A.nde. 



Clar. I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. 
Glo. God forbid that, for he '11 take vantages. 
K. Edw. How many children hast thou, widow ? tell 

me. 
Clar. I think, he means to beg a child of her. [Aside. 

' The words, in slate, crowned: not in f. e. 



Glo. Nay then, whip me ; he '11 rather give her two. 

[Aside. 
L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord. 
Glo. You shall have four, if you '11 be rul'd by him. 

[Aside. 
K. Edw. 'T were pity, they should lose their father's 

lands. 
L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. 
K.Edw. Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's 

wit. 
Glo. Ay, good leave have you ; for you will have leave, 
Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. 

[Gloster and Clarence stand back. 
K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love your 

children ? 
L. Grey. Ay. full as dearly as I love myself. 
K. Edw. And would you not do much, to do them 

good? 
L. Grey. To do them good I would sustain some 

harm. 
K. Edw. Then, get your husband's lands to do them 

good. 
L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. 
K. Edw. I '11 tell you how these lands are to be got. 
L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' 

service. 
K. Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I give 

them ? 
L. Grey. What you command, that rests in me to do. 
K. Ediv. But you will take exceptions to my boon. 
L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. 
K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. 
L. Grey. Why then, I will do what your grace com- 
mands. 
Glo. He plies her hard ; and much rain wears the 

marble. [Aside. 

Clar. As red as fire ! nay then, her wax must melt. 

[Aside. 
L. Grey. Why stops my lord ? shall I not hear my 

task ? 
K. Edw. An easy task : 't is but to love a king. 
L. Grey. That 's soon perform'd, because I am a 

subject. 
K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's lands I freely 

give thee. 
L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand thanks. 
Glo. The match is made : she seals it with a curt'sy. 

[Aside. 
K. Edw. But stay thee ; 't is the fruits of love I mean. 
L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. 
K. Edw. Ay, but I fear me, in another sense. 
What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get ? 

L. Grey. My love till death ; my humble thanks, my 

prayers : 
That love which virtue begs, and virtue grants. 

K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. 
L. Grey. Why then, you mean not as I thought you 

did. 
K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my mind. 
L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I perceive 
Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. 

K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. 
L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison. 
K. Edw. Why then, thou shalt not have thy hus- 
band's lands. 
L. Grey. Why then, mine honesty shall be my 

dower ; 
For by tliat loss I will not purchase them. 

A'. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. 



496 



THIRD PART OF 



Acr m. 



L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both them 
and me. 
But. mighty lord, this merry inclination 
Accords not with the sadness' of my suit ; 
Please you dismiss me, either with ay, or no. 

K. Edw. Ay, if thou wilt say ay, to my request; 
No. if thou dost say no, to my demand. 

L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. 

Glo. The widow likes him not, she knits her brows. 

[Aside. 

Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. 

[Aside. 

K. Edw. Her looks do argue her replete with mo- 
desty ; [Aside. 
j Her M^ords do show her wit incomparable • 
All her perfections challenge sovereignty : 
One way, or other, she is for a king. 
And she shall be my love, or else my queen. — 
Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen ? 

L. Grey. 'T is better said than done, my gracious lord: 
I am a subject fit to jest withal, 
But far unfit to be a sovereign. 

K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee, 
I speak no more than what my soul intends ; 
And that, is to enjoy thee for my love. 

L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield unto. 
I know, I am too mean to be your queen, 
And yet too good to be your concubine. 

K. Edw. You cavil, widow ; I did mean, my queen. 

L. Grey. 'T will grieve your grace, my sons should 
call you father. 

K. Edw. No more, than when my daughters call 
thee mother. 
Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children ; 
And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, 
Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing 
To be the father unto many sons. 
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. 

Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. 

[Aside. 

Clar. When he was made a shriver. 't M'as for shift. 

[Aside. 

K. Edio. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have 
had. [Gloster and Clarence come fonoard.^ 

Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad. 

K. Edw. You 'd think it strange if I should marry her. 

Clar. To whom, my lord ? 

-^- Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself? 

Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at the least. 

Clar. That 's a day longer than a wonder lasts. 

Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes. 

K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers : I can tell you both. 
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. 
Enter a Nobleman. 

Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, 
And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. 

K. Edw. See. that he be convey'd unto the Tower : — 
And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, 
To question of his apprehension. — 
Widow, go you along. — Lords, use her honourably. 

[Exeunt King Edward, Lady Grey, Cla- 
rence, and Lord. 

Glo. Ay, Edward will use women honourably. 
'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all. 
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, 
To cross me from the golden time I look for ! 
And yet, between my soul's desire, and me, 

1 Seriousness. " Not in f. e. 



The lustful Edward's title buried, 

Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, 

And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies. 

To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: 

A cold premeditation for my purpose. 

Why then, I do but dream on sovereignty; 

Like one that stands upon a promontory, 

And spies a far-off shore where he would tread. 

Wishing his foot were equal with his eye ; 

And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, 

Saying — he '11 lade it dry to have his way: 

So do I wish the crown, being so far off. 

And so I cliide the means- that keep me from it ; 

And so I say I '11 cut the causes otF, 

Flattering me with impossibilities. — 

My eye 's too quick, my heart o'erweens too .much, 

Unless my hand and strength could equal them. 

Well, say there is no kingdom, then, for Richard, 

What other pleasure can the world afford ? 

I '11 make my heaven in a lady's lap, 

And deck my body in gay ornaments, 

And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. 

miserable thought ! and more unlikely. 
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns. 
Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb ; 
And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, 
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe 
To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub ; 
To make an envious moimtain on my back. 
Where sits deformity to -mock my body ; 

To shape my legs of an unequal size; 

To disproportion me in every part, 

Like to a chaos,.or an unlick'd bear- whelp. 

That carries no impression like the dam. 

And am I, then, a man to be belov'd ? 

0, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought ! 

Then, since this earth affords no joy to me. 

But to command, to check, to o'erbear such 

As are of better person than myself, 

1 '11 make my heaven to dream upon the crown : 
And, whiles I live, t' account this world but hell, 
Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bears this head, 
Be round impaled with a glorious crown. 

And yet t know not how to get the crown, 

For many lives stand between me and home : 

And I, like one lost in a thorny wood, 

That rends the thorns, and is rent with the thorns, 

Seeking a way, and straying from the way, 

Not knowing how to find the open air, 

But toilmg desperately to find it out. 

Torment myself to catch the English crown : 

And from that torment I will free myself, 

Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. 

Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile, 

And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart, 

And wet my cheeks with artificial tears. 

And frame my face to all occasions. 

I '11 drown more sailors than the mermaid shall, 

I '11 slay more gazers than the basilisk ; 

I '11 play the orator as well as Nestor, 

Deceive more slily than Ulysses could. 

And like a Sinon take another Troy. 

I can add colours to the cameleon. 

Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages. 

And send the murderous Machiavel to school. 

Can I do this, and cannot get a crown ? 

Tut ! were it further ofii", I 'd pluck it down. [Exit. 



SCENE III. 



KING HENRY YL 



497 



SCENE III.— France. A Room in the Palace. 

Flourish. Enter Lewis the French King^ and Lady 

Bona, attended ; the King takes his State. Then, 

enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and the 

Earl of Oxford. 

K. Lew. Fair queen of England, worthy Margaret, 
Sit down with ii.s : it ill befits thy state, 
And birth, that tliou shouldst stand, while Lewis doth 
sit. 

Q. Mar. No, mighty king of France ; now Margaret 
Must strike her sail, and learn a while to serve, 
Where kings command. I was, I must confess, 
Great Albion's queen in former golden days • 
But now mischance hath trod my title down, 
And with dishonour laid me on the ground, 
Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, 
And to my liumble seat conform myself. 

A'. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this 
deep despair ? 

Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with 
tears, 
And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares. 

A'. Leiv. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself. 
And sit thee by our side : yield not thy neck 

[Seats her by him. 
To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind 
Still ride in triumph over all mischance. 
Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; 
It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief. 

Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my drooping 
thoughts, 
And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. 
Now. therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, 
That Henry, sole possessor of my love. 
Is of a king become a banished man. 
And forc'd to live in Scotland all forlorn : 
Wliile proud ambitious Edward, duke of York, 
Usurps the regal title, and the scat 
Of England's true-anointed lawful king. 
This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret, 
With this my son, prince Edward, Henry's heir. 
Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid ; 
And if thou fail us all our hope is done. 
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help ; 
Our people and our peers are both misled, 
Our treasure seiz'd, ovir soldiers put to flight, 
And, as thou see.st, ourselves in heavy plight. 

K. Lew. Renowned queen, wdth patience calm the 
storm, 
While we bethink a means to break it off. 

Q. Mar. The more W"e stay, the stronger grows our 
foe. 

K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I '11 succour thee. 

Q. Mar. ! but impatience waiteth on true sorrow: 
And see where comes tlie breeder of my sorrow. 
Enter Warwick, attended. 

K. Lew. What's he, approacheth boldly to our pre- 
sence ? 

Q. JSLar. The earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest 
friend. 

K. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick. W^hat brings 
thee to France ? 

{He descewls. Queen Margaret rises. 

Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise ; 
For this is he that moves both wind and tide. 

War. From worthy Edward, king of Albion, 
I\Iy lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, 
I come in kindness, and unfeigned love, 



First, to do greetings to thy royal person. 
And, then, to crave a league of amity ; 
And, lastly, to confirm that amity 
With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant 
That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister; 
To England's king in lawful marriage. 

Q. Mar. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done. 

War. And, gracious madam, [To Bona.] in our 
king's behalf, 
I am commanded, with your leave and favour. 
Humbly to ki.'^s your hand, and with my tongue 
To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart ; 
Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears, 
Hath plac'd thy beauty's image, and thy virtue. 

Q. Mar. King Lewis, and lady Bona, hear me speak, 
Before you answer Warwick. His demand 
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love. 
But from deceit, bred by necessity ; 
For how can tyrants safely govern home, 
Unless abroad they purchase great alliance ? 
To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice, — 
That Henry liveth still : but were he dead, 
Yet here prince Edward stands, king Henry's son. 
Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage 
Thou draw not on thee" danger and dishonour ; 
For though usurpers sway the rule awhile. 
Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. 

War. Injurious Margaret ! 

Prince. And why not queen ? 

War. Because thy father Henry did usurp, 
And thou no more art prince than she is queen. 

Oxf. Then, Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt, 
Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain ; 
And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the fourth. 
Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest ; 
And after that wise prince, Henry the fifth. 
Who by his prowess conquered all France.: , 
From these our Henry lineally descends. 

War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse. 
You told not, how Henry the sixth hath lost 
All that which Henry the fifth had gotten ? 
Methinks, these peers of France should smile at that. 
But for the rest, — you tell a pedigree 
Of threescore and two yeare ; a silly time 
To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. 

Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy 
liege. 
Whom thou obcyedst thirty and six years, 
And not bewray thy treason with a blush ? 

War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right, 
Now buckler falsehood wdtli a pedigree ? 
For shame ! leave Henry, and call Edward king. 

Oxf. Call him my king, by whose injurious doom 
My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere, 
Was done to death ? and more than so, my father, 
Even in the downfall of his mellowd years, 
When nature brought him to the door of death ? 
No, Warwick, no ; while life upholds this arm, 
This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. 

War. And I the house of York. 

K. Lew. Queen Margaret, prince Edward,, and Ox- 
ford, 
Vouchsafe at our request fo stand aside, 
While I use farther conference with Warwick. 

Q. Mar Heaven grant, that Warwick's words be- 
w^itch him not ! [They stand apart. 

K. Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy con- 
science. 
Is Edward your true king ? for I were loath. 



thy : in f. e. 



32 



498 



THIRD PART OF 



ACT m. 



To link with him that were not lawful chosen. 

War. Thereon I pawn my credit, and mine honour. 

K. Leio. But is he graciou.s in the people's eye? 

War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate. 

K. Lew. Then farther, all dissembling set aside, 
Tell me for truth the measure of his love 
Unto our sister Bona. 

War. Such it seems, 

As may beseem a monarch like himself. 
Myself have often heard him say, and swear, 
That this his love was an eternal plant ; 
Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground, 
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun, 
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, 
Unless the lady Bona quit his pain. 

K. Leu\ Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve. 

Bona. Your grant, or yoiir denial, shall be mine. — 
Yet I confess, {To War.] that often ere this day, 
W^hen I have heard your king's desert recounted. 
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. 

K. Lcu\ Then, Warwick, thus : — our sister shall be 
Edward's ; 
And now forthwith shall articles be dra^ATi 
Touching the jointure that your king must make, 
Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd. — 
Draw near, queen Margaret, and be a witness, 
That Bona shall be wife to the English king. 

Prince. To Edward, but not to the English king. 

Q. Mar. Deceitful Warwick ! it was thy device 
By this alliance to make void my suit : 
Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend. 

K. LcuK And still is friend to him and Margaret : 
But if your title to the crown be weak, 
As may appear by Edward's good success. 
Then 't is but reason, that I be releas'd 
From giving aid which late I promised. 
Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand. 
That your estate requires, and mine can yield. 

War. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ease, 
Where having nothing, nothing can ho lose. 
And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, 
You have a father able to maintain you, 
And better 't were you troubled him than France. . 

Q. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick ! 
Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings, 
[ will not hence, till with my talk and tears, 
Both full of trtith, I make king Lewis behold 
Thy sly conveyance,' and thy lord's false love ; 
For both of you are birds of self-same feather. 

\A horn sowided within. 

K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee. 
Enter the Post. 

Post. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you, 
Sent from your brother, marquess Montague. — 
These from our king unto your majesty. — 
And, madam, these for you ; from whom I know not. 

[They all read their letters. 

Oxf. I like it Avell, that our fair queen and mistress 
Smiles at her news, w-hile Warwick frowns at his. 

Prince. Nay, mark how Lewis stamps as he were 
nettled : 
I hope all 's for the best. 

K. Lcu\ Warwick, what are thy news ? and yours, 
fair queen? [joys. 

Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with nnhop'd 
War. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent. 

K. Lew. What ! has your king married the lady Grey, 
And now, to soothe your forgery and his, 
Sends me a paper to persuade me patience ? 

1 Artifice. 2 Frighten. = xhis word is not in f. e. 



Is this th' alliance that he seeks with France ? 
Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner ? 

Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much belbre : 
This proveth Edward's love, and Warwick's honesty. 

War. King Lewis, I here protest, in sight of heaven. 
And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, 
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's ; 
No more my king, for he dishonours me, 
But most himself, if be could see his shame. 
Did I forget, that by the house of York 
My father came untimely to his death ? 
Did I let pass th' abuse done to my niece ? 
Did I impale him with the regal crown ? 
Did I put Henry from his native right. 
And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame ? 
Shame on himself, for my desert is honour : 
And to repair my honour lost for him, ' 

I here renounce him, and return to Henry. 
My noble queen, let former grudges pass, 
And henceforth I am thy true servitor. 
I will revenge liis wrong to lady Bona, 
And replant Henry in his former state. 

Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate 
to love ; 
And I forgive and quite forget old faults. 
And joy that thou becom'st king Henry's friend. 

War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, 
That if king Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us 
With some few bands of chosen soldiers, 
I '11 undertake to land them on our coast. 
And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 
"Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him: 
And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me. 
He 's very likely now to fall from him. 
For matching more for wanton lust than honour. 
Or than for strength and safety of our country. 

Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd. 
But by thy help to this distressed queen ? 

Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live. 
Unless thou rescue him from foul despair ? 

Bona. My quarrel and this English queen's are one. 

War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours. 

K. Lew. And mine, with hers, and thine, and Mar- 
garet's 
Therefore, at last I firmly am resolv'd 
You shall have aid. 

Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all at once. 

A'. Leiv. Then, England's messenger, return in post ; 
And tell false Edward, thy supposed king. 
That Lewis of France is sending over maskers. 
To revel it with him and his new bride : 
Thou seest what 's past ; go, fear' thy king withal. 

Bona. Tell him, in hope he '11 prove a widower shortly, 
I '11 wear the willow garland for his sake. 

Q. Mar. Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid aside, 
And I am ready to put armour on. 

War. Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong, 
And therefore I '11 uncrown liim ere 't be long. 
There 's thy reward : be gone. [Exit Post. 

K. Leio. But, Warwick, thou 

And Oxford, with five thousand warlike^ men. 
Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle : 
And, as occasion serves, this noble queen 
And prince shall follow with a fresh supply, 
Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt : 
What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty? 

War. This shall assure my constant loyalty : — 
That if our queen and this young prince agree, 
I '11 join mine eldest daughter, and my joy. 



SCENE I. 



laNG IIENPwY YI. 



499 



To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. 

Q. Mar. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your mo- 
tion. — 
Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, 
Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick; 
And with thy hand thy faith irrevocable. 
That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. 

Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it; 
And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. 

[He gives his hand to Warwick. 
K. Leiv. Why stay we now ? These soldiers shall 
be levied. 
And thou, lord Bourbon, our high admiral, 
Shall waft them over with our royal fleet. — 



I long, till Edward fall by war's mischance. 
For mocking marriage with a dame of France. 

{Exeunt all but Warwick. 
War. I came from Edward as ambassador. 
But I return his sworn and mortal foe : 
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, 
But dreadful war shall answer his demand. 
Had he none else to make a stale' but me? 
Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. 
I was the chie-f that rais'd him to the crown, 
And I "11 be cliief to bring him down again : 
Not that I pity Henry's misery, 
But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. \Exit. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Gloster, Clarence, Somerset, Montague. 

Glo. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you 
Of this new marriage with the lady Grey ? 
Hath not our brother made a worthy choice ? 

Clar. Alas ! you know, 'tis far from hence to France : 
How could he stay till Warwick made return ? 

Som. jNIy lords, forbear this talk : here comes the king. 
Flourish. Enter King Edward, attended; Lady Grey, 

as Queen; Pembroke, Stafford, and Hastings. 

Glo. And his well-chosen bride. 

Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what I think. 

K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you 
our choice. 
That you stand pensive, as half malcontent ? 

Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the earl of 
Warwick ; 
Which are so weak of courage, and in judgment, 
That they '11 take no otfence at our abuse. 

K. Edw. Suppose they take offence without a cause. 
They are but Lewis and Warwick : I am Edward, 
Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will. 

Glo. And you^ shall have your will, because our king; 
Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. 

K. Edw. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too? 

Glo. Not L 
No ; God forbid, that I should wish them sever'd 
Wlioin God hath join'd together : ay, and 't were pity, 
To sunder them that j'oke so well together. 

K. Edw. Setting your scorns and your mislike aside, 
Tell me some reason why the lady Grey 
Sliould not become my wife, and England's queen. — 
And you too, Somerset, and Montague, 
Speak freely what you think. 

Clar. Then this is mine opinion — that king Lewis 
Becomes your enemy, for mocking him 
About the marriage of the lady Bona. 

Glo. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, 
Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. 

K. Edw. What, if both Lewis and Warwick be ap- 
pcas'd 
By such invention as I can devise ? 

Mont. Yet to have join'd with France in such alliance. 
Would more have strengtheu'd this our commonwealth, 
'Gain.st foreign vstorms tlian any home-bred marriage. 

Ila.si. Why, knows not Montague, that of itself 
England is safe, if true within itself? 

Mont. But the safer, when 't is back'd with France. 

1 Stalking-horse. " Added by Rowe. 



Hast. 'T is better using France, than trusting France. 
Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas, 
Which he hath given for fence impregnable, 
And with their helps only defend ourselves : 
In them and in ourselves our safety lies. 

Clar. For this one speecli lord Hastings well deserves 
To have the heir of the lord Hungerford. 

K. Edw. Ay, what of that ? it was my will, and 
grant ; 
And for this once my will shall stand for law. 

Glo. And yet, melhinks, your grace hath not done 
well, 
To give the heir and daughter of lord Scales 
Unto the brother of your loving bride : 
She better would have fitted me, or Clarence ; 
But in your bride you bury brotherhood. 

Clar. Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir 
Of tlie lord Bonville on your new wife's son. 
And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. 

K. Edw. Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a wife. 
That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee. 

Clar. In choosing for yourself you show' d your judg- 
ment ; 
Which being shallow, you shall give me leave 
To play the broker in mine own behalf; 
And to that end I shortly mind to leave you. 

K. Edw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king, 
And not be tied unto his brother's will. 

Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleas'd his majesty 
To raise my state to title of a queen, 
Do me but right, and you must all confess 
That I was not ignoble of descent ; 
And meaner than myself have had like fortvme. 
But as this title honours me and mine, 
So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing. 
Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. 

A'. Edu'. Aly love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns. 
What danger, or what sorrow can befal thee. 
So long as Edward is thy constant friend. 
And their true sovereign whom they must obey ? 
Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, 
Unless they seek for hatred at my hands ; 
Wliich if they do. yet will I keep thee safe. 
And they shall feel the vengeance of my ^\Tath. 

Glo. I hear, yet say not much, but think the more. 

{Aside. 
Enter a Messenger. 

K. Edw. Now, messenger, what letters, or what news, 
From France ? 



500 



THIRD PAET OF 



ACT IV. 



3Iess. My sovereign liege, no letters, and few words ; 
But such as I, without your special pardon. 
Dare not relate. 

K. Edw. Go to, we pardon thee : therefore, in brief. 
Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. 
What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters ? 

Mess. At my depart these were his very words : — 
•'■ Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, 
That Lewis of France is sending over maskers, 
To revel it with him and his new bride." 

K. Edw. Is Lewis so brave ? belike, he thinks me 
Henry. 
But what said lady Bona to my marriage? 

Mess. These were her words, utter'd with mild dis- 
dain : — 
'•' Tell him. in hope he '11 prove a widower shortly, 
[ '11 wear the willow garland for his sake." 

K. Edw. I blame not her, she could say little less ; 
She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen ? 
For I have heard, that she was there in place. 

Mess. " Tell him," quoth she, " my mourning weeds 
are done, 
And I am ready to put armour on." 

K. Edw. Belike, she minds to play the Amazon. 
But what said Warwick to these injuries ? 

Mess. He, more incens'd against your majesty 
Than all the rest, discharg'd me with these words : — 
" Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong. 
And therefore I '11 uncrown him ere 't be long." 

K. Edw. Ha ! durst the traitor breathe out so proud 
words ? 
Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd : 
They shall have wars, and pay for their presumption. 
But say, is Warwick friends witli Margaret ? 

Mess. Ay, gracious sovereign : they are so link'd in 
friendship. 
That young prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter. 

Clar. Belike, the elder; Clarence will have the 
V younger. [Aside.'' 

Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast. 
For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter ; 
That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage 
I may not prove inferior to yourself. — 
You, that love me and Warwick, follow me. 

[Exit Clarence, and Somerset /o//oz'".9. 

Glo. Not L [Aside. 

My thoughts aim at a farther matter : I 
Stay not for the love of Edward, but the crown. 

K. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone to War- 
wick ! 
Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen. 
And haste is needful in this desperate case. — 
Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf 
Go levy men, and make prepare for war ; 
They are already, or quickly will be landed : 
Myself in person will straight follow you. 

[ExcmU Pembroke and Stafford. 
But, ere I go, Hastings, and Montague, 
Resolve my doubt : you twain, of all the rest. 
Are near to Warv.ick by blood, and by alliance : 
Tell me if you love Warwick more than me ? 
If it be so, then both depart to him : 
I rather wish you foes, than hollow friends ; 
But, if you mind to hold your true obedience, 
Give me assurance with some friendly vow. 
That I may never have you in suspect. 

Mont. So God help Montague as he proves true ! 

Hast. And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause ! 

K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us ? 

1 Not in f. e. 2 other : inf. e. 



GIo. Ay, in despite of all that .shall withstand you. 

K Edw. Why so ; then, am I sure of victory. 
Now, therefore, let us hence ; and lose no hour. 
Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. 

[Exeunt. 

SCExNE II.— A Plain in Warwickshire. 
Enter Warwick and Oxford with French and English^ 

Forces. 

War. Trust me. my lord, all hitherto goes well : 
The common people by numbers swarm to us. 

Enter Clarence and Somerset. 
But. see, where Somerset and Clarence come ! 
Speak suddenly, my lords; are we all friends? 

Clar. Fear not that, my lord. 

War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick : 
And welcome, Somerset. — I hold it cowardice, 
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart 
Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love ; 
Else might I think, that Clarence. Edward's brother, 
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings : 
But welcome, sweet Clarence ; my daughter shall be 

thine. 
And now what rests, but in night's coverture. 
Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, 
His soldiers lurking in the towns about, 
And but attended by a simple guard. 
We may surprise and take him at our pleasure ? 
Our scouts have found the adventure very easy : 
That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede, 
With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents. 
And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds ; 
So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle, 
At unawares may beat down Edward's guard, 
And seize himself ; I say not slaughter him, 
For I intend but only to surprise him. — 
You, that will follow me to this attempt. 
Applaud the name of Henry with your leader. 

[They all cry, Henry ! 
Why, then, let 's on our way in silent sort : 
For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George ! 

[Exeu7it. 

SCENE III. — Edward's Camp near Warwick. 
Enter certain Watchmen, to guard the King's tent. 

1 Watch. Come on. my masters, each man take his 

stand : 
The king by this is set him down to sleep. 

2 Watch. What, M-ill he not to bed ? 

1 Watch. Why, no ; for he hath made a solemn vow 
Never to lie and take his natural rest. 

Till Warwick or himself be quite supprcss'd. 

2 Watch. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day, 
If Warwick be so near as men report. 

3 Watch. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that. 
That with tlie king here resteth in his tent ? 

1 Watch. 'T is the lord Hastings, the king's chicfcst 

friend. 
3 Watch. ! is it so ? But why commands the king, 
That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, 
While he himself keeps in the cold field ? 

2 Watch. 'T is the more honour, because more dan- 

gerous. 

3 Watch. Ay, but give me worship and quietness ; 
I like it better than a dangerous honour. 

If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 
'T is to be doubted, he would waken him. 

1 Watch. Unless our halberds did shut up his pas- 
sage. 



SCENE Y. 



KmG HENRY VI. 



501 



2 Watch. Ay : "wherefore else guard we his royal tent, 
Bat to defend his person from night-foes ? 
Enter Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset, and 

Forces. 
War. This is his tent ; and see, where stand his 
guard. 
Courage, iny masters ! honour now, or never ! 
But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. 

1 Watch. Who goes there ? 

2 Watch. Stay, or thou diest. 

[Warwick, and the re.st, cry all — Warwick ! 
Warwick ! and set upon the Guard; who fly, 
crying — Arm! Arm! Warwick, and the 
rest, following theni.^ Shouts and confusion. 

Drains beating, and Trumpets sounding, re-enter War- 
wick, and. the rest, bringing the King out in his Gomi, 
Gloster and Hastings fly over 



sitting in a Chair 

the stage. 

Som. 



What are they that fly there? 

War. Richard, and Hastings : let them go ; here 's 
the duke. 

K. Edw. The duke ! why, Warwick, when we parted 
last. 
Thou call'dst me king? 

War. Ay, but the case is alter'd : 

When you disgrac'd me in my embassade, 
Then I degraded you from being king, 
And come now to create you duke of York. 
Alas ! how should you govern any kingdom, 
That know not how to use ambassadors. 
Nor how to be contented with one wife. 
Nor how to use your brothers brotherly, 
Nor how to study for the people's welfare. 
Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies ? 

K. Ediv. Yea,, brother of Clarence, art thou here too? 
Nay then, I see that Edward needs must down. — 
Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance. 
Of thee thyself, and all thy complices, 
Edward will always bear himself as king : 
Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, 
My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. 

War. Then, for his mind be Edward England's king : 

[Takes off his Crown. 
But Henry now shall wear the English crown, 
And be true king indeed ; thou but the shadow. — 
My lord of Somerset, at my request, 
See that forthwith duke Edward bo convey'd 
Unto my brother. Archbishop of York. 
When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, 
I '11 follow you. and tell what answer 
Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him : — 
Now, for a while farewell, good duke of York. 

K. Ediv. What fates impose, that men must needs 
abide : 
It boots not to resist both wind and tide. 

{Exit King Edward, led aid forcibly ; Somerset 
irith him. 

Oxf. What now remains, mj' lords, for us to do. 
But march to Loudon with our soldiers? 

War. Ay, Ihats the first thing that we have to do: 
To free king Henry from imprisonment. 
And see him seated in the regal throne. \Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Queen Elizabeth and F!,ivers. 
Riv. Madam, what makes in you this sudden change ? 
Q. Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn. 
What late misfortune is befallen king Edward ? 



Riv. What ! loss of some pitch'd battle against War- 
wick ? 

Q. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal person. 

Riv. Then, is my sovereign slain? 

Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner ; 
Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard, 
Or by his ibe surpris'd at unawares : 
And, as I farther have to understand, 
Is new committed to the bishop of York, 
Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe. 

Riv. These news, I must confess, are full of grief* 
Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may : 
Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day. 

Q. Eliz. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's decay; 
And I the rather wean me from despair, 
For love of Edward's oflspring in my womb : 
This is it that makes me bridle passion, 
And bear with mildness my mitifortune's cross : 
Ay, ay. for this 1 draw in many a tear, 
And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs. 
Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or dro^ni 
King Edward's fruit, true heir to th' English crown. 

R.iv. But, madam, where is Warwick then become ? 

Q. Eliz. I am informed that he comes towards Lou- 
don, 
To set the crown once more on Henry's head. 
Guess thou the rest ; king Edwai'd's friends must do^\^a t 
But to prevent the tyrant's violence, 
(For trust not him that hath once broken faith) 
I '11 hence forthwith unto the sanctuary. 
To save at least the heir of Edward's right : 
There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. 
Come therefore ; let us fly while we may fly : 
If Warwick take us we are sure to die. {Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— A Park near Middleham Castle in 

Yorkshire. 

Enter Gloster, Hastings, Sir William Stanley, and 

others. 
Glo. Now, my lord Hastings, and sir William Stanley, 
Leave off" to wonder why I drew yon hither. 
Into this chiefest thicket of the park. 
Thus stands the case. You know, our king, my brother. 
Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands 
He hath good usage and great liberty. 
And often, but attended with weak guard, 
Comes hunting this way to disport himself. 
I have advertis'd him by secret means, 
That if about this hour he make this way, 
Under the colour of his usual game, 
He shall here find his friends, with horse and men, 
To set him free from his captivity. 

Enter King Edward, and a Hunf.'iman. 
Hunt. This way, my lord, for this way lies the game. 
K. Ediv. Nay, this way, man: see, where the hunts- 
men stand. — 
Now, brother of Gloster, Hastings, and the rest, 
Stand you thus close to steal the bishop's deer ? 

G7o. Brother, the time and case rcquireth haste: 
Your horse stands ready at the park corner. 
K. Edw. But whither shall we then? 
Hast. To Lynn, my lord ; and ship from thence to 

Flanders. 
Glo. Well guess'd, believe me ; for that was my. 

meaning. 
K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. 
Glo. But wherefore stay we ? 't is no time to talk. 
A'. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou ? wilt thou go 
along ? 



1 The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 



Hunt. Better do so, than tarry and be hang'd. 
Glo. Come then : away ! let 's have no more ado. 
K. Ediv. Bishop, farewell : yliield thee from War- 
wick's frown, 
And pray that I may repossess the crown. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— A Room in the Tower. 
E7itcr King Henry, Clarence, Warwick, Somerset, 

young Henry of Richmond, Oxford, Montague, 

Lieutenant of the Toiver. and Attendants. 

K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that God and friends 
Have shaken Edward from the regal seat, 
And turn'd my captive state to liberty, 
My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys, 
At our enlargement what are thy due fees ? 

Lieti. Subjects may challenge nothing of their sove- 
reigns ; 
But if an humble prayer may prevail, 
I then crave pardon of your majesty. 

K. Hen. For what, lieutenant ? for well using me ? 
Nay, be thou sure, I '11 well requite thy kindness, 
For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure : 
Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds 
Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts, 
At last by notes of household harmony 
They quite forget their loss of liberty. — 
But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free*, 
And chiefly therefore I thank God, and thee ; 
He was the author, thou the instrument. 
Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite, 
By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me, 
And that the people of this blessed land 
May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars, 
Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, 
I here resign my government to thee, 
For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. 

War. Your grace hath still been fam'd for virtuous, 
And now may seem as wise as virtuous. 
By spying, and avoiding, fortune's malice ; 
For few men rightly temper with the stars : 
Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace, 
For choosing me when Clarence is in place. 

Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway. 
To whom the heavens in thy nativity 
Adjudg'd an olive branch, and laurel crown. 
As likely to be blest in peace, and war ; 
And, therefore, I yield thee my free consent. 

War. And I choose Clarence only for protector. 

K. Hen. Warwick, and Clarence, give me both your 
hands. 
Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts, 
That no dissension hiirder government : 
I make you both protectors of this land. 
While I myself will lead a private life, 
And in devotion spend my latter days. 
To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise. 

War. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's 
will ? 

Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent ; 
For on thy fortune I repose myself. 

War. Why then, though loath, yet must I be con- 
tent. 
We '11 yoke together, like a double shadow 
To Henry's body, and supply his place ; 
T mean, in bearing weight of government. 
While he enjoys the honour, and his ease. 
And, Clarence, now then, it is more than needful. 
Forthwith that Edward be pronoune'd a traitor, 
And all his lands and goods confiscated.' 

> Malone reads : te confiscate. 2 This word is not in f. e. 



Clar. What else ? aaid that succession be deter- 
min'd. 

War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part. 

K. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief affairs, 
Let me entreat, (for I command no more) 
That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward, 
Be sent for to return from France with speed ; 
For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear 
My joy of liberty is half eclips'd. 

Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all 
speed. 

K. Hen. My lord of Somerset, wliat youth is that. 
Of whom you seem to have so tender care ? 

Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Richmond. 

A'. Hen. Come hither. England's hope : if secret 
powers [Lays his Hand on'Tiis Head. 

Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, 
This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. 
His looks are full of peaceful majesty ; 
His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown. 
His hand to wield a sceptre : and himself 
Likely in time to bless a regal throne. 
Make much of him, my lords ; for this is he. 
Must help you more than you arc hurt by me. 
Enter a Messenger. 

War. What news, my friend ? 

Mess. That Edward is escaped from your brother, 
And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. 

War. Unsavoury news ! but how made he escape ? 

Mess. He was convey'd by Riciiard duke of Gloster, 
And the lord Hastings, who attended him 
In secret ambush on the forest side, 
And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him, 
For hunting was his daily exercise. 

War. My brother was too careless of his charge. — 
But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide 
A salve for any sore that may betide. • 

[Exeunt King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, 
Lieutenant^ and Attendants. 

Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's, 
For, doubtless, Burgundy will yield him help. 
And we shall have more wars, before 't be long. 
As Henry's late presaging prophecy 
Did glad my heart with hope of this young Rich- 
mond, 
So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts 
What may befal him, to his harm and ours : 
Therefore, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst. 
Forthwith we '11 send him hence to Brittany, 
Till storms be past of civil emnity. 

Oxf. Ay : for if Edward repossess the crown, 
'T is like that Richmond with the rest shall down. 

Som. It shall be .so; he shall to Brittany. 
Come therefore ; let 's about it speedily. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— Before York. 
Enter King Edward, Gloster, Hastings, and foreign^ 

Forces. 

K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings, and 
the rest. 
Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends, 
And says that once more I shall interchange 
My waned state for Henry's regal crown. 
Well have we pasjs'd, and now repass'd the seas, 
And brought desired help from Burgundy: 
What then remains, we being thus arriv'd 
From Ravenspurg haven before the gates of York, 
But that we enter as into our dukedom ? 

Glo. The gates made fast. — Brother, I like not this ; 



SCENE vin. 



KING HENRY VL 



503 



For many men, that, stumble at the threshold, 
Are well foretold that danger lurks witliin. 

K. Edw. Tush, man ! abodements must not now 
affright us : 
By fair or foul means we must enter in, 
For hither will our friends repair to us. 

Hast. My liege, I '11 knock once more to summon 
them. ^Knocks} 

Entcfj on the Wallsj the Mayor of York, and his 

Brethren. 
May. My lords, we were forewarned of your coming, 
And fc^hut the gates for safety of ourselves; 
For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. 

K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry be your king, 
Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of York. 

May. True, my good lord ; I know you for no less. 
A'. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing but my duke- 
As being well content with that alone. [dom, 

Glo. But when the fox hath once got in his nose. 
He'll soon find means to make the body follow. \Aside. 
Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you in a 
doubt ? 
Open the gates : we are king Henry's friends. 

May. Ay, say you so ? the gates shall then be open'd. 

[Exeunt from above. 
Glo. A wise stout captain he^, and soon persuaded. 
Hast. The good old man would fain that all were 
well. 
So 't were not 'long of him ; but, being enter'd, 
I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade 
Both him and all his brothers unto reason. 

Re-enter the ]\Iayor., and Two Aldermen, below. 
K. Edw. So, master mayor : these gates must not be 
shut, 
But in the night, or in the time of war. 
What ! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys, 

\Takes his Keys. 
For Edward will defend the town, and thee, 
And all those friends that deign to follow me. 

March. Enter Montgomery, and Forces. 
Glo. Brother, this is sir John Montgomery, 
Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd. 

K. Edw. Welcome, sir John ; but why come you in 

arms ? 
Mont. To help king Edward in his time of storm, 
As every loyal subject ought to do. 

K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery ] but we now 
forget 
Our title to the crown, and only claim 
Our dukedom, till God please to send the rest. 

3Iont. Then fare you well, for I will hence again : 
I came to serve a kins, and not 'a duke. — 
■ Drummer, strike up. and let us march away. 

[A March begun. 
K. Edw. Nay, stay, sir John, a while ; and we '11 
debate. 
By what safe means the crown may be recover'd. 

Mont. What talk you of debating ? in few words, 
If you '11 not here proclaim yourself our king, 
I '11 leave you to your fortune, and be gone 
To keep them back that come to succour you. 
Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title ? 

Glo. Why, brother, whereibre stand you on nice 

points ? 
K. Edw. When we grow stronger, then we '11 make 
our claim : 
Till then, 't is wisdom to conceal our meaning. 

Ha.-it. Away with scrupulous wit, now' arms must rule. 
Glo. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns. 



Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand : 
The bruit thereof will bring you many friends. 

K. Edw. Then be it as you will ; for 't is my right, 
And Henry but usurps the diadem. 

Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speakcth like himself, 
And now will I be Edward's champion. 

Hast. Sound, trumpet ! Edward shall be here pro- 
claim'd. — 
Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. 

\Gives him a Paper. Flourish. 

Sold. [Reads.] '• Edward the fourth, by the grace 
of God, king of England and France, and lord of Ire- 
land, &c." 

Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays king Edward's right, 
By this I challenge him to single fight. 

[Throivs dotvn his Gauntlet. 

All. Long live Edward the fourth ! 

K. Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery, and thanks 
unto you all : 
If fortune serve me, I '11 requite this kindness. 
Now, for this night, let 's harbour here in York, 
And when the morning sun shall raise his car 
Above the border of this horizon, 
We 'II forward towards Warwick, and his mates ; 
For, well I wot, that Henry is no soldier. — 
Ah. froward Clarence ! how evil it beseems thee. 
To flatter* Henry, and forsake thy brother ! 
Yet, as we may. we '11 meet both thee and Warwick. — 
Come on, brave soldiers : doubt not of the day ; 
And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VIII.— London. A Room in the Palace. 

Flourish. Enter King Henry. Warwick, Clarence, 

Montague, Exeter, a»<Z Oxford. 

War. What counsel, lords ? Edward from Belgia, 
With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders, 
Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas, 
And with his troops doth march amain to London j 
And many giddy people flock to him. 

K. Hen.^ Let 's le\^ men, and beat him back again. 

Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out, 
Which, being suffcr'd, rivers cannot quench. 

War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends, 
Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; 
Those will I muster up : — and thou, son Clarence, 
Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, 
The knights and gentlemen. to come with thee: — 
Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, 
Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find 
I\Ien Avell inclin"d to hear what thou command' st : — 
And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd 
In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. — 
My sovereign, with the loving citizens, 
Like to his island girt in with the ocean. 
Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs. 
Shall rest in London, till we come to him. — 
Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply. — 
Farewell, my sovereign. 

K. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true 
hope. 

Clar. In sign of truth I kiss your highness' hand. 

K. Hen. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate. 

]\Iont. Comfort, my lord : — and so I take my leave. 

Oxf. And thus [Kis.-^ing Henry's hand\ I seal my 
truth, and bid adieu. 

K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague, 
And all at once, once more a happy farewell. 

War. Farewell, sweet lords : let 's meet at CeA'cntry. 
[Exeunt War. Clar. Oxf, and Mont. 



1 Not in f. c. 2 T)us word is not in f. e. 3 Some mod. eds. have needlessly transferred this speech to Oxford, 



504: 



THIRD PART OF 



ACT V. 



K. Hen. Here at the palace will I rest a while. 
• Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship ? 
Melhinks, the power, that Edward hath in field, 
Should not be able to encounter mine. 

Exe. The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest. 

K. Hen. That's not my fear ; my mind' hath got me 
I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, [fame. 
Nor posted off their suits with slow delays ; 
My pity haih been balm to heal their wounds. 
My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs, 
My mercy dry'd their bitter-flowing.^ tears: 
I have not been de.«irous of their wealth, 
Nor much opprcss'd them with great subsidies, 
Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd 
Then, why should they love Edward more than me ? 
No, Exeler, these graces challenge grace; 
And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb. 
The lamb will never cease to follow him. 

[Shout within. A Lancaster ! A Lancaster ! 



Exe. Hark, hark, my lord ! what shouts are these ? 

Enter King Edward, Gloster. and Soldiers. 
K. Edw. Seize on tlie shame-fac'd Henry ! bear him 
hence, 
And once again proclaim us king of England. — 
You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow : 
Now stops thy spring ; my sea shall suck them dry, 
And swell so much the higher by their ebb. — 
Hence with him to the Tower ! let him not speak. 

[Exeunt some with King Henry. 
And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course, 
Where peremptory Warwick now remains. 
The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay, 
Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay. 

Glo. Away betimes, before his forces join. 
And take the great-grown traitor unawares. ^ 
Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— Coventry. 

Enter upon the Walls, Warwick, the Mayor of-Coventry. 
Tico Messengers^ and others. 
If o;-. Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford ? 
How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow ? 

1 Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward. 
War. How far off" is our brother Montague ? — 

Where is the post that came from Montague ? 

2 Mess. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. 

Enter Sir John Somerville. 

TVar. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son? 
And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now ? 

So7n. At Southam I did leave him with his forces, 
And do expect him here some two hours hence. 

[Drum heard. 

War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum. 

So7n. It is not his, my lord ; here Southam lies : 
The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick. 

War. Who should that be ? belike, unlook'd-for 
friends. 

Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. 

March. Flourish. Enter King Edward, Gloster, 

and Forces. [parle. 

K. Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a 

Glo. See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall. 

War. 0, unbid spite ! is sportful Edward come ? 
Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduc'd. 
That we could hear no news of his repair ? [gates ? 

K. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city 
Speak gentle words, and himibly bend thy knee, 
Call Edward king, and at his hands beg mercy, 
And he shall pardon thee these outrages. 

War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence. 
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down ? 
Call Warwick patron, and be penitent, 
And thou shalt still remain — the duke of York. 

Glo. I thought, at least, he would have said the king : 
Or did he make the jest against his will? 

War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift ? 

Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give : 
I '11 do thee service for so good a gift. 

War. 'T was I, that gave the kingdom to thy brother. 

A'. Edw. Why then, 't is mine, if but by Warwick's gift. 

War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight : 

1 meed : in f. e. = water-flowing : in f. e. ^ Pack of cards. 



And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again ; 
And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. 

K. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner: 
And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this j 
What is the body, when the head is off? 

Glo. Alas ! that Warwick had no more forecast, 
But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, 
The king was slily finger'd from the deck !' 
You left poor Henry at the bishop's palace, 
And, ten to one. you '11 meet him in the Tower. 

K. Edw. 'T is even so : yet you are Warwick still. 

Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, 
kneel down. 
Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools. 

War. I had rather chop this hand off" at a blow. 
And with the other fling it at thy face. 
Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee. 

K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide 
thy friend. 
This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair. 
Shall, whiles thy head is warm, and new cut ofl^. 
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, — 
''Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more." 
Enter Oxford, luith Drum and Colours. 

War. cheerful colours ! see, where Oxford comes. 

Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster ! 

[Oxford and his Forces enter the City. 

Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too. 

K. Edw. So other foes may set upon our backs. 
Stand we in good array ; for they, no doubt, 
Will issue out again, and bid us battle : 
If not, the city being but of small defence. 
We '11 quickly rouse the traitors in the same. 

War. O ! welcome Oxford, for we want thy help. 
Enter jNIontague, unth Drum and Colours. 

Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster ! 

[He and his Forces enter the City. 

Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this trea- 
son. 
Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. 

K. Edw. The harder mateh'd, the greater victory: 
My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest. 
Enter Somerset, with Drum and Colours. 

Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster ! 

[He and his Forces enter the City. 



SCENE III. 



KING HENKY YI. 



505 



Glo. Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerset, 
Have sold their lives unto the house of York ; 
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. 
Enter Clarence, with Drum and Colours. 
War. And lo ! where George of Clarence sweeps 
along, 
Of force enough to bid his brother battle; 
With whom an upright zeal to right prevails. 
More than the nature of a brother's love. — 

[Gloster and Clarence U'hisper. 
Come, Clarence, come ; thou wilt, if Warwick calls. 
Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this 
means ? [Taking the red Rose out of his Hat. 
Look here, I throw my infamy at tlice : 
I will not ruinate my father's house, 
Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, 
And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick, 
That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, 
To bend the fatal instruments of war 
Against his brother, and his lawful king ? 
Perhaps, thou w^ilt object my holy oath : 
To keep that oath, were more impiety 
Than Jephtha's, when he sacrific'd his daughter. 
I am so sorry for my trespass made. 
That to deserve well at my brother's hands, 
I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe ; 
With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee, 
(As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad) 
To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. 
And so, proud-hearted Warwick. I defy thee. 
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. — 
Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends ; 
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults. 
For I will henceforth be no more unconstant. 

A'. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times more 
belov'd. 
Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate. 

frlo. Welcome, good Clarence : this is brother-like. 
War. passing traitor, perjur'd, and unjvist ! 
K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town 
and fight, 
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears? 

Jf'ar. Alas ! I am not coop'd here for defence : 
I will away towards Barnet presently, 
And bid tliee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st. 

K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads 

the way. — 
Lords, to the field ! Saint George, and victory ! 

[March. Exeunt. 

SCENE IL— A Field of Battle near Barnet. 

Alarums, arul Excursions. Enter King Edward, 
bringing in Warwick wounded. 

K. Edw. So, lie thou there : die thou, and die our fear. 
For Warwick was a bug,' that fear'd- us all. — 
Now, Montague, sit fast : I seek for thee. 
Til at Warwick's bones may keep thine company. [Exit. 

Wiir. Ah ! who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe. 
And tell me, who is victor, York, or Warwick ? 
Why ask I that? my mangled body shows. 
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows. 
That I must yield my body to the earth. 
And by my fall the conquest to my foe. 
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge. 
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, 
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept ; 
Whose top-branch overpeerd Jove's spreading tree. 
And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. 
These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil, 

' Bugbear. » Made us afraid. 



lords, and save 



Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, 
To searcli the secret treasons of the world : 
The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood. 
Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres ; 
For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave ? 
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow? 
Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood ! 
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had. 
Even now forsake me ; and, of all my lands, 
Is nothing left mc, but my body's length. 
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust ? 
And, live we how we can, yet die we must. 
Enter O.xford and Somerset. 

Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick ! wert thou as we are, 
We might recover all our loss again. 
The queen from France hath brought a puissant power ; 
Even now we heard the news. Ah, couldst thou fly ! 

War. Why, then I would not fly. — Ah, Montague ! 
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, 
And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile. 
Thou lov'st me not ; for, brother, if thou didst, 
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood, 
That glues my lips, and will not let me speak. 
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. 

Som. Ah, Warwick ! Montague hath breath'd his 
last ; 
And to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick, 
And said — " Commend me to my valiant brother." 
And more he would have said ; and more he spoke, 
Which sounded like a cannon in a vault. 
That might not be distinguish'd : but, at last, 
I well might hear, deliver'd with a groan, — 
" Oh, farewell Warwick !" 

War. Sweet rest his soul ! — Fly, 
yourselves ; 

For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven. 

[Dies. 

Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power ! 
[Exeunt., hearing off Warwick's Body. 

SCENE III.— Another Part of the Field. 

Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph ; with 
Clarence, Gloster, and the rest. 

K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward 
course. 
And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory. 
But in the midst of this bright shining day, 
I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud. 
That will encounter with our glorious sun. 
Ere he attain his easeful western bed : 
I mean, my lords, tiiose powers, that the queen 
Hath raisM in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast. 
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. 

Clar. A little gale will .soon disperse that cloud, 
And blow it to the source from whence it came : 
Thy very beams will dry those vapours up, 
For every cloud engenders not a storm. 

Glo. The queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong. 
And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her : 
If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd, 
Her faction will be full as strong as ours. 

K. Edw. We are advcrtis'd by our loving friends, 
That they do hold their course toward Tcwksbury. 
We, having now the best at Barnet field. 
Will thither straight, for willingness rids way; 
And, as wc march, our strength will be augmented 
In every county as wo go along. — 
Strike up the drum ! ci-y — Courage ! and away. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 



50G 



THIRD PART OF 



ACT V, 



SCENE IV.— Plains near Tewkesbury. 

March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, 

Somerset, Oxford, and Soldiers. 

Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail 
tiieir loss, 
But clicerly seek how to redress their harms. 
What thou£;li the mast be now blown over-board, 
The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, 
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood, 
Yet lives our pilot still : is 't meet that he 
Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, 
With tearful eyes add water to the sea. 
And iiive more strength to that which hath too much; 
Whiles in his moan the ship splits on the rock, 
Which industry and courage might liave sav'd ? 
Ah ! what a shame, ah ! what a fault were this. 
Say, Warwick was our anchor ; what of that ? 
And Montague our top-mast ; what of him ? 
Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of these? 
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor. 
And Somerset another goodly mast ? 
The friends of France ovu- shrouds and taeklings ? 
And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I 
For once allovv'd the skilful pilot's charge ? 
We will not from tlie helm to sit and weep. 
But keep our course, though the rough wind say no, 
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. 
As good to chide the waves, as speak them fair. 
And what is Edward but a ruthless sea? 
What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? 
And Richard but a ragged fatal rock ? 
All these the enemies to our poor bark. 
Say, you can swim ; alas ! 't is but a while: 
Tread on the sand ; wliy, there you quickly sink : 
Bestride the rock ; the tide will wash you off. 
Or else you famish ; that 's a threefold death. 
This speak I, lords, to let you understand. 
If case some one of you would fly from us, 
That there 's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers, 
More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks. 
Why, courage, then ! what cannot be avoided, 
'T were childish weakness to lament, or fear. 

Prince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit 
Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, 
Infuse his breast with magnanimity, 
And make hiin, naked, foil a man at arms, 
1 speak not this, as doubting any here ; 
For, did I but suspect a fearful man, 
He should have leave to go away betimes, 
Lest in our need he might infect another. 
And make him of like spirit to himself. 
If any such be here, as God forbid ! 
Let him depart before we need his lielp. 

Oxf. Women and children of so high a courage, 
And warriors faint ! why, 'twere perpetual shame. — 
O, brave young prince ! thy famous grandfather 
Doth live again in thee : long may'st thou live. 
To bear his image, and renew his glories ! 

Som. And he, that will not fight for such a hope, 
Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day. 
If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. 

Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset : — sweet Oxford, 
thanks. 

Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing 
else. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand. 
Ready to fight : therefore, be resolute. 

1 Not in f. e. 



Oxf. I thought no less : it is his policy 
To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. 

Sum. But lie "s deceiv'd : we arc in readiness. 

Q- Mar. This cheers my heart to see your forwardness. 

Oxf. Here pitch our battle : hence we will not budge. 
Flourish and March. Enter King Edward, Clarence, 



Gloster, and Fori 



CCS. 



K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny 

wood, 
Which, by the heavens' assistance and your strength, 
Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. 
I need not add more fuel to your fire, 
For, well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out. 
Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords. 

Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I 

should say, ^ 

My tears gainsay ; for every word I speak. 
Ye see, I drink the water of my eye. 
Therefore, no more but this : — Henry, your sovereign. 
Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd. 
His realm a slaughterhovise, his subjects slain. 
His statutes canccU'd, and liis treasure spent ; 
And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. 
You fight in justice : then, in God's name, lords. 
Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. 

[Exeunt both Armies. 

SCENE v.— Another Part of the Same. 
Alarums: Excnr.Hions : and afterwards a Retreat. 

Then enter King Edward, Clarence, Gloster, 

and Forces ; viih Queen Margaret, Oxford, and 

Somerset, Priwners. 

K. Ediv. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils. 
Away witli Oxford to Hammes' castle straight : 
For Somerset, off with his guilty head. 
Go, bear them hence : I will not hear them speak. 

Oxf. For my part, I '11 not trouble thee with words. 

Som. Nor I : but stoop with patience to my fortune. 
\Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded. 

Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world. 
To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. 

K. Edir. Is proclamation made, that who finds 
EiUvard 
Shall have a liigh reward, and he his life ? 

Glo. It is : and, lo ! where youthful Edward comes. 
Enter Soldiers, with Prince Edward. 

K. Edtv. Bring forth the gallant : let us hear liim 
speak. [A'. Edward sits.' 

What ! can so young a thorn begin to prick ? 
Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make. 
For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, 
And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to ? 

Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York. 
Suppose that I am now my father's mouth : 
Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou. 
Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee, 
Wliich, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. 

Q. 3Iar. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd ! 

Glo. That you might still have worn the petticoat, 
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. 

Prince. Let j?5sop fable in a winter's night : 
His currish riddles sort not with this place. 

Glo. By heaven, brat, I '11 plague you for that word. 

Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. 

Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. 

Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crook-back, 
rather. 

K. Edw. Peace ! wilful boy, or I will charm your 
tongue. 



SCENE vr. 



KING HENP.r YL 



507 



Clar. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. 

Prince. I know my duty: you are all vuidutiful. 
Lascivious Edward. — and thou pcrjur'd George, 
And thou mis-shapen Dick, — I tell ye all, 
I am your better, traitors as ye are ; 
And thou usurp"st my father's riglit and mine. 

K. Edw. Take that, the likeness of this railcr here. 

[Stahs him. 

Glo. Sprawl'st thou ? take that, to end thy agony. 

[Glo. stnhs him. 

Clar. And there 's for twitting me with pcrjuiT-. 

[Clar. stabs him. 

Q. Mar. 0, kill me too ! 

Glo. Marry, and shall. [Offers to kill her. 

K. Edu\ Hold, Richard, hold ! for we have done 
too much. 

Glo. Why should she live, to fill the world with words? 

K. Edw. What ! doth she swoon ? use means for 
her recovery. 

Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king, my brother. 
I'll hence to London on a serious matter : 
Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news. 

Clar. What? what? 

Glo. The Tower ! the Tower ! [Exit. 

Q. Mar. O, Ned ! sweet Ned ! speak to thy mother, 
boy : 
Canst thou not speak ? — O traitors ! murderers ! — 
Tiiey, that stabb'd Csesar shed no blood at all, 
Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame. 
If this foul deed were by to sequel' it : 
He was a man : this, in respect, a child ; 
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. 
What 's worse than murderer, that I may name it? 
No, no ; my lieart will burst, an if I speak ; 
And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. — 
Ikitchers and villains ! bloody cannibals ! 
How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd ! 
Vou have no children, butchers ! if you had. 
The thouglit of theni would have stirr'd up remorse : 
But. if you ever chance to have a child. 
Look in his youth to have him so cut off. 
As. dcathsmen. you have rid this sweet young prince ! 

K. Edw. Away with her ! go, bear her hence perforce. 

Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch me here ; 
Here sheath thy sword, I '11 pardon thee my death. 
What ! wilt thou not? — then, Clarence, do it tliou. 

Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so tnuch ease. 

Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou 
do it. 

Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it ? 

Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself: 
'T was sin before, but now 't is charity. 
What ! wilt thou not ? where is that devil's butcher, 
Hard-favour'd Piichard? lliehard, where art thou? 
Thou art not here : murder is thy alms-deed ; 
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back. 

K. Edw. Away, I say ! I charge ye, bear her hence. 

Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this prince ! 

[Exit. 

K. Edw. Where 's Richard gone? 

Clar. To London, all in post ; and, as I guess. 
To make a bloody supper in the Tower. 

K. Edw. He 's sudden, if a tiling comes in his head. 
Now march we hence : discharge the common sort 
With pay and thanlcs, and let 's away to London, 
And .'<ee our gentle queen how well she fares : 
By this, I hope, she hath a sou for me. [Exeunt. 



SCENE VI.— London. A Room in the Tower.* 

King Henry is discovered reading'^. Enter Gloster 

and the Lieutenant. 

Glo. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard ? 

K. Hen. Ay, my good lord : my lord, I should say 
rather : 
'T is sin to flatter ; good was little better : 
Good Gloster, and good devil, were alike. 
And botli preposterous ; therefore, not good lord. 

Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer. 

[Exit Lieutenant. 

K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf: 
So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, 
And next his throat imto the butcher's knife. — 
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act ? 

Glo. Suspicion always haunts tlie guilty mind : 
The thief doth fear each bush an officer. 

K. Hen. The bird, that hath been limed in a bush, 
With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush ; 
And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, 
Have now the fatal object in my eye. 
Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and kill'd. 

Glo. Why, what a peevish^ fool was that of Crete, 
That taught his son the office of a fowl ? 
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. 

A'. Hen. I. Dajdalus ; my poor boy, Icarus ; 
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course ; 
The .sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy, 
Thy brother Edward ; and thyself, the sea, 
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. 
Ah ! kill me with thy weapon, not with words. 
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point. 
Than can my ears that tragic history. 
But wherefore dost thou come ? is 't for my life ? 

Glo. Think'st thou I am an executioner? 

K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art: 
If murdering innocents be executing. 
Why, then thou art an executioner. 

Glo. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. 

K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd, when first thou 
didst presume, 
Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine. 
And thus I prophesy, — that many a thousand. 
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear ; 
And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's, 
And many an orphan's water-standing eye, — 
Men for their sons', wives for their husbands', 
Orphans for their parents' timeless death. 
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. 
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign: 
The night-crow cried, a boding luckless tune ;* 
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees : 
The raven rook'd" her on the chimney's top. 
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. 
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, 
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope ; 
To wit, — an indigest delbrmed lump. 
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. 
Teeth hadst thou in thy head, when thou wast born, 
To signify, thou cam'st to bite the world : 
And, if the rest be true which I have heard, 
Thou cam'st 

Glo. I '11 hear no more. — Die, prophet, in thy speech : 

[Stabs him. 
For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. 

K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. 
O ! God forgive my sins, and pardon thee. [Dies. 



> equal : in f. e. 2 The scene in the folio, i.s " on the walls of the To-wer" ; that of the text from the " True Tragedy." * In f. e. 
the rest of this stage direction is : the Lieutenant attending. Enter Gloster. * Silly. * aboding luckless time : in f. e. • Roost. 



508 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY YI. 



ACT V. 



Glo. What ! will the aspiring blood of Lancaster 
Sink in the ground ? I thought it would have mounted. 
See, how my sword weeps for the poor king's death ! 

0, may such purple tears be always shed 

From those that wish the dowTifall of our house ! — 

If any spark of life be yet remaining, 

Down, down to hell ; and say I sent thee thither, 

[Stabs him again. 

1, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. 
Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of; 
For I have often heard my mother say, 

I came into the world with my legs forward. 

Had I not reason, tliink ye, to make haste, 

And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right ? 

The midwife wonder'd ; and the women cried, 

" 0, Jesus bless us ! he is born with teeth :" 

And so I was ; which plainly signified 

That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. 

Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so. 

Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. 

I have no brother, I am like no brother ; 

And this word love, which greybeards call divine, 

Be resident in men like one another, 

And not in me : I am myself alone. — 

Clarence, beware : thou kecp'st me from the light ; 

But I will sort a pitchy day for thee : 

For I will buz abroad such prophecies, 

That Edward shall be fearful of his life ; 

And then, to purge his fear, I '11 be thy death. 

King Henry, and the prince his son, are gone : 

Clarence, thy turn is next, and tlicn the rest; 

Counting myself but bad, till I be best. — 

I '11 throw thy body in another room, 

And triumph, Henry in thy day of doom. 

[Exit with the Body. 

SCENE VII.— The Same. A Room in the Palace. 

King Edward is discovered sitting on his TJirone.^ 
Queen Elizabeth ; a Nurse with the Infant Prince, 
Clarence, Hastings, and others. 

K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal 
throne. 
Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies. 
What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's corn. 
Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride ? 
Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd 
For hardy and redoubted- champions : 



Two Cliffords, as the father and the son; 
And two Northumberlands ; two braver men 
Ne'er spurred their coursers at the trumpet's sound : 
With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Mon- 
tague, 
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion. 
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. 
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat. 
And made our footstool of security. — 

Enter Gloster behind.^ 
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy. — 
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself, 
Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night ; 
Went all a-foot in summer's .^calding heat. 
That thou mightst repossess the cro"w^l in peace ; 
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gaim 

Glo. I '11 blast his harvest, if your head were laid ; 

[Aside. 
For yet I am not look'd on in the world. 
This shoulder was ordain" d so thick, to heave ; 
And heave it sliall some weight, or break my back. — 
Work thou the way, and that shall execute. 

K. Edw. Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely queen; 
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. 

Clar. The duty that I owe unto your majesty. 
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. [Kissing it.'^ 

K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, 
thanks. 

Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence thou 



sprang st, 



[Kissijig the infant. 



Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit. — 

[A.nde.] To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master. 

And cried — all hail ! when as he meant — all harm. 

K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights, 
Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves. 

Clar. What will your grace have done with Margaret ? 
Reignier, her father, to the king of France 
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, 
And liither have they sent it for her ransom. 

K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence to 
France. — 
And now what rests, but that we spend the time 
AVith stately triumphs, mirthful coniic shows. 
Such as befit the pleasure of the court ? 
Sound, drums and trumpets ! — farewell, sour annoy ; 
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. 

[Exeunt. 



1 The rest of this stage direction is thus given in f. e. 
2 undoubted ; in f. e. 3 4 5 Not in f. e. 



'Queen Elizabeth with tht infant Prince, Clarence, Glostee, Hastings," &c. 



LIFE AND DEATH 



OF 



KING RICHARD III 



DRAMATIS PEESON^. 



Sons to the King. 

Brothers to the 
King. 



King Edward the Fourth. 

Edward, Prince of Wales ; 

Richard, Duke of York ; 

George, Duke of Clarence ; 

Richard, Duke of Glosler ; 

A young Son of Clarence. 

Henry, Earl of Richmond. 

Cardinal Bouchier, Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Thomas Rotheram, Archbishop of York. 

John Morton, Bishop of Ely. 

Duke of Buckingham. 

Duke of Norfolk : Earl of Surrey, his Son. 

Earl Rivers, Brother to King Edward's Queen : 

Marquess of Dorset, and Lord Grey, her 

Sons. 
Earl of Oxford. Lord Hastings. 



Lord Stanley. Lord Lovel. 
Sir Thomas Vaughan. Sir Richard Ratcliff. 
Sir William Catesby. Sir James Tyrrel. 
Sir James Blount. Sir Walter Herbert. 
Sir Robert Brakenbury, Lieutenant of the 

Tower. 
Christopher Urswick, a Priest. Another Priest. 
Lord Mayor of London. Sheriff of Wiltshire. 

Elizabeth, Queen of King Edward IV. 

Margaret, Widow of King Honry VI. 

Duchess of York, Mother to King Edward IV,, 

Clarence, and Gloster. 
Lady Anne, Widow of Edward Prince of Wales. 
A young Daughter of Clarence. 



Lords, and other Attendants ; two Gentlemen, a Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers. Messengers, 

Ghosts, Soldiers, &c. 

SCENE, England. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— London. A Street. 
Enter Gloster. 
Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent 
INIade glorious summer by this sun' of York ; 
And all the clouds that lower'd upon our house. 
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. 
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; 
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; 
Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings. 
Oar dreadful marches to delightful measures. 
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd liis wrinkled front; 
And now, instead of mounting barbed'- steeds, 
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, 
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, 
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.'' 
But I. that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, 
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass ; 
I. that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty, 
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; 
I. that am curlail'd thus of* fair proportion. 
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, 
Dcform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time 
Into this breatliing world, scarce half made up, 
And that so lamely and unfashionable, 
Tliat dogs bark at me, as I halt by them ; 
Wliy I, in this weak piping time of peace, 



Have no delight to pass away the time, 

Unless to see' my shadow in the sun, 

And descant on mine own deformity : 

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, 

To entertain these fair well-spoken days, 

I am determined to prove a villain, 

And hate the idle pleasures of these days. 

Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, 

By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, 

To set my brother Clarence, and the king. 

In deadly hate the one against the other : 

And, if king Edward be as true and just, 

As I am subtle, false, and treacherous. 

This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, 

About a prophecy, which says — that G 

Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. 

Dive, thoughts, down to my soul : here Clarence comes. 

Enter Clarence. g»rt»Y/«/, and Brakenbury. 
Brother, good day. What means this armed guard, 
That waits upon your grace ? 

Clar. His majcstj', 

Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed 
This conduct to convey me to the Tower. 

Glo. Upon what cause ? 

Clar. Because my name is George. 

Glo. Alack ! my lord, that fault is none of yours; 
He should, for that, commit your godfathers. 



1 The cognizance of EdwarJ IV., consisted of tliree suns, 
qu.irto. 



* Caparisoned. ' love : in quartos. ♦ curtail'd of this : in f. e. ^ spy : ia 



510 



KUSG KICHAED HI. 



ACT I. 



! belike, his majesty hath some intent, 

Tiiat you should be new christen'd in the Tower. 
But what 's the matter, Clarence ? may I know ? 

Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know ; but I protest, 
As yet I do not : but, as I can learn. 
He hearkens after prophecies and dreams ; 
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, 
And says, a wizard told him, that by G 
His issue disinherited should be • 
And, for my name of George begins with G, 
It follows in his thought that I am he. 
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these, 
Have mov'd his highness to commit me now. 

Glo. Why, this it is, wlien men are rul'd by women. 
'T is not the king that sends you to the Tower : 
]My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 't is she, 
That tempts him to this harsh' extremity. 
Was it not she, and that good man of worship, 
Antony Woodeville, her same'-* brother there, 
That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower, 
From whence this present day he is deliver'd ? 
We are not safe, Clarence : we are not safe. 

Cbir. By heaven, I think, there is no man secure. 
But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds 
That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore. 
Heard you not, what an humble suppliant 
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery ?' 

Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity 
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. 

1 '11 tell you what ; I think, it is our way, 
If we will keep in favour with the king, 
To be her men, and wear her livery : 
The jealous o'er- worn widow, and herself. 
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen, 
Are inighty gossips in our monarchy. 

Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me : 
His majesty hath straitly given in charge, 
That no man shall have private conference, 
Of what degree soever, with your brother. 

Glo. Even so ; an please your worship, Brakenbury, 
You may partake of any thing we say. 
We speak no treason, man : we say, the king 
Is wi.'^e and virtuous ; and his noble queen 
Well struck in years ; fair, and not jealous : — 
We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, 
A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue ; 
And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks. 
How say you, sir ? can j-ou deny all this ? 

Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought to do. 

Glo. Nought to do with mistress Shore ? I tell thee, 
fellow, 
Ho that doth naught with her, excepting one, 
Were best to do it secretly, alone. 

Brak. What one, my lord ? 

Glo. Her hu.sband, knave. Wouldst thou betray me ? 

Brak. I do beseech your grace to pardon me ; and 
withal. 
Forbear your conference with the noble duke. 

Clftr. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will 
obey. 

Glo. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. — 
Brother, farewell : I will unto the king ; 
And whatsoe'er you will employ me in. 
Were it to call king Edward's widow sister, 
I will perform it to enfranchise you. 
Mean time, this deep disgrace in brotherhood 
Touches me deeper than you can imagine. 

Clar. I know, it pleaseth neither of us well. 



Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long ; 
I will deliver you, or else lie for you.* 
Mean time, have patience. [Embracing him.' 

Clar. I must perforce : farewell. 

[Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard. 

Glo. Go, tread the path tlmt thou shalt ne'er return. 
Simple, plain Clarence. — I do love thee so, 
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven. 
If heaven will take the present at our hands. 
But who comes here ? the ncw-deliver'd Hastings ? 
Enter Hastings. 

Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord. 

Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain. 
Well are you welcome to this open air. 
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment ? 

Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must ; 
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks, 
That were the cause of my imprisonment. 

Glo. No doubt, no doubt •, and so shall Clarence too, 
For they that were your enemies are his, 
And have prevail'd as much on him as you. 

Hast. More pity, that the eagles should be mew'd, 
While kites and buzzards prey*^ at liberty. 

Glo. What news abroad ? 

Hu.'it. No news so bad abroad, as this at home : — 
The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy, 
And his physicians fear him mightily. 

Glo. Now, by Saint Paul', that news is bad indeed. 

! he hath kept an evil diet long. 

And over-much consum'd his royal person : 
'T is very grievous to be thought upon. 
Where is lie ? in his bed ?* 

Hast. He is. 

Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you. 

[Exit Hastings. 
He cannot live, I hope ; and must not die. 
Till George be pack'd with posthaste" up to heaveu. 

1 '11 in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, 
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments j 
And, if I fail not in my deep intent, 
Clarence hath not another day to live : 

Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy. 

And leave the world for me to bustle in, 

For then I '11 marry Warwick's youngest daughter. 

What though I kill'd her husband, and her father ? 

The readiest way to make the wench amends. 

Is to become her husband, and her father : 

The which will I ; not all so much for love, 

As for another secret close intent, 

B)^ marrying her which I must reach imto. 

But yet I run before my horse to market : 

Clarence still breathes ; Edward still lives and reigns; 

When they are gone, then must I count my gains. 

[Exit. 

SCENE TL— The Same. Another Street. 
Enter the Corp.se of King Henry the Sixth, borne in an 

open Coffin, Gentlemen, bearing Halberds, to guard it ; 

and Lady Anne as mourner. 

Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load,'" 
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, 
Whilst I a while obsequiously lament 
Th' luitimely fall of vii'tuous Lancaster. — 
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king ! 
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster ! 
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood. 
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost. 
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, 



1 tempers him to this extremity : in quartos. ^ j^ot in f. e. 3 So the qnartos; folio: Hastings -was for her. * Lie in prison in youl 
stead. '■' Not in f. e. ^ play : in folio. ' John : in folio. 6 quartos : What ! is he in his bed ? 9 posthorse : in f. e. i° lord : in quarta 



SCENE II. 



KING PJCIIAED in. 



511 



Wife to thy Edward, to thy slanghter'd son, 

Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds ! 

Lo, in these windows, that let forth lliy life, 

I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes : — 

0, cursed be the hand that made these^ holes ! 

Cursed the heart, that had tlie heart to do it ! 

Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence !^ 

More direful hap betide that hated wretch, 

That makes us wretched by the dcatli of thee, 

Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, 

Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives ! 

If ever he have child, abortive be it, 

Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, 

Whose ugly and unnatural aspect 

May fright the hopeful mother at the view; 

And that be heir to his unhappiness !^ 

If ever he have wife, let her be made 

More* miserable by the death of him. 

Than'' I am made by my young lord, and thee ! — 

Come, now toward Chertsey with your holy load, 

Taken from Paul's to be interred there ; 

And still, as you are weary of this weight. 

Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse. 

[The Bearers take vp the Corpse and advance. 
Filter Gloster. 

Glo. Stay you, that bear the corse, and set it down. 

Aline. What black magician conjures up this fiend, 
To stop devoted charitable deeds ? 

Glo. Villains, set down the corse ; or, by Saint Paul, 
I "11 make a corse of liim that disobeys. 

1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. 

Glo. Unmanner'd dog ! stand tliou when I command : 
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, 
Or, by Saint Paul, I '11 strike thee to my foot. 
And spurn upon thee, besgar, for thy boldness. 

[The Bearers set down the Coffin. 

Anne. What ! do you tremble ! are you all afraid ? 
Alas ! I blame you not; for you are mortal, 
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. — 
Avaunt. thou dreadful minister of hell ! 
Thou liadst but power over his mortal body, 
His soul thou canst not have : therefore, be gone. 

Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. 

Aline. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble 
us not ; 
For thou hast made the happy earth fliy hell, 
FilI'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims. 
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds. 
Behold this pattern of thy butclicries. — 
O, gentlemen ! see, see ! dead Henry's wounds 
Open their congeal'd m.ouths. and bleed afresh ! — 
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity, 
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood 
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells : 
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, 
Provokes this deluge most uiuiatural. — 
God, which this blood mad'st. revenge his death ! 
earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death ! 
Either, heaven, wth lightning strike the murderer dead, 
Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick, 
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood. 
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered ! 

Glo. Lady, you know no rules of cliarity. 
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. 

Anne. Villain, thou know'st nor law of God nor man : 
No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity. 

Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beast. 

Anne. O wonderful ! when devils tell the truth ! 



Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry. — 
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman. 
Of these sn])poscd evils to give me leave 
By circumstance but to acquit myself. 

Anne. Vouchsafe, diifus'd infection of a man. 
For these knovNii evils but to give me leave 
By circumstance to curse thy cursed self. 

Glo. Fairer than tongvie can name thee, let me have 
Some patient leisure to excuse myself. 

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst 
make 
No excuse current, but to hang thyself. 

Glo. By such despair I should accuse myself. 

Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excus'd 
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself. 
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. 

Glo. Say, tliat I slew them not ? 

Anne. Then say they were not slain." 

But dead tlicy arc, and, devilish slave, by thee. 

Glo. I did not kill your husband. 

Anne. Why, then he is alive. 

Glo. Nay, he is dead ; and .slain by Edward's hand. 

Aline. In thy foul throat thou liest: queen Margaret 
saw 
Thy murderous' falchion smoking in his blood ; 
The which thou once didst bend against her breast, 
But that thy brothers beat aside the point. 

Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue, 
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. 

Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind. 
That never dreamt on aught but butcheries. 
Didst thou not kill this king ? 

Glo. I grant ye. 

Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog ? then, God grant 
me too. 
Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed ! 
! he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. 

Glo. The fitter" for the King of heaven that hath him. 

Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. 

Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither ; 
For he was fitter for that place than earth. 

Anne. And thou unfit fdr any place but hell. 

Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. 

Anne. Some dungeon. 

Glo. Your bed-chamber. 

Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest. 

Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. 

Anne. I hope so. 

Glo. 1 know so. — But. gentle lady Anne, — 

To leave this keen encounter of our wits, 
And fall something' into a slower method, 
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths 
Of these Piantagcnets, Henry, and Edward, 
As blameful as the executioner? 

Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd effect. 

Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect ; 
Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep. 
To undertake the death of all the world, 
So I miglit live'" one hour in your sweet bosom. 

Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, 
I'hcse nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. 

Glo. These eyes could not" endure thal'^ beauty's 
wreck ; 
You should not blemish it, if I stood by : 
As all the world is cheered by the sun, 
So I by that ; it is my day, my life. 

Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy 
life! 



' fatal : in quartos. '^ ^ These lines are not in the quartos. •» ^ 35 ; in quartos. Why, then, they are not dead : in quartos. ' bloody: 
in quartos. 8 ijettcr : in folio, 'somewhat: in quartos, i" rest : in quartos, "never: in quartos. 12 g-weet : in quartos. 



512 



KING EICHAED IH. 



ACT I. 



Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. 

Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee. 

Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural, 
To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee. 

Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, 
To be reveng'd on him that kill'd'- my husband. 

Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, 
Did it to help thee to a better husband. 

Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. 

Glo. He lives that loves you better than he could. 

Anne. Name him. 

Glo. Plantagenet. 

Anne. Why, that was he. 

Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature. 

Anne. Where is he ? 

Glo. Here : [She spits at him.] Why 

dost thou spit at me ? 

Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake ! 

Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place. 

Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. 
Out of my sight ! thou dost infect mine eyes. 

Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. 

Anne. Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead ! 

Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once, 
For now they kill me with a living death. 
Tliose eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, 
Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops : 
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear ; 
No, when my father York, and Edward wept 
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made, 
When black-fac'd ClilTord shook his sword at him; 
Nor when thy warlike father, like a cliild, 
Told the sad story of my father's death. 
And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, 
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, 
Like trees bedash'd with rain ; in that sad time 
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear : 
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale. 
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. ° 
I never sued to friend, nor enemy ; 
My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing^ word; 
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee. 
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. 

{She looks scornfully at him. 
Teach not thy lip such scorn ; for it was made 
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. 
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, 
Lo ! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword ; 
Which if thou please to hide in this true breast,* 
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, 
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, 
And humbly beg the death upon my knee. 

[He lays his Breast open : she offers at it tvith his 
Sword. 
Nay. do not pause ; for I did kill king Henry* : — 
But 't was thy beauty that provoked me. 
Nay, now despatch ; 't was I that stabbed* young Ed- 
ward : — 
Bat 't was thy heavenly face that set me on. 

[She lets fall the Siuord. 
Take up the sword again, or take up me. 

Anne. Arise, dissembler : though I wish thy death, 
I will not be tliy executioner. 

Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. 

[Taking vp the Sword.'' 

Anne. I have already. 

Glo. That was in thy rage : 

■slew; in quartos. 2 Xhis and the eleven precedin;^ lines, are 
* 't was I that kiU'd your husband : in quartos. ^ kiU'd : in quartos. 
•peditious. '= The quartos insert : " Glos. Take up the corse, sirs." 
1^ debase : in quartos. 



Speak it again, and even with the word, 

This hand, wliich for thy love did kill thy love, 

Shall for thy love kill a far truer love : 

To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary. 

Anne. I would I knew thy heart. 

Glo. 'T is figur'd in my tongue. 

Anne. I fear me. both are false. 

Glo. Then, never man was true. 

Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. 

Glo. Say, then, my peace is made. 

Anne. That shalt thou know hereafter. 

Glo. But shall I live in hope ? [Sheathing his Sword." 

Anne. All men, I hope, live so. 

Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. 

Anne. To take, is not to give. [She puts on the Ring. 

Glo. Look, how my ring encompasseth thy finger, 
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart ;^ 
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. 
And if thy poor devoted suppliant' may 
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, 
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. 

Anne. What is it ? 

Glo. That it may please you leave these sad designs 
To him that hath most^" cause to be a mourner, 
And presently repair to Crosby-place. 
Where (after I have solemnly interr'd, 
At Chertsey monastery, this noble king, 
And wet his grave with my repentant tears) 
I will with all expedient" duty see you : 
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you. 
Grant me this boon. 

Anne. With all my heart ; and much it joys me too, 
To see you are become so penitent. — 
Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me. 

Glo. Bid me farewell. 

Anne. 'T is more than you deserve ; 

But since you teach me how to flatter you, •■» 
Imagine I have said farewell already. 

[Exeunt Lady Annk. Tressel, and Berkley. 

Gcnt.^'^ Towards Cliertsey, noble lord? 

Glo. No, to White-Friars: there attend my coming. 
[Exeunt the rest., U'ith the Corse. 
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ? 
Was ever woman in tliis humour won ? 
I '11 have her, but I will not keep her long. 
What ! I that kill'd her husband, and his father, 
To take her in her heart's extrenicst hate ; 
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, 
The bleeding witness of my'^ hatred by. 
Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, 
And [ no friends'* to back my suit withal'*, 
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks. 
And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing ! Ha ! 
Hath she forgot already that brave prince, 
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, 
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury ? 
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, — 
Framed in the prodigality of nature. 
Young, valiant, wise, and. no doubt, right royal, — 
The spacious world cannot again afford : 
And will she yet abase' ^ her eyes on me, 
That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, 
And made her widow to a woful bed ? 
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety ? 
On me, that halt, and am mis-shapen thus ? 
My dukedom to a beggarly denier, 
I do mistake my person all this while : 

not in the auartos. 3 .soothing : in quartos. * bosom : in quartos. 

1 8 Not in f. e. 9 servant : in f. e. '" more : in quartos. " Ex- 

1^ her : in quartos. ^^ nothing : in quartos. i^ at all : in quartos. 



SCENE III. 



KING RICHARD HI. 



513 



Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot; 

Myself to be a marvellous proper man. 

I '11 be at charges for a looking-glass • 

And entertain a score or two of tailors, 

To study fashions to adorn iny body : 

Since I am crept in favour w^ith myself, 

I will maintain it with some little cost. 

But. fust, I "11 turn yon' fellow in his grave, 

And then return lamenting to my love. — 

Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, 

That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— The Same. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rixers, and Lord Grey. 

Riv. Have patience, madam : there 's no doubt, his 
majesty 
Will soon recover his accustom'd health. 

Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse : 
Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, 
And cheer his grace with quick and merry words.' 

Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide on me ? 

Grcfi. No other harm, but loss of such a lord. 

Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms. 

Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son. 
To be your comforter when he is gone. 

Q. Eliz. Ah ! he is young ; and his minority 
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster, 
A man that loves not me, nor none of you. 

Riv. Is it concluded, he shall be protector ? 

Q. Eliz. It is determin'd, not concluded yet; 
But so it must be, if the king miscarry. 

Enter Buckingham and Stanley^. 

Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and 
Stanley. 

Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace. 

Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you have been ! 

Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord of 
Stanley, 
To your good prayer will scarcely say amen. 
Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she 's your wife, 
And loves not me, be you, good lord, as.sur'd, 
I hate not you for her proud arrogance. 

Stan. I do beseech you, either not believe 
The envious slanders of her false accusers ; 
Or, if she be accus'd on true report. 
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds 
From wayward sickness, and no groimded malice. 

Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord of Stanley ? 

Stan. But now, Ihe duke of Buckingham, and I, 
Are come from visiting his majesty. 

Q. Eliz. What^ likelihood of his amendment, lords ? 

Buck. Madam, good hope : his grace speaks cheer- 
fully. 

Q. Eliz. God grant him health ! Did you confer with 
him ? 

Buck. Ay, madam : he desires to make atonement 
Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers, 
And between them and my lord chamberlain; 
And sent to warn them to his royal presence. [be: 

Q. Eliz. Would all were well ! — But that will never 
I fear, our happiness is at the height.* 
Enter Gloster, stamping angrily,^ ivith Hastings, and 

Dorset. 

Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it. — 
Who arc they, that complain unto the king. 
That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? 
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly. 



That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. 
Because I cannot flatter, and speak fair. 
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, 
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, 
I must be held a rancorous enemy. 
Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm, 
But thus liis simple truth must be abus'd 
With silken, sly, insinuating Jacks ? 

Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your 
grace ? 

Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor grace. 
When have I injur'd thee ? when done thee wrong ? — 
Or thee ? — or thee ? — or any of your faction ? 
A plague upon you all ! His royal grace, 
(Whom God preserve better than you would wish !) 
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing- while, 
But you must trouble him with lewd* complaints. 

Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the matter. 
The king, on his owni royal disposition. 
And not provok'd by any suitor else. 
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred. 
That in your outward action shows itself, 
Against my children, brothers, and myself. 
Makes him to send ; that thereby he may gather 
The ground' of your ill-will, and so remove it. 

Glo. I cannot tell ; — the world is grown so bad. 
That wrens make^ prey where eagles dare not perch : 
Since every Jack became a gentleman, 
There 's many a gentle person made a Jack. 

Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning, bro- 
ther Gloster : 
You envy my advancement, and my friends. 
God grant, we never may have need of you ! 

Glo. Meantime, God grants that I have need of you : 
Our brother is imprison'd by your means; 
Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility 
Held in contempt ; while many great' promotions 
Are daily given, to ennoble those 
That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble. 

Q. Eliz. By him that rais'd me to this careful height 
From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, 
I never did incense his majesty 
Against the duke of Clarence ; but have been 
An earnest advocate to plead for him. 
My lord, you do me shameful injury. 
Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. 

Glo. You may deny, that you were not the mean'" 
Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment. 

Riv. She may, my lord ; for — 

Glo. She may, lord Rivers, — why, who knows not so? 
She may do more, sir, than denying that : 
She may help you to many fair preferments. 
And then deny her aiding liand therein. 
And lay those honours on your high desert. 
Wiiat may she not ? She may. — ay, marry, may she, — 

Riv. What, marry, may .she? 

Glo. What, marry, may she ? marry with a king, 
A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too. 
I wis, your grandam had a worser match. 

Q. Eliz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long borne 
Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs : 
By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty. 
Of those gross taunts that oft I have endur'd. 
I had rather be a country serving-maid, 
Than a great queen, with this condition. 
To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at:" 
Small joy have I in being England's queen. 



'eyes: in folio. 2 X)erbt : in old copies. 3 With : in quartos. « highe.st : in quartos, s The words " stamping angrily" : not in 
e. ^ Wirked. ''The rest of the line is not in the folio. » The quartos of 1602, and later : may. 9 fair : in quarto. •" cause : in 



f. 
quarto 



'' So all the quartos ; folio : so baited, scorn'd and stormed at. 






514 



KING RICHAED IH. 



ACT I. 



Enter Queen Margaret, behind. 

Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech 
him ! [Aside.^ 

Thy honour, state, and scat, is dvie to me. 

Gh. What ! threat you me with telling of the king? 
Tell him, and spare not : look, what I have said," 
1 will avouch in presence of the king : 
I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower.^ 
'T is time to speak ; my pains are quite forgot. 

Q. Mar. Out, devil ! I do remember them too 
well : [Aside.* 

Thou kill'dst^ my husband Henry in the Tower, 
And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. 

Glo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king, 
I was a pack-horse in his great affairs; 
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, 
A liberal rewardcr of his friends : 
To royalize his blood, I spent mine own. 

Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his, or 
tliine. [A.'iide.^ 

Glo. In all which time, you, and your husband Grey, 
Were factious for the house of Lancaster ; — 
And, Rivers, so were you. — Was not your husband 
In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain ? 
L'^t me put in your minds, if you forget, 
What you have been ere this', and what you are ; 
Withal, what I have been, and what I am. 

Q. Mar. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou 
art. [Aside.^ 

Glo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick, 
Ay, and forswore himself, — which Jcsu pardon ! — 

Q. Mar. Which God revenge ! [Aside.^ 

Glo. To fight on Edward's party, for the crown ; 
And, for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up. 
I would to God, my heart were flint like Edward's, 
Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine : 
I am too childish-foolish for this world. 

Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this 
world, [Asidc.^" 

Thou cacodsemon ! there thy kingdom is. 

Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days, 
Which here you urge to prove us enemies, 
We follow'd then our lord, our sovereign" king; 
So should we you, if you should be our king. 

Glo. If I should be ? — I had rather be a pedlar. 
Far be it from my heart the thought thereof ! 

Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose 
You should enjoy, were you this country's king, 
As little joy you may suppose in me, 
That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. 

Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen iYiexeoi ■,\Aside.'^^ 
For I am she, and altogether joyless. 
I can no longer hold me patient. — 

\Coming forward. They all start.^^ 
Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out 
In sharing that which you have pill'd from me ! 
Which of yovi trembles not, that looks on me ? 
If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects, 
Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels ? — 
Ah ! gentle villain, do not turn away. [sight ? 

Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my 

Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd ; 
That will I make, before I let thee go. 

Glo. Wert thou not banished, on pain of death ? 

Q. Mar. I was ; but I do find more pain in banish- 
ment, 
Than death can yield me here by my abode. 



A husband; and a son, thou ow'st to me, — 
And thou, a kingdom ; — all of you, allegiance : 
This sorrow that I have, by right is yours. 
And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. 

Glo. Tlie curse my noble father laid on thee, 
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper, 
And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes ; 
And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout 
Steep'd in the faultle.<-s blood of pretty Rutland ; — 
His curses, then from bitterness of soul 
Denoune'd against thee, are all fallen upon thee, 
And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed. 

Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent. 

Ha!;t. ! 't was the foulest deed to slay that babe, 
And the most merciless, that ere was heard of. 

Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it wag reported. 

Dors. No man but prophesied revenge for it. 

Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. 

Q. Mar. What ! were you snarling all, before I came, 
Ready to catch each other by the throat, 
And turn you all your hatred now on me ? 
Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven, 
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death. 
Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment, 
Should all but answer for that peevish brat ? 
Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven ? — 
Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses ! — 
Though not by war, by surfeit die your king, 
As ours by murder, to make him a king ! 
Edward, thy son. that now is prince of Wales, 
For Edward, our son, that was prince of Wales, 
Die in his youth by like untimely violence ! 
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, 
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self ! 
Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's death;'* 
And see another, as I see thee now, 
Deck'd in thy rights, as thovi art stall'd in mine ! 
Long die thy happy days before thy death ; 
And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief. 
Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen ! 
Rivers, and Dorset, you were slanders by. 
And so wast thou, lord Hastings, when my son 
Was stabb'd with bloody dangers : Gcd, I pray him, 
That none of you may live his natural age, 
But by some unlook'd accident cut off! 

Glo. Have done thy charm, thou liateful wither'd hag. 

Q. Mar. And leave out thee ? stay, dog, for thou 
shalt hear me. 
If heaven have any grievous plague in store, 
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, 
O ! let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe. 
And then hurl down their indignation 
On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace ! 
The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul ! 
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st, 
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends ' 
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, 
Unless it be while some tormenting dream 
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils ! 
Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog ! 
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity 
The stain' ^ of nature, and the scorn' ^ of hell ! 
Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb ! 
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins ! 
Thou rag of honour ! thou detested — 

Glo. Margaret. 

Q. Mar. Richard ! 



1 Not in f. e. 2 This line is only in the quartos. 3 This line is only in the folio. * Not in f. e. * slewest : in f. e. ' Not in f. e. 
now : in quartos. 8 s lo Not in f. e. n lawful : in quartos. 12 Not in f. e. is Advancing : in f. e. i-^ loss : in quartos. i' slave : 



7 

in i. e 



i^ son : in f. e. 



scp:ne III. 



KING RICHAED III. 



515 



Glo. • Ha ? 

Q. Mar. I call thee not. 

Glo. I cry thee mercy then : for I did think, 
That thou hadst call'd me all those bitter names. 

Q. Mar. Why. so I did ; but look'd for no reply. 
! let me make the period to my curse. 

Glo. 'T is done by me, and ends in — Margaret. 

Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse against 
yourself. 

Q. IMar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my 
fortune ; 
"\\'hy strew'st thou sugar on that bottle' spider, 
Wliose deadly web ensnareth tlice about ? 
Fool, fool ! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. 
The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me 
To help thee curse this pois'nous bnnch-back'd toad. 

Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, 
Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. 

Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you ; you have all mov'd 
mine. 

Riv. Were you well serv'd. you would be taught 
your duty. 

Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me 
duty, 
Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects. 
! serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty. 

Dor. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic. 

Q. Mar. Peace, master marquess ! you are mala- 
pert : 
Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. 
0. that your young nobility could judge, 
What 't were to lose it, and be miserable ! 
They that stand high have many blasts to shake them, 
And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces. 

Glo. Good counsel, marry : — learn it, learn it, mar- 
quess. 

T>or. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. 

Glo. Ay, and much more; but I was born so high: 
Our eyry buildeth in the cedar's top, 
And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun. 

Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade, — alas ! alas ! — 
Witness my son, now in the shade of death; 
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath 
Hath in eternal darkness folded up. 
Your eyry builde'h in our eyry's nest. — 
God ! that seest it, do not suffer it : 
As it was won with blood, lost be it so ! 

Buck. Peace, peace ! for shame, if not for charity. 

Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me : 
Uncharitably with me have you dealt, 
And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher'd. 
My charity is outrage, life my shame, 
And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage ! 

Buck. Have done, have done. 

Q. Mar. 0, princely Buckingham ! I '11 kiss thy hand, 
In sign of league and amity with thee : 
Now, fair befal thee, and thy noble house ! 
Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, 
Nor thou within the compass of my curse. 

Buck. Nor no one here : for curses never pass 
The lips of those that breathe them in the air. 

Q. Mar. I will not think'' but they ascend the sky, 
And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. 
Buckingham ! take heed of yonder dog : 
Look, when he fawns, he bites ; and, when he bites, 
His venom tooth will rankle to' the death : 
Have not to do with him, beware of him ; 
Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on lum, 



And all their ministers attend on him. 

Glo. What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham ? 

Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. 

Q. Mar. Wliat ! dost thou scorn me for ray gentle 
counsel. 
And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? 

! but remember this another day, 

When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, 

And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess. — 

Live each of you the subjects to his hate, 

And he to yours, and all of you to God's ! [Exit. 

Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. 

Riv. And so doth mine. I muse*, why she 's at 
liberty. 

Glo. I cannot blame her : by God's holy mother, 
She hath had too much wrong, and I repent 
My part thereof, that I have done to her.' 

Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge. 

Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. 

1 was too hot to do somebody good. 
That is too cold in thinking of it now. 
Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid ; 
He is frank'd' up to fatting for his pains : — 
God pardon them that are the cause thereof! 

Riv. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, 
To pray for them that have done scath to us. 

Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd ; [Aside. 

For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. , 

Enter Catesby. x' V "5^ T ^^ 

Cates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you, — 
And for your grace, and you, my noble lords. 

Q. Eliz. Catesby, I come. — Lords, will you go with 
me ? 

Riv. We wait upon your grace. 

[Exeunt all hut Gloster. 

Glo. I do the WTong, and first begin to brawl. 
The secret mischiefs that I set abroach, 
I lay unto the grievous charge of others. 
Clarence, whom I, indeed, have cast in darkness, 
I do beweep to many simple gulls ; 
Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham ; 
And tell them, 'L is the queen and her allies. 
That stir the king against the duke my brother. 
Now, they believe it ; and withal whet me 
To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey ; 
But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture. 
Tell them, that God bids us do good for evil: 
And thus I clothe my naked villainy 
With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy "WTit, 
And seem a saint when most I play the devil. 

Enter two Murderers. 
But soft ! here come my executioners. — 
How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates ! 
Are you now going to dispatch this thing' ? 

1 Murd. We are, my lord ; and come to have the 
warrant, 
That we may be admitted where he is. 

Glo. Well thought upon ; I have it here about me. 

[Gives the Warrant. 
When you have done, repair to Crosby-place. 
But, sirs, be sudden in the execution. 
Withal obdurate : do not hear him plead ; 
For Clarence is well spoken, and, perhaps, 
May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. 

1 Murd. Tut. tut ! my lord, wc will not stand to 
prate ; 
Talkers are no good doers : be assur'd, 
W^e go to use our hands, and not our tongues. 



• bottled : in f. e. 2 j ']] not believe : in quartos, 
not in quarto. ^ Stycd. 'deed: in quartos 



3 rackle thee to death : in quarto, 1597. * I wonder she 's : in quartos. * to her : 



516 



KING RICHARD III. 



ACT I. 



Glo. Your eyes drop mill-stones', when fools' eyes 
falP tears : 
I like yon, lads ; — about yoiir business' straight ; 
Go, go, despatch. 

1 Murd. We will, my noble lord. {Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— London. A Room in the Tower. 
Enter Clarence and Brakenbury. 

Brah. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day ? 

Clar. ! I have pass'd a miserable night, 
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,* 
That, as I am a Christian faithful man, 
I would not spend another such a night, 
Though 't were to buy a world of happy days. 
So full of dismal terror was the time. 

Brak. What was your dream, my lord ? I pray you. 
tell me. 

Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower, 
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy ; 
And. in my company, my brother Glostcr, 
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
Upon the hatches : thence we look'd toward England, 
And cited up a thousand heavy times, 
Daring the wars of York and Lancaster, 
That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along 
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
Methought, that Gloster stumbled : and, in falling", 
Struck ine (that thought to stay him) over-board, 
Lito the tumbling billows of the main. 
Lord ! methought what pain it was to drown ! 
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! 
What sights of ugly** death within mine eyes ! 
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ] 
A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon; 
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 
All scattcr'd in the bottom of the sea:' 
Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and in the holes 
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
(As 't were in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, 
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scattcr'd by. 

Brak. Had you such leisure, in the time of death. 
To gaze upon these secrets of the deep ? 

Clar. Methought I had, and often did I strive 
To yield the ghost;* but still the envious flood 
Stopt" in my soul, and would not let it forth 
To find'" the empty, vast, and wandering air ; 
But smother'd it within my panting bulk. 
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 

Brak. Awak'd you not in'^ this sore agony? 

Clar. No, no: my dream was lengfhen'd after life. 

! then began the tempest to my soul ! 

1 pass'd, methought. the melancholy flood. 
With that sour'^ ferryman which poets write of, 
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 

The first that there did greet my stranger soul. 
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, 
Who cried'^ aloud, — " What scourge for perjury 
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?" 
And so he vanish'd. Then, came wandering by 
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
Dabbled in blood ; and he shriek'd out aloud, — 
" Clarence is come, — false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence, — 
That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury ; — 
Seize on him, furies ! take him unto torment !" 



With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends 
Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears 
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise, 
I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after, 
Could not believe but that I was in hell ; 
Such terrible impression made my'* dream. 

Brak. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you; 
I am afraid, methinks'^, to hear you tell it. 

Clar. Ah, keeper, keeper ! I have done these things 
That now give"^ evidence against my soul, 
For Edward's sake ; and, see, how he requites me ! — 

God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, 
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, 

Yet execute thy wrath on me alone : 

0, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children ! — " 

Keeper, I pr'ythee. sit by me awhile ; 

My soul is heavy, and [ fain would sleep. 

[Sitting doum.^* 
Brak. I will, my lord : God give your grace good 
rest. — [Clarence s/eep5.'' 

Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours, 
Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. 
Princes have but their titles for their glories. 
An outward lionour for an inward toil ; 
And for unfelt imaginations. 
They often feel a world of restless cares : 
So that, between tlieir titles, and low name, 
There 's nothing differs but the outward fame. 
Enter the two Murderers. 
1 Murd. Ho ! who 's here? 

Brak. What wouldst thou, fellow? and how cam'st 
thou hither ? 

1 Murd. I would speak with Clarence ; and I came 
hither on my legs. 

Brak. What ! so brief? 

2 Murd. 'T is better, sir, than to be tedious. — 
Let him see our commission ; and talk no more. 

[A Paper delivered to Brakenbury, ivho reads it. 
Brak. I am, in this, commanded to deliver 
The noble duke of Clarence to your hands. 

1 will not reason what is meant hereby, 
Becaiise I will be guiltless from the meaning: 
There lies the duke asleep, and there the keys. 
1 '11 to the king, and signify to him, 

That thus I have resign'd to you my charge. 

1 Murd. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wi.sdom : 
Fare you well. {Exit Brakenbury. 

2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps ? 

1 Murd. No; he'll say, 't was done cowardly, when 

he wakes. 

2 Murd. Why, he shall never wake until the great 
judgment day. 

1 Murd. Why. then he '11 say, we stabb'd him sleeping. 

2 Murd. The urging of that word, judgment, hath 
bred a kind of remorse in me. 

1 Murd. What ! art thou afraid ? 

2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant ; but to 
be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant 
can defend me. 

1 Murd. I thought, thou hadst been resolute.^" 
So I am, to let him live. 
I '11 back to the duke of Gloster. and 



2 Murd. 

1 Murd. 
him so. 

2 Murd. 

compassionate^' humour of mine will change ; it was 
wont to hold me but while one tells twenty. 



tell 



Nay, T pr'ythee, stay a little : I hope, this 



1 A common proverb. ^ Jrop : in quartos. 3 Here the scene ends, in the quartos. * uj^ly sights, of ghastly dreams : in quartos. * stumh- 
ling : in quartos. 6 What ugly sights of death : in quartos. ' This line is not in the quartos. * The line from "had," not in the quartos. 
' Kept : in quartos, i" seek : in first quartos. n with : in quartos. '2 grim : in quartos, i^ spake : in folio. '* the : in quartos. i* I 
promise you I am afraid : in quartos. '6 bear: in quartos. i'' This and the three preceding lines, are not in the quartos. is jvfot in f e. 
'5 Cl.yrence reposes himself on a chair : in f. e. 2" This and the next line, not in the quartos. 2i passionate : in f. e. 



SCENE ni. 



KIXG RICHARD HI. 



5ir 



1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now? 

2 Murd. 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are 
yet within me. 

1 Murd. Remember our reward, when the deed 's 
done. 

2 Murd. Zounds ! he dies : I had forgot the reward. 

1 Murd. Where 's thy conscience now ? 

2 Murd. ! in the duke of Gloster's purse. 

1 Murd. When he opens his purse to give us our 
reward, thy conscience flies out. 

2 Murd. 'T is no matter ; let it go : there 's few or 
none, will entertain it. 

1 Murd. What, if it come to thee again ? 

2 Murd. I 'II not meddle with it ; it is a dangerous 
thing', it makes a man a coward : a man cannot steal, 
but it accuseth him ; a man cannot swear, but it checks 
him; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but 
it detects him : 't is a blushing shame-faced spirit, that 
mutinies in a man's bosom ; it fills a man full of obsta- 
cles : it made me once restore a purse of gold, that by 
chance I found : it beggars any man that keeps it : it 
is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous 
thing ; and every man that means to live well, endea- 
vours to trust to himself, and live without it. 

1 Murd. Zounds ! it is even now at my elbow, per- 
suading me not to kill the duke. 

2 Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe 
him not : he would insinuate with thee, but to make 
thee sigh. 

1 Murd. I am strong-fram'd; he cannot prevail with 
me. 

2 Murd. Spoke like a tall man, that respects his 
reputation. Come, shall we fall to work ? 

1 Murd. Take him on the costard with the hilts of 
thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey-butt 
in the next room. 

2 Murd. 0, excellent device ! and make a sop of him. 

1 Murd. Soft ! he wakes. 

2 Murd. Strike. 

1 Murd. No; we '11 reason with him. 

Clar. [Waking] Where art thou, keeper? give me 
a cup of wine. 

1 Murd. You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. 

Clar. In God's name, what art thou ? 

1 Murd. A man, as you are. 

Clar. But not, as I am, royal. 

1 Murd. Nor you. as we are, loyal. 

Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. 

1 Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks mine 
own. 

Clar. How darkly, and how deadly dost thou speak. 
Your eyes do menace me : why look you pale ?^ 
Who sent you hither ? Wherefore do you come ? 

Both Murd. To, to, to — 

Clar. To murder me ? 

Both Murd. Ay, Ay. 

Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, 
And therefore caimot have the hearts to do it. 
Wherein, my friends, have I offended you ? 

1 Murd. Offended us you have not, but the king. 
Clar. I shall be reconcil'd to him again. 

2 Murd. NcA'er, my lord ; therefore, prepare to die. 
Clar. Are you drawn forth among a world of men. 

To slay the innocent ? What is my offence ? 
Where is the evidence that dotli accuse me ? 
What lawful quest have given their verdict up 
Unto the frowning judge ? or who pronounc'd 
The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death ? 



Before I be convict by coiu-se of law, 
To threaten me with death is most unlawful. 
I charge you, as you hope to have redemption' 
By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins. 
That you depart, and lay no hands on me : 
The deed you undertake is damnable. 

1 Murd. What we will do, we do upon command 

2 Murd. And he, that hath commanded, is our king. 
Clar. Erroneous A-iussals ! tlie great King of kings 

Hath in the table of his law commanded, 
That thou shalt do no murder : will you, then, 
Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's ? 
Take heed : for he holds vengeance in his hand, 
To hurl upon their heads that break his law. 

2 Murd. And that same vengeance doth he hurl on 
thee. 
For false forswearing, and for murder too. 
Thou didst receive the sacrament, to fight 
In quarrel of the house of Lancaster. 

1 Murd. And, like a traitor to the name of God, 
Didst break that vow ; and, with thy treacherous blade, 
Unripp'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. 

2 Murd. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and 

defend. 
1 Murd. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law 
to us, 
When thou hast broke it in such dear degree ? 

Clar. Alas ! for whose sake did I that ill deed ? 
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake : 
He sends you not to murder me for this ; 
For in that sin he is as deep as I. 
If God will be avenged for the deed, 

! know you yet. he doth it publicly.* 
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm : 
He needs no indirect or lawle.«s course. 

To cut off those that have offended him. 

1 Murd. Who made thee, then, a bloody minister, 
When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, 
That princely novice, was struck dead by thee ? 

Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. 

1 Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty,' and thy faults, 
Provoke^ us hither now to slaughter thee. 

Clar. If you do love my brother, hate not me ; 

1 am Ills brother, and I love him well. 

If you are hir'd for meed, go back again. 
And I will send you to my brother Gloster, 
Who shall reward you better for my life, 
Than Edward will for tidings of my death. 

2 Murd. You are deceiv'd : your brother Gloster 

hates you. 

Clar. O ! no ; he loves me, and he holds me dear. 
Go you to him from me. 

Both Murd. Ay, so we will. 

Clar. Tell him, when that our princely father York 
Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm. 
And charg'd us from his soul to love each other,^ 
He little thought of this divided friendship : 
Bid Gloster think on this, and he will weep. 

1 Murd. Ay, mill-stones ; as he lesson'd us to weep. 

Clar. ! do not slander him. for he is kind. 

1 Murd. Right ; as snow in harvest. — Come, you 
deceive yourself; 
'T is he that sends us to destroy you here. 

Clar. It cannot be ; for he bcwcpt my fortune, 
And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, 
That he would labour my delivery. 

1 Murd. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you 
From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven. 



' " it is a dangerous thing," is not in the folio. 2 This line is not in the quartos. 3 for any goodness : in folio. * This line is only in 
the folio. ' the devil : in quartos. ' Have brought : in quartos. ' This line is not in the folio. 



618 



KING EICIIARD III. 



ACT II. 



2 Murd. Make peace with God, for you must die, 
my lord. 

Clar. Have you that holy feeling in your souls, 
To counsel me to make my peace witli God, 
And are you yet to your own souls so blind, 
That you will war witli God by murdering me ? — 
O ! sirs, consider, they that set you on 
To do this deed, will hate you for the deed. 

2 Murd. What shall we do ? 

Clar. Relent, and save your souls. 

Which of you, if you were a prince's son, 
Being pent from liberty, as I am now. 
If two sucii murderers as yourselves came to you. 
Would not entreat for life ? As you would beg 
Were you in my distress, so pity me.^ 

1 Murd. Relent ? no : 't is cowardly, and womanish. 
Clar. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish. — 

My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks ; 
! if thine eye be not a flatterer. 
Come thou on my side, and entreat for me. 
A begging prince what beggar pities not ? 

2 Murd. Look behind you, my lord. 



1 Murd. Take that, and that : if all this will not do, 

[Stabs him. 
I '11 drown you in the malmsey-butt within. 

[Exit ivith the Body. 

2 Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately dcspatch'd ! 
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands 

Of this most grievous guilty murder doue.^ 
Re-enter first Murderer. 

1 Murd. IIow now ! what mcan'st thou, that thou 

hclp'st me not ? 
By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you have 
been. 

2 Murd. I would he knew, that I had sav'd his 

brother. 
Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say, 
For I repent me that the duke is slain. ^ [Exit. 

1 Murd. So do not 1 : go, coward, as thou art. — 
Well, I '11 go hide the body in some hole. 
Till that the duke give order for his burial : 
And when I have my meed, I will away ; 
For this will out, and then I must not stay. [Exit. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Edward, led in sick, Queen Elizabkth, 

Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, Buckingham, Grey, 

and others. 

K. Edtu. Why, so : — now have I done a good day's 
work. — 
You peers, continue this united league : 
I every day expect an embassage 
From my Redeemer to redeem me hence ; 
And more at pcace^ my soul shall part to heaven, 
Since I have made my friends at peace on earth. 
Rivers, and Hastings, take each other's hand ) 
Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. 

Riv. By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging 
hate • 
And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. 

Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like. 

K. Edw. Take heed, you dally not before your king ; 
Lest he, that is the supreme king of Icings, 
Confound your hidden falsehood, and award 
Either of you to be the other's end. 

Hast. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love. 

Riv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart. 

K.Edw. Madam, yourself are not exempt from this, — 
Nor you, son Dorset, — Buckingham, nor you ; — 
You have been factious one against the other. 
Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand ; 
And wliat you do, do it unfeignedly. 

Q. Eliz. There, Hastings : — I will never more re- 
member 
Our former hatred, so thrive T, and mine. 

K. Edto. Dorset, embrace him • — Hastings, love lord 
marquess. 

Dor. This interchange of love, I here protest. 
Upon my part shall be inviolable. 

Hast. And so swear L 

K. Ediv. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this 
league 
With thy embracements to my wife's allies, 

^ The words " so pity 
cus murder. ^ now in 



And make me happy in your unify. 

Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn liis hate 
Upon your grace, [To the Q,ueen.\ but with all duteous 

love 
Doth cherish you, and yours, God punish me 
With hate in those where I expect most love. 
When I have most need to employ a friend, 
And most assured that he is a friend, 
Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, 
Be he unto me. This do I beg of heaven, 
When I am cold in love* to you, or yours. 

A'. Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, 
Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. 
There wanteth now our brother Gloster here, 
To make the blessed* period of this peace. 

Buck. And, in good time, here comes the noble duke. 
Enter Gloster. 

Glo. Good-morrow to my sovereign king, and queen. 
And, princely peers, a happy time of day ! 

A'. Edw. Happy, indeed, as wc have spent the day. — 
Gloster, we liave done deeds of charity ; 
Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate. 
Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. 

Glo. A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord. — 
Among this princely heap, if any here. 
By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, 
Hold me a foe ; 

If I unwittingly, or in my rage. 
Have aught conmiitted that is hardly borne 
To any in this presence, I desire 
To reconcile me to his friendly peace : 
'T is death to mo, to be at enmity ; 
I hate it, and desire all good men's love. — 
First, madam, I entreat true peace of you. 
Which I will purchase with my duteous service : 
Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, 
If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us ; 
Of you, and you, lord Rivers, and of Dorset, 
That all without desert have frown'd on me ; 
Of you, lord Woodville, and lord Scales, of you ; 

1 The words " so pity me," are not in f. e. This and the four previou.s lines, are not in the quartos. 2 The folio has : Of this most griev- 
^ """' '" • in quartos. * zeal : in quartos. ^ perfect ; in quartos. 



SCENE II. 



KIXG KICHAKD III. 



519 



Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen ; indeed, of all. 

I do not know that Englishman alive, 

With whom my soul is any jot at odds, 

More than the infant that is born to-night. 

I thank my God for my humility. [Aside} 

Q. Eliz. A holy day shall this be kept hereafter : — 
I would to God, all strifes were well eompounded. — 
My sovereign lord, 1 do beseech your highness 
To take our brother Clarence to your grace. 

Glo. Why, madam, have I oflcr'd love for this, 
To be so flouted in this royal presence ? 
Who knows not, that the gentle duke is dead ? 

[They all start. 
You do him injury to scorn his corse. 

K. Edw. Who knows not, he is dead ! who knows 
he is ? 

Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this ! 

Buck. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest? 

Dor. Ay, my good lord ; and no man in the pre- 
sence, 
But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. 

K. Ediv. Is Clarence dead? the order was revers'd. 

Glo. But he, poor man," by your first order died, 
And that a winged Mercury did bear ; 
Some tardy cripple bare the countermand, 
That came too lag to see him buried. 
God grant, that some, less noble, and less loyal, 
Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood. 
Deserve not worse tlian wrctclied Clarence did, 
And yet go current from suspicion. 
Enter Stanley. 

Stan. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done ! 

[Kneels.^ 

K. Edw. I pr'ythee, peace : my soul is full of sorrow. 

Stan. I will not rise, unless your highness hear me. 

K. Ediv. Then say at once, what is it thou re- 
questest. 

Stan. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; 
Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman. 
Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. 

A'. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death, 
And shall that tongue* give pardon to a slave? 
My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought, 
And yet liis punishment was bitter death. 
Who sued to me for him? who, in my wrath, 
Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advis'd ? 
Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of love? 
Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake 
The miglity Warwick, and did liglit for me? 
Wlio told me, in the field at Tewksbury, 
When Oxford had me down, he rescu'd me. 
And said, "Dear brother, live, and be a king?" 
Who told me, when we both lay in the field, 
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me 
Even in his garments; and did give himself, 
All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night? 
All tills from my remembrance brutish wrath 
Sinfully pluek'd, and not a man of you 
Had so nuich grace to put it in my mind. 
But when your carters, or your waiting-vassals. 
Have done a drunken slaugliler. and defac'd 
The precious image of our dear Redeemer, 
Yo\i straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; 
And I, imjustly too. must grant it you. 
But for my brother not a man would speak. 
Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself 
For him. poor soul. — The proudest of you all 



Have been beholding to him in his life. 

Yet none of you would once beg'' for his life. — 

God ! I fear, thy justice will take hold 

On me, and you. and mine, and yours, for this. — 

Come, Hastings, prillice'^ help me to my closet. 

Ah, poor Clarence ! 

[Exeunt King, Queen. Hastings, Rivers, Dorset, 
and Grev. 
Glo. This is the fruit of ra.'-hnef-s. — Mark'd you not, 
How that the guilty kindred of the queen 
Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence' death ? 

! they did urge it still unto the king: 

God wiil revenge it. Come, lords; will you go. 
To comfort Edward with our company? 

Buck. We wait upon your grace. [Exeunt. 

SCENE H.— London. 
Enter the Duchess of York, ivith a So7i and Daughter 
of Clarence. 
Son. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead? 
Duch. No, boy. 

Davgh. Wliy do you weep so' ? and oft beat your 
breast : 
And cry — " Clarence, my unhappy son !" 
Why do yon look on us, and shake your head. 
And call uf^ — orphans, wretches, cast-aways. 
If that our noble father were alive ? 

Dvch. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both^, 

1 do lament the sickness of tlie king. 

As loath to lose him, not your father's death. 
It were lost sorrow to waiP one that 's lost. 

Son. Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead. 
The king mine uncle is to lalame for it : 
God will revenge it; whom I will importune 
With earnest prayers all to that eflTcct. 

Daugh. And so will I. 

Duch. Peace, children, peace ! the king doth love 
you well. 
Incapable and shallow innocents, 
You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. 

.Son. Grandam. we can; for my good uncle Gloster 
Told me, the king, provok'd to it by the queen, 
Devis'd impeachments to imprison him : 
And when my uncle told me so, he wept, 
And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; 
Bade me rely on him. as on my father, 
And he would love me dearly as a child. 

Duch. Ah ! that deceit should steal such gentle shape, 
And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice !'" 
He is my son, ay, and therein my shame, 
Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. 

Son. Think you, my uncle did dissemble, grandam? 

Duch. Ay, boy. 

Son. I cannot think it. — Hark ! what noise is this ! 

Enter Queen Elizabeth, distractedly; Rivers aiul 
Dorset, following her. 

Q. Eliz. Ah ! wiio shall liinder me to wail and weep, 
To chide my fortvinc, and torment myself? 
I '11 join with black despair against my soul, 
And to myself become an enemy. 

Duch. What means this scene of rude impertinence? 

Q. Eliz. To make an act of tragic violence. 
Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead ! — 
Why grow the branches, when the root is gone?" 
Why wither not the leaves, tliat want their sap?'" 
If you will live, lament; if die, be brief; 
That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's ; 

* This word is not in f. e. 



1 Not in f. e. 2 soul : in quartos. 3 jf^j ;„ f ^ 4 ,jjg same : in quartos. * plead : in quartos. « This word is not in f. e. / wrmg 
your hands : in quartos. « much : in quartos. » lost labour to weep for : in quartos, i" guile : in quartos. " now the root is wither d : 
in quartos. '^ the sap being gone : in quartos. 



520 



KING RICHARD III. 



ACT II. 



Or, like obedient siibjeets, follow him 

To his new kingdom of ne'er changini; light'. 

Buck. Ah ! so much interest have I in tliy sorrow, 
As I had title in thy noble husband. 
I have bewept a worthy husband's death, 
And liv'd with looking on his images ; 
Bat now, two mirrors of his princely semblance 
Are crack'd in pieces by malignant deatli, 
And I for comfort liave but one false glass, 
That grieves me when I see my shame in him. 
Thou art a widow ; yet thou art a mother. 
And hast Ihe comfort of thy children left: 
But death hath snatchd my husband from mine arms, 
And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands, 
Clarence, and Edward. ! what cause have I, 
(Thine being but a moiety of my moan) 
To over-go thy woe.«, and drown thy cries ? 

Son. Ah, aunt! you wept not for our father's death; 
How can we aid you with our kindred tears ? 

Datigh. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd; 
Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept. 

Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lamentation; 
I am not barren to bring forth complaints". 
All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, 
That I, being govern'd by the wat'ry moon. 
May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world ! 
Ah, for my husband, for my dear lord, Edward ! 

Chil. Ah, for our father, for our denr lord Clarence ! 

Duch. Alas, for both ! both mine, Edward and Cla- 
rence. 

Q. EUz. What stay had I, but Edward ? and he 's gone. 

Chil. What stay had we, but Clarence ? and he 's gone. 

Dvch. What stays had I, but they? and they are gone. 

Q. Eliz. Was never widow had so dear a loss. 

Chil. Were never orphans had so dear a loss. 

Dvch. Was never mother had so dear a loss. 
Alas ! I am the mother of the.^e griefs^ : 
Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general. 
She for an Edward weeps, and so do I ; 
I for a Clarence weep, so doth not .she: 
These babes for Clarence weep, and .so do I : 
I for an Edward weep, so do not they : — * 
Alas ! you three on me. threefold distress'd, 
Pour all your tears, I am your sorrow's nurse, 
And I will pamper it with lamentation. 

Dor. Comfort, dear mother : God is much displeas'd, 
That you take with unthankfulness his doing. 
In common worldly things, 't is call'd ungrateful, 
With dull unwillingness to repay a debt. 
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; 
Much more to be thus opposite with heaven. 
For it requires the royal debt it lent you. 

Riv. Madam, bethink you. like a careful mother, 
Of tlie young prince your son : send straight for him, 
Let him be crown'd ; in him your comfort lives. 
Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, 
And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.* 

Enter Gloster, Buckingham. Stanley, Hastings, 
Ratcliffe, and other.'!. 

Glo. Sister^, liave comfort : all of us have cause 
To wail the dimming of our shining star; 
But none can help our harms by wailing them. — 
Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy ; 
I did not see your grace. — Humbly on my knee 
I crave your blessing. [Kneels.'' 

Dvch. God bless thee : and put meekness in thy breast, 
Love, charity, obedience, and true duty. 

^ night. : in f. e. 2 laments : in quartos. ' moans : in quartos. ''This line is not in the folio. 5 This and the eleven preceding lines, 
are only in the folio. 6 Madam : in quartos. " Not in f. e. » hearts : in quartos. ' This and the seventeen preceding lines, are only ia 
thefoho. io Select. ^^Introduction. '= troublous : in quarto. 



Glo. Amen ; [Aside.] and make me die a good old 
man ! — 
That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing ; 
I marvel, that her grace did leave it out. 

Buck. You cloudy princes, and heart-sorrowing peers, 
That bear this heavy mutual load of moan. 
Now clieer eacii other in each other's love : 
Though we have spent our harvest of this king, 
We are to reap the harvest of his son. 
The broken rancour of your high-swoln hates*. 
But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together, 
Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept : 
Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, 
Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet 
Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. 

Riv. Why with some little train, my lord «f Buck- 
ingham ? 

Bvck. Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude. 
The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out ; 
Which would be so nmch the more dangerous, 
By how much the estate is green, and yet ungovern'd ; 
Where every horse bears his commanding rein. 
And may direct his course as please himself. 
As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent. 
In my opinion, ought to be prevented. 

Glo. I hope the king made peace with all of us : 
And the compact is firm and true in me. 

Riv. And so in me ; and so, I think, in all : 
Yet, since it is but green, it should be put 
To no apparent likelihood of breach. 
Which, haply, by much company might be urg'd: 
Therefore, I say with noble Buckingham, 
That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. 

Hast. And so say I.' 

Glo. Then be it so ; and go we to determine 
Who they shall be that straight shall po.st to Ludlow. 
Madam, — and you my sister, — will you go 
To give your censures in this business ? 

[Exeunt all but Buckingham and Gi.oster. 

Buck. My lord, whoever journeys to the prince. 
For God's sake, let not us two stay at home ; 
For by the way I '11 sort'" occa.sion. 
As index" to the story we late talk'd of, 
To part tlie queen's proud kindred from the prince. 

Glo. My other .self, my counsel's consistory, 
My oracle, my prophet ! — My dear cousin, 
I, as a child, will go by thy direction. 
Towards Ludlow then, for we '11 not stay behind. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. A Street. 
Enter two Citizens^ meeting. 

1 Cit. Good morrow, neighbour : whither away so fast? 

2 Cit. 1 promise you, I scarcely know myself. 
Hear you the news abroad ? 

1 Cit. Yes ; that the king is dead. 

2 Cit. Ill news, by 'r lady ; seldom comes the better : 
I fear, I fear, 't will prove a giddy'" world. 

Enter another Citizen. 

3 Cit. Neighbours, God speed ! 

1 Cit. Give you good morrow, sir. 
3 Cit. Doth the news hold of good king Edward's 

death ? 

2 Cit. Ay, sir, it is too true ; God help, the while ! 

3 Cit. Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. 
1 Cit. No, no ; by God's good grace, his son shall reign. 
3 Cit. Woe to that land that 's govern'd by a child ! 



SCENE IT. 



KING RICHAKD HI. 



521 



2 Cit. In him there is a hope of government, 
With,' in his nonage, council under him; 
And, in his i'all and ripcn'd years, himsell'. 

No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well. 

1 Cit. So stood the state, when Henry the Sixth 
Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. 

3 Cit. Stood the state so ? no, no, good friends, God 

vv"ot ; 
For then this land was famously enrich'd 
With politic grave counsel : then the king 
Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. 

1 Cit. Why, so hath this, both by his father and 
mother. 

3 Cit. Better it were they all came by his father, 
Or by his father there were none at all ; 
For emulation, who shall now be nearest. 
Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. 

! full of danger is the duke of Gloster ; 

And the queen's sons, and brothers, haught and proud: 
And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule, 
This sickly land might solace as before. 

1 Cit. Come, come ; we fear the w"orst : all will be 

well. 
3 Cit. When clouds are seen, wise men put on their 

cloaks ; 
When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand : 
When the sun sets, who doth not look for night ? 
Untimely storms make men expect a dearth. 
All may be well ; but, if God sort it so, 
'T is more than we deserve, or I expect. 

2 Cit. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear : 
You cannot reason almost with a man 

That looks not heavily, and full of dread. 

3 Cit. Before the days of change, still is it so. 
By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust 
Pursuing danger : as by proof we see 

The water swell before a boisterous storm. 
But leave it all to God. Whither away? 

2 Cit. Marry, we were sent for to the justices. 

3 Cit. And so was I : I '11 bear you company. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— London. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter the Archhishop of York, the young Duke of York, 
Queen Elizabeth, and the Duche.'is of York. 
Arch. Last night, I heard, they lay at Stony-Strat- 
ford, 
And at Northampton they do rest to-night: 
To-morrow, or next day, they will be here. 

Duch. I long with all my heart to see the prince : 

1 hope, he is much grown since last I saw him. 

Q. EJiz. But I hear, no : they say, my son of York 
Hath almost overta'en him in his growth. 

York. Ay, mother, but I would not have it so. 

Duch. Why. my young cousin ? it is good to grow. 

York. Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper, 
My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow 
More than my brother; "Ay," quoth my uncle Gloster. 
■' Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace :" 
And since, metliinks, I would not grow so fast. 
Because sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make haste. 

Duch. 'Good faith, 'good faith, the saying did not 
hold 
In liim that did object the same to thee : 
He was the wTctched'st thing when he was young, 

' That, which : in f. e = Encroarh. 3 laT;\-less : in quartos. 



So long a growing, and so leisurely, 

That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious. 

Arch. And so, no doubt, he is, my gracious madam. 

Duch. I liopc, he is; but yet let mothers doubt. 

York. Now, by my troth, if I had been remcmber'd, 
I could have given my uncle's grace a flout. 
To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine. 

Duch. llow, my young York? I pr'ythee, let me 
hear it. 

York. Marry, they say, my uncle grew so fast, 
That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old : 
'T was full two years ere I could get a tooth. 
Grandam, this would have been a biting jest. 

Duch. I pr'ythee, pretty York, who told thee this? 

York. Grandam, liis nurse. 

Duch. His nurse ! why, she was dead ere thou wast 
born. 

York. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me. 

Q. FAiz. A parlous boy. Go to, you are too shrewd. 

Arch. Good inadain, be not angry with the child. 

Q. Eliz. Pitchers have ears. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Arch. Here comes a messenger : what news with you ? 

Mess. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to report. 

Q. Eliz. How doth tlie prince ? 

Mc.'is. Well, madam, and in health. 

Duch. What is thy news ? 

Mess. Lord Rivers and lord Grey are sent to Pom- 
fret, 
And with them sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. 

Duch. Who hath committed them ? 

Mess. The mighty dukes, 

Gloster and Buckingham. 

Arch. For what offence ? 

Me.ss. The sum of all I can I have disclos'd : 
Why, or for what, the nobles were committed, 
Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady. 

Q. Eliz. Ah me ! I see the ruin of my house. 
The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind : 
Insulting tyranny begins to jet^ 
Upon the innocent and awless^ throne : — 
Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre ! 
I see, as in a map, the end of all. 

Duch. Accursed and unquiet wrangling daj^s, 
How many of you have mine eyes beheld ? 
My husband lost his life to get the crown ; 
Too often up and down my sons were tost, 
For me to joy, and weep, their gain, and loss: 
And being seated, and domestic broils 
Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors, 
Make war upon themselves : brother to brother, 
J?lood to blood, self against self: — ! preposterous 
And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen ; 
Or let me die, to look on death no more. 

Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy ; we will to sanc- 
tuary. — 
Madam, farewell. 

Duch. Stay, T will go with you. 

Q. Eliz. You have no cause. 

Arch. I\Iy gracious lady. go. [To the Queen. 

And thither bear your treasure and your goods. 
For my part, I '11 resign unto your grace 
Tiie seal I keep : and so betide to me. 
As well I tender you, and all of yours. 
Go; I '11 conduct you to the sanctuary. [Exeunt. 



522 



KIKG EICHAED III. 



ACT in. 



ACT III 



SCENE I.— London. A Street. 
The Tntmpets sound. Enter the Prince of Wales. 
Gi.osTER, Buckingham. Cardinal Bourchier, and 
others. 

Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your 
chamber.' 

Glo. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sove- 
reign : 
The weary way hath made you melancholy. 

Prince. No, uncle ; but our crosses on the way 
Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy : 
I want more uncles here to welcome me. 

Glo. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years 
Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit : 
No more can you distinguish of a man, 
Tiian of his outward show; which, God he knows, 
Seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart. 
Those uncles, M'hich you want, were dangerous • 
Your grace attended to their sugar'd words, 
But look'd not on the poison of their hearts : 
God keep you from them, and from such false friends ! 

Prince. God keep me from false friends ! but they 
were none. 

Glo. My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet 
you. 
Enter the Lord Mayor, and his Train. 

May. God bless your grace with health and happy 
days ! 

Prince. I thank you, good my lord ; and thank you 
all. — [Exeunt Mayor, ^x. 

I thought my mother, and my brother York, 
Would long ere this have met us on the way : 
Fie ! what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not 
To tell us whether they will come or no. 
Enter Hastings. 

Buck. And in good time here comes the sweating lord. 

Prince. Welcome, my lord. What, will our mother 
come ? 

Hast. On what occasion, God he knows, not I, 
The queen your mother, and your brother York, 
Have taken sanctuary : the tender prince 
Would fain have come with me to meet your grace, 
But by his mother was perforce withheld. 

Buck. Fie ! what an indirect and peevish course 
Is this of hers. — Lord cardinal, will your grace 
Persuade the queen to send the duke of York 
Unto his princely brother presently ? 
If she deny, lord Hastings, go with him, 
And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. 

Card. My lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory 
Can from his mother win the duke of York, 
Anon expect him here ; but if she be obdurate 
To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid 



We should infringe the holy privilege 

Of blessed sanctuary ! not for all this land. 

Would T be guilty of so great a sin. 

Bxick. You are too strict and abstinent", my lord, 
Too ceremonious, and traditional : 
Weigh it but with the goodness^ of his* age. 
You break not sanctuary in seizing him. 
The benefit thereof is always granted 
To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place, 
And those who have the wit to claim the place : 

1 Camera Regis, a title of London. 2 in f. e. : senseless-obstinate, 
old English Moralities. « Usually. ' dear : in quarto, 160-2, and folio. 



This prince hath neither claim'd it, nor deserv'd it; 
Therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it : 
Then, taking him from thence, that is not there, 
You break no privilege nor charter there. 
Oft have I heard of sanctuary men, 
But sanctuary children, ne'er till now. 

Card. My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once. — 
Come on, lord Hastings ; will you go with me ? 

Ha.'yt. I go, my lord. 

Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you 
may. — [Exeunt Cardinal and Hastings. 

Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come, 
Where shall we sojourn till our coronation ? 

Glo. Where it seems best unto your royal self. 
If I may counsel you, some day, or two, 
Your highness shall repose you at the Tower 
Then, where you please, and shall be thought most fit 
For your best health and recreation. 

Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any place. — 
Did Julius Cfcsar build that place, my lord? 

Buck. He did; my gracious lord, begin that place, 
Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. 

Prince. Is it upon record, or else reported 
Successively from age to age, he built it ? 

Buck. It is upon record, my gracious lord. 

Prince. But say, my lord, it were not register'd, 
Methinks, the truth should live from age to age, 
As 't were retail'd to all posterity, 
Even to the general all-ending day. 

Glo. So wise so young, they say, do ne'er live long. 

[Aside. 

Prince. What say you, uncle? 

Glo. I say without characters fame lives long. 
Thus, like the formal Vice, Iniquity^, [Aside. 

I moralize two meanings in one word. 

Prince. That Julius Cajsar was a famous man: 
With what his valour did enrich his wit. 
His wit set down to make his valour live : 
Death makes no conquest of his conqueror. 
For now he lives in fame, though not in life. — 
I '11 tell you what, my cousin Buckingham. 

Buck. What, my gracious lord ! 

Prince. An if I live until I be a man, 
I '11 win our ancient right in France again. 
Or die a soldier, as I liv'd a king. 

Glo. Short summers lightly* have a forward spring. 

[Aside. 
Enter York, Hastings, and the Cardinal. 

Buck. Now, in good time here comes the duke of 
York. 

Prince. Richard of Yoi'k ! how fares our noble 
brother ? 

York. Well, my dread^ lord ; so must I call you now. 

Prince. Ay, brother ; to our grief, as it is yours. 
Too late he died that might have kept that title, 
Which by his death hath lost much majesty. 

Glo. How fares our cousin, noble lord of York ? 

York. I thank you. gentle uncle. ! my lord, 
You said, that idle weeds are fast in growth : 



The prince my brother hath outgrown me far. 
Glo. He hath, my lord ! 

York. And therefore is he idle ? 

Glo. ! my fair cousin, I must not say so. 
York. Then he is more beholding to you, than I. 

3 grossness : in f. e. ■* this : in f. e. * A character in all the 



SCENE II. 



KING EICHAED III. 



523 



Glo. He may command me as my sovereign, 
But you have power o'er me as a kinsman. 
York. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger. 
Glo. My dagger, little cousin ? with all my heart. 
Prince. A beggar, brother ? 
York. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give; 
And, being but a toy, which is no grief to give. 
Glo. A greater gift than that I '11 give my cousin. 
York. A greater gift ! O ! that 's the sword to it. 
Glo. Ay, gentle cou.sin, were it light enough. 
York. O ! then, I see, you '11 part but witii light gifts : 
In weightier things 3'ou '11 say a beggar, nay. 
Glo. It is too weighty for your grace to wear. 
York. I weigh it liglitly, were it heavier. 
Glo. What ! would you have my weapon, little lord ? 
York. I would, that I might thank you as you call me. 
Glo. How? 
York. Little. 

Prince. My lord of York will still be cross in 
talk.— 
Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. 

York. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me. — 
Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me : 
Because that I am little, like an ape. 
He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders. 
Buck. With what a sharply pointed' wit he reasons : 
To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, 
He prettily and aptly taunts himself. 
So cunning, and so young, is wonderful. 

Glo. My lord, will 't please your grace to pass along ? 
IMyself, and my good cousin Buckingham, 
Will to your mother, to entreat of her 
To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you. 

York. What ? will j-ou go unto the Tower, my lord ? 
Prince. My lord protector needs will have it so. 
York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. 
Glo. Why, what should you fear ? 
York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost : 
My grandam told me he was murder'd there. 
Prince. I fear no uncles dead. 
Glo. Nor none that live, I hope. 
Prince. An if they live, I hope, I need not fear. 
But come, my lord, and, with a heavy heart, 
Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. 

[A sennet. Exnnit Prince., York, Hastings, 
Cardinal., and Attendants. 
Buck. Think you, my lord, this little prating York 
Was not incensed by his subtle mother 
To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously ? 

Glo. No doubt, no doubt. ! 't is a pei'ilous boy ; 
Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable : 
He's all the mother's from the top to toe. 

Bi(ck. Well, let them rest. — Come hither, Catesby. 
Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend. 
As closely to conceal what we impart. 
Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way : — 
What think'st thou? is it not an easy matter 
To make William lord Hastings of our mind, 
For the instalment of this noble duke 
In tlie seat royal of this famous i.'^le ? 

Cate. He for his father's sake so loves the prince, 
That he will not be won to aught against him. 

Buck. What think'st thou then of Stanley? will 

not he ? 
Cate. He will do all in all as Hastings doth. 
Buck. Well, then, no more but this. Go, gentle 
Catesby, 
And, as it were far off, sound thou lord Hastings, 



How he doth stand affected to our purpose ; 
And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, 
To sit about the coronation.^ 
If thou dost find him tractable to us, 
Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons : 
If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling, 
Be thou so too, and so break off the talk, 
And give us notice of his inclination ; 
For we to-morrow hold divided' councils. 
Wherein thyself shalt higlily be employ'd. 

Glo. Commend me to lord William : tell him, 
Catesby, 
His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries 
To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle ; 
And bid my lord, for joy of this good news. 
Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss tlie more. 

Buck. Good Catesby, go : effect this business soundly. 

Cate. My good lords both, wnth all the heed I can. 

Glo. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep ? 

Cate. You shall, my lord. 

Glo. At Crcsby-place, there shall you find us both. 

[Exit Catesby. 

Buck. Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we per- 
ceive 
Lord Hastings -will not yield to our complots ? 

Glo. Chop off his head, man; — somewhat we will 
do:— 
And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me 
The earldom of Hereford, and all the moveables 
Whereof the king, my brother, was possess'd. 

Buck. I '11 claim that promise at your grace's hand. 

Glo. And look to have it yielded with all kindness.* 
Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards 
We may digest our complots in some form. [Exeunt, 

SCENE II.— Before Lord Hastings' House. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord ! my lord ! — [Knocking at the door. 

Hast. [Within.]— Who knocks? 

Mess. One from tlie lord Stanley. 

Ha.st. [Within.] What is 't o'clock ? 

Mess. Upon the stroke of four. 

Enter Hastings. 

Hast. Cannot lord Stanley sleep these tedious nights ? 

3Iess. So it appears' by that I have to say. 
First, he commends him to your noble self. 

Ha.st. What then? 

il/c.M. Then certifies your lordship, that this night 
He dreamt the boar had rased off his helm : 
Besides, he says, there are two councils kept ; 
And that may be determin'd at the one, 
Whicli may make you and him to rue at th' other. 
Therefore, he sends to know your lordship's pleasure, — 
If you will presently take horse with him. 
And with all speed post with him toward the north, 
To shun the danger that his soul divines. 

HcLft. Go, fellow, go ; return unto thy lord. 
Bid him not fear the separated council : 
His honour and myself are at the one, 
And at tlic other is my good friend Catesby; 
Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us. 
Whereof I shall not have intelligence. 
Tell him, his fears are sliallow, without in.^tance : 
And for his dreams — I wonder he 's so simple' 
To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers. 
To fly the boar, before the boar pursues, 
Were to incense the boar to follow us. 
And make pursuit, where he did mean no chase. 



' sharp provided : in f. e. > This and the previous line, are not in the quartos. 
E6Cm : in quartos. ' fond : in quarto. 



3 Private. * willingness : in quartos. * So it should 



524 



KING EICHARD III. 



ACT ni. 



my 



Go, bid thy master rise and come to me ; 
And we will both together to the Tower, 
Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly. 

3Iess. I '11 go, iny lord, and' tell him what you say. 

[Exit. 
Enter Catesby. 

Cate. Many good morrows to my noble lord ! 

Hast. Good morrow, Catesby : you are early stirring. 
What new.'^, what news, in this our tottering state? 

Cate. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord; 
And, I believe, will never stand upright. 
Till Richard wear the garland of the realm. 

Hast. How? wear the garland ! dost thou mean the 
crown ? 

Cate. Ay. my good lord. 

Hast. I '11 have this crovra of mine cut from 
shoulders, 

Before I '11 see the crown so foul misplac'd. 
But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it ? 

Cate. Ay, on my life- ; and hopes to find you forward 
Upon his party for the gain thereof : 
And thereupon he sends you this good news, — 
That this same very day your enemies. 
The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret. 

Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, 
Because they have been still my adversaries :^ 
But, that I '11 give my voice on Richard's side, 
To bar my master's heirs in true descent, 
God knows, I will not do it, to the death. 

Cate. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind. 

Hast. But I shall laugh at this a tM^elve-month hence. 
That they which brought me in my master's hate, 
I live to look upon their tragedy. 
Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older, 
I '11 send some packing that yet think not on 't. 

Cate. 'T is a vile thing to die, my gracious lord. 
When men are unprepar'd, and look not for it. 

Hast. O monstrous, monstrous ! and so falls it out 
With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey ; and so 't will do 
With some men else, who think themselves as safe 
As thou, and I ; who, as thou know'st, are dear 
To princely Richard, and to Buckingham. 

Cate. The princes both make high account of you ; 
For they account his head upon the bridge. [Aside. 

Hast. I know they do, and I have well deserv'd it. 
Enter Stanley. 
Come on, come on ;* where is your boar-spear, man ? 
Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided ? 

Stan. INIy lord, good morrow : — good morrow, 
Catesby. — 
You may jest on, but, by the holy rood, 
I do not like these several councils, I. 

Hast. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours ;' 
And never, in my days, I do protest. 
Was it so precious to me as° 't is now. 
Think you, but that I know our state secure, 
I would be so triumphant as I am ? 

Stan. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from 
London, 
Were jocund, and suppos'd their states were sure, 
And they, indeed, had no cause to mistrust; 
But yet, you see, how soon the day o'er-cast. 
This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt : 
Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward ! 
What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent. 

Hast. Come, come, have with you. — Wot you what, 
my lord ? 



To-day, the lords you talk of are beheaded. 

Stan. They for their truth might better wear their 
heads, 
Than some that have accus'd them wear their hats. 
But come, my lord, let 's away. 

Enter a Pursuivant. 

Hast. Go on before ; I '11 talk with this good fellow. 
[Exeunt Stanley and Catesby. 
How now, sirrah ! how goes the world with thee ? 

Purs. The better, that your lordship please to ask. 

Hast. I tell thee, man, 't is better with me now, 
Than when thou inet'st me last, where now we meet : 
Then, was I going prisoner to the Tower, 
By the suggestion of the queen's allies ; 
But now, I tell thee, (keep it to thyself) 
This day those enemies are put to death, ^ 
And I in better state than ere I was. 

Purs. God hold it to your honour's good content. 

Hast. Gramercy, fellow. There, drink that for me. 

[Throwing his Pi<rse. 

Purs. I thank your honour. [Exit Pursuivant. 

Enter a Priest. 

Pr. Well met, my lord ; I am glad to see your honour. 

Hast. I thank thee, good sir John, with all my heart. 
I 'm in your debt for your last exercise ; 
Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. 

Pr. I '11 wait upon your lordship. 
Enter Buckingham. 

Buck. What, talking with a priest, lord chamberlain ! 
Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest : 
Your honour hath no shriving work in hand. 

Hast. 'Good faith, and when I met this holy man, 
The men you talk of came into my mind. 
What, go you toward the Tower? 

Buck. I do, my lord ; but long I cannot stay there : 
I shall return before your lordship thence. 

Hast. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there. 

Buck. And supper too, although thou know'st it not. 

[Aside. 
Come, will you go ? 

Hast. I '11 wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Pomfret. Before the Castle. 
Enter Ratcliff, with a Guard^ conducting Rivers, 

Grey, and Vaughan, to execution. 
Riv. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this : — 
To-day shall thou behold a subject die 
For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. 

Grey. God bless the prince from all the pack of you ! 
A knot you are of damned blood-suckers. 

Vaugh. You live, that shall cry woe for this here- 
after. 
Rat. Despatch ! the limit of your lives is out.'' 
Riv. Pomfret, Pomfret ! O, thou bloody prison, 
Fatal and ominous to noble peers ! 
Within the guilty closure of thy walls, 
Richard the Second hero Avas hack'd to death : 
And, for more slander to tliy dismal seat*. 
We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink. 

Grey. Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon our 
heads, 



When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, 



and me', 



For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son 
Riv. Then curs'd she Richard, then curs'd sh( 
ingham, 
Then curs'd she Hastings. — O, remember, God, 
To hear her prayer for them, as now for us ! 



1 My gracious loid, I '11 : in quartos. 2 Upon my life, my lord : in quartos. ' mine enemies : in qu.^rtos. * "What, my lord ; in quartos. 
6 you do yours : in quartos. •• more precious to me than : in quartos. ' This and the previous line, are not in the quartos. ^ soul : in quartos. 
9 I : in f. e. 



SCENE V. 



KING RICHAED III. 



525 



And for my sister, and her princely sons, 
Be satisfied, dear God, witli our true blood. 
Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt. 
Rat. Make haste, the hour of death is expiated 
Riv. Come, Grey, — come, Vaughan ; — let us here 
embrace : 
Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. {Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— London. A Room in the Tower. 
Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings, the Bi.shop o/Ely, 

Catesby, Lovel, and others, sitting at a Table: 

Officers of the Council attending. 

Hast. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met 
Is to determine of the coronation : 
In God's name, f'peak, when is this royal day ? 

Buck. Are all things ready for the royal time ? 

Stan. They are ; and want but nomination. 

Ely. To-morrow, then. I judge^ a happy day. 

Buck. Who knows the lord protector's mind herein ? 
Who is most inward^ with the noble duke ? 

Ely. Your grace, we think, should soonest know his 
mind. 

Buck. We know each other's faces ; for our hearts, 
He knows no more of mine, than I of yours ; 
Nor I of his, my lord, than j'ou of mine. 
Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. 

Hast. I thank his grace, I know he loves me well ; 
But for his purpose in the coronation, 
I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd 
His gracious pleasure any way therein : 
But you, my honourable* lords, may name the time; 
And in the duke's behalf I '11 give my voice, 
Which, I presume, he '11 take in gentle part. 
Enter Gloster. 

Ely. In happy time here comes the duke himself. 

Glo. My noble lords and cousins, all, good morrow. 
I have been long a sleeper ; but, I tru.st. 
My absence doth neglect no great design, 
Wliicli by my presence might have been concluded. 

Buck. Had you not come upon your cue. my lord, 
William lord Hastings had pronounc'd your part, 
I mean, your voice, for crowning of the king. 

Glo. Than my lord Hastings, no man might be 
bolder : 
Hi.s lordship knows me well, and loves me well. 
My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn, 
I saw good strawberries in your garden there ; 
I do beseech you, .send for some of them. 

Ely. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. 

[Exit Ely. 

Glo. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. 

[Taking him aside. 
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, 
And fmds the testy gentleman so hot, 
That he will lose his head, ere give consent. 
His master's child, as worshi}ifully he terms it, 
Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. 

Buck. Withdraw your.^elf awhile ; I'll go with you. 
[Exeunt Gloster and Blckingiiam. 

Stan. We have not yet set down this day of triumph. 
To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden ; 
For I myself am not so well provided. 
As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. 
Re-enter Bishop of Ely. 

Ely. Where is my lord, the dui^e ofGlo.ster? 
I have sent for these strawberries. 

Ha.st. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this 
morning : 



There 's some conceit or other likes him well, 
When that he bids good morrow with such spirit. 
I think, there 's never a man in Christendom 
Can lesser hide his love, or hate, than he ; 
For by his face straight .shall you know his heart. 

Stan. Wliat of his heart perceive you in his face, 
By any livelihood' he show'd to-day ? 

Hast. Marry, that with no man here he is olTcnded; 
For, were he, he had sliown it in his looks. 

Re-enter Gloster and Buckingham. 

Glo. I pray you all, tell me wliat they deserve, 
That do conspire my death with devilish plots 
Of damned witchcraft ? and that have prevail'd 
Upon my body with their hellish charms ? 

Ha.st. Tlie tender love I bear your grace, my lord. 
Makes mo most forward in this princely presence 
To doom th' offenders : whosoe'er they be, 
I say, my lord, they have deserved death. 

Glo. Then, be your eyes the witness of their evil. — 
Look how I am bewitch'd ; behold mine arm 
Is like a blasted sapling wither'd up : 
And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, 
Consorted with that harlot, strumpet Shore, 
That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. 

Ha.^t. If they have done this deed, my noble lord. — 

Glo. If ! thou protector of this damned .strumpet, 
Talkst thou to me of ifs ? — Thou art a traitor : — 
Off with his head ! — now, by Saint Paul I swear, 
I will not dine until I see the same. — 
Lovel, and llatcliff. look that it be done : 
The rest, that love me, rise, and follow me. 

[Exeunt Council, with Gloster and Buckingham. 

Hast. Woe, woe, for England ! not a whit for me; 
For I, too fond, might have prevented this. 
Stanley did dream the boar did rase his helm ; 
And I did scorn it, and disdained to fly. 
Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, 
And started when he look'd upon the Tower, 
As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house. 

! now I need the priest that spake to me : 

1 now repent I told the pursuivant. 
As too triumphing, how mine enemies. 
To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd. 
And I myself secure in grace and favour. 

0, Margaret. Margaret ! now thy heavy ciirse 
Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head. 

Rat. Come, come ; despatch, the duke would be at 
dinner : 
Make a short shrift : he longs to see your head. 

Ha.'it. 0, momentary grace of mortal men. 
Wliicli we more luuit for than the grace of God ! 
Who builds his hope in air of your good looks, 
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast ; 
lieady with every nod to tumble down 
Into the fatal bowels of the deep. 

Lov. Come, come, despatch : 't is bootless to exclaim. 

//«.<??. 0, bloody Richard ! — miserable England ! 
I prophesy tlie fearful l'.«t time to thee. 
That ever wretched age liath look'd upon.* 
Come, lead me to the block ; bear him my head : 
They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— The Same. The Tower Walls. 
Enter Gloster and Buckingham, in rusty'' armour., 

marvellous ill-favoured^ and in haste.^ 
Glo. Come, cousin, canst thou qvxake, and change 
thy colour. 
Murder thy breath in middle of a -word, 



1 is now expir'J : in folio. - jrue.o.s : in quartos. 3 Intimate. * noble : in quartos. * likelihood : in quartos. * This and the three 
previous lines, not in f. e. ' rotten : in folio. " The Tirords '•'•and in haste,''' are not in f. e. 



526 



KIIs'G RICHARD III. 



ACT III. 



And then again begin, and stop again, 

As if thou wert distraught, and mad with terror ? 

Buck. Tut ." I can counterfeit the deep tragedian; 
Speak and look back, and pry on every side, 
Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, ^ 
Intending^ deep suspicion : ghastly looks 
Are at my service, like enforced smiles ; 
And both are ready in their offices, 
At any time to grace my stratagems. 
But what, is Catesby gone ? 

Glo. He is ; and, see, he brings the mayor along. 
Enter the Lord Mayor and Catesby. 

Buck. Lord Mayor, — 

Glo. Look to the drawbridge there ! 

Buck. Hark ! a drum. 

Glo. Catesby. o'erlook the walls. 

Buck. Lord INIayor, the reason we have sent. — 

Glo. Look back, defend tlice : here are enemies. 

Buck. God and our innoccncy defend and guard us ! 
Enter Lovel and Ratcliff, ivith Hastings' Head^ on a 

Spear. 

Glo. Be patient, they are friends ; Ratcliff, and Lovel. 

Lov. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, 
The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. 

Glo. So dear I lov'd the man, that I must weep. 
I took him for the plainest harmless creature, 
That breath'd upon the earth a Christian ; 
Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded 
The history of all her secret thoughts : 
So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue, 
That, his apparent open guilt omitted, 
I mean his conversation with Shore's wife. 
He liv'd from all attainder of suspects. 

Buck. Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd 
traitor 
That ever liv'd. — 

Would you imagine, or almost believe, 
Were 't not that by great preservation 
We live to tell it, that the subtle traitor 
This day had plotted, in the council house. 
To murder me, and my good lord of Gloster ? 

May. Had he done so ? 

Glo. What ! think you we are Turks, or infidels ? 
Or that we would, against the form of law, 
Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death. 
But that the extreme peril of the case. 
The peace of England, and our persons' safety, 
Enforc'd us to this execution ? 

May. Now, fair befal you ! he deserv'd his death; 
And your good graces both have well proceeded, 
To warn false traitors from the like attempts. 

Buck. I never look'd for better at his hands, 
After he once fell in wilh mistress Shore ; 
Yet had we not determin'd he should die. 
Until your lordship came to see his end*. 
Which now the loving haste of these our friends, 
Something against our meanings, hath prevented : 
Because, my lord, I would have had you hear 
The traitor speak, and timorously confess 
The manner and the purpose of his treasons ; 
That you might well have signified the same 
Unto the citizens, who, haply, may 
Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death. 

May. But, my good lord, your grace's words shall 
serve. 
As well as I had seen, and heard him speak: 
And do not doubt, right noble princes both, 



But I '11 acquaint our duteous citizens 
With all your just proceedings in this case. 

Glo. And to that end we wish'd your lordship here, 
To avoid the censures of the carping world. 

Buck. But since you corne too late of our intent, 
Yet witness what you hear we did intend : 
And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell. 

[Exit Lord Mayor, 

Glo. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham. 
The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post : 
There, at your mcetest vantage of the time. 
Lifer the bastardy of Edward's children : 
Tell them, how Edward put to death a citizen, 
Only for saying — he would make his son 
Heir to the crown; meaning, indeed, his house, 
Which by the sign thereof was termed so. ^ 
Moreover, urge his hateful luxury. 
And bestial appetite in change of lust ; 
Which streteh'd unto their servants, daughters, wives, 
Even where his raging^ eye, or savage heart. 
Without control lusted to make a prey. 
Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person : 
Tell them, when that my mother went with child 
Of that insatiate Edward, noble York, 
My princely father, then had wars in France : 
And by true computation of the time, 
P''ound that the issue was not his begot : 
Which well appeared in his lineaments. 
Being nothing like the noble duke my father. 
Yet touch this sparingly, as 't were far off: 
Because, my lord, you know, my mother lives. 

Buck. Doubt not. my lord, I '11 play the orator, 
As if the golden fee, for which I plead, 
Were for myself : and so, my lord, adieu. 

Glo. If you thrive well, bring them to BajTiard's castle. 
Where you shall find me well accompanied, 
With reverend fathers, and well-learned bishops. 

Buck. I go : and, towards three or four o'clock, 
Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. 

[Exit Buckingham. 

Glo. Go, Lovel, with all speed to doctor Shaw : — 
Go thou [To Cat.] to friar Penker : — bid them both 
Meet me within this hour at Baynard's castle.^ 

[Exeunt Lovel and Catesby. 
Now will I go. to take some privy order, 
To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight ; 
And to give order, that no manner person 
Have any time recourse unto the princes. [Exit. 

SCENE YL— A Street. 
Enter a Scrivener''.^ with a writing. 
Scriv. Here is the indictment of the good lord 
Hastings ; 
Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd. 
That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's : 
And mark how well the sequel hangs together. 
Eleven hours I have spent to write it over. 
For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me. 
The precedent was full as long a doing ; 
And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd. 
Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty. 
Here 's a good world the while ! — Who is so gi'oss, 
That cannot see this palpable device ? 
Yet who so bold*, but says he sees it not ? 
Bad is the world ; and all will come to nought. 
When such ill dealing must be seen or' thought. [Exit. 



1 Tut ! fear not me : in quartos. ...i^o ^i..^. ^ 
aud the two previous lines, are not in the quartos. 



2 This line is not in the quartos. ^ Pretending. * death : in quartos 

' The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 8 hlind : in quartos 



5 lustful : in f. e. « This 



in f. e. 



SCENE vn. 



Kma KICIIAUD IIL 



527 



SCENE VII.— The Same. The Court of Baynard's 

Castle. 

Enter Gloster at one Door, and Buckingham at 

another. 

Glo. How now, how now ! what .say the citizens ? 

Buck. Now by the holy mother of oui* Lord, 
The citizens are mum, say' not a word. 

Glo. Toueh'd you the bastardy of Edward's children ? 

Buck. I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy, 
And his contract by deputy in France :" 
Tir insatiate greediness of his desires, 
And his enforcement of the city wives : 
His tyranny for trifles ; his own bastardy, 
As being got, your father then in France ; 
And dis-resemblance^, being not like the duke.* 
Withal I did infer your lineaments, 
Being the right idea of your father. 
Both in your form and nobleness of mind : 
Laid open all your victories in Scotland, 
Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace. 
Your bounty, virtue, fair humility ; 
Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose 
Un1ouch"d, or slightly handled in discourse : 
And, when my oratory drew toward end, 
I bade them that did love their country's good, 
Cry — '-God save Richard, England's royal king !" 

Glo. And did tliey so ? 

Buck. No, .so God help me, they spake not a word ; 
But. like dumb .statues, or breathing stones, 
Star'd* each on other, and look'd deadly pale. 
Wliich when I saw. I reprehended them, 
And ask'd the mayor, what meant this wilful silence? 
His answer was, the people were not us'd 
To be spoke to, but by the recorder. 
Then, he was urg'd to tell my tale again : — 
" Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd ;" 
But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. 
Wlien he had done, some followers of mine own, 
At lower end of the hall, hurl'd up their caps. 
And some ten voices cried, "God save king Richard !" 
And thus I took the vantage of those few. — ° 
''Thanks, gentle' citizens, and friends," quoth I; 
" This general applause, and cheerful'* shout, 
Argues your wisdom, and your love to Richard :" 
And even here brake off, and came away. 

Glo. What tongueless blocks were they ! would they 
not speak ? 
Will not the mayor, then, and his brethren, come? 

Buck. The mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear ; 
Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit : 
And look you get a prayer-book in your hand. 
And stand between two churchmen, good my lord : 
For on that ground I '11 make a holy descant : 
And bo not easily won to our requests ; 
Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. 

Glo. I go ; and if you plead as well for them, 
As I can say nay to thee for myself, 
No doubt we bring it to a happy issue. 

[Knocking; heard.^ 

Buck. Go, go, up to the leads ! the lord mayor 
knocks. [Exit Gloster. 

Filter the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens. 
Welcome, my lord : I dance attendance here ; 
I think the duke will not be spoke withal. — 

Enter from the Castle, Catesby. 
Now, Catesby ! wliat says your lord to my request ? 



Cate. He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord, 
To visit liim to-morrow, or next day. 
He is within, with two right reverend fathers. 
Divinely bent to meditation; 
And in no worldfy suits would he be mov'd. 
To draw liim from his holy exei-cise. 

Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke: 
Tell him, myself, the mayor, and aldermen,'" 
In deep designs, in matter of great moment, 
No less importing than our general good, 
Are coiue io have some conference with his grace. 

Cate. I '11 signify so much unto him straight. [Exit. 

Buck. Ah, ha ! my lord, this prince is not an Edward : 
He is not lulling on a lewd love-bed,'' 
But on his knees at meditation ; 
Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, 
But meditating with two deep divines ; 
Not sleeping to engross his idle body. 
But praying to enrich his watchful soul. 
Happy were England, would this virtuous prince 
Take on his grace' ^ the sovereignty thereof; 
But sore'^ I fear, we .shall not win him to it. 

May Marry, God defend his grace should say us nay ! 

Buck. I fear, he will. Here Catesby comes again. — 
Re-enter Catesby. 
Now, Catesby, what says his grace ? 

Cate. He wonders to what end you have assembled 
Such troops of citizens to come to him : 
His grace not being warn'd thereof before. 
He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him. 

Buck. Sorry I am, my noble cousin should 
Suspect me, that I mean no good to him : 
By heaven, we come to him in perfect love ; 
And so once more return, and tell his grace. 

[Exit Catesby. 
When holy and devout religious men 
Are at their beads, 't is much to draw them thence ; 
So sweet is zealous contemplation. 
Enter Gloster, vith a hook,'^^ in a Gallery above, be- 
tween two Bishops. Catesby returns. 

May. See, where his grace stands 'tween two clergy- 
men ! 

Buck. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince, 
To stay him from the fall of vanity ; 
And, see, a book of prayer in his hand ; 
True ornament to know a holy man. — '^ 
Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, 
Lend favourable ear to our requests. 
And pardon us the interruption 
Of thy devotion, and right-cluistian zeal. 

Glo. My lord, there needs no such apology ; 
I do beseech your grace to pardon me. 
Who, earnest in the service of my God, 
Deferr'd the visitation of my friends. 
But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure ? 

Buck. Even that, I hope, which plcaseth God above, 
And all good men of this ungovcrn'd isle. 

Glo. I do suspect, I have done some offence, 
That seems disgracious in tlie city's eye ; 
And (hat you come to re}irehend my ignorance. 

Buck. You have, my lord : would it might please 
your grace. 
On our entreaties to amend your fault. 

Glo. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land ? 

Buck. Know then, it is your fault that you resign 
The supreme seat, the throne majcstical. 
The scepter'd office of your ancestors, 

Bpalce not : in quartos. ' This and the jirevious line, and also the next but one after, are not in the quartos. ^ his resemtlance : in 
f. «. * This line is not in the quartos. ' Gaz'd : in quartos, 6 This line is not in the quartos. ' 8 loving : in quartos. 9 Not in f. e. 



' This line is not 
i« citizens : in qu.artos. n day-bed : in quartos, isjiimself: in quartos, i' sure 
"• This and the previous line, are not in the quartos. 



in f. e. 1* The words, 



'■with a book,^' are not in f. e. 



528 



KING RICHARD HI. 



ACT III. 



Your state of fortune, and your due of birtli/ 

Tlie lineal glory of your royal house, 

To the corruption of a blernish'd stock ; 

Whiles, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, 

Which here we wakon to our country's good, 

This noble isle doth want her proper limbs ; 

Her face defac'd with scars of inl'amy, 

Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, 

And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf 

Of dark" forgetfulness, and dee]j^ oblivion. 

Which to recure, we heartily solicit 

Your gracious self to take on you the charge 

And kingly government of this your land: 

Not as protector, steward, substitute, 

Or lowly factor for anotlier's gain ; 

But as successively from blood to blood. 

Your right of birth, your cnipery, your own. 

For this, consorted with the citizens, 

Your very worshipful and loving friends, 

And by their vehement instigation, 

In this just cause come I to move your grace. 

Glo. 1 caimot tell, if to depart in silence. 
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof. 
Best litteth my degree, or your condition: 
If, not to answer. — you might haply tliink, 
Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded, 
To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, 
W^hich fondly you would here impose on me : 
If to reprove you for this suit of yours, 
So season'd with your faithful love to me, 
Then, on the other side, I checked my friends. 
Therefore, to speak, and to avoiil the first, 
And then, in speaking, not to incur the last, 
Detinitively thus I answer you.* 
Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert, 
Unmeritable, shuns your high request. 
First, if all obstacles were cut away. 
And that my path were even to the crown, 
As the* ripe revenue and due of ^ birth ; 
Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, 
So mighty, and .so many, my defects. 
That I would rather hide me from my greatness. 
Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, 
Tluin in my greatness covet to be hid, 
And in the vapour of iny glory smotlicr'd. 
But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me ; 
And much I need to help you, were there need : 
The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, 
Which, mellowM by the stealing hours of time. 
Will well become the seat of majesty. 
And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. 
On him I lay that you would lay on me, 
The right and fortune of his happy stars ; 
Which God defend that I should wring from him. 

Jiuck. My lord, this argues conscience in your grace; 
But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, 
All circumstances well considered. 
You say, that Kdward is your brother's son : 
So say we too, but not by Edward's wife ; 
For first was he contract to lady Lucy; 
Your mother lives a witness to his vow : 
And afterward by substitute betroth'd 
To Bona, sister to the king of France. 
These both ])ut off, a poor petitioner, 
A care-craz'd mother to a many sons, 
A beauty- waning and distressed widow, 
Even in the afternoon of her best days, 

- This line is not in the quartos. 2 blinJ : in quartos. ' dark : in quartos. * This and the nine preceding lines, are not in the quartos 
^ my : in quartos. * by : in quartos. ' Booty. » all his thoughts: in quartos. 9 This line is not in the quartos, i" dijrnity : in qu.artos 
11 Come : in f. e. 12 This line is only found in the quartos, (it there reads, "my lord of Buckingham,") and is not given in mod. e.ils. 
" f. e. add : aiil Citizens. 1* f. e. add : and the rest. 1^ ho knows : in quartos. " task : in quartos. 



Made prize and purchase' of his wanton eye, 

Sedue'd the pilch and height of his degree* 

To base declension and loath'd bigamy. 

By her, in his unlawful bed, he got 

This Etlward, whom our manners call the prince. 

More bitterly could I expostulate, 

Save that, for reverence to some alive, 

I give a sparing limit to my tongue. 

Then, good my lord, take to your royal self 

This proffer'd benefit of dignity ; 

If not to bless us and the land withal, 

Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry 

From the corruption of abusing times, 

Unto a lineal true-derived course. 

May. Do, good my lord ; your citizens entreat you. 
Buck, llefuse not, mighty lord, this profi'ej;'d love.' 
Catc. ! make them joyful : grant their lawful suit 
Glo. Alas ! why would you heap this care on me ? 

I am unfit for state and majesty :'" 

I do beseech you, take it not amiss ; 

I cannot, nor I will not, yield to you. 

Buck. If you refuse it. — as in love and zeal. 

Loath to depose the child, your brother's son ; 

As well we know your tenderness of lieart, 

And gentle, kind, efTerninate remorse, 

Whith we have noted in you to your kindred. 

And equally, indeed, to all estates, — 

Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no, 

Your brother's son shall never reign our king; 

But we will plant some other in your throne. 

To the disgrace and downfall of your house, 

And, in this resolution, here we leave you. — 

Zounds," citizens ! we will entreat no more. 

Glo. ! do not swear, my cousin Buckingham." 

[Exit BuCKINfillAM." 

Calc. Call him again, sweet prince ; accept their suit : 
If you deny them, all the land will rue it. 

Glo. Will you enforce me to a world of cares ? 
Call him again : I am not made of stone, 
But penetrable to your kind entreaties, [Exit Catesby. 
Albeit against my conscience, and my soul. — 

Re-enter Buckingham."' 
Cousin of Buckingham, and sage, grave men. 
Since you will buckle fortune on my back. 
To bear her burden, whe'r I will, or no, 
I must have patience to endure the load : 
But if black scandal, or foul-fac'd reproach, 
Attend the sequel of your imposition. 
Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me 
From all the impure blots and stains thereof; 
For God doth know,^' and you may partly see, 
How far I am from tlie desire of tliis. 

May. God bless your grace ! we see it, and will 
say it. 

Gh). In saying so, 3'ou sliall but say the truth. 

Buck. Then I salute you with this royal title, — 
Lonir live king Richard, England's worthy king ! 

All. Amen. 

Buck. To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd ? 

Glo. Even when you please, for you will have it so. 

Buck. To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace : 
And so, most joyfully, we take our leave. 

Glo. Come, let us to our holy work" again. 

[To the Bishops. 
Farewell, my cousin : — farewell, gentle friends. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE I. 



KING KICIIARD III. 



529 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— Before the Tower. 
Enter, on one side, Queen ELizAnETH, Ik( chess of York, 

and Marquess 0/ Dorset ; on the other, Annk, Duchess 

o/'Gloster, lending Lady Maroaret Plantagenet. 

Clarence's young Daughter. 

Duch. Who meets us liere ? — my niece Plantagenet, 
Led in the hand of her kind annt of Glostcr ! 
Now, for my life, she 's wandering to the Tower, 
In pure heart's love, to greet the tender prince. — 
Daughter, well met. 

Anne. God give your graces both 

A happy and a joyful time of day. 

Q. KHz. As much to you, good sister : whither away? 

Anne. No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess, 
Upon the liivc dev'otion as your.selves, 
To gratulate the gentle princes there. 

Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks : we Ml enter all together : 
Enter Bkakenbury. 
And in good time here the lieutenant comes. — 
Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, 
How doth the prince, and my young son of York ?' 

Brak. Right well, dear madam. By your patience,^ 
I may not suffer you to visit them : 
The king hatli strictly charg'd the contrary. 

Q. Eliz. The king ! who's that? 

Brak. I mean the lord protector. 

Q. Eliz. The Lord protect me from that kingly title ! 
TIath he set bounds between their love, and me ? 
I am their mother ; who shall bar me from them? 

Dvch. I am their fathers mother: I vnll see them. 

Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother: 
Then, bring me to their sights f I '11 bear thy blame, 
And take thy otfice from thee, on my peril. 

Brak. No, madam, no; I may not leave it so :* 
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. 

[Exit Brakenbury. 
Enter Stanley. 

Stan. Let me but meet you. ladies, one hour hence, 
And I '11 salute your grace of York as mother, 
And reverend looker-on of two fair queens. — 
Come, madam, you nuist straight to Westminster, 

[To the Duchess of Gloster. 
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. 

Q. Eliz. Ah ! cut my lace asunder, 
That my pent heart may liave .';ome scope to beat, 
Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news. 

Anne. Despiteful tidings ! 0, unplcasing news !* 

Dor. Be of good cheer : — mother, how fares your 
grace ? 

Q. Eliz. Dorset ! speak not to me, get thee gone ; 
Death and destruction dog thee at thy heels : 
Thy mother's name is ominous to her cliildren. 
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas. 
And live with Richmond from the reach of hell. 
Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house, 
Lest thou increase the number of the dead. 
And make me die the tlirail of Margarets curse, — 
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. 

Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam. — 
Take all the swift advantage of the hours' : 



You shall have letters from me to my son 
In your behalf, to meet you on the way :' 
Be not ta'cn tardy by unwise delay. 

Duch. ill-dispersing wind of misery ! — 
0, my accursed womb, the bed of death ! 
A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world, 
Whose unavoided eye is murderous ! 

Stan. Come, madam, come : I in all haste was sent. 

Anne. And I with all vuiwillingnc.«s will go. — 
O ! would to God, that the inclusive verge 
Of golden metal, that must round my brow, 
Were red-hot steel to sear me to the brain ! 
Anointed let me be with deadly venom ; 
And die, ere men can say — God save the queen ! 

Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory ; 
To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. [now, 

Anne. No ! why ? — When he, that is my husband 
Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse ; 
When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his 

hands, 
Which issu'd from my other angel husband. 
And that dear" saint which, then. I weeping follow'd; 

! when, I say, I look'd on R,ichard"s face. 

This was my wish, — " Be thou." quoth I, " accurs'd, 

For making me, so young, so old a widow ! 

And, when thou wcdd'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed ; 

And be thy wife (if any be so mad) 

More miserable by the life of thee', 

Than tliou hast made me by my dear lord's death !" 

Lo ! ere I can repeat this curse again. 

Within so small a time'" my woman's heart 

Grossly grew eapti^'e to his honey words. 

And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse : 

Which hitherto hath held mine eyes from rest ; 

For never yet one hour in his bed 

Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, 

But Avith his timorous dreams was still awak'd. 

Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick ; 

And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. 

Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining. 

Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn for 
yours. 

Dor. P\arewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory. 

Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it. 

Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide 
thee ! — [To Dorset. 

Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend" thee! — 

[To Anne. 

Go thou to sanctuary, and good thouglits possess 

thee ! [To Queen Elizabeth. 

1 to my grave, where peace and rest lie witli me ! 
Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen. 

And each liour's joy wreek'd with a week of teen'^. 
Q Eliz. Stay yet; look back, with me, unto the 
Tower. — 
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes. 
Whom envy hath inuuur'd within your walls; 
Rough cradle for such lillle pretty ones ! 
Rude ragged nurse, old sullen play-fellow 
For tender princes, use my babies well ! 
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. [Exeunt. 



1 How fares the prince : in quartos 
* 1 do beseech your graces a" 
meet you on the way, and 
in quartos, i" Sorrow. 



in quartos. 2 Well, madam, and in health but by your leave : in quartos. 3 Then, fe.ir not thou : in quartos. 
lU, to p,\rdon me : in <iuartos. * Not in quartos, is time : in quartos. ' The quartos, for this line, read : To 
welcome you. » dead : in quartos. 9 death : in quartos, i" Even in so short a space : in quartos, n guard : 



34 



530 



KmG EICHAED III. 



ACT rv. 



SCENE II.— A Room of State in the Palace. 

Sound a Sennet. Richard, crowned vpon his Throne; 
Buckingham, Catesby, a Page, and others. 

K. Rich. Stand all apart. — Cousin of Buckingham ! 

Buck. My gracious sovereign. 

K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy 
advice, - [Trumpets sound.^ 

And thy assistance, is king Richard seated : 
But shall we wear these glories^ for a day, 
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them ? 

Buck. Still live they, and for ever let tliem last ! 

K. Rich. Ah ! Buckingham, now do I play the 
touch. 
To try if thou be current gold, indeed. — 
Young Edward lives. — Think now what I would speak. 

Buck. Say on, my loving lord. 

K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king. 

Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord. 

K. Rich. Ha ! am I king ? " T is so ; but Edward lives. 

Buck. True, noble prince. 

K. Rich. bitter consequence ! 

That Edward still should live, — true, noble prince. — 
Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull : — 
Shall I be plain? — I wish the bastards deadj 
And I would have it suddenly perform'd. 
What say'st thou now? speak suddenly; be brief. 

Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. 

K. Rich. Tvit, tut ! thou art all ice, thy kindness 
freezes. 
Say, have I thy consent that they shall die? 

Buck. Give me some little breath, some pause, 
dear lord, 
Before I positively speak in this : 
I will resolve you herein presently^. [Exit Buckingham. 

Cate. The king is angry : see, he gnaws* his lip. 

[Aside. 

K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools, 

[Descends from his Throne. 
And unrcspective boys : none are for me, 
That look into me Avith considerate eyes. 
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. 
Boy!— 

Page. My lord. 

K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting 
gold 
WilP tempt i;nto a close exploit of death ? 

Page. I know a discontented gentleman, 
Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit : 
Gold were as good as twenty orators, 
And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. 

K. Rich. What is his name ? 

Page. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel. 

K. Rich. I partly know the man : go, call him hither. 

[Exit Page. 
The deep-revolving, witty Buckingham 
No more shall bo the neighbour to my counsels. 
Hath he so long held out with me untir'd, 
And stops he now for breath? — Well, be it so. — 

Enter Stanley. 
How now, lord Stanley? what's the news with you? 

Stan. Know, my loving lord. 
The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled 
To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. 

K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby : rumour it abroad. 
That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick ; 
I will take order for her keeping close. 



[ Inquire me out some mean poor^ gentleman, 
I Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter: — 
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. — 
Look, how thou dream'st ! — I say again, give out, 
That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die : 
About it; for it stands me much upon. 
To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me. — 

[Exit Catesby. 
I must be married to my brother's daughter. 
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass. — 
Murder her brothers, and then marry her ? 
Uncertain way of gain ! But I am in 
So far in blood, that sin will pluck out sin. 
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. — 
Re-,cnter Page, with Tyrrel. 
Is thy name Tyrrel ? 

Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject. 

K.Rich. Art thou, indeed? 

Tyr. Prove me, my gracious lord. 

K. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine ? 

Tyr. Please you ; but I had rather kill two enemies. 

A'. Rich. Why, then thou ha.st it : two deep enemies, 
Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers, 
Are they that I would have thee deal upon. 
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. 

Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them, 
And soon I '11 rid you from the fear of them. [Kneeling.'' 
sing'st sweet music. Hark, come 



K. Rich. Thou 

hither, Tyrrel : 
Go, by this token. — Rise, and lend thine ear. 

[Tyrrel rises, and Rich aud whispers.^ 
There is no more but so : — say, it is done, 
And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it.' 

Tyr. I will despatch it straight. [Exit. 

Re-enter Buckingham. 

Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind 
The late demand that you did sound me in. 

K. Rich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to 
Richmond. 

Buck. I hear the news, my lord. 

K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wile's son: — Avell look 
unto it. 

Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise, 
For which your honour and your faith are pawn'd ; 
Th' earldom of Hereford, and the moveables. 
Which you have promised I shall po.'^sess. 

K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife: if she convey 
Letters to Riclmiond, you shall answer it. 

Buck. What says your highness to my just request ?"' 

K. Rich. I do remember me, — Henry the sixth 
Did prophecy that Richmond should be king, 
When Richmond was a little peevish boy. 
A king ! — perhajis — 

Buck. My lord—" 

A'. Rich. How chance, the prophet could not at that 
time 
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him ? 

Buck. My lord, your promise for the earldom. — 

K. Rich. Richmond ! — When last I was at Exeter, 
The mayor in courtesy shew'd me the castle. 
And call'd it — Rouge-mont : at which name I started. 
Because a bard of Ireland told me once, 
I should not live long after I saw Richmond. 

Buck. My lord,— 

K.Rich. Ay; what 's o'clock ? 

Buck. I am thus bold to put your grace in mind 
Of what you promis'd me. 



' Not in f. e. = honours : in quartos. ' ImmediaUly. 
f f. e. have only " Whispers." 9 thee, too : in quartos, 
not in the quartos. 



* tites : in quartos. ^ "Would : in quartos. ^ mean-born : in quarto."!. ''Notinf. o. 
1" demand : in quartos, n The lines from this to " the giving vein to-day," are 



SCENE IV. 



KING EICIIAED III. 



531 



K. Rich. Well, but what 's o'clock ? 



Buck. 

K. Rich. Well, let it strike. 



Upon the stroke of ten. 



Buck. Why, let it strike ? 

K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack,' thou keep'st the 
stroke 
Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. 
I am not in the giving vein to-day. 

Buck. Why then rc-^olve me whether you will or no.^ 

K. Rich. Thou troublest me : I am not in the vein. 
Exeunt King Richard angrily^-' and his Train. 

Buck. And is it thus ? repays he my deep service 
With such contempt? made I him king for this? 
! let me think on Hastings, and be gone 
To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— The Same. 
Enter Tyrrel. 

Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done : 
The most arch deed of piteous massacre. 
That ever yet this land was guilty of. 
Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn 
To do this piece of ruthful butchery. 
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, blooded* dogs, 
Melted with tenderness and mild compassion. 
Wept like two" children in their death's sad story. 
'•0 ! thus," quoth Dighton. " lay the gentle babes," — 
"Thus, thus," quoth Forrest, "girdling one another 
Within their alabaster innocent arms : 
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, 
And in their summer beauty kiss'd each other. 
A book of prayers on their pillow lay ; [mind ; 

Which once," quoth Forrest, " almost chang'd my 
But. ! the devil" — there the villain stopp'd ; 
When Dighton thus told on. — "we smothered 
The most replenished sweet work of nature, 
That, froiu the prime creation, e'er she fram'd." 
Hence both are gone : with conscience and remorse, 
They could not speak ; and so I left them both. 
To bear this tidings to the bloody king. 
Enter King Richard. 
And here he comes. — All health, my sovereign lord ! 

K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news ? 

Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge 
Beget your happiness, be happy then, 
For it is done. 

K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead? 

Tyr. I did, my lord. 

K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel ? 

Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them ; 
But where, to say the truth," I do not know. 

K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel. soon, and after supper, 
When thou shalt tell the process of their death. 
Mean time but think how I may do thee good. 
And be inheritor of thy desire. 
Farewell, till then. 

Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. 

K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I pent up clo.se ; 
His daughter meanly have I matcli'd in marriage ; 
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom. 
And Anne my wife hatli bid this world good night. 
Now, for I know the Bretagne Richard aims 
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter. 
And by that knot looks proudly on' the crown, 
To her go I, a jolly tliriving wooer. 

Enter Catesby, in haste. 

Cate. My lord !— 



A'. Rich. Good or bad news, that thou com'st in so 
bluntly? 

Cate. Bad news, my lord : Morton is fled to Rich- 
mond ; 
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, 
Is in the field, and still his power enereaseth. 

K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near. 
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength." 
Come; I have learn'd, that fearful commenting 
Is leaden servitor to dull delay; 
Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary : 
Then, fiery expedition be my wing, 
.love's Mercury, and herald for a king. — 
Go, muster men : my counsel is my shield : 
We must be brief, when traitors brave the field. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The same. Before the Palace. 

Enter Queen Margaret. 

Q. Mar. So. now. prosperity begins to mellow, 
And drop into the rotten mouth of death. 
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd, 
To watch the waning of mine enemies.' 
A dire induction am I witness to. 
And will to France; hoping, the consequence 
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. 
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret : who comes here ? 

[She stands back. 
Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York. 

Q. EUz. Ah, my poor princes ! ah, my tender babes ! 
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets ! 
If yet your gentle souls fly in the air. 
And be not fix'd in doom perpetual. 
Hover about me with your airy wings, 
And hear your mother's lamentation. 

Q. Mar. Hover about her ; say, that right for right 
Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. [Aside.^° 

Duch. So many miseries have eraz'd my voice. 
That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute. — 
Edward Plantagenet ! why; art thou dead? 

Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet; [Aside.^^ 
Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. '^ 

Q. EUz. Wilt thou, 'O God ! fly from such gentle 
lambs. 
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? 
When didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done? 

Q. Mar. When holy Harry died, and my sweet 
son. [Aside. 

Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living 
ghost, 
I Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd, 
Brief abstract and record of tedious days," 
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, [Sitting down. 
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood ! 

Q. EUz. Ah ! that thou wouldst as soon afford a grave. 
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat ; 
Then would I liide my bones, not rest them here. 
Ah ! who hath any cause to mourn, but we ? 

[Sitting down by her. 

Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent, 

[ Coming forward. 
Give mine the benefit of scniory. 
And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. 
If sorrow can admit society, [Sitting down by them. 
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine : — '* 
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; 
I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him: 



1 The figure that struck the hours in the old clocks. - May it please you to resolve me in my suit : in folio. 3 This word is not in f. e. 
* bloody : in f. e. ' to : in f. e. 6 But how, or in what place : in quartos. '' o'er : in quartos. 8 army : in quartos. 9 adversaries : in 
quartos, i" ^ iS'ot in f. e. '= This and the four preceding lines, are not in the quartos. '3 i4 These lines are not in the quartos. 



532 



KING PJCHAKD III. 



ACT IV. 



Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ; 
Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd liim. 

Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him : 
I had a Rutland too ; thou holp'st to kill him. 

Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard 
kill'd him. 
From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept 
A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death : 
That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, 
To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood : 
That foul defacer of God's handy- work, 
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, 
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth' 
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. — 
O ! upright, just, and true-disposing God, 
How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur 
Preys on the issue of his mother's body. 
And makes her pew-fellow' with others' m.oan ! 

Duch. 0, Harry's wife ! triumph not in my woes : 
God witness with me, I have wept for thine. 

Q. Mar. Bear with me : I am hungry for revenge. 
And now I cloy me with beholding it. 
Thy Edward he is dead, that kilTd my Edward ; 
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward ; 
Young York he is but boot, because both they 
Match not the high perfection of my loss. 
Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward; 
And the beholders of this frantic^ pla^y, 
Th' adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, 
Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. 
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer, 
Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls, 
And send them thither ; but at hand, at hand, 
Ensues his piteous and unpilied end : 
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, 
To have him suddenly convey'd from hence*. — 
Cancel his bond of life, dear God ! I pray, 
That I may live and say, the dog is dead. 

Q. Eliz. ! thou didst prophesy, the time would 
come. 
That I should wish for fhee to help me curse 
That bottle spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad. 

Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my 
fortune ; 
r call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen; 
The presentation of but what I was. 
The flattering index of a direful pageant. 
One heav'd o' high, to be hurl'd down below : 
A mother only moek'd with two fair babes ; 
A dream of what thou wast ; a garish flag, 
To be the aim of every dangerous shot ; 
A sign of dignity, a brealli, a bubble ; 
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. 
Where is thy husband now ? Avhere be thy brothers ? 
Where be thy two sons ?* wherein dost thou joy ? 
Who sues, and kneels, and says — God save llie queen? 
Where be the bending peers that llalter'd thee ? 
Where be the thronging troops that foUow'd thee ? 
Decline all this, and see what now thou art. 
For happy wife, a most distressed widow ; 
For joyful mother, one that wails the name ; 
For one being sued to. one that humbly sues : 
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care : 
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me ; 
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one ; 
For one commanding all, obey'd of none. 
Thus hath the course of justice whirl'd^ about. 



And left thee but a very prey to time ; 

Having no more but thought of what thou wast 

To torture thee the more, being what thou art. 

Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not 

Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow ? 

Now, thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke ; 

From which, even here, I slip my wearied head, 

And leave the burden of it all on thee. 

Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance : 

These English woes shall make me smile in France. 

Q. Eliz. ! thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while, 
And teach me how to curse mine enemies. 
• Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day; 
Compare dead happiness with living woe ; 
Think that thy babes were fairer' than they were, 
And he that slew them fouler than he is : ^ 
Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse : 
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. 

Q. Eliz. My words are dull ; ! quicken them with 
thine. 

Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and 
pierce like mine. {Exit Queen Margaret. 

Duch. W^hy should calamity be full of words ? 

Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes. 
Airy succeeders of intestate* joys, 
Poor breathing orators of miseries ! 
Let them have scope : though what they do® impart 
Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart. 

Duch. If so, then be not tongue-ty'd : go with me, 
And in the breath of bitter words let 's smother 
My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd. 

[.4 Trumpet heard. 
The trumpet sounds;*" be copious in exclaims. 
Enter Kiug Richard, and his Train, marching. 

K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expeditioii ? 

Duch. ! she, that might have intercepted thee, 
By strangling thee in her accursed womb. 
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done. 

Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden crown, 
Where 't sliould be branded, if that right were right, 
For slaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown. 
And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers ? 
Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children ? 

Duch. Thou toad, thou load, where is thy brother 
Clarence. 
And little Ned Plantagcnet, his son ? 

Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey? 

Duch. Where is kind Hastings ? 

A'. Rich. A flourisii, trumpets ! — strike alarum, drums! 
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women 
Rail on the Lord's anointed. Strike, I say ! — 

[Flouri.sh. Alarums. 
Either be patient, and entreat me fair. 
Or with the clamorous report of war 
Thus will I drown your exclamations. 

Dttch. Art thou my son? 

K. Rich. Ay ; I thank God, my father, and yourself. 

Duch. Then patiently bear" my impa,tience. 

A'. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your condition, 
That cannot brook the accent of reproof. 

Duch. ! let me speak. 



A'. Rich. 



Do then ; but I '11 not hear.*' 



Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words. 
K. Rich. And brief, good mother, for I am in haste. 
Duch. Art thou so hasty? I once" stay'd for thee, 
God knows, in torment and in agony'*. 

K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you ? 



1 This line is not in the quartos. 2 Companion. ^ tragic : in quarto=. 
6 wheel'd : in quartos. ' sweeter : in folio. >s intostine : in folio. ' will 
12 This and the preceding speech, aje not in the quartos. 13 have : in f. e. 



♦ away : in quartos. ' Where are thy children : in quartos. 
in folio. 1" I hear his drum : in quartos. " hear : in f. e. 
1* in anguish, pain and agony : in quartos. 



SCENE IV. 



KING RICHAKD III. 



533 



Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou kiiow'st it wellj 
Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell. 
A Riievous burden was thy birth to me ; 
Tetchy and wayward was thine infancy : 
Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild and furious • 
Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous : 
Thy age confirm'd. proud, subtle, sly, and bloody, 
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred : 
What comfortable hour canst thou name, 
That ever grac'd me with thy company ? 

K. Rich. 'Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that 
call'd your grace 
To breakfast once forth of my company. 
If I be so disgracious in your eye. 
Let me march on, and not offend you, madam. — 
Strike vip the drum ! 

Duch. I pr'ythee, hear me speak. 

K. Rich. You speak too bitterly. 

Duch. Hear me a word ; 

For I shall never speak to thee again. 

K. Rich. So. 

Duch. Either thou wilt die by God's just ordinance, 
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror ; 
Or I M'ith grief and extreme age shall perish, 
A nd never look upoii^ thy face again. 
Therefore, take with thee my most grievous cvirse ; 
Which in the day of battle lire thee more, 
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st. 
My prayers on the adverse party fight ; 
And there the little souls of Edward's children 
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies. 
And promise them success and victory. 
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end ; 
Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend. [Exit. 

Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less spirit 
to curse 
Abides in me : I say amen to her. [Going. 

K. Rich. Stay, madam ; I must talk a word with you. 

Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood. 
For thee to slaughter^ ; for my daughters, Richard, 
They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens ; 
And therefore level not to hit their lives. 

K. Rich. Yovi have a daughter call'd Elizabeth, 
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. 

Q. Eliz. And must she die for this ? 0! let her live, 
And I '11 corrupt her manners, stain her beauty ) 
Slander myself as false to Edward's bed : 
Throw over her the veil of infamy : 
So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, 
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. 

K. Rich. Wrong not her birth ; she is a royal princess.^ 

Q. Eliz. To save her life, I '11 say she is not .so. 

A'. Rich. Her life is .safest only in her birth. 

Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her brothers. 

A'. Rich. Lo ! at their birth good stars were opposite. 

Q. Eliz. No, to their lives ill friends were contrary. 

K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. 

Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny. 
My babes were destin'd to a fairer death. 
If grace had blcss'd thee with a fairer life. 

K. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my cousins. 

Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd 
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. 
Whose hands soever lane'd their tender hearts, 
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction : 
No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt, 
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart, 
To revel in the entrails of my lambs. 



But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, 
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys, 
Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes; 
And T, in such a desperate bay of death. 
Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, 
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.'' 

K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise, 
And dangerous success of bloody wars. 
As I intend more good to you and yours. 
Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd ! 

Q. Eliz. What good is covered with the face of heaven, 
To be dif-cover'd that can do me good ? 

K. Rich. Th' advancement of your children gentle^ 
lady. 

Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads 

A". Rich. Unto the dignity and height of honour''. 
The high imperial type of this earth's glory. 

Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrow with report of it : 
Tell me. what state, what dignity, what honour, 
Can.st thou demi.se to any child of mine? 

A'. Rich. Even all I liave ; ay, and myself and all, 
Will I withal endow a child of thine ; 
So in the Lethe 6t thy angry soul 
Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs, 
Which, thou supposest, I have done to thee. 

Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness 
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. 

K. Rich. Then know, that from my soul I love thy 
daughter. 

Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul. 

K. Rich. What do you think? 

Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter from thy 
soul. 
So, from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers • 
And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it. 

K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning. 
I mean, that with my soul 1 love thy daughter. 
And do intend to make her queen of England. 

Q. Eliz. Well, tlien, who dost thou mean shall be 
her king? 

A'. Rich. Even he that makes her queen : who else 
sliould be ? 

Q. Eliz. What ! thou ? 

K. Rich. Even so : how think you of it ? 

Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her ? 

A'. Rich. That I would learn of you, 

As one being best acquainted with her humour. 

Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me ? 

K. Rich. Madam, with all my heart. 

Q. Eliz. Send to her by the man that slew her 
brothers, 
A pair of bleeding hearts ; thereon engraven 
Edward and York; then, haply will she weep : 
Therefore present to her, — as sometime Margaret 
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood, — 
A handkerchief; which, say to her. did drain 
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body, 
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. 
If this inducement move her not to love. 
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds ;' 
Tell her thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence, 
Her vuicle Rivers ; ay, and, for her sake, 
Madst quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne. 

K. Rich. You mock me, madam : this is not the way 
To win your daughter. 

Q. Eliz. There is no other way. 

Unless thou couldst put on some other shape, 
And not be Richard that hath done all this. 



1 more behold : in folio. 2 murder : in quartos. ' of royal blood : in quartos. * This and the preceding speech, are only in the folios 
s mighty : in quartos. * fortune : in folio. ' a story of thy noble acts : in quartos. 



534 



KIKG RICHAED III. 



ACT IV. 



K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her. 

Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose but 
hate thee. 
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. 

K. Rich. Look, wliat is done cannot be now amended. 
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, 
Which after-hours give leisure to repent : 
If I did take the kingdom from your sons. 
To make amends I '11 give it to your daughter. 
If I have kill'd the issue of your womb, 
To quicken your increase, I will beget 
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. 
A grandam's name is little less in love. 
Than is Ihe doting title of a mother : 
They are as children, but one step below, 
Even of your mettle, of your very blood ; 
Of all one pain, save for a night of groans 
Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. 
Your children were vexation to your youth ; 
But mine shall be a comfort to your age. 
The loss you have is but a son, being king. 
And by that loss your daughter is made queen : 
I cannot make you what amends I would, 
Therefore, accept such kindness as I can. 
Dorset, your son, that with a fearful soul 
Treads' discontented steps in foreign soil. 
This fair alliance quickly shall call home 
To higli promotions and great dignity : 
The king, that calls your beauteous daughter wife, 
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother ; 
Again sliall you be mother to a king, 
And all the ruins of distressful times 
Repair'd with double riches of content. 
What ! we have many goodly days to see : 
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed. 
Shall come again transform'd to orient pearl, 
Advantaging their loan with interest 
Of ten-times-double gain of happiness. 
Go then, my mother; to thy daughter go : 
Make bold her ba.shful years with your experience : 
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale ; 
Put in her tender heart th' aspiring flame 
Of golden sov'reignty ; acquaint the princess 
Witli the sweet silent hours of marriage joys : 
And when this arm of mine hath chastised 
The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, 
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come. 
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed ■ 
To whom I will retail my conquest won. 
And she .shall be sole victress, Ca^.sar's Csesar. 

Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? her father's brother 
Would be her lord? Or .shall I say, her uncle? 
Or he that slew her brothers, and her uncles ? 
Under what title shall I woo for thee, 
That God, the law, my honour, and her love, 
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years ?' 

K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance. 

Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still lasting 
war. 

A'. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command, en- 
treats. 

Q. Eliz. That at her hands, which the king's King 
forbids. 

K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen. 

Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth. 
- A'. Rich. Say, I will love her everla.«tingly. 

Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, last? 



A'. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. 

Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life last ? 

K. Rich. As long as heaven, and nature, lengthen it. 

Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, like of it. 

K. Rich. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low. 

Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loaths such sovereignty. 

A'. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. 

Q. Eliz. An honest talc speeds best, being plainly told. 

A. Rich. Then, plainly to her tell^ my loving tale. 

Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a style. 

A. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick. 

Q. Eliz. ! no, my reasons are too deep and dead ; — 
Too d(M>p and dead, poor infants, in their graves. 

A. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam: that is past. 

Q. Eliz. Harp on it .still shall I, till heart-strings break. 

A. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and my 
crown. — 

Q. Eliz. Profan'd.dishonovir'd, and the third usurp'd. 

A. Rich. I swear — 

Q. Eliz. By nothing ; for this is no oath. 

Thy George, profan'd. hath lost its lordly* honour; 
Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue^ 
Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory. 
If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd, 
Swear then by something that thou hast not WTong'd. 

A. Rich. Now by the world, — 

Q. Eliz. 'T is full of thy foul wrongs. 

A'. Rich. My father's death, — 

Q. Eliz. Thy life hath it dishonour'd. 

A'. Rich. Then, by myself — ' 

Q. Eliz. Thyself is self-mis-us'd. 

A. Rich. Why then, by God.— 

Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all. 

If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath with him, 
The unity, the kins my hu.sband made, 
Tliou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died. 
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him. 
The imperial metal, circling now thy head. 
Had grac'd the tender temples of my child ; 
And both the princes had been breathing here, 
Wiiich now, two tender bed-fellows for dust. 
Thy broken faith hath made the prey for worms. 
What canst thou swear by now?* 

A'. Rich. The time to come. 

Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the time o'er- 
past : 
For I myself have many tears to wash 
Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee. 
The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughter'd, 
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it with their age : 
The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd. 
Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. 
Swear not by time to come : for that thou hast 
Misus'd ere us'd, by times ill-us"d o'er-past. 

K. Rich. As I intend to prosper, and repent. 
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt' 
or hostile arms ! my.seif my.self confound ! 
Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours ! 
Day. yield m6 not thy light, nor, night, thy rest ! 
Be opposite all planets of good luck 
To my proceeding, if, with pure"* heart's love. 
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, 
I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter ! 
In her consi.sts my happiness and thine; 
Without her, follows to myself, and thee. 
Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul, 
Death, desolation, ruin, and decay : 



1 leads : in f. e. 2 T^g preceding fifty-five lines are onlv in the folio. ^ Then, in plain terms, tell her: in quartos. * holy : in quartos. 
* So the quartos ; the folio : he swears first by himself, next by the world, and then by his father's death. 6 jhis line is not in the quartos. 
' affairs : in folio. 8 dear : in folio. 



SCENE IV. 



KING EICHAKD III. 



535 



It cannot be avoided, but by this ; 
It will not be avoided, but by this. 
Therefore, dear mother, (I must call you so) 
Bo the attorney of my love to her. 
Plead what I will be, not what I have been ; 
Not my deserts?, but what [ will deserve : 
Urge the necessity of state and times,' 
And be not peevish'' fond' in great designs. 

Q. Eliz. Shall I be lemptcd of the devil thus ? 
A'. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good. 
Q. Eliz. Sliall I forget myself, to be myself ? 
A". Rich. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong 

yourself. 
Q. Eliz. Yet thou didst kill my children. 
K. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I '11 bury 
them : 
Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed 
Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. 

Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will ? 
K. Rich. And be a liappy mother by the deed. 
Q. Eliz. I go. — Write to me Ricliard, very shortly, 
And you shall understand from me her mind*. 
K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so fare- 
Avell. [Ki.-!sing her. Exit Q. Elizabeth. 

Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman ! — 
How now ! what news ? 

Enter R.'ircLiFF in haste;'' C\tf.sby following. 
Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast 
R ideth a puissant navy : to our shores 
Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, 
Unarm'd, and unrcsolv'd to beat them back. 
'T is thought that Richmond is their admiral : 
And there they hull, expecting but the aid 
Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. 

K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke of 
Norfolk :— 
RatclifT, thyself. — or Catesby; where is he? 
Cate. Here, my good lord. 

K. Rich. Catesby, fly to the duke. 

Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste.* 
K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither. Post to Salisbury: 
When thou com'st thither, — Dull, unmindful villain, 

[To Catesby. 
Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke ? 
Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' 
pleasure, 
Wliat from your grace I shall deliver tp him. 

K. Rich. ! true, good Catesby. — Bid him levy 
straight 
The greatest strength and power he can make. 
And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. 

Cate. I go. [Exit. 

Rat. What; may it please you, shall I do at Salis- 
bury ? 
K. Rich. Why, what wouldst thou do there, before 

I iio? 
Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before. 

Enter Stanley. 
K. Rich. My mind is chang'd. — Stanley, what news 

with you? 
Stan. None good, my liege, to please you with the 
hearing ; 
Nor none so bad, but well may be reported. 

K Rich. Heyday, a riddle ! neitber good nor bad ? 
Wliat necd'st thou run so many miles about. 
When thou may'st tell thy tale the nearest way? 
Once more, what news ? 



' and state of times : in f. e. 
• This line is not in the quartos. 
JO 11 Not in f. e. 



Stan. Richmond is on the seas. 

K. Rich. There let liim sink, and be the seas on him, 
White-liver'd runagate ! what doth he there ? 

Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. 

K. Rich. Well,' as you guess? 

Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton, 
He makes for England, here, to claim the crown. 

K. Rich. Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway'd ? 
Is the king dead ? tlie empire unpossess'd ? 
What heir of York is tliere alive, but we. 
And who is England's king, but great York's heir? 
Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas? 

Stan. ITnless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. 

A". Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your liege. 
You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. 
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. 

Stan. No, my good lord : therefore, mistrust me not. 

K. Rich. Where is thy power, then, to beat him 
back ? 
Where be thy tenants, and thy followers ? 
Are they not now upon the western shore. 
Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships? 

Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north. 

K. Rich. Cold friends to me: What do they in the 
north. 
When they should serve their sovereign in the west ? 

Stat}. They have not been commanded, mighty king. 
Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave, 
I '11 muster up my friends, and meet your grace, 
Where, and what time, your majesty shall please. 

K. Rich. Ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with 
Richmond : 
But I '11 not trust thee. 

Stan. Most mighty sovereign. 

You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful. 
I never was, nor never will be false. 

K. Rich. Go. then, and muster men: but leave behind 
Your son, George Stanley. Look your heart'* be firm. 
Or else his head's assurance is but frail. 

Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you. 

[Exit Stanley. 
Enter a Messenger . 
Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devon.shire, 
As [ by friends am well advertised. 
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate, 
Bi.'^hop of Exeter, his' elder brother. 
With many more confederates are in arms. 
Enter another Messenger. 

2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are in arms : 
And every hour more competitors 

Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. 
Enter a third Slesscnger. 

3 Mess. My lord, the army of great Buckingham — 
K. Rich. Out on ye, owls ! nothing but songs of 

death ? [He strike! him. 

There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 

3 3Iess. The news I liave to tell your majesty 

[kneeling."' 
Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters, 
Buckingham's army is dispersed and scatter'd; 
And he himself wander'd away alone. 
No man knows whither. 

K. Rich. I cry thee mercy : 

There is my purse, to cure fliat blow of thine. [Rising.^^ 
Hath any well-advised frinnd proelaim'd 
Reward to him that brings the traitor in? 

3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, my lord. 



* Foolish. 5 found : in f. e. ♦ This line, only in the folio. * The worJs, "jn ha.tte,'' are not in f. e. 
' Sir, as you guess, as you guess : in quartos. 8 faith : in quartos. ' his brother there : in quartos. 



536 



KING RICIIAED III. 



ACT Y. 



Enter a fourth Messenger. 

4 3Iess. Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord Marquess Dorset. 
^T is said, my liege, in Yorksliire are in arms : 
But this good comfort bring I to your highness, — 
The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempest. 
Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat 
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks, 
li" they were his assistants, yea, or no ; 
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham 
Upon Ills party : he, mistrusting thein, 
Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne. 

K. Rich. March on, march on, since we are up in 
arms ; 
If not to fight with foreign enemies, 
Yet to beat down these rebels liere at home. 
Enter Catesby. 

Cate. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken; 
That is the best news : that the earl of Richmond 
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, 
Is colder news, but yet they must be told. 

K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury ! while we reason 
here, 
A royal battle might be won and lost. — 
Some one take order, Buckingham be brought 
To Salisbury: the rest march on with me. [Exeunt. 



SCENE V. — A Room in Lord Stanley's House. 

Enter Stanley and Sir Christopher Urswick. 

Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me : — 
That, in the sty of the most bloody boar, 
My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold : 
If t revolt, off goes young George's head : 
The fear of that holds off' my present aid. 
So, get thee gone: conuncnd me to thy lord. 
Withal, say that the queen hath heartily consented, 
He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter. 
But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now? 

Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rlbrd-west, in Wales. 

Sta7i. What men of name and mark° resort to him? 

Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier ; 
Sir Gilbert Talbot, sir William Stanley : 
Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunt, 
And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew. 
And many other of great name and worth : 
And towards London do they bend their power. 
If by the way tliey be not fought withal. 

Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord ; I kiss his hand : 
My letter will resolve him of my mind. 
Farewell. [Giving Papers to Sir Christopher. Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — Salisbury. An open Place. 

Enter the Sheriff., and Guard, with Buckingham led to 

Execxdion. 

Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with him? 

Sher. No, my good^ lord ; therefore, be patient. 

Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children. Grey, and 
Rivers, 
Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward, 
Vaughan, and all that have miscarried 
By imderhand corrupted foul injustice, 
If that your moody discontented souls 
Do through the clouds behold this present hour. 
Even for revenge mock my destruction ! — 
This is All-Souls' day, fellow, is it not ? 

Sher. It is. 

Buck. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's dooms- 
day. 
This is the day, which, in king Edward's time, 
I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found 
False to his children, or his wife's allies: 
This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall 
By the false faith of him whom most I trusted : 
This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul 
Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs. 
That high All-Seer, which I dallied with. 
Hath turn'd my feign'd prayer on my head. 
And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest. 
Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men 
To turn their own points in their masters' bosoms. 
Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck* : — 
" When he," quoth she, " shall split thy heart with 

sorrow. 
Remember Margaret was a prophetess." — 
Come, lead me, officers, to the block of shame ; 
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. 
[Exeunt Buckingham and Officers. 



SCENE II.— A Plain near Tamworth. 
Enter ^ with Drum and Colours, Richmond, Oxford, 

Sir James Blunt, Sir Walter Herbert, and others, 

with Forces, marching. 

Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, 
Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny, 
Thus far into the bowels of the land 
Have we march'd on without impediment ; 
And here receive we from our father Stanley 

[Showing a Paper. ^ 
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. 
The reckless," bloody, and usurping boar, 
That spoil'd your summer fields, and fruitful vines. 
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough 
In your cmbowell'd bosoms, this foul swine 
Is' now even in#the centre of this isle. 
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn : 
From Tamworth thither, is but one day's march. 
In God's name, chcerly on, courageous friends. 
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace 
By this one bloody trial of sharp war. 

Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand men,^ 
To fight against this guilty homicide. 

Herb. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us. 

Blunt. He hath no friends, but what are friends for 
Which in his dearest need will fly' from him. [fear, 

Richm. All for our vantage: then, in God's name march. 
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings, 
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Bosworth Field. 

Enter King Richard, and Forces ; the Duke of Nor- 
folk, Earl of Surrey, and others. 
K. Rich. Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth 
field.— 



1 withholds : in quartos. = The words, " and mark," are not in f. e. ' Not in quartos. * now — is fallen upon my head : in quartos. 
* Not in f. e. « wretched : in f. e. ' lies : in quartos. 8 swords : in quartos. ' greatest need will shrink : in quartos. 



SCENE III. 



KING EICIIAED III. 



537 



My lord of Surrey, why look yon so sad ? 

Sur. My lieart is ten times lighter than my looks. 

K. Rich. My lord of Norfolk.— 

Nor. Here, most gracious liege. 

A'. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks ; ha ! must 
we not ? 

Nor. Wc must both give and take, my loving lord. 

K. Rich. Up with my tent ! here will I lie to-night; 
[Soldier.^ begin to set up the King'.s Tent. 
But where to-morrow? — \Vell, all 's one for that. — 
Who hath descried the number of the traitors? 

Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. 

K. Rich. Wiiy, our battalia trebles that account : 
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength, 
Which they upon the adverse faction want. 
Up with the tent ! — Come, noble gentlemen, 
Let us survey the vantage of the ground. — 
Call for some men of sound direction. — 
Let 's lack no discipline, make no delay, 
For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Excimt. 

Enter., on the other side of the Field., Richmond, Sir 

W^iLLiAM Brandon, Oxford, and other Officers. 

Some of the Soldiers pitch Richmond's Tent. 

Richm. The weary sun hatli made a golden set, 
And by the bright track of his fiery car. 
Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. — 
Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. — 
Give me some ink and paper in my tent : 
I '11 draw the form and model of our battle, 
Limit each leader to his several charge. 
And part in just proportion our small power. 
My lord of Oxford, — you. Sir William Brandon, — 
And you, sir Walter Herbert, stay with me.' 
The earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment : 
Good captain Blunt, bear my good night to him. 
And by the second hour in the morning 
Desire the earl to see me in my tent, — 
Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me : 
Where is lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know? 

Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours much, 
(Which, well I am assur'd, I have not done) 
His regiment lies half a mile, at least. 
South from the mighty power of the king. 

Richm. If without peril it be possible, 
Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with 

him, 
And give him from me this most needful note. 

Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I '11 undertake it : 
And so, God give you quiet rest to-niglit.' 

Richm. Good night, good Captain Blunt. — Come, 
gentlemen, 
Let us consult upon to-morrow's business. 
In to my tent, the dew^ is raw and cold. 

[They withdraw into the Tent. 
Enter., to his Tent., King Richard, Norfolk, Ratcliff, 
a7id Catesby. 

A'. Rich. What is 't o'clock. 

Cate. It 's .supper time, my lord ; it 's nine o'clock. 

K. Rich. I will not sup to-night. — 
Give me some ink and paper. — 
What, is my beaver easier than it was, 
And all my armour laid into my tent? 

Cate. It is. my liege ; and all things are in readiness. 

A'. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge. 
Use careful watch ; choose trusty sentinels. 

Nor. I go, my lord. 

A'. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Nor- 



folk. 
Nor. I warrant you, my lord. 



[Exit. 



K. Rich. Ratclifi'! 

Rut. My lord? 

K. Rich. Send out a pursuivant at arms 

To Stanley's regiment : bid him bring his power 
Before sun-rising, lc>t his son George fall 
Into the blind cave of eternal night. — 
Fill me a bowl of wine. — Give me a watch : 
Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. — 
Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. 
Ratclifi:-!— 

Rat. My lord ? 

K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy lord Northum- 
berland ? 

Rat. Thomas the earl of Surrey, and himself. 
Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop 
Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. 

A. Rich. So : I am satisfied Give me a bowl of 
wine : 
I have not that alacrity of spirit. 
Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. — 

[ Wine brought.* 
Set it down. — Is ink and paper ready? 

Rat. It is, my lord. 

A. Rich. Bid my guard watch. Leave me. 
Ratclilf, about the mid of night, come to my tent 
And help to arm me. — Leave me, I say. 

[King Richard retires into his Tent. Exeunt 
Ratcliff and Catesby. 
Richmond's Tent opens, and discovers him and his 
Officers, fyc. 
Enter Stanley. 

Stan. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm ! 

Richm. All comfort that the dark night can afford, 
Be to thy person, noble father-in-law ! 
Tell me, I pray, how fares our loving mother ? 

Stan. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother, 
Who prays continually for Richmond's good: 
So much for that. — The silent hours steal on, 
And flaky darkness breaks within the east. 
In brief, for so the season bids us be, 
Prepare thy battle early in the morning; 
And put thy fortune to the arbitrement 
Of bloody strokes, and mortal-staring war. 
I, as I may, (that which I would I cannot) 
With best advantage will deceive the time, 
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms • 
But on thy side I may not be too forward. 
Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, 
Be executed in his father's sight. 
Farewell. The leisure and the fearful time 
Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love. 
And ample interchange of sweet discourse. 
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon. 
God give us leisure for these rites of love ! 
Once more, adieu. — Be valiant, and speed well ! 

Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment. 
I '11 strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap ; 
Lest leaden slumber peiso^ me down to-morrow, 
When I should mount with wings of victory. 
Once more, good night, kind lords, and gentlemen. 

[Exeunt Lords, kc, icith Stanley. 
! Thou, whose captain I account myself, [Kneeling.^ 
Look on my forces with a gracious eye; 
Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wTath, 
That they may crush down with a hea-\y fall 
Til' usurping helmets of our adversaries ! 
Make us thy ministers of chastisement, 
That we may praise thee in thy victory ! [Risingl 

To thee I do commend my watchful soul, 



1 2 These lines are not in the quartos. ' air : in quartos. ♦ Not in f. e. ' Weigh. ' ' Not in f. e. 



538 



KING RICHAED III. 



ACT V. 



Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes : 
Sleeping, and waking, 0, defend nie still ! 

[Lies down and sleeps. 
The Ghost of Prince Edward, Son to Henry the Sixth, 
rises between the two Tents. 
Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow ! 

[To King Richard. 
Think how thou stabb'dst me, in my prime of youth. 
At Tewksbury: despair, therefore, and die. — 

Be cheerful, Richmond ; for tlie wroiig'd souls 
Of butcher d princes fight in thy behalf: 
King Henry's issue. Richmond, comforts thee. 

The Ghost of King Henry the Sixth rises. 
Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed body 

To King Richard. 
By thee was punched full of deadly' holes. 
Think on the Tower, and me : despair, and die ; 
Harry the sixth bids thee despair and die. — 
Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror ! 

[7b Richmond. 
Harry, that prophesy'd thou should'st be king, 
Doth comfort thee in sleep : live thou,' and flourish. 
The Ghost of Clarence rises. 
Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow. 

[To King Richard. 
I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine. 
Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death ! 
To-morrow in the battle think on me, 

And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair, and die. 

Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, 

[7b Richmond. 
The MTongcd heirs of York do pray for lliee ; 
Good angels guard thy battle ! Live and flourish. 
The Ghosts o/ Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan rise. 
Riv. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow ; 

[To King Richard. 
Rivers, that died at Pomfret. Despair, and die. 
Grey. Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair. 

[7b King Richard. 
Vavgh. Think upon Vaughan, and with guilty fear 
Let fall thy pointless^ lance. Despair, and die. — 

]7b King Richard. 
All. Awake ! and think our wrongs in Richard's 
bosom [7b Richmond. 

Will conquer liim. — Awake, and win the day ! 
The Ghost of Hastings rises. 
Ghost. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake ; 

[To King Richard. 
And in a bloody battle end thy days. 
Think on lord Hastings : so* depair, and die. 
Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake ! 

[7b Richmond. 
Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake. 
The Ghosts of the two young Princes rise. 
Ghosts. Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the 
Tower : 
Let us be lead* within thy bosom, Richard, 
And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death. 
Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair, and die. — 

Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy ; 
Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy ! 
Live, and beget a happy race of kings. 
Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. 
The Ghost of Queen Anne rises. 
Ghost. Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy 
wife. 
That never slept a quiet hour with thee. 
Now fills thy sleep with perturbations : 



To-morrow in the battle think on me. 

And fall thy powerless arm.* Despair, and die. — 

Thou, quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep : 

[To Richmond. 
Dream of success and happy victory : 
Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. 

The Ghost o/ Buckingham rises. 
Ghost. The first was I that help'd thee to the crown; 

[7b King Richard. 
The last was I that felt thy tyranny. 
! in the battle think on Buckingham, 
And die in terror of thy guiltiness. 
Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death : 
Fainting, despair ; despairing, yield thy breath. — 
I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid ; 

[7b Richmond. 
But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd : 
God, and good angels fight on Richmond's side; 
And Richard fall in height of all his pride. 

[The Ghosts vanish. King Richatit) starts 
out of his dream. 
K. Rich. Give me another horse ! — bind up my 
wounds ' — 
Have mercy, Jesu ! — Soft ! I did but dream. — 
0. coward conscience, how dost Ihou afflict me ! — 
The lights burn blue. — It is now dead midnight. 
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flcsii. 
What do I fear? myself? there 's none else by : 
Richard loves Richard : that is, I am L 
Is there a murderer here ? No ; — yes : I am : 
Then fly, — What, from myself? Great reason: why? 
Lest I revenge. W^hat ! Myself upon myself? 
Alack ! I love myself. Wherefore ? for any good, 
That I myself have done unto myself? 

! no : alas ! I rather hate myself. 
For hateful deeds committed by myself. 

1 am a villain. Yet I lie ; I am not. 

Fool, of thyself speak well : — Fool, do not flatter. 
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues. 
And every tongue brings in a several tale, 
And every tale condemns me for a villain. 
Perjury, fouP perjury, in the high'st degree ; 
Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree : 
All several sins, all us'd in each degree, 
Throng to the bar, crying all, — Guilty ! guilty ! 
I shall despair. — There is no creature loves me; 
And if I die, no soul shall pity me: — 
Nay, wherefore should they ? since that I myself 
Find in myself no ])ity to myself. 
Methought, the souls of all that I had murdcr'd 
Came to my tent ; and every one did threat 
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. 
Enter Ratcliff. 

Rat. My lord. — 

A'. Rich.^ Who 's there ? 

Rat. Ratcliff, my lord ; 'tis I. The early village cock 
Hath twice done salutation to the morn : 
Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. 

A'. Rich. Ratcliff! I have dream'd a fearful 
dream. — 
What think'st thou ? will our friends prove all true ? 

Rat. No doubt, my lord.' 

K. Rich. RatclifF! I fear, I fear — 

Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. 

A". Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadow's to-night 
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, 
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers. 
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond. 



_ 1 Not in folio. 2 ' Not in f. e. * and : in f. e. » So the quarto, 1597 ; the other old copies : laid. « edgeless sword : in f. e. 
jury : in t. e. 8 Zounds, who 's there : in quartos. 9 This and the previous speech, are not in the folios. 



'per- 



SCENE ni. 



KING RICHAKD III. 



539 



It is not yet near day. Come, go with me : 
Under our tents I '11 play the eaves-dropper, 
To hear if any mean to shrink from me. 

[Exciiiit King Richard and Ratcliff. 
Enter Oxford and others. 

Lords. Good morrow, Richmond. 

Richm. Cry mercy, lords, [ Waking.] and watchful 
gentlemen, 
That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. 

Lords. How have you slept, my lord ? 

Richm. The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams, 
That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, 
Have I since your departure had, my lords. 
Methought, their souls, whose bodies Richard murder'd, 
Came to my tent, and cried — On ! victory ! 
I promise you, my heart^ is very jocund 
In the remembrance of so fair a dream. 
How far into the morning is it, lords? 

Lords. Upon the stroke of four. 

Richm. \Vhy, then 't is time to arm, and give direc- 
tion. — [He advances to the Troops. 
More than I have said, loving countrymen. 
The leisure and enforcement of the time 
Forbids to dwell on : yet remember this, — 
God and our good cause fight upon our side ; 
The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls. 
Like high-rear'd bulwarks stand before our faces. 
Richard except, those whom we fight against 
Had rather have us win, than him they follow. 
For what is he they follow ? truly, gentlemen, 
A bloody tyrant, and a liomicide ; 
One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd ; 
One that made means to come by what he hath. 
And slaughtcr'd those that were the means to help him ; 
A base foul stone, made precious by the foil 
Of England's chair, where he is falsely set ; 
One that hath ever been God's enemy. 
Then, if you fight against God"s enemy, 
God will, in justice, ward you as his soldiers : 
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down. 
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain ; 
If you do fight against your country's foes. 
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire ; 
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, 
Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors ; 
If you do free your children from the sword. 
Your cliildreirs children^ quit it in your age. 
Then, in the name of God, and all these rights, 
Advance your standards, draw your willing swords. 
For me, the ransom of mj' bold attempt 
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; 
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt. 
The least of you shall share his part thereof. 
Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly, cheerfully; 
God, and Saint George I Richmond, and victory ! 

[Exeunt. 

Re-enter King Richard, Ratcliff, Attendants., ami 
Forces. 

K. Rich. What said Northumberland, as touching 
Richmond? 

Rat. That he was never trained up in arms. 

A". Rich. He said the truth : and what said Surrey 
then ? 

Rat. He smiUd and said, the belter for our purpose. 

K. Rich. He was i' the right ; and so, indeed, it is. 

[Clock strikes. 
Tell the clock there. — Give me a calendar. 

[Caleiidar brought.^ 



Who saw the sun to-day ? 

Rat. Not I, my lord. 

K. Rich. Then he disdains to shine ; for, by the book, 
He should have brav'd the east an hour ago : 
A black day will it be to somebody. — 
Ratcliff !— 

Rat. My lord. 

K. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day: 

The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. 
I would, these dewy tears were from the ground. 
Not shine to-day ! Why, what is that to me. 
More than to Richmond ? for the self-same heaven, 
That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him. 
Enter Norfolk. 

Nor. Arm, arm, my lord ! the foe vaunts in the field. 

K. Rich. Come, bustle, bu.stle. — Capari-son my 
horse. — 
Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his power. 
I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain. 
And thus my battle shall be ordered. 
My foreward* shall bo drawn out in length, 
Consisting equally of horse and foot : 
Our archers shall be placed in the midst, 
John duke of Norfolk, Thomas earl of Surrey, 
Shall have the leading of the foot and horse. 
They thus directed, we will follow them 
In the main battle ; whose puissance on either side 
Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. 
This, and Saint George to boot ! — What think'st thou, 
Norfolk ? 

Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign. — 
This found I on my tent tliis morning. 

[Giving a Paper. 

K. Rich. " Jocky of Norfolk be not too^ bold, 

[Reads. 
For Dickon thy master is bought and 
sold." 
A thing devised by the enemy. — 
Go, gentlemen ; every man to his charge. 
Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls ; 
For conscience is a word tlfat cowards use, 
Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe : 
Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. 
INIarch on, join bravely, let us to 't pell-mell ; 
If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. — 
What shall I say more than I have inferr'd ? 
Remember who you are to cope withal ; — 
A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and run-away.<!, 
A scum of Bret agues, and base lackey peasants. 
Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth 
To desperate ventures and assur'd destruction. 
You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest ; 
You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives, 
They would distrain^ the one, distain the other. 
And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow, 
Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's cost ; 
A milk-sop, one that never in his life 
Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow? 
Let's whip the.se stragglers o'er the seas again; 
Lash hence these over- weening rags of France, 
These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives ; 
Who, but for dreaming on tiiis fond exploit, 
For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves. 
If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us. 
And not these bastard Bretagnes ; whom our fathers 
Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd. 
And, on record, left them the heirs of shame. 
Shall these enjoy our lands ? lie with our wives ? 



I soul : in quartos. * Ttequiie. ' Not in f. ft. * My forewarJ shall be drawn out all in length : in f. e. 
X634, read : so. ' restrain : in f. e- 



* All old copies but quarto, 



540 



KING RICHARD III. 



ACT V. 



Ravish our daughters ? — Hark, I hear their drum. 

[Drum afar off. 
Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold' yeomen ! 
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head ; 
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood : 
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves. 

Enter a Messenger. 
What says lord Stanley ? will he bring his power? 

Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come. 

K. Rich. Off with his son George's head. 

Nor. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh : 
After the battle let George Stanley die. 

K. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within my 
bosom. 
Advance our standards ! set upon our foes ! 
Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, 
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ! 
Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Another part of the Field. 

Alarum: Excursions. Enter Norfolk, and Forces; 

to him Catesbv. 

Cate. Rescue, my lord of Norfolk ! rescue, rescue ! 
The king enacts more wonders than a man, 
Daring an opposite to every danger. 
His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights. 
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death. 
Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost ! 

Alarum. Enter King Richard. 

K. Rich. A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! 

Cate. Withdraw, my lord ; I '11 help you to a horse. 

K. Rich. Slave ! I have set my life upon a cast, 
And I will stand the hazard of the die. 
I think there be six Richmonds in the field ; 
Five have I slain to-day, instead of him. — 
A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! [Exeunt. 
Alarums. Enter King Richard and Richmond ; and 

exeunt., fighting. Retreat and flourish. Then enter 

Richmond, Stanley bearing the Crown, with divers 

other Lords, and Forces. 

Richm. God, and your arms, be prais'd, victorious 
friends, 



The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. 

Stall. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit 
tliee. 
Lo ! here, this^ long-usurped royalty. 
From the dead temples of this bloody wretch 
Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal : 
Wear it, enjoy it,^ and make much of it. 

Richm. Great God of heaven, say, amen, to all ! — 
But, tell me, is young George Stanley living ? 

Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town ; 
Whither, if you please, we may withdraw us. 

Richm. What men of name are slain on either side ? 

Stan. John duke of Norfolk, Walter lord Ferrers, 
Sir Robert Brake nbury, and Sir William Brandon. 

Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their births. 
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled, 
That in submission will return to us : 
And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament, 
We will unite the white rose and the red : — 
Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, 
That long hath frown'd upon their enmity ! — 
What traitor hears me, and says not, amen ? 
England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; 
The brother blindly shed the brother's blood. 
The father rashly slaughter'd his own son. 
The son, conipell'd, been butcher to the sire j 
All this divided York and Lancaster, 
Divided in their dire division.* 
! now, let Richmond and Elizabeth, 
The true succeeders of each royal house. 
By God's fair ordinance conjoin together : 
And let their heirs, (God, if thy will be so) 
Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace, 
With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days ! 
Rebate' the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, 
That would reduce these bloody days again, 
And make poor England weep in streams of blood ! 
Let them not live to taste this land's increase, 
That would with treason wound this fair land's peace ! 
Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again : 
That she may long live here, God say, amen ! 

[Exeunt. 



1 boldly ; in folio. 2 these royalties : in folio. ^ enjoy it : not in folio. * f. e. place a full stop at the end of this line. * Abate : in f. e. 



KING IIENEY YIII. 



DRAMATIS PEESON.-E. 



Porter, 



King Henry the Eighth. 

Cardinal Wolsey. Cardinal Campeius. 

Capucius, Ambassador from Charles V. 

Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Duke of Norfolk. Earl of Surrey. 

Duke of Suffolk. Duke of Buckingham. 

Lord Chamberlain. Lord Chancellor. 

Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester. 

Bishop of Lincoln. Lord Abergavenny. Lord 

Sands. 
Sir Henry Guildford. Sir Thomas Lovell. 
Sir Anthony Denny. Sir Nicholas Vaux. 
Secretaries to Wolsey. 
Cromwell, Servant to Wolsey. 

Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows ; Women attending upon the Queen; Spirits which appear 

to her ; Scribes, Officers, Guards, and otlicr Attendants. 

SCENE, chiefly in London and Westminster; once, at Kimbolton. 



Griffith. Gentleman- Usher to Queen Katharine. 
Three other Gentlemen. Garter, King at Arms. 
Doctor Butts, Physician to the King. 
Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. 
Brandon, and a Sergeant at Arms. 
Door-keeper of the Council- Chamber. 

and his Man. 
Page to Gardiner. A Crier. 

Queen Katharine, Wife to King Henry. 
Anne Bullen, her Maid of Honour. 
An old Lady, Friend to Anno Bullen. 
Patience, Woman to Queen Katharine. 



PROLOGUE, 



I come no more to make you laugh : things now, 
That bear a. weighty and a serious brow. 
Sad, high, aiid working, full of state and woe, 
Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow. 
We now present. Those that can pity, here 
May, if they think it well, let fall a tear ; 
•The subject will de.serve it : such, as give 
Their money out of hope they may believe, 
May here find truth too : those, that come to see 
Only a show or two, and so agree 
The play may pass, if they be still and willing, 
I '11 undertake, may see away their shilling 
Richly in two short hours. Only they. 
That come to hear a merry, bawdy play, 
A noise of targets, or to see a fellow 
In a long motley coat, guarded' with yellow, 



Will be deceiv'd ; for, gentle hearers, know, 

To rank our chosen truth with such a show 

As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting 

Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, 

To make that only true we now intend. 

Will leave us never an understanding friend. 

Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are kno-wn. 

The first and happiest hearers of the town, 

Be sad as we would make ye : think, ye see 

The very persons of our noble story. 

As they were living ; think, you see them great, 

And followed Avith the general throng, and sweat 

Of thousand friends ; then, in a moment, see 

How soon this mightiness meets misery : 

And, if you can be morry then, I '11 say, 

A man may weep upon his wedding day. 



ACT I 



SCENE L — London. An Ante-chamber in the 
Palace. 
Enter the Duke of Norfolk, at one door ; at the other, 
the Duke of Buckingham, a)id the Lord Aber- 
gavenny. 

Buck. Good morrow, and well met. How have 
you done. 
Since last we saw in France ? 

J^'^or. I thank your grace, 

Healthful ; and ever since a fresh admirer 
Of what I saw there. 

Buck. An untimely ague 

1 Bordered. 



Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when 
Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, 
Met in the vale of Andren. 

^(Jr- 'Twi.\;t Guynes and Arde • 

I was then present, saw them salute on horseback; 
Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung, 
In their embracement, as they grew together ; 
Which had they, what four thron'd ones could havt 

weigli'd 
Such a compounded one ? 

Buck. All the whole time 

I wa.s my chamber's prisoner. 

i^^o/-. Then you lost 



543 



KING HENRY VIIL 



ACT I. 



The view of earthly glory : men might say, 

Till this time, pomp was single ; but now married 

To one above itself. Each following day 

Became the next day's master, till the last 

Made former wonders it's : to-day the French 

All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods. 

Shone down the English ; and to-morrow they 

Made Britain, India : every man that stood 

Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were 

As- cherubins, all gilt: the madams, too, 

Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear 

The pride upon tlicm, that their very labour 

Was to them as a painting : now this mask 

Was cried incomparable ; and the ensuing night 

Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kings, 

Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, 

As i)rcsencc did present them ; him in eye. 

Still him in praise ; and, being present both, 

'T was said, they saw but one : and no discerner 

Durst wag his tongue in censure. Wiien these suns 

(For so they praise 'em) by their heralds challeng'd 

The noble spirits to arms, they did perform 

Beyond thought's compass ; that former fabulous story. 

Being now seen possible enough, got credit, 

That Bevis' was believ'd. 

Buck. O ! you go far. 

Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect 

In honour honesty, the tract of every thing 

Would by a good discourser lose some life, 

Wliicii action's self was tongue to. All was royal : 

To the disposing of it nought rebell'd ; 

Order gave each thing view. 

Buck. The ofTice did 

Distinctly his full function. = Who did guide, 

I mean, who set the body and the limbs 
Of this great sport together, as you guess ? 
Nor. One, certes, that promises no clement 

In such a business. 

Buck. I pray you, who, my lord ? 

Nor. All this was order'd by the good discretion 
Of the right reverend cardinal of York. 

Buck. The devil speed him ! no man's pie is freed 
From his ambitious finger. What had he 
To do in these fierce vanities ? I wonder, 
That such a kcech^ can, with his very bulk, 
Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun, 
And keep it from the earth. 

Nor. 
There 's in liim stuff that puts him to these ends ; 
For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace 
Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon 
For high feats done to the crown ; neither allied 
To eminent assistants, but. spider-like. 
Out of his self-drawing web, lie* gives us note, 
The force of his own merit makes his way ; 
A gift that heaven gives him, and wliich buys 
A place next to the king. 

Aher. I cannot tell 

What heaven hath given him : let some graver eye 
Pierce into that ; but I can see his pride 
Peep through each part of him : whence has he that ? 
[f not from hell, the devil is a niggard ; 
Or has given all before, and he begins 
A new hell in himself. 

Buck. Why the devil, 

Upon this French going-out, took he upon him, 
(Witliout the privity o' the king) t' appoint 
Who should attend on him ? He makes up the file 

'Of Southampton, the hero of an old romance. = This sentence is assigned to Norfolk, in f. e. 
♦ O : in folio. Steevens made the change. ' To : in folio ; which Knight retains. 6 minister coi 



Sure!)', sir. 



Of all the gentry ; for the most part such 
Too,' whom as great a charge as little honour 
He meant to lay upon : and his own letter, 
The lionourable board of council out, 
Mu.st fetch him in the papers. 

Aber. I do know 

Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have 
By this so sickcn'd tlicir estates, that never 
They shall abound as formerly. 

Buck. ! many 

Have broke their backs, with laying manors on them 
For this great journey. What did this vanity, 
But minister the consummation*^ of 
A most poor issue ? 

Nor. Grievingly I think, 

The peace between the French and us not values 
The cost that did conclude it. 

Buck. Every man, 

After the hideous storm that follow'd, was 
A thing inspir'd ; and, not consulting, broke 
Into a general prophecy, — that this tempest, 
Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded 
The sudden breach on 't. 

Nor. Which is budded out : 

For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd 
Our merchants' goods at Bordeaux. 

Aber. Is it therefore 

Th' ambassador is silenc'd ? 

Nor. Marry, is't. 

Aber. A proper title of peace, and purchas'd 
At a superfluous rate. 

Buck. Why, all this business 

Our reverend cardinal carried. 

Nor. 'Like it your grace. 

The state takes notice of the private difterence 
Betwixt you and tiie cardinal. I advise you, 
(And take it from a heart that wishes towards you 
Honour and plenteous safety) that you read 
The cardinal's malice and his potency 
Together : to consider farther, that 
What his high hatred would effect wants not 
A minister in his power. You know his nature, 
That he 's revengeful ; and, I know, his sword 
Hath a sharp edge : it 's long, and 't may be said, 
It reaches far ; and where 't will not extend. 
Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel ; 
You '11 find it wholesome. Lo ! where comes that rock. 
That I advise your shunning. 

Enter Cardinal Wolsey {the Burse home before him)., 
certain of the Guard., and two Secretaries trith 
Papers. The Cardinal in his passage fxeth his eye 
on Buckingham, ami Buckingham on him. both full 
of disdain. 

If ol. The duke of Buckingham's surveyor ? ha ! 
Where 's his examination ? 

1 Seer. Here, so please you. 

Wol. Is he in person ready ? 

1 Seer. Ay, please your grace. 

Wol. Well, we shall then know more- and Buck- 
ingham 
Shall lessen this big look. [Exeunt Wolsey, and Train. 

Buck. This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I 
Have not the power to muzzle him ; therefore, best 
Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's brood' 
Out-worths a noble's blood. 

Nor. What, are you chaf 'd ? 

Ask God for temperance ; that 's th' appliance only. 
Which your disease requires. 



3 A ball of fat, rolled up by butchers. 
• communication : in f. e. ' book : in f. e. 



SCENE ir. 



KIXG HENRY VIII. 



543 



Buck. I read in 's looks 

Matter against me ; and his eye revil'd 
Me, as his abject object : at this instant 
He bores me with some trick. He 's gone t' the king : 
I "11 follow, and out-stare him. 

Nor. Stay, my lord, 

And let your reason "with your choler question 
What 't is you go about. To climb steep hills, 
Requires slow pace at first ; anger is like 
A lull-hot horse, who being allow'd his waj^, 
Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England 
Can advise me like you : be to yourself, 
As you would to your friend. 

Buck. I'll to the king; 

And from a mouth of honour quite cry down 
This Ipswich fellow's insolence, or proclaim 
There 's difference in no persons. 

Nor. Be advis'd; 

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot 
That it do singe yourself : we may outrun 
By violent swiftness that which we run at, 
And lose by over-running. Know you not, 
The fire that mounts the liquor till 't run o'er, 
In seeming to augment it wastes it ? Be advis'd : 
I say again, there is no English soul 
More stronger to direct you than yourself, 
If with the sap of reason you would quench, 
Or but allay, the fire of passion. 

Buck. Sir, 

I am thankful to you, and I '11 go along 
By your prescription ; but this top-proud fellow, 
Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but 
From sincere motions, by intelligence. 
And proofs as clear as founts in July, when 
We sec each grain of gravel, I do know 
To be corrupt and treasonous. 

Nor. Say not, treasonous. 

Buck. To the king I '11 say 't, and make my vouch 
as strong 
As shore of rock. Attend : this holy fox, 
Or wolf; or both, (for he is equal ravenous, 
As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief. 
As able to perform 't, his mind and place 
Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally) 
Only to show his pomp, as well in France 
As here at liome, suggests the king, our master, 
To this last costly treaty, th' interview 
That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass 
Did break i' the rinsing. 

Nor. Faith, and so it did. 

Buck. Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning 
cardinal 
The articles o' the combination drew. 
As himself pleas'd ; and they were ratified, 
As he cried, " Thus let bo/' to as much end. 
As give a crutch t' the dead. Rut our count-cardinal 
Has done this, and 't is well : for worthy Wolsey, 
Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows, 
(Wliicli, as I take it, is a kind of puppy 
To tlie old dam, treason) Charles the emperor, 
Under pretence to see the queen, his aunt, 
(For 't was, indeed, his colour, but he came 
To whisper Wolsey) here makes visitation : 
His fears were, that the interview betwixt 
England and France might, through their amity. 
Breed him some prejudice; for from Ihis league, 
Pccp'd harms that menac'd him. He privily 
Deals with our cardinal, and, as I trow, 
Which I do well ; for, 1 am sure, the emperor 
Paid ere he promis'd, whereby his suit was granted, 



Ere it was ask'd : but when the way was made, 
And pav'd with gold, the emperor thus desir'd : — 
That he would please to alter the king's course. 
And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know, 
(As soon he shall by me) that thus the cardinal 
Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases. 
And for his own advantage. 

Nor. I am sorry 

To hear this of him ; and could wish he were 
Something mistaken in 't. 

Buck. No, not a syllable : 

I do pronounce him in that very shape. 
He shall appear in proof. 

Enter Brandon ; a Sergeant at Arm.'s before hirn^ and 
tico or three of the Guard. 

Bran. Your ofhee, sergeant ; execute it. 

Serg. Sir, 

My lord the duke of Buckingham, and earl 
Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I 
Arrest thee of high treason, in the name 
Of our most sovereign king. 

Buck. Lo, you, my lord ! 

The net has fall'n upon me : I shall perish 
Under device and practice. 

Bran. I am sorry 

To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on 
The business present. 'T is his highness' pleasure, 
You shall to the Tower. 

Buck. It will help me nothing 

To plead mine innocence ; for that die is on me. 
Which makes my whit'st part black. The will of 

heaven 
Be done in this and all things. — I obey. — 

! my lord Abergan'y, fare you well. 

Bran. Nay, he must bear you company. — The king 

\To Abergavennv. 
Is pleas'd you shall to the Tower, till you know 
How he determines farther. 

Aher. As the duke said, 

The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure 
By me obey'd. 

Bran. Here is a warrant from 

The king t' attach lord Montacute ; and the bodies 
Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car, 
And Gilbert Peck, his chancellor, — 

Buck. So, so ; 

These are the limbs o' the plot. — No more, I hope. 

Bran. A monk o' the Chartrcux. 

Buck. 01 Nicholas Hopkins? 

Bran. He. 

Buck. ]My surveyor is false : the o'er-great cardinal 
Hath sliow'd him gold. j\ly life is spann"d already : 

1 am the shadow of poor Buckingham, 
Whoso figure even this instant cloud puts on, 
By darkening my clear sun. — My lord, farewell. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Council-Chamber. 
Cornet.'!. Enter King Henrv, leaning on the Cardinal's 

.slujulder ; Wolsey. the Lords of the Council, Sir 

Thomas Lovell, Officers. Secretary. 

K. Hen. My life itself, and the best heart of it. 
Thanks you for this great care. I stood i' the level 
or a full charg'd confederacy, and sive thanks 
To you that chok'd it. — Let be calFd before us 
That gentleman of Buckingham's : in person 
I "11 hear him his confessions justify. 
And point by point tlie treasons of his master 
He shall again relate. 
The King takes his State. The Lords of the Council 



544 



KING HENEY YIII. 



ACT I. 



occupy their several Places : the Cardinal places him- 
self under the King^s Feet on his right Side. 
A Noise within, crying Room for the Queen ! Enter 

the Queen, ushered by the Dukes of Norfolk a7id 

Suffolk : she kneels. The King rises from his 

State, takes her up, kis.'ies her, and places her by him. 

Q. Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel : I am a suitor. 

K. Hen. Arise, and take place by us. — Half your suit 
Never name to us; you have half our power; 
The other moiety, ere you ask, is given ; 
Repeat your will, and take it. 

Q. Kath. Thank your majesty. 

That you would love yourself, and in that love 
Not unconsidcr'd leave your honour, nor 
The dignity of your office, is the point 
Of my petition. 

K. Hen. Lady mine, proceed. 

Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few. 
And tliose of true condition, that your subjects 
Are in great grievance. There liave been commissions 
Sent down among them, which hath flaw'd the heart 
Of all their loyalties : wherein, although, 
My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches 
Most bitterly on you, as putter-on 
Of these exactions, yet the king our master. 
Whose honour heaven shield from soil ! even he escapes 

not 
Language unmannerly ; yea, such which breaks 
The tics' of royalty, and almost appears 
In loud rebellion. 

Nor. Not almost appears, 

It doth appear ; for upon these taxations, 
The clothiers all, not able to maintain 
Tlie many to them 'longing, have put off 
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, 
Unfit for other life, compclPd by hunger 
And lack of other means, in desperate manner 
Daring th' event to the teeth, arc all in uproar, 
And danger serves among them. 

K. Hen. Taxation ! 

Wherein, and what taxation ? — My lord cardinal. 
You that are blam'd for it alike with us. 
Know you of this taxation ? 

Wol. Please you, sir, 

I know but of a single part, in ought 
Pertains to the state ; and front but in that file 
Where others tell steps with me. 

Q. Kath. No. my lord. 

You know no more than others ; but you frame 
Things, that are known, belike^, which are not whole- 
some 
To those which would not know them, and yet must 
Perforce be their acquaintance. The.«e exactions. 
Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are 
Most pestilent to the hearing ; and, to bear them, 
The back is sacrifice to the load. They say. 
They are dcvis'd by you, or else you suffer 
Too hai'd an exclamation. 

K. Hen. Still exaction ! 

The nature of it ? In what kind, let 's know, 
Is this exaction? 

Q. Kath. I am much too venturous 

In tempting of your patience ; but am bolden'd 
Under your promis'd pardon. The subjects' grief 
Comes through commissions, which compel from each 
The sixth part of his substance, to be levied 
Without delay ; and the pretence for this 
Is nam'd, your wars in France. This makes bold 
mouths : 



Tongvies spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze 

Allegiance in them : their curses now. 

Live where their prayers did ; and it 's come to pass, 

Their tractable obedience is a slave 

To each incensed will. I would, your highness 

Would give it quick consideration, for 

There is no primer business.^ 

K. Hen. By my life. 

This is against our pleasure. 

Wol. And for me, 

I have no farther gone in this, than by 
A single voice, and that not pass'd me but 
By learned approbation of the judges. If I am 
Traduc'd by ignorant tongues, which neither know 
My faculties, nor person, yet will be 
The clironicles of my doing, let me say, ^ 

'T is but the fate of place, and the rough brake 
That virtue must go through. We mu.st not stint 
Our necessary actions, in the fear 
To cope malicious censurers ; AA-hich ever, 
As ravenous fishes, do a A^esscl follow 
That is new trimm'd, but benefit no farther 
Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, 
By sick interpreters (once* weak ones) is 



Not ours, or not allow'd , 



what worst, as oft, 



Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up 
For our best act. If we shall stand still. 
In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, 
We should take root here, where we sit, or sit 
State statues only. 

K. Hen. Things done well. 

And with a care, exempt themselves from fear: 
Things done without example, in their issue 
Are to be fear'd. Ha,ve you a precedent 
Of this commission ? I believe, not any. 
We m.ust not rend our subjects from our laws. 
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each ? 
A trebling^ contribution ! Why, we take, 
From every tree, lop, bark, and part o' the timber , 
And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, 
The air will drink the sap. To every county 
Where this is question'd send our letters, with 
Free pardon to each man that has denied 
The force of this commission. Pray, look to 't ; 
I put it to your care. 

Wol. A word with you. {To the Secretary. 

Let there be letters writ to every shire. 
Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd commons 
Hardly conceive of me : let it be nois'd. 
That through our intercession this revokement 
And pardon comes. I shall anon advise you 
Farther in the proceeding. \Exit Secretary. 

Enter Surveyor. 

Q. Kath. I am sorry that the duke of Buckingham 
Is one^ in your displeasure. 

K. Hen. It gricA'cs many : 

The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker; 
To nature none more bound ; his training such. 
That he may furnish and instruct great teachers. 
And never seek for aid out of himself: yet see. 
When these so noble benefits shall prove 
Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt. 
They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly 
Than ever they were fair. This man so complete, 
Who was cnroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, 
Almost with ravish'd list'ning. could not find 
His hour of speech a minute ; he, my lady, 
Hath into monstrous habits put the graces 
That once were his, and is become as black 



> sides : in f. e. 2 alike : in f. e. 3 baseness : in f. e. 



* Sometimes. 

33 



5 trembling : in f. e. * run : iu f. e. 



BCENE III. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



545 



As if bcsmear'd in hell. Sit by tis; you shall hear 
(This was his gentleman in trust) of him 
Things to strike honour sad. — Bid him recount 
The fore-recited practices, whereof 
We cannot feel too little, hear too much. 

Wol. Stand forth; and with bold spirit relate what 
you, 
Most like a careful subject, have collected 
Out of the duke of Buckingham. 

K. Hen. Speak freely. 

Siirv. First, it was usual with him, every day 
It would infect his speech, tliat if the king 
Should without issue die, he 'd' carry it so 
To make the sceptre his. These very words 
I 've heard him utter to his son-in-law, 
Lord Aberga'ny, to whom by oath he menac'd 
Revenge upon the cardinal. 

TFo/. Please your highness, note 

This dangerous conception in this point. 
Not friended by his wish, to your high person 
His will is most malignant ; and it stretches 
Beyond you, to your friends. 

Q. Kath. My learn'd lord cardinal. 

Deliver all with charity. 

K. Hen. Speak on. 

How grounded he his title to the crown, 
Upon our fail ? To this point hast thou heard him 
At any time speak aught ? 

Surv. He was brought to this 

By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. 

K. Hen. What was that Hopkins ? 

Surv. Sir, a Chartreux friar, 

His confessor; who fed him every minute 
With words of sovereignty. 

K. Hen. How know'st thou this ? 

Surv. Not long before your highness sped to France, 
The diike being at the Hose, within the parish 
Saint Lawrence Poultnoy, did of me demand 
What was the speech among the Londoners 
Concerning the French journey ? I replied, 
Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious. 
To the king's danger. Presently the duke 
Said, 't was the fear, indeed ; and that he doubted, 
'T would prove the verity of certain words 
Spoke by a holy monk ; " that oft," says he, 
"Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit 
John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour 
To hear from him a matter of some moment : 
Whom after, under the confession's seal. 
He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke 
My chaplain to no creature living, but 
To me, should utter, with demure confidence 
This pausingly ensu'd. — Neither the king, nor 's heir, 
(Tell you the duke) shall prosper : bid him strive 
To gain the love o' the commonalty : the duke 
Shall govern England. 

Q. Kdth. If I know you well. 

You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office 
On the complaint o' the tenants. Take good heed, 
You charge not in your spleen a noble person. 
And spoil your nobler soul : I say, take heed ; 
Yes, heartily beseech you. 

A'. Hen. Let him on. — 

Go forward. 

Surv. On my soul, I '11 speak but truth. 

I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions 
The monk might be deeeiv'd ; and that 'twas dangerous 
From this to ruminate on it so far, luitil 
It forg'd him some design, which, being bcliev'd. 



It was much like to do : He answered, '• Tush ! 
It can do me no damage :" adding farther, 
That had the king in his last sickness fail'd. 
The cardinal's and sir Thomas Lovell's heads 
Should have gone off. 

K. Hen. Ha ! what, so rank ? Ah, ha ! 

There 's mischief in this man. — Canst thou say farther? 

Surv. I can, my liege. 

K. Hen. Proceed. 

Surv. Being at Greenwich, 

After your highness had reprov'd the duke 
About sir William Blomer, — 

K. Hen. I remember, 

Of such a time : being my sworn servant, 
The duke retain'd him his. — But on : what hence? 

Su)-v. "If." quoth he, "I for this had been com- 
mitted. 
As, to the Tower, I thought, I would have play'd 
The part my fattier meant to act upon 
Th' usurper Richard ; who, being at Salisbury, 
Made suit to come in 's presence, which if granted, 
As he made semblance of his duty, would 
Have put his knife into him." 

K. Hen . A giant traitor ! 

Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom, 
And this man out of prison? 

Q. Kath. God mend all ! 

JC. Hen. There 's something more would out of thee : 
what say'st ? 

Surv. After " the duke his father," with "the knife," 
He stretch'd him, and with one hand on his dagger, 
Another spread on 's breast, mounting his eyes, 
He did discharge a horrible oath : whose tenor 
Was, — were he evil us'd, he would out-go 
His father, by as much as a performance 
Does an irresolute purpose. 

K. Hen. There 's his period. 

To sheathe his knife in us. — He is attach'd ; 
Call him to present trial : if he may 
Find mercy in the law, 't is his ; if none. 
Let him not seek 't of us. By day and night. 
He is a daring traitor to the height."^ [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— A Room in the Palace. 
Enter the Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Sands. 

Cham. Is 't possible, the spells of France should juggle 
Men into such strange mysteries ? 

Sands. New customs, 

Though they be never so ridiculous, 
Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd. 

Cham. As far as I see, all the good our English 
Have got by the late voyage is but merely 
A fit or two o' the face ; but they are shrewd ones, 
For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly, 
Their very noses had been counsellors 
To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so. 

Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones : one 
would take it. 
That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin. 
Or springhalt reign'd among them. 

Cham. Death ! my lord, 

Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too. 
That, sure, they've worn out Christendom. — How now ! 
What news. Sir Thomas Lovell ? 

Enter Sir Thomas Lovell. 

Lov. 'Faith, my lord, 

I hear of none, but the new proclamation 
That 's clapp'd upon the court-gate. 

Cham. What is 't for' 



1 he '11 : in folio. The change was made by Rowe. 



3 He 's traitor to the height : in f. o. 

35 



546 



KING HENKYVm. 



ACT I. 



Lov. The reformation of our travcll'd gallants, 
That fill the court ^yith quarrels, talk, and tailors. 

Cham. I am glad 't is there : now, I would pray our 
monsieurs 
To think an English courtier may be wise, 
And never see the Louvre. 

Lov. They must either 

(For so run the conditions) leave those remnants 
Of fool, and feather, that they got in France, 
With all their honourable points of ignorance 
Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks j 
Abusing better men than they can be. 
Out of a foreign wisdom ; renouncing clean 
The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, 
Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel, 
And understand again like honest men, 
Or pack to their old playfellows ; there, I take it 
They may, cum privilegio, wear away 
The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd at. 

Sands. 'T is time to give 'em physic, their diseases 
Are grown so catching. 

Cham. What a loss our ladies 

Will have of these trim vanities. 

Lov. Ay, marry. 

There will be woe indeed, lords : the sly whoresons 
Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies; 
A French song and a fiddle have no fellow. 

Sands. The devil fiddle them ! I am glad they 're going, 
For, sure, there 's no converting of them : now, 
An honest country lord, as I am, beaten 
A long time oxit of play, may bring his plain-song. 
And have an hour of hearing, and by'r-lady, 
Held current music too. 

Chain. Well said, lord Sands : 

Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. 

Sands. No, my lord; 

Nor shall not, while I have a stump. 

Cham. Sir Thomas, 

Whither were you a going ? 

Lov. To the cardinal's. 

Your lordship is a guest too. 

Cham. ! 't is true : 

This night he makes a supper, and a great one, 
To many lords and ladies : there will bo 
The beauty of this kingdom, I '11 assure you. 

Lov. That churchman bears a bounteovis mind indeed ; 
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us : 
His dews fall every where. 

Cham. No doubt, he 's noble ; 

He had a black mouth that said other of him. 

Sands. He may, my lord, he has wherewithal : in him. 
Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine. 
Men of his sway' should be most liberal ; 
They are sent" here for examples. 

Cham. True, they are so; 

But few now give so great ones. My barge stays ; 
Your lordship shall along. — Come, good sir Thomas, 
We shall be late else ; which I would not be, 
For I was spoke to, with sir Henry Guildford, 
This night to be comptrollers. 

Sands. I am your lordship's. [Exeimt. 

SCENE IV.— The Presence-Chamber in York-Place. 

Hautboys. A sinall Table under a State for the Cardinal, 
a longer Table for the Guests ; then enter Anne Bul- 
LEN, and divers Lords, Ladies, and Gentlewomen, as 
Guests, at one door ; at another door, enter Sir Henry 
Guildford. 

Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from his grace 

1 way : in f. e. 3 set : in f. e. 3 Small pieces of ordnance. 



Salutes ye all : this night he dedicates 

To fair content, and you. None here, he hopes. 

In all this noble bevy, has brought with her 

One care abroad ; he would have all as merry 

As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome 

Can make good people. — 0, my lord ! y' are tardy; 

Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands, and Sir Thomas 

LOVELL. 

The very thought of this fair company 
Clapp'd wings to me. 

Cham. You are young, sir Harry Guildford. 

Sands. Sir Thomas LovcU, had the cardinal 
But half my lay-thoughts in him, some of these 
Should find a running banquet ere they rested, 
I thinli, would better please 'em : by my life. 
They are a sweet society of fair ones. " 

Lov. O ! that your lordship were but now confessor 
To one or two of these. 

Sands. I would, I were ; 

They should find easy penance. 

Lov. Faith, how easy ? 

Sands. As easy as a down-bed would afford it. 

Cfuim. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit ? Sir Harry, 
Place you that side, I '11 take the charge of this. 
His grace is entering. — Nay, you must not freeze; 
Two women plac'd together makes cold weather : — 
My lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking ; 
Pray, sit between these ladies. 

Sa7ids. By my faith. 

And thank your lordship. — By your leave, sweet ladies : 
[Seats himself between Anne BvLhEts and another Lady. 
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me ; 
I had it from my father. 



Anne. 



Was he mad, sir ? 



Sands. ! very mad, exceeding mad ; in love too ; 
But he would bite none : just as I do now. 
He would kiss you twenty with a breath. [Kisses her. 

Cham. Well said, my lord. — 

So, now you are fairly seated. — Gentlemen, 
The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies 
Pass away frowning. 

Sands. For my little cure, 

Let me alone. 

HaiUboys. Enter Cardinal Wolsey, attended, and 
takes his State. 

Wol. Y' are welcome, my fair guests : that noble lady, 
Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, 
Is not my friend. This, to confirm my welcome ; 
And to you all good health. [Drinks. 

Sands. Your grace is noble : 

Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks. 
And save me so much talking. 

Wol. My lord Sands, 

I am beholding to you: cheer your neighbours. — 
Ladies, you arc not merry : — gentlemen. 
Whose fault is this ? 

Sands. The red wine first must rise 

In their fair cheeks, my lord; then, we shall have 'em 
Talk us to silence. 

Anne. You are a merry gamester, 

My lord Sands. 

Sands. Yes, if I make my play. 

Here 's to your ladyship ; and pledge it, madam. 
For 't is to such a thing, — 

Anne. You cannot show me. 

Sands. I told your grace how they would talk anon. 

[Drum ami Trumpets within; Chambers^ discharged. 

Wol. What 's that ? 

Cham. Look out there, some of you. [Exit a Servant. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY Vni. 



547 



Wol. 



What warlike voice. 



All arise^ and 



And to what end is this? — Nay, ladies, I'ear not; 
By all the laws of war y' are privilcg'd. 
Re-enter Servant. 

Cham. How now ! what is 't ? 

Scrv. A noble troop of strangers, 

For so they seem : they 've left their barge, and landed ; 
And hither make, as great ambassadors 
From foreign princes. 

Wol. Good lord chamberlain, 

Go, give them welcome ; you can speak the French 

tongue : 
And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct them 
Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty 
Shall shine at full upon them. — Some attend him. — 
\Exit Chamberlain attended. 
Tables removed. 
You have now a broken banquet ; but we '11 mend it. 
A good digestion to you all ; and, once more, 
I shower a welcome on ye. — Welcome all. 
Hautboys. Enter the King, and others., as Maskers. 

habited like Shepherds, ushered by the Lord Chamber- 
lain. They pass directly before the Cardinal.^ and 

gracefully salute him. 
A noble company ! what are their pleasures? 

Cham. Because they speak no English, thus they 
pray'd me' 
To tell your grace : — That, having heard by fame 
Of this so noble and so fair assembly 
This night to meet here, they could do no less, 
Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, 
But leave their flocks, and under your fair conduct, 
Crave leave to view these ladies, and entreat 
An hour of revels with them. 

Wol. Say, lord chamberlain. 

They have done my poor house grace ; for which I pay 

them 
A thousand thanks, and pray them take their pleasures. 
[Ladies chosen for the Dance. The King 
takes Anne Bullen. 

K. Hen. Tlie fairest hand I ever touch'd. O, beauty ! 
Till now I never knew thee. [Music. Dance 

Wol. My lord !— 

Cham. Your grace ? 



Wol. Pray tell them thus much from me. 

There should be one amongst them, by lijs j)erson, 
More worthy this place than myself; to whom, 
If I but knew him, with my love and duty 
I would surrender it. 

Cham. T will, my lord. 

[Cham, whispers the Maskers., and returns. 

Wol. What say they ? 

Cham. Such a one, they all confess, 

There is. indeed : which they would have your grace 
Find out, and he will take it. 

Wol. Let me see then. [Comes from his State. 

By your good leaves, gentlemen, here I '11 make 
My royal choice. 

K. Hen. You have found him, cardinal. [Unmasking. 
You hold a fair as.sembly; you do well, lord: 
You arc a churchman, or, I '11 tell you, cardinal, 
I should judge now unhappily. 

Wol. I am glad, 

Your grace is grown so pleasant. 

K. Hen. My lord chamberlain, 

Pr'ythee, come hither. What fair lady 's that ? 

Cham. An 't please your grace, sir Thomas Bullen's 
daughter, — 
The viscount I'ochford, — one of her highness' women. 

K. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one. — Sweetheart, 
I were unmannerly to take you out, 
And not to kiss you. — [Kis.'ies her.y A health, gentlemen! 
Let it go round. 

Wol. Sir Thomas Lovcll, is the banquet ready 
I' the privy chamber ? 

Lov. Yes, my lord. 

Wol. Your grace, 

I fear, with dancing is a little heated. 

K. Hen. I fear, too much. 

Wol. There 's fresher air, my lord, 

In the next chamber. 

K. Hen. Lead in your ladies, every one. — Sweet 
I must not yet forsake you. — Let's be merry: [partner, 
Good my lord cardinal : I have half a dozen healths 
To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure 
To lead them once again ; and then let 's dream 
Who 's best in favour. — Let the music knock it. 

[Exeunt^ with Trumpets. 



ACT II. 



SCENE L— A Street. 
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting. 

1 Gent. Whither away so fast ? 

2 Gent. Q !_ God save you. 
E'en to the hall, to hear what shall become 

Of the great duke of Buckingham. 

1 Gent. I '11 save you 
That labour, sir. All 's now done, but the ceremony 
Of bringing back the prisoner. 

2 Gent. Were you there ? 

1 Gent. Yes, indeed, was I. 

2 Gent. Pray, speak what has happen'd. 

1 Gent. You may guess quickly what. 

2 Gent. Is he found guilty ? 

1 Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon it. 

2 Gent. I am sorry for 't. 

1 Gent. So are a number more. 

2 Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it ? 

• This word is not in f. c. a Not in f. e. 



1 Gent. I '11 tell you in a little. The great duke 
Came to the bar; where, to his accusations 

He pleaded still not guilty, and alleg'd 

Many sharp reasons to defeat tlie law. 

The king's attorney, on the contrary, 

Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions 

Of divers witnesses, which the duke desir'd 

To have brought, viva voce, to his face : 

At which appeared against him. his surveyor; 

Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car, 

Confessor to him ; with that devil-monk, 

Hopkins, that made this mischief. 

2 Gent. That was he. 
That fed him with his prophecies ? 

1 Gent. The same. 

AH these accus'd him strongly; which he fain 
Would have flung from him, but. indeed, he could not: 
And so his peers, upon this evidence. 
Have found him guilty of high treason. Much 



548 



KING HENRY VIII. 



ACT n. 



He spoke, and learnedly, for life ; but all 
Was either pitied in liim, or forgotten. 

2 Gent. After all this, how did he bear himself? 

1 Gent. When he was brought again to the bar, to 

hear 
His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirred 
With such an agony, he sweat extremely. 
And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty : 
But he fell to himself again, and sweetly 
In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. 

2 Gent. I do not think, he fears death. 



1 Gent. 



Sure, he does not : 



He was never so womanish : the cause 
He may a little grieve at. 

2 Gent. Certainly. 

The cardinal is the end of this. 

1 Gent. 'T is likely 
By all conjectures : first, Kildare's attainder, 
Then deputy of Ireland ; who remov'd. 

Earl Surrey Avas sent thitlier, and in haste too. 
Lest he should help his father. 

2 Gent. That trick of state 
Was a deep envious one. 

1 Gent. At his return, 
No doubt, he will requite it. This is noted, 
And generally : — whoever the king favours, 
The cardinal instantly will find employment. 
And far enough from court too. 

2 Gent. All the commons 
Hate him perniciously, and. o' my conscience, 
Wish him ten fatliom deep : this duke as much 
They love and dote on : call him, bounteous Bucking- 
ham, 

The mirror of all courtesy — 

1 Gent. Stay there, sir ; 
And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. 

Enter Buckingham from his Arraignment ; Tip.<;taves 
before him; the Axe U'ith the edge towarrb him: 
Halberds on each side : accompanied with Sir Thomas 
LovELL, Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir William Sands, 
and common People. 

2 Gent. Let 's stand close, and behold him. 

Buck. All good people, 

You tliat thus far have come to pity me, 
Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. 
I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment. 
And by tliat name must die : yet, heaven bear witness. 
And if I have a conscience let it sink me. 
Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful. 
The law I bear no malice for my death, 
It has done upon the premises but justice ; 
But those that sought it [ could wish more Christians : 
Bo what they will, I heartily forgive them. 
Yet let them look they glory not in mischief, 
Nor build their evils on the graves of great men ; 
For then my guiltless blood must cry against them. 
For farther life in this Avorld I ne'er hope. 
Nor will I sue. although the king have mercies 
More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd me, 
And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham. 
His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave 
Is only bitter to him, only dying, 
Go with me, like good angels, to my end ; 
And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, 
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, 
And lift my soul to heaven. — Lead on, o' God's name. 

Lov. 1 do beseech your grace, for charity. 
If ever any malice in your heart 
Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. 

1 where : in f. e- 



Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you, 
As I would be forgiven : I forgive all : 
There cannot be those numberless offences 
'Gainst me, that I cannot take peace with : no black 

envy 
Shall make my grave. Commend me to his grace ; 
And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him. 
You met him half in heaven. My vows and prayers 
Yet are the king's ; and, till my soul forsake, 
Shall cry for blessings on him : may he live 
Longer than I have time to tell his years. 
Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be : 
And when old time shall lead him to his end. 
Goodness and he fill up one monument ! 

Lov. To the water side I must conduct your grace ; 
Then, give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux, 
Who undertakes you to your end. 

Vaux. Prepare there ! 

The duke is coming : see, the barge be ready ; 
And fit it with such furniture, as suits 
The greatness of his person. 

Buck. Nay, sir Nicholas, 

Let it alone : my state now will but mock me. 
When I came hither I was lord high constable. 
And duke of Buckingham ; now, poor Edward Bohun: 
Yet I am richer than my base accusers. 
That never knew wliat truth meant. I now seal it ; 
And with that blood will one day make them groan for 't. 
My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, 
Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, 
Flying for succour to his sei-vant Banister, 
Being distress'd, was by that wTetch betray'd. 
And without trial fell : God's peace be with him ! 
Henry the seventh succeeding, truly pitying 
My father's loss, like a most royal prince, 
R estor'd me to my honours, and out of rviins 
Made my name once more noble. Now, his son, 
Henry the eighth, life, honour, name, and all 
That made me happy, at one stroke has taken 
For ever from the world. - I had my trial. 
And, must needs say, a noble one ; which makes me 
A little happier than my wretched father; 
Yet thus far we are one in fortunes, — both 
Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most : 
A most unnatural and faithless service. 
Heaven has an end in all ; yet, you that hear me. 
This from a dying man receive as certain : 
Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels. 
Be .sure, you be not loose ; for those you make friends. 
And give your hearts to, wlien they once perceive 
Tlie least rub in your fortunes, fall away 
Like water from ye, never found again 
But when' they mean to sink ye. All good people, 
Pray for me. I must now forsake- ye : the last hour 
Of my long weary life is come upon me. 
Farewell : and when you wovild say something that is 

sad. 
Speak how I fell. — I have done, and God forgive me ! 

[Exeunt Buckingham, {jX. 

1 Gent. ! this is full of pity. — Sir, it calls, 
I fear, too many curses on their heads 

That were the authors. 

2 Gent. If the duke be guiltless, 
'T is full of woe : yet I can give you inkling 
Of an ensuing evil, if it fall. 

Greater than this. 

1 Gent. Good angels keep it from us ! 
What may it be ? You do not doubt my faith, sir? 

2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 't will require 



BCENE II. 



KING HENRY YIIL 



549 



Let me have it 



But that slander, sir, 



A strong faith to conceal it 

1 Gent. 
I do not talk much. 

2 Gent. I am confident : 

You shall, sir. Did you not of late days hear 
A buzzing of a separation 
Between the king and Katharine ? 

1 Gent. Yes, but it held not ; 
For when the king once heard it, out of anger 

He sent command to the lord mayor straight 
To stop the rumour, and allay those tongues 
That durst disperse it. 

2 Gent. 
Is found a truth now ; for it grows again 
Fresher than e'er it was, and held for certain 
The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal, 
Or some about him near, have out of malice 

To the good queen possessed him with a scruple, 
That will undo her : to confirm this, too, 
Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately, 
As all think, for this business. 

1 Gent. 'T is the cardinal ] 
And merely to revenge him on the emperor. 

For not bestowing on him, at his asking. 

The archbishoprick of Toledo, this is purpos'd. 

2 Gent I think, you have hit the mark : but is 't not 

cruel. 
That she should feel the smart of this ? The cardinal 
Will have his will, and she must fall. 

1 Ge7it. 'T is woful. 

We are too open here to argue this j 
Let 's think in private more. [Excimt. 

SCENE IL — An Ante-chamber in the Palace. 
Enter the Lord Chamberlain.^ reading a Letter. 

Cham. " My lord, — The horses your lordship sent 
for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, 
and furnished. They were young, and handsome, and 
of the best breed in the north. When they were 
ready to set out for London, a man of my lord cardi- 
nal's, by commission and main power, took them from 
me ; with this reason, — his master would be served 
before a subject, if not before the king ; which stopped 
our mouths, sir." 

I fear, he will, indeed. Well, let him have them : 
He will have all, I think. 

Enter the DvJcr.s of Norfolk and Suffolk. 

Nor. Well met, my lord chamberlain. 

Cham. Good day to both your graces. 

Siif. How is the king employ'd ? 

Cham. I left him private. 

Full of sad thoughts and troubles. 

Nor. What 's the cause ? 

Cham. It seems, the marriage with his brother's wife 
Has crept too near his conscience. 

Snf. No ; his conscience 

Has crept too near another lady. 

Nor. 'Tis so. 

This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal : 
That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune. 
Turns what he list. The king will know him one day. 

Siif. Pray God, he do : he '11 never know himself else. 

Nor. How holily he works in all his business. 
And with what zeal ; for, now he has crack'd the league 
Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew. 
He dives into the king's soul ; and there scatters 
Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience. 
Fears, and despairs, and all these for his marriage : 
And, out of all these, to restore the king, 

1 Not in f. e. 



He counsels a divorce ; a loss of her. 
That like a jewel has hung twenty years 
About his neck, yet never lost her lustre ; 
Of her, that loves him with that excellence 
That angels love good men with ; even of her 
That when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, 
Will bless the kin^. And is not this course pious ? 

Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel ! 'T is 
most true. 
These news are every where ; every tongue speaks them. 
And every true heart weeps for 't. All, that dare 
Look into these affairs, see this main end, — 
The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open 
The king's eyes, that have so long slept upon 
This bold bad man. 

Suf. And free us from his slavery. 

Nor. We had need pray, 
And heartily, for our deliverance. 
Or this imperious man will work us all 
From princes into pages. All men's honours 
Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd 
Into what pitch he please. 

Suf. For me, my lords, 

1 love him not, nor fear him ; there 's my creed. 
As I am made without him, so I '11 stand. 
If the king please : his curses and his blessings 
Touch me alike, they 're breath I not believe in. 
I knew him, and I know him ; so I leave him 
To him that made him proud, the pope. 

Nor. Let 's in, 

And with some other business put the king 
From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon 
My lord, you '11 bear us company ? [him. — 

Cham. Excuse me ; 

The king hath sent me other-where : besides, 
You '11 find a most unfit time to disturb him. 
Health to your lordships. 

Nor. Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. 

[Exit Lord Chamberlain. 

Curtain drawn : the King is discovered sitting, and 
reading pensively. 

Sdf. How sad he looks : sure, he is much afllicted. 

K. Hen. Who is there ? ha ! 

Nor. Pray God, he be not angry. 

K. Hen. Who 's there, I say ? How dare you thrust 
yourselves 
Into my private meditations? 
Who am I ? ha ! 

Nor. A gracious king, that pardons all offences, 
Malice ne'er meant : our breach of duty this way 
Is business of estate, in which we come 
To know your royal pleasure. 

K. Hen. Ye are too bold. 

Go to : I 'II make ye know your times of business : 
Is this an hour for temporal affairs ? ha ! — 

[Raising his book.' 
Enter Wolsey arul Campeius. 
Who 's there ? my good lord cardinal ? — ! my Wolsey, 
The quiet of my wounded conscience : 
Thou art a cure fit for a king. — You 're welcome, 

[To Campeius 
Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom : 
Use us, and it. — ]\Iy good lord, have great care 
I be not found a talker. [7b Wolsey, 

Wol. Sir, you cannot. 

I would, your grace would give us but an hour 
Of private conference. 

K. Hen. We arc busy: go. 

[To Norfolk and Suffolk, 



550 



KING HENRY YIU. 



ACT II. 



Nor. This priest has no pride in him. 

Suf. Not to speak of; 

I would not be so sick though for his place : 
But this cannot continue. )■ Aside. 

Nor. If it do, 

I '11 venture one heave at him. 

Suf. I another. 

[Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk. 

Wol. Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom 
Above all princes, in committing freely 
Your scruple to the voice of Christendom. 
Who can be angry now ? what envy reach you ? 
The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her, 
Must now confess, if they have any goodness, 
The trial just and noble. All the clerks, 
I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms 
Have their free voices : Rome, the nurse of judgment. 
Invited by your noble self, hath sent 
One general tongue unto us, this good man. 
This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius; 
Whom once more I present unto your highness. 

K. Hen. And once more in mine arms I bid him 
welcome, 
And thank the holy conclave for their loves : 
They have sent me such a man I would have wish'dfor. 

Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' 
loves, 
You are so noble. To your highness' hand 

[Kneeling and rising again.^ 
I tender my commission ; by whose virtue, 
(The court of Rome commanding) you, my lord 
Cardinal of York, are join'd with me, their servant, 
In the impartial judging of this business. 

K. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be ac- 
quainted 
Forthwith for what you came. — Where 's Gardiner? 

Wol. I know, your majesty has always lov'd her 
So dear in heart, not to deny her that 
A woman of less place might ask by law, 
Scholars, allow'd freely to argue for her. 

K. Hen. Ay, and the best, she shall have; and my 
favour 
To him that does best : God forbid else. Cardinal, 
Pr'ythee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary : 
I find him a fit fellow. [Exit Wolsey. 

Re-enter Wolsey, with Gardiner. 

Wol. Give me your hand : much joy and favour to 
you; 
You are the king's now. 

Gard. But to be commanded 

For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me. 

K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner. 

[ They walk and whisper. 

Cam. My lord of York, was not one doctor Pace 
In this man's place before him ? 

Wol. Yes, he was. 

Cam. Was he not held a learned man ? 

Wol. Yes, surely. 

Cam. Believe me, there 's an ill opinion spread, then. 
Even of yourself, lord cardinal. 

Wol. How ! of me ? 

Cam. They will not stick to say, you envied him ; 
And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, 
Kept him a foreign man still ; which so griev'd him, 
That he ran mad, and died. 

Wol. Heaven's peace be with him ! 

That 's Christian care enough : for living murmurers 
There 's places of rebuke. He was a fool. 
For he would needs be virtuous : that good fellow, 



If I command him, follows my appointment : 

I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, 

We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. 

K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the queen. — 

[£x«< Gardiner. 
The most convenient place that I can think of, 
For such receipt of learning, is Black-Friars : 
There ye shall meet about this weighty business. 
My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. — my lord ! 
Would it not grieve an able man, to leave 
So sweet a bedfellow ? But, conscience, conscience, — 

! 't is a tender place, and I must leave her. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — An Ante-chamber in the Queen's 

Apartments. 

Enter Anne Bullen, and an old Lady. 

Anne. Not for that neither : — here 's the pang that 
pinches ; 
His highness having liv'd so long with her. and she 
So good a lady, that no tongue could ever 
Pronounce dishonour of her : by my life. 
She never knew harm-doing. — ! now, after 
So many courses of the sun enthron'd. 
Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which 
To leave 's a thousand-fold more bitter, than 
Sweet at first t' acquire, — after this process, 
To give her the avaunt ! it is a pity 
Would move a monster. 

Old L. Hearts of most hard temper 

Melt and lament for her. 

Anne. 0, God's will ! much better, 

She ne'er had known pomp : though it be temporal, 
Yet; if that cruel fortune do divorce^ 
It from the bearer, 't is a sufferance panging 
As soul and body's severing. 

Old. L. Alas, poor lady ! 

She 's a stranger now again ? 

Anne. So much the more 

Must pity drop upon her. Verily, 

1 swear, 't is better to be lowly born. 
And range with humble livers in content. 
Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, 
And wear a golden sorrow. 

Old L. Our content 

Is our best ha\'ing. 

Anne. By my troth, and maidenhead, 

I would not be a queen. 

Old L. Beshrew me, I would. 

And venture maidenhead for 't ; and so would you, 
For all this spice of your hypocrisy. 
You that have so fair parts of woman on you, 
Have, too, a woman's heart ; which ever yet 
Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty : 
Which, to say sooth, are blessings, and which gifts 
(Saving your mincing) the capacity 
Of your soft cheveriP conscience would receive, 
If you might please to stretch it. 

Anne. Nay, good troth. 

Old L. Yes, troth, and troth. — You would not be a 
queen ? 

Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven. 

Old L. 'T is strange : a three-pence bowed would hire 
me. 
Old as I am, to queen it. But, I pray you, 
What think you of a duchess ? have you limbs 
To bear that load of title ? 

Anne. No, in troth. 

Old L. Then you are weakly made. Pluck off* a 
little : 



1 Not in f. e. ' if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce, &c. : in f. e. ^ Kid-skin. * Descend. 



SCENE IV. 



KING HENRY YIII. 



551 



I would not be a young count in your way, 
For more than blushing comes to. If your back 
Caimot vouchsafe this burden, 't is too weak 
Ever to get a boy. 

Anne. How you do talk ! 

I swear again, I would not be a queen 
For all the world. 

Old L. In faith, for little England 

You 'd venture an emballing :' I myself 
Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd 
No more to the crown but that. Lo ! who comes 
here ? 

Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 

Cham. Good morrow, ladies. What were 't worth 
to know 
The secret of your conference ? 

Anne. My good lord, 

Not your demand : it values not your asking. 
Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. 

Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming 
The action of good women : there is hope 
All will be well. 

Anne. Now, I pray God, amen ! 

Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly bless- 
ings 
Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, 
Perceive I speak sincerely, and high notes 
Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty 
Commends his good opinion of you to you, and 
Does purpose honour to you, no less flowing 
Than marchioness of Pembroke ; to which title 
A thousand pound a year, annual support, 
Out of his grace he adds. 

Anne. I do not know, 

Wliat kind of my obedience I should tender : 
More than my all is nothing; nor my prayers 
Are not M'ords duly hallow'd, nor my wishes 
More worth than empty vanities : yet prayers, and 

wishes, 
Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship, 
Vouchsafe to speak my thanks, and my obedience, 
As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness ; 
Whose health, and royalty, I pray for. 

Cham. Lady, 

I shall not fail t' improve'' the fair conceit. 
The king hath of you . — I have pcrus'd her well : [Aside. 
Beauty and honour in her are so mingled, 
That they have caught the king ; and who knows yet, 
But from this lady may proceed a gem 
To lighten all this i^sle?— [To her.] I 'II to the king, 
And say, I spoke with you. 

Anne. My honour'd lord. [Exit Lord Chamberlain. 

Old L. Why, this it is ; see, see ! 
I have been begging sixteen years in court, 
(Am yet a courtier beggarly) nor could 
Come pat betwixt too early and too late 
For any suit of pounds : and you. O fate ! 
A very fresh-fish here, (fie, fie, fie upon 
Tiiis compcll'd fortune!) have your mouth fill'd up, 
Before you open it. 

Anne. This is strange to me. 

Old L. How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no. 
There was a lady once, ('t is an old story) 
That would not be a queen, that would she not. 
For all the mud in Egypt : — have you heard it ? 

Anne. Come, you are pleasant. 

Old L. With your theme I could 

O'ermount the lark. The marchioness of Pembroke ! 
A thousand pounds a year for pure respect ; 



No other obligation. By my life, 
That promises more thousands : honour's train 
Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time, 
I know, your back will bear a duchess. — Say, 
Are you not stronger than you were ? 

Anne. Good lady. 

Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, 
And leave me out on 't. Would I had no being. 
If this elate^ my blood a jot ; it faints me. 
To think what follows. 
The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful 
In our long absence. Pray, do not deliver 
What here you 've heard, to her. 

Old L. What do you think me ? [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— A Hall in Black-Friars. 
Trumpet.'i, Sennet^ and Cornets. Enter two Vergers, 
with short silver TFands ; next them, two Scribes, in 
the habit of Doctors ; after them, the Archbishop of 
Canterbury alone; after him, the Bi.'ihops of hiN- 
coLN, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph ; next 
them, with .^ome small distance, folloics a Gentleman 
bearing the Purse, with the Great Seal, and a Car- 
dinaVs Hat ; then two Priests, bearing each a silver 
Cross ; then a Gentleman- Usher bare-headed, accom- 
panied with a Sergeant at Arms, b'earing a silver 
Mace ; then two Gentlemen, bearing two great .silver 
Pillars; after them, side by side, the two Cardinals 
WoLSEY and Campeius : two Noblemen with the 
Sword and Mace. The King takes place tinder the 
cloth of state ; the two Cardinals sit vnder him as 
judges. The Queen takes place at some distance from 
the King. The Bishops place themselves on each side 
the court, in manner of a consistory ; below them, the 
Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops. The rest 
of the Attendants .stand in converiient order about the 
stage. 

Wol. Whilst our commission from Rome is read. 
Let silence be commanded. 

K. Hen. What 's the need ? 

It hath already publicly been read. 
And on all sides th' authority allow'd; 
You may, then, spare that time. 

Wol. Be 't so. — Proceed. 

Scribe. Say, Henry king of England, come into the 

court. 
Crier. Uemy king of England. &c. 
K. Hen. Here. 
Scribe. Say, Katharine queen of England, come into 

the court. 
Crier. Katharine, queen of England, &c. 

[The Queen makes no answer, rises out of her chair, 
goes about the court, comes to the King, and 
kneels at his feet ; then speaks^ 
Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you, do me right and justice, 
And to bestow your pity on me ; for 
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, 
Born out of your dominions ; having here 
No judge indifieront. nor no more assurance 
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas ! sir, 
In what have I offended you ? what cause 
Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure. 
That thus you should proceed to put me oflf, 
And take your good grace from me ? Heaven witness, 
I have been to you a true and humble wife, 
At all times to your will conformable ; 
Ever in fear to kindle your dislike. 
Yea, subject to your countenance ; glad, or sorry, 
As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour 



» Referring to the ball, one of the royal insignia. '■' approve : in f. e. ^ salute : in f. e. 



552 



KING iie:n^ry Yin. 



ACT II. 



I ever contradicted your desire, 

Or made it not mine too ? or which of your friends 

Have I not strove to love, although I knew 

He were mine enemy ? what friend of mine, 

That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I 

Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice 

He was from thence discharged. Sir. call to mind 

That I have been your wife, in this obedience, 

Upward of twenty years, and have been blest 

With many children by you : if in the course 

And process of this time you can report. 

And prove it too, against mine honour aught, 

My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, 

Against your sacred person, in God's name. 

Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt 

Shut door upon me, and so give me up 

To the sharp'st knife' of justice. Please you. sir, 

The king, your father, was reputed for 

A prince most prudent, of an excellent 

An unmatch'd wit and judgment : Ferdinand, 

My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one 

The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by many 

A year before : it is not to be question'd 

That they had gather'd a wise council to them 

Of every realm, that did debate this business, 

Who deem'd our marriage lawful. Wherefore I humbly 

Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may 

Be by my friends in Spain advis'd, whose counsel 

I will implore : if not, i' the name of God, 

Your pleasure be fulfilled ! 

Wol. You have here, lady, 

(And of your choice) these reverend fathers; men 
Of singular integrity and learning. 
Yea, the elect o' the land, who arc assembled 
To plead your cause. It shall be therefore bootless. 
That longer you defer- the court, as well 
For your own quiet, as to rectify 
What is unsettled in the king. 

Cam. His grace 

Hath spoken well, and justly : therefore, madam, 
It 's fit this royal session do proceed. 
And that, without delay, their arguments 
Be MOW produc'd and heard. 

Q. Kath. Lord cardinal, 

To you I speak. 

Wol. Your pleasure, madam ? 

Q Kaih. Sir, 

I am about to weep ; but, thinking that 
We are a queen, (or long have dream'd so) certain 
The daughter of a king, my drops of tears 
I '11 turn to sparks of fire. 

Wol. Be patient yet. 

Q. Kaih. I will, when you are humble; nay, before, 
Or God will punish me. I do believe, 
Induc'd by potent circumstances, that 
You are mine enemy, and make my challenge : 
You shall not be my judge ; for it is you 
Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me, 
Which God's dew quench. — Therefore, I say again, 
I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul, 
Refuse you for my judge ; whom, yet once more, 
I hold my most malicious foe, and think not 
At all a friend to truth. 

Wol. I do profess. 

You speak not like yourself : who ever yet 
Have stood to charity, and display'd th' effects 
Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom 
O'ertopping woman's power. INIadam, you do me wrong : 
I have no spleen against you ; nor injustice 



For you, or any : how far I have proceeded. 

Or how far farther shall, is warraiited 

By a commission from the consistory. 

Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me, 

That I have blown this coal : I do deny it. 

The king is present : if it be known to him, 

That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, 

And worthily, my falsehood ; yea, as much 

As you have done my truth. If he know 

That I am free of your report, he knows, 

I am not of your wrong : therefore, in him 

It lies to cure me ; and the cure is, to 

Remove these thoughts from you: the which, before 

His highness shall speak in, I do beseech 

You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking. 

And to say so no more. ^ 

Q. Kath. My lord, my lord, 

I am a simple woman, much too weak 
To oppose your cunning. Y' arc meek and humble- 

mouth'd ; 
You sign your place and calling in full seeming. 
With meekness and humility ; but your heart 
Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. 
You have, by fortune and his highness' favours. 
Gone slightly o'er low steps, and now are mounted 
Where powers are your retainers ; and your words. 
Domestics to you, serve your will, as 't please 
Yourself pronounce their ofTice. I must tell you, 
You tender more your person's honour, than 
Your high profession spiritual ; that again 
I do refuse you for iny judge, and here, 
Before you all, appeal unto the pope. 
To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness. 
And to be judg'd by him. 

[She curtsies to the King., and offers to depart. 

Cam. Tlie queen is obstinate, 

Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and 
Disdainful to be tried by 't : 't is not well. 
She 's going away. 

K. Hen. Call her again. 

Crier. Katharine, queen of England, come into the 
court. 

Gent. Ush.^ Madam, you are call'd back. 

Q. Kath. What need you note it? pray you, keep 
your way : 
When you are call'd, return. — Now the Lord help ! 
They vex me past my patience. — Pray you, pass on. 
I will not tarry : no, nor ever more. 
Upon this business, my appearance make 
In any of their courts. 

[Exeunt Queen,'and her Attendants. 

K. Hen. Go thy ways, Kate : 

That man i' the world who shall report he has 
A better wife, let him in nought be trusted. 
For speaking false in that. Thou art alone 
(If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness. 
Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, 
Obeying in commanding, and thy parts 
Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out) 
The queen of earthly queens. — She 's nobly born ; 
And, like her true nobility, she has 
Carried herself towards me. 



Wol. 



Most gracious sir, 



In humblest manner I require your highness, 

That it shall please you to declare, in hearing 

Of all these ears, (for where I am robb'd and bound, 

There must I be unloos'd, although not there 

At once, and fully satisfied) whether ever I 

Did broach this business to your highness, or 



1 kind : in f. e. 2 desire : in f. e. ^ In some mod. eds. this speech is given, without warrant, to Griffith. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY YIII. 



553 



Laid any scniple in your way. wliich might 
Induce you to the question on 't ? or ever 
Have to you, but with thanks to God for such 
A royal Lady, spake one the least word, that might 
Be to the prejudice of her present state, 
Or touch of her good person ? 

K. Hen. My lord cardinal, 

I do excuse you ; yea. upon mine honour, 
I free you from 't. You are not to he taught 
That you have many enemies, that know not 
Why they are so, but, like to village curs, 
Bark when their fellows do : by some of these 
The queen is put in anger. Y' are excus'd : 
But will you be more justified ? You ever 
Have wisli'd the sleeping of this business ; never 
Desir'd it to be stirr'd ; but oft have hinder'd, oft, 
The passages made toward it. — On my honour, 
I speak my good lord cardinal to this point, 
And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me to't, 
I will be bold with time, and your attention : — 
Then, mark th' inducement. Thus it came ; — give 

heed to 't. 
My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness. 
Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd 
By the bishop of Bayonue, then French ambassador, 
Who had been hither sent, on the debating 
A' marriage 'twixt the duke of Orleans and 
Our daughter Mary. V the progress of this business, 
Ere a determinate resolution, he 
(I mean, the bishop) did require a respite ; 
Wherein lie might the king his lord advertise 
Whether our daughter were legitimate. 
Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, 
Sometime our brother's wife. This respite shook 
The bottom of my conscience, enter'd me, 
Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble 
The region of my breast ; which forc'd such way. 
That many maz'd considerings did throng, 
And press in with this caution. First, mcthought, 
I stood not in the smile of heaven ; who had 
Commanded nature, that my lady's womb. 
If it concciv'd a male child by me, should 
Do no more offices of life to 't, than 
The grave docs to the dead ; for her male issue 
Or died where they were made, or shortly after 
This world liad air'd them. Hence I took a thought. 
This was a judgment on me ; that my kingdom. 
Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not 
Be gladded in 't by me. Then follows, that 
I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in 



By this my iss^uo's fail ; and that gave to me 
Many a groaning throe. Thus, hulling'^ in 
The wild sea of my conscience. I did steer 
Toward this remedy, whereupon we are 
Now present here together ; that 's to say, 
I meant to rectify my conscience. — which 
I then did feel full sick, and yet not well. — 
By all the reverend fathers of the land, 
And doctors learn'd. First, I began in private 
With you, my lord of Lincoln : you remember 
How under my oppression I did reek, 
When I first mov'd you. 

Lin. Very well, my liege. 

K. Hen. I have spoke long: bepleas'd yourself to say 
How far you satisfied me. 

Lin. So please your highness, 

The question did at first so stagger me, — 
Bearing a state of mighty moment in "t. 
And consequence of dread. — that I committed 
The daringst counsel which I had to doubt, 
And did entreat your highness to this course, 
Which you are running here. 

K. Hen. I then mov'd you, 

My lord of Canterbury ; and got your leave 
To make this present summons. — Unsolicited 
I left no reverend person in this court ; 
But by particular consent proceeded, 
Under your hands and seals : therefore, go on ; 
For no dislike i' the world against the person 
Of the good queen, but the sliarp thorny points 
Of my alleged reasons drive this forward. 
Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life. 
And kingly dignity, we are contented 
To wear our mortal state to come with her, 
Katharine our queen, before the primest creature 
That 's paragon'd o' the world. 

Cam. So please your highness. 

The qvieen being absent, 't is a needful fitness 
That we adjourn this court till farther day : 
Meanwhile must be an earnest motion 
Made to the queen, to call back her appeal 
She intends unto his holiness. 

K. Hen. I may perceive, [Aside. 

These cardinals trifle with me : I abhor 
This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome. 
My learn'd and well-belov'd servant, Cranmer, 
Pr'ythee, return ! with thy approach. I know, 
My comfort comes along. [Aloud.] — Break up the 

court : 
I say, set on. [Exeunt, in manner as they entered. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— The Palace at Bridewell. 

A Room in the Queen's Apartment. 
The Queen, and her Women, as at work. 
Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench : my soul grows sad 
with troubles ; 
Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst. Leave working. 

SONG. 

Orph'^us ivith his lute mn/le trees. 
And the mountain-tnp.'^, that freeze, 

Bow themselves, when he did sing : 
To his music, plants, and floirers, 
Ever .-iprung ; as sun, and .showers, 

There luid made a lasting spring. 

1 And : in old copies. Pope made the change. * Driven to and fro 



Every thing that heard him play, 
Even the hilloirs of the sea. 

Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
In sweet music is such art, 
Killing care and grief of heart 

Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. 

Enter a Gentleman. 
Q. Kath. How now ! 

Gent. An 't please your grace, the two great cardinals 
Wait in the presence. 

Q. Kath. Would they speak with me ? 

Gent. They will'd me say so, madam. 

Q. Kath. Pray their graces 

by the -waves. 



554 



KING HENRY YIII. 



ACT m. 



To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their business 

With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour ? 

I do not like their coming, now I think on 't. 

They should be good men, their affairs as righteous ; 

But all hoods make not monks. 

Enter Wolsey and Campeius. 
Wol. Peace to your highness. 

Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a house- 
wife ; 

I would be all, against the worst may happen. 

What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords ? 
Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw 

Into your private chamber, we shall give you 

The full cause of our coming. 

Q. Kain. Speak it here. 

There 's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, 

Deserves a corner : would all other women 

Could speak this with as free a soul as I do ! 
My lords, I care not, (so much I am happy 
Above a number) if my actions 
Were tr'ed by every tongue, every eye saw them, 
Envy and base opinion set against them, 
I know my life so even. If your business 
Seek me out, and that way I am wife in. 
Out with it boldly : truth loves open dealing. 

Wol. Tanta est erga te mentis intcgritasj regina sere- 

nissimUj — 
Q. Kath. 0, good my lord, no Latin : 
I am not such a truant since my coming, 
As not to know the language I have liv'd in : 
A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, sus- 
picious ; 
Pray, speak in English. Here arc some will thank you, 
If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake : 
Believe me, she has had much wrong. Lord cardinal, 
The willing'st sin I ever yet committed 
May be absolv'd in English. 

Wol. Noble lady, 

I am sorry, my integrity should breed, 
(And service to his majesty and you) 
So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. 
We come not by the way of accusation, 
To taint that honour every good tongue blesses, 
Nor to betray you any way to sorrow ; 
You have too much, good lady ; but to know 
How you stand minded in the weighty difference 
Between the king and you, and to deliver, 
Like free and honest men, our just opinions. 
And comforts to your cause. 

Cam. Most honour'd madam, 

My lord of York, — out of his noble nature. 
Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace, 
Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure 
Both of his truth and him, (which was too far) — 
Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, 
His service and his counsel. 

Q. Kath. To betray me. [Aside. 

My lords, I thank you both for your good wills, 
Ye speak like honest men. (pray God, ye prove so !) 
But how to make ye suddenly an answer, 
In such a point of weight, so near mine honour, 
(More near my life, I fear,) with my weak wit, 
And to such men of gravity and learning. 
In truth, I know not. I was set at work 
Among my maids ; full little, God knows, looking 
Either for such men, or such business. 
For her sake that I have been, for I feel 
The last fit of my greatness, good your graces. 
Let me have time and counsel for my cause. 
Alas ! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless. 



Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these 
fears : 
Your hopes and friends are infinite. 

Q- Kath. In England, 

But little for my profit : can you think, lords. 
That any Englisliman dare give me counsel ? 
Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure, 
(Though he be grown so desperate to be honest) 
And live a subject ? Nay, forsooth, my friends. 
They that must weigh out my afflictions. 
They that my trust must grow to, live not here 
They are, as all my other comforts, far hence. 
In mine own country, lords. 

Cam. 1 would, your grace 

Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. 

Q. Kath. -How, sir ? 

Cam. Put your main cause into the king's pro- 
tection ; 
He 's loving, and most gracious : 't will be much 
Both for your honour better, and your cause • 
For if the trial of the law o'ertake you. 
You '11 part away disgrac'd. 

Wol. He tells you rightly. 

Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, — my ruin. 
Is this your Christian counsel ? out upon ye ! 
Heaven is above all yet : there sits a Judge 
That no king can corrupt. 

Cam. Your rage mistakes us. 

Q. Kath. The more shame for ye ! holy men I 
thought ye. 
Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues ; 
But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fear ye. 
Mend them for shame, my lords. Is this your com- 
fort? 
The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady ? 
A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd ? 
I will not wish ye half my miseries, 
I have more charity ; but say, I warn'd ye : 
Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once 
The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. 

Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction ; 
You turn the good we offer into envy. 

Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon ye, 
And all such false professors ! Would ye have me 
(If ye have any justice, any pity, 
If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits) 
Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me ? 
Alas ! he has banish'd me his bed already ; 
His love, too long ago : I am old, my lords, 
And all the fellowship I hold now with him 
Is onl}' my obedience. What can happen 
To me above this wretchedness ? all your studies 
Make me a curse like this. 

Cam. Your fears are worse. 

Q. Kath. Have I liv'd thus long — (let me speak 
myself. 
Since virtue finds no friends.) — a wife, a true one ? 
A woman (I dare say without vain-glory) 
Never yet branded with suspicion ? 
Have I with all my full affections 
Still met the king ? lov'd him next heaven ? obey'd 

him ? 
Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him ? 
Almost forgot my prayers to content him ? 
And am I thus rewarded ? 't is not well, lords. 
Bring me a constant woman to her husband, 
One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure, 
And to that woman, when she has done most. 
Yet will I add an honour, — a great patience. 

Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. 



SCENE II. 



KING HENKY YIII. 



555 



Q. Kath. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, 
To give up willingly that noble title 
Your master wed me to : nothing but death 
Shall e'er divorce my dignities. 

Wol. Pray, hear me. 

Q. Kath. Would I had never trod this English earth, 
Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it ! 
Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. 
What will become of me now, wretched lady ? 
I am the most unhappy woman living. — 
Alas ! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes ! 

[To her Women. 
Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity. 
No friends, no hope, no kindred weep for me, 
Almost no grave allow'd me. — Like the lily, 
That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd, 
I '11 hang my head, and perish. 

Wol. If your grace 

Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, 
You 'd feel more comfort. Why should we, good lady. 
Upon what cause, wrong you ? alas ! our places. 
The way of our profcs-^ion is against it : 
We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow them : 
For goodness' sake, consider what you do ; 
How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly 
Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage. 
The hearts of princes kiss obedience. 
So much they love it ; but to stubborn spirits, 
They swell, and grow as terrible as storms, 
I know, you have a gentle, noble temper, 
A soul as even as a calm : pray, think us 
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants. 

Cam. Madam, you '11 find it so. You wrong your 
virtues 
With these weak women's fears : a noble spirit. 
As yours was put into you, ever casts 
Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves you ; 
Beware, you lose it not : for us, if you please 
To trust us in your business, we are ready 
To use our utmost study in your service. 

Q. Kath. Do what ye will, my lords : and, pray, 
forgive me. 
If I have us'd myself unmannerly : 
You know I am a woman, lacking wit 
To make a seemly answer to such persons. 
Pray do my service to his majesty : 
He lias ray heart yet, and shall have my prayers, 
While I sliall have my life. Come, reverend fathers j 
Bestow your counsels on me : she now begs, 
That little thought, when she set footing here, 
She should have bought her dignities so dear. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Ante-chamber to the King's Apartment. 

Enter the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk, the 
Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain. 

Nor. If you will now unite in your complaints, 
And force them with a constancy, the cardinal 
Cannot stand under them : if you omit 
The offer of this time, I cannot promise, 
But that you shall .sustain more new disgraces, 
With these you bear already. 

Sur. I am joyful 

To meet the least occasion, that may give me 
Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke. 
To be rcveng'd on him. 

Siif. Which of the peers 

Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least 
Strangely neglected ? when did he regard 
The stamp of nobleness in any person, 

' Xow aU my joy ; in f. e. 



Out of himself ? 

Cham. My lords, you speak your pleasures. 

What he deserves of you and me, I know ; 
What we can do to him, (though now the time 
Gives way to us) I much fear. If you cannot 
Bar his access to the king, never attempt 
Any thing on him, for he hath a witchcraft 



Over the king in's tongue. 
Nor. 



! fear him not 



His spell in that is out : the king hath found 
Matter against him, that for ever mars 
The honey of his language. No, he 's settled, 
Not to come off. in his displeasure. 

Sur. ' Sir, 

I should be glad to hear such news as this 
Once every hour. 

Nor. Believe it, this is trae. 

In the divorce his contrary proceedings 
Are all unfolded ; wherein he appears, 
As I could wish mine enemy. 

Sur. How came 

His practices to light ? 

Suf. Most strangely. 

S«r, ! how ? how ? 

Suf. The cardinal's letter to the pope miscarried. 
And came to the eye o' the king ; wherein was read. 
How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness 
To stay the judgment o' the divorce ; for if 
It did take place, " I do," quoth he, " perceive. 
My king is tangled in affection to 
A creature of the queen's, lady Anne Bullen." 

Sur. Has the king this ? 

Suf. Believe it. 

Sur. Will this work ? 

Cham. The king in this perceives him, how he coasts. 
And hedges, his own way. But in this point 
All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic 
After his patient's death : the king already 
Hath married the fair lady. 

Sur. Would he had ! 

Suf. May you be happy in your wish, my lord ; 
For, I profess, you have it. 

Sur. Now may all joy* 

Trace the conjunction ! 

Suf. My amen to 't. 

Nor. All men's, 

Suf. There 's order given for her coronation : 
Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left 
To some ears unrecounted. — But, my lords, 
She is a gallant creature, and complete 
In mind and feature : I persuade me, from her 
Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall 
In it be memoriz'd. 

Sur. But, will the king 

Digest this letter of the cardinal's ? 
The lord forbid ! 

iYor. Marry, amen ! 

Suf. No, no : 

There be more wasps than buz about his nose. 
Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius 
Is stolen away to Rome ; hath ta'en no leave; 
Has left the cause o' the king unhandlcd, and 
Is posted as the agent of our cardinal, 
To second all his plot. I do assure you 



The king cried, ha ! at this. 

Cham. 
And let him cry ha ! louder. 

Nor. 
When returns Cranmer ? 



Now, God incense him, 
But, my lord. 



556 



KING HENRY YIII. 



ACT III. 



Srif. He is return'd in his opinions, which 
Have satisfied the king for his divorce. 
Together with all famous colleges 
Almost in Christendom. Shortly, I believe. 
His second marriage shall be publish'd, and 
Her coronation. Katharine no more 
Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager, 
And widow to prince Arthur. 

Nor. This same Cranmer 's 

A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain 
In the king's business. 

Si//. He has ; and we shall see him 

For it an archbishop. 

Nor. So I hear. 

Snf. 'T is so. 

The cardinal — • [T/iey stand back.^ 

Enter WoLSEY and Cromwell. 

Nor. Observe, observe ; he 's moody. 

Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king? 

Crom. To his own hand, in his bedchamber. 

Wol. Look'd he o' th' inside of the paper ? 

Crom. Presently 

He did unseal them, and the first he viewM, 
He did it with a serious mind; a heed 
Was in his countenance : you he bade 
Attend him here this morning. 

Wol. Is he ready 

To come abroad ? 

Crom. I think, by this he is. 

Wol. Leave me awhile. — [Exit Cromwell. 

It shall be to the duchess of Alen^on, 
The French king's sister : he shall marry her. — 
Anne Bullen ? No ; I '11 no Anne Bullens for him : 
There 's more in 't than fair visage. — Bullen ! 
No, we '11 no Bullens. — Speedily I wish 
To hear from Rome. — The marchioness of Pembroke ! 

Nor. He 's discontented. 

Si(f. May be, he hears the king 

Does whet his anger to him. 

Sur. Sharp enough, 

Lord ! for thy justice. 

Wol. The late queen's gentlewoman, a knight's 
daughter, 
To be her mistress' mistress ! the queen's queen ! — 
This candle burns not clear : 't is I must snuff it ; 
Then, out it goes. — What though I know her virtuous, 
And well deserving, yet I know her for 
A spleeny Lutheran ; and not wholesome to 
Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of 
Our hard-rul'd king. Again, there is sprung up 
An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer ; one 
Hath crawi'd into the favour of the kins, 
And is his oracle. [Retires, vtusing.^ 

Nor. He is vex'd at something. 

Suf. I would, 't were something that would fret the 
string, 
The master-chord on 's heart. 

Enter the King, reading a Schedule ; and Lovell. 

Svf. The king, the king ! 

K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated. 
To his own portion ! and what expense by the hour 
Seems to flow from him ! How, i' the name of thrift, 
Does he rake this together ? — Now, my lords : 
Saw you the cardinal ? 

Nor. My lord, we have [Coming for ivard.^ 

Stood here observing him. Some strange commotion 
Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts; 
Stops on a svidden, looks upon the ground. 
Then, lays his finger on his temple ; straight, 

1 2 3 4 Not in f. e. 6 leisure : in f. e, 



Springs out into fast gait ; then, stops again. 
Strikes his breast hard ; and anon he casts 
His eye against the moon. In most strange postures 
We have seen him set himself. 

K. Hen. It may well be : 

There is a mutiny in 's mind. This morning 
Papers of state he sent me to peruse, 
As I requir'd ; and, wot you, what I found 
There, on my conscience, put unwittingly? 
Forsooth an inventory, thus importing, — 
The several parcels of his plate, his treasure. 
Rich stulTs, and ornaments of household ; which 
I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks 
Possession of a subject. 

Nor. It 's heaven's will : 

Some spirit put this paper in the packet. 
To bless your eye withal. 

K. Hen. If we did think 

His contemplation were above the earth, 
And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still 
Dwell in his musings ; but, I am afraid. 
His thinkings are below the moon, not worth 
His serious considering. 

[He takes his scat, and whispers Lovell, ivho 
goes to Wolsey. 

Wol. Heaven forgive me ! [Amazedly.* 

Ever God bless your highness. 

K. Hen. Good my lord. 

You are full of heavenly stufl", and bear the inventory 
Of your best graces in your mind, the which 
You were now running o'er : you have scarce time 
To steal from spiritual labour^ a brief span, 
To keep your earthly audit. Sure, in that 
I deem you an ill husband, and am glad 
To have you therein mv companion. 

Wol. ' Sir, 

For holy offices I have a time ; a time 
To think upon the part of business, which 
I bear i' the state ; and nature does require 
Her times of preservation, which, perforce. 
I her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, 
Must give my tendance to. 

A'. Hen. ' You have said well. 

ll'ol. And ever may your highness yoke together. 
As I will lend you cause, my doing well 
With my well saying ! 

K. Hen. 'T is well said again; 

And 't is a kind of good deed to say well : 
And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you ; 
He said he did, and with his deed did crown 
His word vipon you : since I had my office, 
I have kept you next my heart ; have not alone 
Employ'd you where high profits might come home. 
But par'd my present havings, to bestow 
My bounties upon you. 

Wol. What should this mean ? [A.nde. 

Sur. The Lord increase this business ! [Behind. 

K. Hen. Have I not made you 

The prime man of the state ? I pray you. tell me, 
If what I now pronounce you haA^e found true ; 
And, if you may confess it, say withal, 
If you are bound to us, or no. What say you ? 

Wol. My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces, 
Shower'd on me daily, have been more than could 
My studied purposes requite ; which went 
Beyond all man's endeavours : my endeavours 
Have ever come too short of my desires. 
Yet fil'd with my abilities. Mine own ends 
Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed 



SCENE ir. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



557 



To the good of your most sacred person, and 
The profit of the state. For your great graces 
Heap'd upon me, poor undoserver, 1 
Can nothing render but allegiant thanks ; 
My prayers to heaven for you ; my loyalty, 
Which ever has, and ever shall be growing, 
Till death, that winter, kill it. 

A'. Hen. Fairly answer'd : 

A loyal and obedient subject is 
Therein illustrated. The honour of it 
Does pay the act of it ; as, i' the contrary, 
The foulness is the punishment. I presume. 
That as my hand has open'd bounty to you, 
My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honour, more 
On you than any • so your hand, and heart. 
Your brain, and every function of your power. 
Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, 
As 't were in love's particular, be more 
To mi^, your friend, than any. 

Wol. I do profess, 

That for your highness' good I ever labour'd 
More than mine own : that am, have, and will be — 
(Though all the world should crack their duly to you, 
And throw it from their soul : though perils did 
Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and 
Appear in forms more horrid) yet my duty, 
As doth a rock against the chiding flood. 
Should the approach of this Avild river break, 
And stand unshaken yours. 

K. Hen. 'T is nobly spoken. 

Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast, 
For you have seen him open 't. — Read o'er this : 

{Giving him Papers. 
And, after, this; and then to breakfast, with 
AVhat appetite you have. 

\Exit King, frotoiing; upon Cardinal Woi.sey: the 
Nobles throng after him. smiling, and whimpering. 

IVoL What should this mean? 

What sudden anger 's this ? how have I reap'd it? 
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin 
Leap'd from his eyes : so looks the chafed lion 
Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him, 
Then, mnkes him nothing. I must read this paper; 
I fear, the story of his anijer. — 'T is so : 

[Opens the Paper and reads, trembling. '^ 
This paper has xmdone mc ! — 'T is th' account 
Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together 
For mine own ends ; indeinl. to gain the popedom, 
And fee my friends in Rome. negligence ! 
Fit for a fool to fall by. What cross devil 
Made m(! put this main secret in the packet 
I sent the king ? Is then' no way to cure tiiis? 
No new device to beat this from his brains ? 
I know 't will stir him strongly ; yet I know 
A way. if it take right, in sjiite of fortune 
Will bring me off again. Wliat 's this? — '-'To the 

Pope?" 
The letter, a.s I live, with all the business 
I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell ! 
1 have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness, 
And from that full meridian of my nlory. 
T haste now to my setting : I shall fall 
Like a bright exhalation in the evening. 
And no mnn see me more. \!^inks in a chair.^ 

Rc-cntrr the Dukes o/Nouror.K and Siffolk, the 
Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain 



Into our hands, and to confine yourself 
To Ashcr^-housc, my lord of Winchester's, 
Till you hear farther from his highness. 

Wol. Stay : [Rising." 

Where 's your commission, lords ? words cannot carry 
Authority so weighty. 

Stif. Who dare cross them, 

Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly? 

Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it, 
(I mean your malice) know, officious lords, 
I dare, and must deny it. Now, I feel 
Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, — envy ; 
How eagerly ye follow my disgraces, 
As if it fed ye : and how sleek and wanton 
Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin. 
Follow your envious courses, men of malice : 
You liave Cln-istian warrant for them, and, no doubt, 
In time will find their fit rewards. That seal, 
You ask with such a violence, the king, 
(Mine, and your ma.ster) with his own hand gave me; 
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours. 
During my life, and to confirm his goodness. 
Tied it by letters patent. Now, who '11 take it ? 

Sur. The king that gave it. 

Wol. It must be himself, then. 

Si'r. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. 



Wol. 



Proud lord, thou liest ; 



Within these forty hours Surrey durst better 
Have burnt that tongue, than said so. 

Sur. Thy ambition, 

Thoji-scg-rlet sin. robb'd this bewailing land 
Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law: 
'J'he heads of all thy brother cardinals, 
(With thee, and all thy best parts bound together) 
Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy 
You sent me deputy for Ireland, 
Far from his succour, from the king, from all 
That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him; 
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, 
Absolv'd him with an axe. 

Wol. This, and all else 

This talking lord can lay upon my credit, 
I answer, is most false. The duke by law 
Found his deserts : how innocent I was 
From any private malice in his end. 
His noble jury and foul cause can witness. 
If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you, 
You have as little honesty as honour. 
That in the way of loyalty and truth 
Toward the king, my ever royal master. 
Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be, 
And all that love his follies. 

Sur. By my soul, 

Yoiu- long coat, priest, protects you : thou shouldst feel 
My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. — My lords. 
Can ve endure to hear this arrogance? 



Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal ; who 
commands you 
To render up the great seal presently 

» 2 Not in f. e. 3 Esher ♦ Not in f. e. 



And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely, 
To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet. 
Farewell nobility; let his grace go forw'ard. 
And dare us with his cap, like larks\ 

Wol. All goodness 

Is ]ioison to thy stomach. 

Stir. Yes, that goodness 

Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one. 
Into your own liands, cardinal, by extortion; 
The goodness of your intercepted packets, 
You writ to the pope, against the king ; your goodness, 
Since yon provoke me, shall be mo.st notorious. — 
My lord of Norfolk, — as you are truly noble, 

^ Larlvs are lured by small mirrors attached to scarlet cloth. 



558 



KING HENRY Vm. 



ACT ni. 



As you respect, the common good, the state 

Of our (IcHjiis'd nobility, our issues, 

(Who, if he live, will scarce bo j;eutlemcn) 

Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles 

OolU'clcd from his life. — I '11 startle you 

Worse than the siicring bell, when the brown wench 

Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal. 

U'ol. How much, melhinks, I could despise this man, 
But, that I am bound in charity against it. 

Nor. Those arlicles, my lord, are in the king's hand; 
But, thus nuich, they are foul ones. 

ll'ol. So much fairer, 

And spotless, shall mine innocence arise, 
When the king knows my truth. 

Stir. This cannot save you. 

I thank my memory, I yet remember 
Some of these arlicles ; and out they shall. 
Now, if you can blush, and cry guilty, cardinal, 
You '11 show a little honesty. 

JVol. Speak on, sir; 

I dare your Avorst objections : if I blush. 
It is to see a nobleman want manners. 

Sur. I had rather want those, than my head. Have 
at you. — 
First, that without the king's assent or knowledge, 
You wrought 1o be a legate: by which power 
You niaimd the jurisdiction of all bishops. 

Nor. Then, that in all you writ to Home, or else 
To foreign princes. Ego ct Rex mens 
Was still inscrib'd ; in which you brought the king 
To be your servant. 

Suf. Then, that without the knowledge 

Either of king or council, when you went 
Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold 
To carry into Flanders the great seal. 

Stir. Item, you sent a largo eonnnission 
To Gregory de Cassalis, to conclude. 
Without the king's will or the stale's allowance, 
A league between his highness and Ferrara. 

Suf. That out of mere ambition you have caus'd 
Your holy hat to bo stamp'd on the king's coin. 

Sur. Then, that you have sent innumerable sub- 
stance, 
(Hy what means got I leave to your own conscience) 
To furnish Home, and to prepare the ways 
You have for dignities; to the mere' umloing 
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are; 
Which, since they are of you. and odious, 
I will not taint my mouth with. 

Cham. O my lord ! 

Press not a falling man too far; 't is virtue. 
His faults lie open to the laws : let them. 
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him 
So little of his great self. 

Sur. I forgive him. 

Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's farther pleasure is, — 
Because all those things, you have done of late 
By yom- power legatine within this kingdom. 
Fail into the compass of a prcemunire, — 
That therefore such a writ be sued against you ; 
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements, 
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 
Out of the king's protection. — This is my charge. 

Nor. And so we '11 leave you to your meditations, 
How to live better. For your stubborn answer, 
Aliout the giving back the great seal to us, 
The king shall knoAV it, and, no doubt, shall thank you. 
So, fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. 

[Exeunt all but Wolsey 

> Absolute. 



Wol. So, farewell to the little good yoii bear mo. 
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
This is the state of man : to-day ho puts forth 
The tender leaves of Iiopes, to-morrow blossoms. 
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd. 
Like little waiUon hoys that swim on bladders, 
This many sunnners in a sea of glory, 
But far beyond my depth : my high blown pride 
At length broke under mc ; and now has left me. 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a nule stream, that nuisi, forever hide me. 
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate yo-: 
I feel my heart now open'd. O ! how wretched 
Is that poor nnin, that hangs on princes' favours. 
There is, betwi.\t that smile we would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin. 
More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; 
And when he falls, ho falls like Lucifer, 
Never to hope again. — 

Enter Ckomwell, amazedly. 

Why, how now, Cromwell ! 

Cram. I have no power to speak, sir. 

Wol. What ! amaz'd 

At my misfortunes ? can thy spirit wonder, 
A great man should decline ? Nay, an you weep, 
I am fallen indeed. 

Crom. How does your grace ? 

Wol. Why, well : 

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
I know myself now ; ami I feel within mc 
A peace above all earthly dignities, 
A still ami quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, 
I humbly thank his grace, and from these shoulders, 
These ruiu'd iiillars, out of pity, taken 
A load would sink a navy — too much honour. 
! 't is a bvu-den, Cromwell, 't is a burden, 
Tt)o heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. 

Crom. I am glad your grace has made that right 
use of it. 

Wol. I hope I have : I am able now, mcthinks, 
(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel) 
To endure more miseries, and greater far, 
Thau my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
What news abroad ? 

Crom. The heaviest, and the worst, 

Is your displeasure with the king. 

Wol. Cod bless him ! 

Cro)n. The next is, that sir Thomas JMore is 
chosen 
Lord Chancellor in your place. 



Wol. 



That 's somewhat sudden : 



But he's a learned man. May he eontitnio 
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice 
For truths sake, and his conscience; that his bones. 
When he has nm his course and sleeps in blessings. 
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em ! 
What more ? 

Crom. That Cranmer is returned with welcome, 
InstaU'd lord Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Wol. That 's news indeed ! 

Crom. Last, that the lady Anne, 

Whom the king hath in secrecy long married. 
This day was view'd in open, as his queen, 
Going to chapel; and the voice is now 
Only about her coronation. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



559 



Wol. There was the weight that pulled me down. 
Cromwell ! 
The king has gone beyond me : all my glories 
In that one woman I have lost for ever. 
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours, 
Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
Upon iny smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell ; 
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
To be thy lord and master. Sock the king ; 
(That sun, I pray, may never set!) I iiave told him 
What, and how true thou art : he will advance thee. 
Some little memory of me will stir him, 
(I know his noble nature) not to let 
Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, 
Neglect him not; make use' now, and provide 
For thine own future safety. 

Crom. O. my lord ! 

Must I then leave you ? must I needs forego 
So good, so noble, and .so true a master ? 
Bear witness all that have not hearts of iron, 
"With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. — 
The king shall have my service ; but my prayers, 
For ever and for ever, shall be yours. 

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my iniseries ; but thou hast forc'd me. 
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 
Let 's dry our eyes ; and thus far hear me, Cromwell : 
And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be. 
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 



Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee, 
Say, Wol.sey, that once trod the ways of glory. 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, 
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
Cromwell, 1 charge Ihee, Iling away ambition : 
By that sin fell the angels ; how can man, then, 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by ■ t ? 
Love thy.sclf last: cherish those liearts that hate thee: 
Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
To silence envious tongues : be just, and fear not. 
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's. 
Thy God's, and truth's : then, if thou fall'st, Crom- 
well ! 
Thou fall'st a blessed mart>T. 
Serve the king ; and. — Pr'ythee, lead me in : 
There take an inventory of all I have. 
To the last penny; 't is the king's : my robe. 
And my integrity to heaven, is all 
I dare now call mine own. Cromwell, Cromwell ! 
Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age 
Have left me naked to mine enemies. 

Crom. Good sir, have patience. 

Wol. So I have. — Farewell 

The hopes of court : my hopes in heaven do dwell. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— A Street in Westminster. 
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting. 

1 Gettt. You 're well met once again. 

2 Gent. So arc you. 

1 Gent. You come to take your stand here, and 

behold 
The lady Anne pass from her coronation ? 

2 Gent. '"T is all my business. At our last encounter, 
The duke of Buckingham came from his trial. 

1 Gent. 'T is very true; but that time ofTer'd sorrow, 
This, general joy. 

2 Gent. 'T is well : the citizens, 

I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds ; 
As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever forward 
In celebration of this day with shows, 
Pageants, and sights of honour. 

1 Gent. Never greater ; 
Nor, I 'U as.«ure you, better taken, sir. 

2 Gent. May I be bold to ask what that contains, 
That paper in your hand ? 

1 Gent. Yes ; 't is the list 
Of tho.sc that claim their offices this day. 

By custom of the coronation. 

The duke of Suffolk is the first, and claim.s 

To be high steward : next, the duke of Norfolk, 

He to be earl marshal. You may read the re.<;t. 

2 Gent. I thank you, sir ; had I not known those 

customs, 
I should have been beholding to your paper. 
But, I beseech you, what 's become of Katharine, 
The princess dowager? how goes her business? 

1 Geiit. That I can tell you too. The archbishop 
Of Canterbury, accompanied with other 

' Interest. 



Learned and reverend fathers of his order. 
Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles oflT 
From Ampthill, where the princess lay ; to which 
She was often cited by them, but appear'd not : 
And, to be short, for not appearance, and 
The kings late scruple, by the main assent 
Of all these learned men she was divorc'd. 
And the late marriage made of none effect : 
Since whicii she was removed to Kimbolton, 
Where she remains now, sick. 

2 Gent. Alas, good lady ! — 

[Triunpcts. 
The trumpets sound : stand close, the queen is corning. 

[Ilavtboys. 

THE ORDER OF THE COROXATION. 

A lively jlourish of Trumpets. 

1. Then, two Judges. 

2. Lord Chancellor, with purse and mace before him. 

3. Choristers .singing. [Music. 

4. Mayor of London hearing the mace. Then, Garter 

in his coat of arms ; and on his head he wore a 
gilt copper crown. 

5. Marquess Dorset, hearing a .sceptre of gold : on his 

head a dcmi-coronal of gold. With him the Earl 
of Surrey, bearing the rod of silver with the dove ; 
crowned ivith an earl's coronet. Collars of SS. 

6. Duke of Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his coronet on 

his head, hearing a long white wand, g.s high- 
steward. With him. the Duke of Norfolk, with 
the rod of marshalship ; a coronet on his head. 
Collars of SS. 

7. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports ; under it, 

the Queen in her robe; in her hair, richly adorned 



560 



KING HENEY VIII. 



ACT IV. 



On each side her, the 



with pearl, crowned. 

Bishops of London and Winchester. 

8. The old Duchess of Norfolk., in a coronal of gold, 

loroiight with flowers, bearing the Queen's train. 

9. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain circlets of 

gold ivithout flowers. 
2 Gent. A royal train, believe me. — These I know : 
Who 's that, that bears the sceptre ? 

1 Gent. Marquess Dorset : 
And that the earl of Surrey, with the rod. 

2 Gent. A bold brave gentleman. That should be 
The dnke of Suffolk. 

1 Gent. 'T is the same ; high-steward. 

2 Gent. And that my lord of Norfolk ? 

1 Gent. Yes. 

2 Gent. Heaven bless thee ! [Looking on the Queen. 
Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. — 

Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel : 

Our king has all the Indies in his arms. 

And more, and richer, when he strains that lady. 

I cannot blame his conscience. 

1 Gent. They, that bear 
The cloth of honour over her, are four barons 
Of the cinque-ports. 

2 Gent. Those men are happy ; and so are all; are 

near her. 
I take it, she that carries up the train 
Is that old noble lady, duchess of Norfolk. 

1 Gent. It is ; and all the rest are countesses. 

2 Gent. Their coronets say so. These are stars, 

indeed ; 
And sometimes falling ones. 

1 Gent. No more of that. 

[Exit Procession, ivith a great flourish of 

Trumpets. 
Enter a third Gentleman. 
God save you, sir ! Where have you been broiling ? 

3 Gent. Among the crowd 'i the abbey ? where a 

finger 
Could not be wedg'd in more : I am stifled 
Willi the mere rankness of their joy. 

2 Gent. You saw the ceremony ? 

3 Gent. That I did. 

1 Gent. How was it ? 

3 Gent. Well worth the seeing. 

2 Gent. Good sir. speak it to us. 

3 Gent. As well as I am able. The rich stream, 
Of lords and ladies, having brought the queen 

To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off 

A distance from her ; while her grace sat down 

To rest a while, some half an hour or so, 

In a rich chair of state, opposing freely 

The beauty of her person to the people. 

Believe me, sir. she is the goodliest womnn 

That ever lay by man : which when Ihc people 

Had the full view of, such a noise arose 

As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest 

As loud, and to as many tunes : hats, cloaks, 

(Doublets, I think) flew up; and had their faces 

Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy 

I never saw before. Great-bellied women. 

That had not lialf a week to go, like rams 

In the old time of war, would shake the pre? s. 

And make them reel before them. No man living 

Could say, " This is my wife,'' there; all were woven 

So stranscly in one piece. 

2 Geid. But, what follow'd ? 

3 Gent. At length her grace arose, and with modest 

paces 

1 Not in f. e. 



Came to the altar; where she kneel'd, and saint like 
Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly. 
Then rose again, and bowed her to the people : 
When by the archbishop of Canterbury 
She had all the royal makings of a queen ; 
As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown. 
The rod. and bird of peace, and all such emblems 
Laid nobly on her : which perform'd, the choir. 
With all the choicest music of the kingdom. 
Together sung Te Dcinn. So she parted. 
And with tlie same lull state pac'd back again 
To York-place, where the feast is held. 

1 Gent. Sir, 

You must no more call it York-place, that 's past; 
For, since the cardinal fell, that title 's lost : 
'T is now the king's, and call'd — Whitehall. -' 

3 Gent. I know it ; 

But 't is so lately alter'd, that the old name 
Is fresh about me. 

2 Gent. What two reverend bishops 
Were those that went on each side of the queen ? 

3 Gent. Stokesley and Gardiner ; the one of Win- 

chester, 
Newly prefcrr'd from the king's secretary ; 
The other. London. 

2 Gent. He of Winchester 

Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's, 
The virtuous Cranmer. 

3 Gent. All the land knows that. 
However, yet there 's no great breach .' when it comes, 
Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. 

2 Geni. Who may that be, I pray you ? 

3 Gent. Thomas Cromwell; 
A man in much esteem with the king, and truly 

A worthy friend. — The king has made him 

Master o' the jewel-house. 

And one, already, of the privy-council. 

2 Gent. He will deserve more. 

3 Gent. Yes, without all doubt. 
Ccme, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which 

Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests : 
Something I can command. As I walk thither, 
I "11 tell ye more. 

Both. You may command us, sir. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Kimbolton. 
Enter Katharine, Dowager, sick ; led between Grif- 
fith and Patience. 

Grif. How does your grace ? 

Kaih. 0, Griffith ! sick to death : 

My leg.*, like loaden branches, bow to the earth, 
Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair. — 

[Sits doivn.^ 
So. — now, mcthinks, I feel a little ease. 
Didst thou not tell me. Griffith, as thou led'st me, 
That the great child of honour, cardinal Wolsey, 
Was dead ? 

Crrif. Yes, madam ; but, I think, your grace, 
Out of the ])ain you suffered, gave no ear to 't. 

Kath. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died : 
If well, he stejip'd before me, happily, 
For my example. 

Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam : 

For after the stout earl Northumberland 
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward, 
As a man sorely tainted, to his answer, 
He fell .'-ick suddenly, and grow so ill. 
He could not sit his mule. 

Kath. Alas, poor man ! 



SCENE II. 



KING HENKY VIII. 



561 



Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester ; 
Lodg'd in the abbey, where the reverend abbot, 
With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him ; 
To whom he gave these words, — " O father abbot 
An old man, broken with the storms of state. 
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye : 
Give him a little earth for charity !" 
So went to bed, where eagerly his sickness 
Pursu'd him still ; and three nights after this, 
About the hour of eight, which he himself 
Foretold should be his last, full of repentance, 
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, 
He gave his honours to the world again, 
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 

Kath. So may he rest: his faults lie lightly' on him : 
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, 
And yet with charity. — He was a man 
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
Himself with princes ; one, that by suggestion 
Tied all the kingdom : simony was fair play; 
His own opinion was his law : i' the presence 
He would say untruths, and be ever double. 
Both in his words and meaning. He was never, 
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful : 
His promises were, as he then was, mighty) 
But his performance, as he is now, nothing. 
Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
The clergy ill example. 

Giif. Noble madam, 

Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
Wc write in water. May it please your highness 
To hear me speak his good now ? 

Kath. Yes, good Griffith ; 

I were malicious else. 

Grif. This cardinal, 

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
Was fashion'd to much honour from his cradle. 
He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one ; 
Exceeding wi.<e, fair spoken, and persuading: 
Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not ; 
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer: 
And though he were unsati.'^fied in getting, 
(Which was a sin) yet in bestowing, madam. 
He was most princely. Ever witnes.s for him 
Tho.se twins of learning, that he rais'd in you, 
Ipswich; and Oxford ! one of which fell with him. 
Unwilling to outlive the good man''' did it ; 
The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, 
So excellent in art, and still so rising. 
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 
His overthrow lieap"d happiness upon him ; 
For tlien, and not till then, he felt himself, 
And foiuid the blessedness of being little : 
And, to add greater honours to his age 
Than man could give him, he died fearing God. 

Kdth. After my death I wish no other herald, 
No other speaker of my living actions. 
To keep mine honour from corruption. 
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, 
With thy religious truth and modesty, 
Now in his ashes honour. Peace bo with him ! — 
Patience, be near me still : and set me lower : 
I have not long to trouble thee. — Good Griffith, 
Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating 
On that celestial harmony I go to. 

[Sad and solemn music. 

Grif. She is asleep. Good wench, let 's sit down quiet. 



For fear we wake her : — softly, gentle Patience. 

The Vision. Enter., solemnly tripping one after another^ 
six PcrsonagcSj clad in white robes, wearing 07i their 
heads garlands of bays, and golden vizards on their 
faces ; branches of bays, or palm, in their hands. They 
first congee unto her, then dance ; and, at certain 
changes, the first two hold a spare garland over her 
head ; at which, the other four make reverend curtesies : 
then, the two that held the garland deliver the .tarne 
to the other next two, tcho observe the same order in 
their changes, and holding the garland over her head. 
Which done, they deliver the same garland to the last 
two, who liketvise ob.<;erve the same order: at which, 
(as it were by in.'^piration) she makes in her sleep signs 
of rejoicing, and holdeth up her hands to heaven. And 
so in their dancing they vanish, carrying the garland 
with them. The music continues. 
Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye ? Are ye all 
gone, [ Waking. 

And leave me here in WTctchedness behind ye ? 
Grif. Madam, wc are here. 
Kath. It is not you I call for. 

Saw ye none enter, since I slept ? 

Grif. None, madam. 

Kath. No ! saw you not, even now, a blessed troop 

Invite me to a banquet ; whoso bright faces 

Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun? 

They promis'd me eternal happiness, 

And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel 

I am not worthy yet to wear : I shall, assuredly. 
Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 

Possess your fancy. 

Kath. Bid the music leave, 

They are harsh and heavy to me. \Music ceases. 

Pat. Do you note. 

How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden ? 

How long her face is drawn ? How pale she looks, 

And of an earthy coldness ?' Mark her eyes ! 
Grif. She is going, wench. Pray, pray. 
Pat. Heaven comfort her ! 

Enter a Messenger. 
Me.ts. An 't like your grace. — 
Kath. You are a saucy fellow : 

Deserve we no more reverence ? 

Grif. You are to blame, 

Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness, 

To use so rude behaviour : go to ; kneel. 

3Iess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon: 

[Kneeling.* 

My haste made me luimannerly. There is staying 

A gentleman, sent from the king to see you. 

Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith : but this fellow 

Let me ne'er see again. 

[Excimt Griffith and Messenger. 
Re-enter Griffith, icith Capl'cius. 
If my sight fail not, 

You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, 

My royal ncpliew; and your name Capucius. 
Cap. Madam, the same, your servant. 
Kath. my lord ! 

The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely 

With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you, 

Wiiat is your pleasure with me ? 

Cap. Noble lady. 

First, mine own service to your grace ; the next, 

The king's request that I would visit you ; 

Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me 

Sends you his princely commendations, 

And heartily entreats you take good comfort. 



1 gently : in f. e. * that : in f. c. ' cold : in if. e. * Not in f. e. 

36 



562 



KING IIENKY VIII. 



ACT V. 



Kath. ! my good lord, that comfort comes too late : 
'T is like a pardon after excculion. 
That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me ; 
But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. 
How does his highness ? 

Cap. Madam, in good health. 

Kath. So may he ever do; and ever flourish, 
When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name 
Banish'd the kingdom. — Patience, is that letter, 
I caus'd you write, yet sent away? 

Pat. No, madam. [Giving it to Katharine. 

Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver 
This to my lord the king. 

Cap. Most willing, madam. 

Kath. In wliich I have commended to his goodness 
The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter : — 
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her ! 
Beseeching him to giA'e her virtuous breeding. 
She is young, and of a noble modest nature, 
I hope, she will deserve well : and a little 
To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him. 
Heaven knows liow dearly. My next poor petition 
Is, that his noble grace would have some pity 
Upon my wretched women, that so long. 
Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully: 
Of which there is not one, I dare avow, 
(And now I should not lie) but will deserve, 
For virtue, and true beauty of the soul. 
For honesty, and decent carriage, 



A right good husband, let him be a noble ; 

And, sure, those men arc happy that shall have them. 

The last is, for my men : — they are the poorest, 

But poverty could never draw them from me : — 

That they may have their wages duly paid them, 

And something over to remember me by : 

If heaven had plcas'd to haA'e given me longer life. 

And able means, we had not parted thus. 

These are the whole contents : — and, good my lord. 

By that you love the dearest in this world. 

As you wish Christian peace to souls departed, 

Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king 

To do me this last right. 

Cap. By heaven, I will. 

Or let me lose the fashion of a man ! 

Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me 
In all humility unto his highness : 
Say, his long trouble now is passing 
Out of tills world: tell him, in death I bless"d him, 
For so I will. — Mine eyes grow dim. — Farewell, 
My lord. — Gritntli. farewell. — Nay, Patience, 
You must not leave me yet : I must to bed ; 
Call in more women. — When I am dead, good wench. 
Let me be us'd with honour : strew me over 
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know 
I was a chaste wife to my grave. Embalm me ; 
Then lay me forth : although unqueen'd, yet like 
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
I can no more. — [Exeunt, leading Katharine. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— A Gallery in the Palace. 

Enter Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester., a Page ivith a 

Torch before him ; met by Sir Thomas Lovkll. 

Gar. It 's one o'clock, boy, is 't not ? 

Boy. It hath struck. 

Gar. These should be hours for necessities, 
Not for delights ; times to repair our nature 
With comforting repose, and not for us 
To waste these times. — Good hour of night, sir Thomas : 
Whither so late ? 

Lav. Came you from the king, my lord? 

Gar. I did, sir Thomas ; and left him at primero 
With the duke of Suflblk. 

Lov. I must to him too. 

Before he go to bed. I '11 take my leave. 

Gar. Not yet. sir Thomas Lovcll . What 's the matter ? 
It seems you are in haste : an if there be 
No great oflence belongs to 't, give your friend 
Some touch of your late business. Affairs that walk 
(As, they say, spirits do) at midnight have 
In them a wilder nature, than the business 
That seeks despatch by day. 

Lov. My lord, I love you. 

And durst commend a secret to your ear 
Much weightier than this work. The queen 's in 

labour ; 
They say, in great extremity, and fear'd. 
She '11 with the labour end. 

Gar. The fruit she goes with 

I pray for heartily ; that it may find 
Good time, and live : but for the stock, sir Thomas, 
I wish it grubb'd up now. 

Lov. Methinks, I could 



Cry thee amen ; and yet my conscience says 
She 's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does 
Deserve our better wishes. 

Gar. But, sir, sir, — 

Hear me, sir Thomas : y' are a gentleman 
Of mine own way ; I know you wise, religious ; 
And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, 
'T will not, sir Thomas Lovcll, take 't of me. 
Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she. 
Sleep in their graves. 

Lov. Now. sir, you speak of two 

The most remark'd i' the kingdom. As for CromAvcll, 
Beside that of the jewel-house, he 's' made master 
0' the rolls, and the king's secretary; farther, sir, 
Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments, 
With which the time will load him. Th' arehbi.^hop 
Is the king's hand, and tongue ; and who dare speak 
One syllable against him ? 

Gar. Yes, yes, sir Thomas, 

There are that dare ; and I my^^elf have ventur'd 
To speak my mind of him : and, indeed, this day. 
Sir, (I may tell it you) I think, I have 
Incens'd the lords o' the counsel, that he is 
(For so I know he is, they know he is) 
A most arch heretic, a pestilence 
That does infect the land : with which they moved 
Have broken with the king ; who hath so far 
Given ear to our complaint, (of his great grace 
And princely care, foreseeing those fell mischiefs 
Our reasons laid before him) hath commanded. 
To-morrow morning to the council-board 
He be convented'-. He 's a rank weed, sir Thomas, 
And we must root him out. From your affairs 
I hinder you too long : good night, sir Thomas. 



is : in folio. Theobald made the change. ^ Summoned. 



SCENE I. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



563 



Lov. ]\lany good nights, my lord. I rest your 
servant. [Exeunt Gaudiner and Page. 

As LovELL is going out, enter the King, and the Duke 
of Suffolk. 
K. Hen. Charles, I will play no more to-night : 
My mind 's not on 't ; you are too hard for me. 
Si(f. Sir, I did never win of you before 
K. Hen. But litde, Charles : 
Nor shall not when my fancy 's on my play. — 
Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the news? 

Lov. I could not personally deliver to her 
What you commanded mc, but by lier woman 
I sent your mef-sage ; who relurn'd her thanks 
In the greatest humbleness, and desir'd your highness 
]Most heartily to pray for her. 

K. Hen. What say'st thou ? ha ! 

To pray for her? wliat ! is she crying out? 

Lov. So said her woman ; and that her sufferance 
made 
Ahnost each pang a death. 

K. Hen. Alas, good lady ! 

Siif. God safely quit her of her burden, and 
With gentle travail, to the gladding of 
Your iiighness with an heir ! 

A'. Hen. 'T is midnight, Charles: 

Pr'ythee, to bed ; and in thy prayers remember 
Th' estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone, 
For I must think of that, which company 
Would not be friendly to. 

Suf. I wish your highness 

A quiet night ; and my good mistress will 
Ilemember in my prayers. 

K. Hen. Cliarles, good night. — [Exit Suffolk. 
Enter Sir Anthony Denny. 
Well, sir. what follows? 

Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop, 
As you commanded mc. 

K. Hen. Ha! Canterbury? 

Den. Ay, my good lord. 

A'. Hen. 'T is true : where is he, Denny? 

Den. He attends your highnes.s' pleasure. 

K. Hen. Bring him to us. [Exit Denny. 

Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake : 

[Aside. 
I am happily come hither. 

Re-enter Denny, with Cranmer. 
K. Hen. Avoid the gallery. [Lovell seems to stay. 
Ha ! — I have said. — Be gone. 

What ! — [Exeunt Lovell and Denny. 

Cran. I am fearful. — Wherefore frowns he thus ? 

[Aside.^ 
'T is his aspect of terror : all 's not well. 

K. Hen. How now, my lord ! You do desire to know 
Wherefore I sent for you. 

Crnn. It is my duly [Kneeling^' 

T' attend your highness' pleasure. 

K. Hen. ' Pray you, arise, 

My good and gracious lord of Canterbury. 
Come, you and I must walk a turn together ; 
I have news to tell you 

hand. 
Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak, 
And am right sorry to repeat what follows. 
I have, and most unwillingly, of late 
Heard nniny grievous, I do say, my lord, 
Grievous complaints of you ; which being considcr'd 
Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall 
This morning come before us : where, I know, 
You cannot with such freedom purge yourself, 

1 '" Not in f. e. 3 you : in f. e. ♦ ' Not in f. e. ' good : in f. e 



Come, come, give mc your 



But that, till farther trial in those charges 
Which will require your answer, you must take 
Your patience to you, and be well contented 
To make your hou.se our Tower : to^" a brother of us 
It fits me thus proceed, or else no witness 
Would come against you. 

Cran. I humbly thank your highness, 

And am right glad to catch this good occasion 

[Kneeling.* 
Most thoroughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff 
And corn shall fly asunder ; for, I know, 
There 's none stands under more calumnious tongues 
Than I myself, poor man. 

^- Hen. Stand up, good Canterbury : 

Thy truth, and thy integrity, is rooted 
In us. thy friend. Give me thy hand, stand up : 

[Rising." 
Pr'ythee, let's walk. Now, by my holy dame. 
What manner of man are you ? My lord, I look'd 
You would have given me your petition, that 
I sliould have ta'en some pains to bring together 
Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard you, 
Without induranee, farther. 

Cran. Most dread liege, 

Tlie ground' I stand on, is my truth, and honesty : 
If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies. 
Will triumpli o'er my person, which I weigh not, 
Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing 
What can be said against me. 

K. Hen. Know you not 

How your state stands i' the world, with the whole 

world ? 
Your enemies are many, and not small ; their practices 
Must bear the same proportion : and not ever 
The justice and the truth o' the question carries 
The due o' the verdict with it. At what ease 
Might corrupt minds procure knaves, as corrupt 
To swear against you : such things have been done : 
You are potently oppos'd, and witli a malice 
Of as great size. Ween you of better luck, 
I mean in perjur'd witness, than your Master, 
Whose minister you are, whiles here he liv'd 
Upon this naughty earth ? Go to, go to : 
You take a precipice for no leap of danger 
And woo your own destruction. 

Cran. God, and your majesty, 

Protect mine innocence, or I fall into 
The trap is laid for me ! 

K- Hen. Be of good cheer ; 

They shall no more prevail, than we give way to. 
Keep comfort to you ; and this morning, see 
You do appear before them. If tliey shall chance, 
In charging you with matters, to commit you, 
The best persuasions to the contrary 
Fail not to use, and with what vehemency 
The occasion shall in,<<truet you : if entreaties 
Will render you no remedy, this ring 
Deliver them, and your appeal to us 
There make before them. — Look, the good man weeps : 
He 's honest, on mine honour. God's blest mother ! 
I swear, he is true-hearted ; and a soul 
None better in my kingdom. — Get you gone. 
And do as I have bid you. — [Exit Cranmer.] He has 

strangled 
His language in his tears. 

Enter an old Lady, in haste. 

Gent. [Jf7///m.] Comeback: what mean you? 

Ludij. I "11 not come back; the tidings that I bring 
Will make jny boldness manners. — Now, good angels 



564: 



KING HENRY VIII. 



ACT V. 



Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person 
Under their blessed wings ! 

K. Hen. Now. by thy looks 

I guess thy message. Ts the queen deliver'd ? 
Say, ay ; and of a boy. 

Lady. Ay, ay, my liege ; 

And of a lovely boy : the God of heaven 
Both now and ever ble.^s her ! — 't is a girl, 
Pi'omises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen 
Desires your visitation, aiid to be 
Acquainted with this stranger : 't is as like you, 
As cherry is to cherry. 

K. Hen. Lovell ! 

Re-enter Lovell. 

Lou. Sir. 

K. Hen. Give her an hundred marks. I '11 to the 
queen. [Exit King. 

Lady. An hundred marks ! By this light, I "11 ha' 
more. 
An ordinary groom is for such paym.ent : 
I will have more, or scold it out of him. 
Said I for this the girl was like to him ? 
I will have more, or else unsay 't : and now, 
While it is hot. I '11 put it to the issue. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Lobby before the Council-Chamber. 
Enter Cranmer ; Servants., Door-Keeper^ Ifc. attending. 

Cran. I hope I am not too late ; and yet the gentle- 
man, 
That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me 
To make great haste. All fast ! what means this ? 

Hoa! 
Who waits there ? — Sure, you know me ? 

D. Keep. Yes, my lord ; 

But yet I cannot help you. 

Cran. Why? 

D. Keep. Your grace mu.st wait till you be call'd for. 
Enter Doctor Butts. 

Cran. So. 

Butts. This is a piece of malice. I am glad, [A.side. 
I came this way so happily : the king 
Shall understand it presently. [Exit Butts. 

Cran. 'T is Butts, 

The king's physician. As he past along. 
How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me. 
Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace ! For certain. 
This is of purpose laid by some that hate me, 
(God turn their hearts ! I never sought their malice) 
To quench mine honour : they would shame to make me 
Wait else at door, a fellow-counsellor 
'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures 
]Must be fultill'd. and I attend witli pnticnce. 

Enter the King and Butts, at a icindoio above. 

Butts. I '11 show your srace the strangest sisht. — 

K.Hcn. ~ What's that, Butts? 

Butts. I think, your highness saw this many a day. 

A*. Hen. Body o' me, where is it? 

Butts. There, my lord : 

The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury ; 
Who holds his stale at door, 'mongst pursuivants, 
Pages, and footboys. 

K. Hen. Ha ! 'T is he, indeed. 

Is this the honour they do one another ? 
'T is well, there 's one above 'em yet. I had thought, 
They had parted so much honesty among 'em, 
(At least good manners) as not thus to suffer 
A man of his place, and so near our favour. 
To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures. 
And at the door too, like a post with packets. 

1 capable : in f. e. = stirs : in f. e. Satin f. e. 



By holy Mary, Butts, there 's knavery : 

Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close; 

We shall hear more anon. — [Exeunt. 

THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER. 

Enter the Lord Chancellor, the Dvke of Suffolk, Earl 
o/ Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, GPLRDWEn., and Crom- 
well. The Chancellor places himself at the -upper end 
of the table on the left hand ; a .seat being left void 
above him, as for the Archbishop of Canterbury. 
The rest .scat themselves in order on each side. Crom- 
well at the lower end, as secretary. 
Chan. Speak to the business, master secretary : 
Why are we met in council ? 

Crom. Please your honours, 

The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury. 
Gar. Has he had knowledge of it ? 
Crom. Yes. 

Nor. Who waits there ? 

D. Keep. Without, my noble lords? 
Gar. Yes. 

D. Keep. My lord archbishop; 

And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. 
Chan. Let him come in. 

D. Keep. Your grace may enter now. 

[Cranmer approaches the Council-table. 
Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry 
To sit here at this present, and behold 
That chair stand empty: but we all are men, 
In our own natures frail, and culpable' 
Of our flesh : few are angels : out of which frailty. 
And want of wisdom, you. that best should teach us, 
Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little, 
Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling 
The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chaplains, 
(For so we are inform'd) with new opinions, 
Divers, and dangerous ; which are heresies. 
And. not reform'd, may prove pernicious. 

Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, 
My noble lords ; for those that tame wild horses 
! Pnee them not in their hands to make them gentle, 
But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur 

them. 
Till they obey the manage. If we suffer. 
Out of our easiness and childish i)ity 
To one man's honour, this contagious sickness, 
Farewell all phy.eic : and what follows then? 
Commotions, uproars, with a general taint 
Of the whole state : as, of late days, our neighbours, 
The upper Germany, can dearly witness. 
Yet freshly pitied in our memories. 

Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress 
Both of my life and office, I have labour'd. 
■ And with no little study, that my teaching, 
' And the strong course of my authority. 
Might go one way, and safely ; and the end 
Was ever, to do well : nor is there living 
(I speak it with a single heart, my lords.) 
A man, that more detests, more strives'' against 
I Both in his private conscience and his place, 
I Defaccrs of the^ public peace, than I do. 
Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart 
With less allegiance in it ! Men, that make 
Envy and crooked malice nourishment, 
Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships. 
That in this case of justice, my accusers. 
Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, 
And freely urge against me. 

Svf. Nay, my lord, 

i That cannot be : you are a counsellor, 



SCENE II. 



KING HENEY VIII. 



565 



And by that virtue no man dare accuse you. 

Gar. My lord, because we have bu.«iuess of moi'e 
moment, 
We will be short with yon. 'T is his liighness' pleasure. 
And our consent, for better trial of you, 
From hence you be committed to the Tower : 
Where, being but a private man again, 
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, 
j\Iore than, I fear, you are provided for. 

Cran. Ah ! my good lord of Winchester, I thank you; 
You are always my good friend : if your will pass, 
I shall both find your lordship judge and juror^ 
You are so merciful. I see your end ; 
'T is my undoing. Love and meekness, lord, 
Become a churchman better than ambition : 
Win straying souls with modesty again, 
Cast none away. That I shall clear myself, 
Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, 
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience 
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more, 
But reverence to your calling makes me modest. 

Gar. jNIy lord, my lord, you are a sectary : 
That's the plain truth : your painted gloss discovers. 
To men that understand you, words and weakness. 

Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little, 
By yoiir good favour, too sharp : men so noble, 
However faulty, yet should find respect 
For what they have been : 't is a cruelty, 
To load a falling man. 

. Gar. Good master secretary 

I cry yovir honour mercy : you may, worst 
Of all this table, say so. 

Crom. Why, my lord? 

Gar. Do not I know ypu for a favourer 
Of this new sect ? ye are not sound. 

Crom. Not sound ? 

Gar. Not sound, I say. 

Crom. Would you were half so honest ; 

Men's prayers, then, would seek you, not their fears. 

Gar. I shall remember this bold language. 

Crom. Do : 

Remember your bold life too. 

Chan. This is too much : 

Forbear, for shame, my lords. 

Gar. I have done. 

Crom. . And L 

Chan. Then thus for you, my lord. — It stands agreed, 
I take it, by all voices, tliat forthwith 
You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner; 
Tliere to remain, till the king's farther pleasure 
Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords ? 

All. We are. 

Cran. Is there no other way of mercy, 

But I must needs to the Tower, my lords ? 

Gar. What other 

Would you expect ? You are strangely troublesome. 
Let some o' the guard be ready there. 

Cran. For me? 

Must I go like a traitor thither? 
Enter Guard. 

Gar. Receive him. 

And see him safe i' the Tower. 

Cran. Stay, good my lords ; 

I have a little yet to say. — Look there, my lords : 
By virtue of that ring I take my cause 
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it 
To a most noble judge, the king my master. 

Chan. This is the king's ring. 

Stir. 'T is no counterfeit. 



Suf. 'T is the right ring, by heaven ! I told ye all, 
When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 
'T would fall upon ourselves. 

Nor. Do you think, my lords, 

The king will suflTer but the little finger 
Of this man to be vex'd ? 

Cham. 'T is now too certain, 

How much more is his life in value with him. 
Would I were fairly out on't. 

Crom. My mind gave me, 

In seeking tales, and informations, 
Against this man, whose honesty the devil 
And his disciples only envy at, 
Ye blew the fire that burns ye. Now, have at ye. 
Enter the King^ froivning on them: he takes his seat. 

Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to 
heaven 
In daily tlianks, that gave us such a prince; 
Not only good and wise, but most religious: 
One that in all obedience makes the church 
The chief aim of his honour ; and, to strengthen 
That holy duty, out of dear respect. 
His royal self in judgment comes to hear 
The cause betwixt her and this great offender. 

K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commenda- 
tions, 
Bishop of Winchester ; but know, I come not 
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence : 
They are too thin and base to hide oflTences. 
To me you cannot reach. You play the spaniel. 
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me 
But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for. I 'm sure, 
Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody. — 
Good man, [To Cranmeu.] sit down. Now, let me see 
the proudest. [Cr.vnmer sits.^ 

He that dares most, but wag his finger at thee : 
By all that 's holy, he had better starve, 
Than but once think this' place becomes thee not. 

Siir. May it please your grace. — 

A'. Hen. No, sir, it does not please me. 

I had thought, I had had men of some understanding 
And wisdom of my council ; but I find none. 
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man. 
This good man, (few of you deserve that title) 
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy 
At chamber door ? and one as great as you are ? 
Why, what a shame was this ! Did my commission 
Bid ye so far forget yourselves ? I gave ye 
Power, as he was a counsellor to try him. 
Not as a groom. There 's some of ye, I see, 
More out of malice than integrity, 
Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean ; 
Which ye shall never have the while I live. 

Chan. Thus far, 

My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace 
To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd 
Concerning his imprisonment, wa,s rather 
(If there be faith in men) meant for his trial, 
And fair purgation to the world, than malice, 
I 'm sure, in me. 

A". lien. Well, well, my lords, respect him : 

Take him, and use him well ; he 's worthy of it. 
I will say thus nuich for him : if a prince 
May be beholding to a subject, I 
Am, for his love and service, so to him. 
Make me no more ado. but all embrace him : 

[They embrace him: Gardiner last.'' 
Be friends, for shame, my lords ! — My lord of Canter- 
bury, 



' Not in f. e. = his : in folio. Rowe made the change. 3 This direction not in f. e. 



5G6 



KING II EN 11 Y YIII. 



ACT V. 



[Exeunt. 



I have a suit which you must not deny me ; 

Tliat is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism, 

You must be godfatlicr. and answer Tor licr. 

Crun. Tlie greatest monarch now alive may glory 
In such an honour : how may I deserve it, 
That am a poor and humble subject to you ? 

K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you 'd spare your 
spoons' . 
You shall liave two noble partners with you ; 
The old duchess of Norfolk, and lady marquess Dorset : 
Will these jjleasc you ? 

Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, 
Embrace and love this man. 

(iar. With a true heart, 

And brother's love, I do it. | Embrace again.^ 

Cran. And let heaven 

Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. 

K. Hen. Good man ! tliose joyful tears show thy 
The common voice, I see, is verified firue iieart. 

Of thee, which says thus, " Do my lord of Canterbury 
A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever." — 
Come, lords, we trifle time away ; T long 
To have this young one made a Christian. 
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain ; 
So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. 

SCENE III.— The Palace Yard. 
Noi.'ie and Tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man. 

Port. You '11 leave your noise anon, ye rascals : do 
you take the court for Paris-garden^ ? ye rude slaves, 
leave your gaping. 

\lVilhiri.] Good master porter. I belong to llie larder. 

Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you 
rogue ! Is this a place to roar in? — Fetch me a dozen 
crab-tree staves, and strong ones : these are but switches 
to them. — I '11 scratch your heads : you must be seeing 
christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, 
you rude rascals ? [Tumult within.*] 

Man. Pray, sir, be patient : 'tis as much impossible, 
Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons. 
To scatter 'em, as 't is to make 'cm sleep 
On May-day morning ; which will never be. 
We may as well push against Paul's, as stir 'em. 

Port. How got they in. and he hang'd? 

Man. Alas, I know not : how gets the tide in ? 
As miu'h as one sound cudgel of four foot 
(You see the poor remainder) could distribute, 
I made no spare, sir. 

Port. You did nothing, sir. 

Man. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Colbrand, 
To mow 'em down before me ; but if I spared any, 
That had a head to hit, either young or old. 
Ho or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker. 
Let me ne'er hope to see a queen' again ; 
And that I would not for a crown," God save her. 

[]Vithin.] Do you hear, ma.ster Porter? 

Port. 1 shall be with you presently, good master 
puppy. — Keep the door close, sirrah. 

Man. What would you have me do ? 

Port. What should you do, but knock 'cm down 
by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or 
have we some strange Indian with the great tool come 
to court, the women so besiege us? [Noi.se.''] Bless me 
what a fry of fornication is at door ! On tny Ciiristian 
conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand: 
here will be father, godfather, and all together. 



Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a 
fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier 
by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog- 
days now reign in 's nose : all that stand about him are 
under the line ; they need no other penance. That 
fire-drake* did I hit three times on the head, and three 
times was his nose discharg'd against me : he stands 
there, like a mortar-jiiece, to blow us. There was a 
haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that railed 
upon me till her pink'd porringer' fell oif her licad, 
for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd 
the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out, 
clubs'" ! when I might see from far some forty trun- 
chconers draw to her succour, which were the liojie o' 
the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on : 
I made good my place ; at length they camer to tlie 
broomstafi" with me : I defied 'em still ; when suddenly 
a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot, delivered such a 
.shower of ])ebb]es, that I was fain to draw mine honour 
in. and let 'cm win the work. The devil was amongst 
'cm, I think, surely. [Shouts.^^ 

Port. These are the youths that tliunder at a play- 
house, and figlit for bitten apples : that no audience, 
but the Tribulation'^ of Tower-hill, or the limbs of 
Limehou.se' ', their dear brothers, are able to endure. I 
have some of 'cm in Limbo Putrvm, and there they 
are like to dance these three days, besides the running 
banquet of two beadles, that is to come. 

[Ttimult and Shovt.<!.^* 
Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 

Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here ! 
They grow still, too; from ail parts they are coming, 
As if we kept a fair ! Where are these porters. 
These lazy knaves? — Ye have made a fine hand, 

fellow^s : 
There's a trim rabble let in. Are all these 
Your faithful friends o' the suburbs ? We shall have 
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, 
When they pass back from the christening. 

Port. An 't please your honour 

We are but men ; and what so many may do. 
Not being torn a pieces, we have done : 
An army cannot rule 'cm. 

Cham. As I live, 

If the king blame me for 't, I '11 lay ye all 
By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads 
Clap round fines for neglect. Y' are lazy knaves ; 
And here ye lie baitingof bombards, '° when [Trumpct.s.'" 
Ye should do service. Hark ! the trumpets sound : 
They 're come already from the christening, 
fio, break among tlic prc-s, and find a way out 
To let the troop pass fairly, or I 'II find 
A Marshalsca shall hold ye play these two months. 

Port. Make way there for the princess. 

Man. You great fellow, [Tumult and confusion}'' 
Stand close up, or I '11 make your head ache. 

Port. You i' the cambiet, get up o' the rail; 
I '11 peck you o'er the pole'* else. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Palace at Greenwich. 
E7iter Trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen., Lord 
Mayor., Garter., Cranmkr, Ihike of Norkoi.k, with 
his Marshal's staff. Ihike of Suffolk, two Noblemen 
bearing great sUnuling bowls for the christening gifts : 
then, four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which 
the Duchess of Norfolk, godmother, bearing the 

1 A custom is here referred to, of sponsors presentinff spoons to a chilii at baptism. Thev were called Apo-tth spoon.':, from the figures 
carved at the top of their liandles. 2 These words are not in f. e. a A henr-Knnhn on the Bank-side ; also used for dramatic performances. 

"' (^np, so shaped. 
1' Large leather 



* These words are not in f. e. 

*" Tlie usual city crv. 

vessels for holding; liquor. 11 n Not 



inf. 

1. 

f. e. 



_. 7 Not in fe. '^ A serpent ; also, a kind of /frewori. 

Not in f e. n is A reference to some Puritan set, or place of assembly. k Not in f. e. 
' pales 



in f. e. 
snce 
in f. 



SCENE IV. 



KING HENRY VIIL 



567 



lord. — [Cran. rises} 
: God protect Ihce ! 
[Kissing the child. 
Amen ! 



child richly habited in a mantle, (fc. Train borne by 

a Lady: then follows the Marchioness of Dorset, 

the other godmother, and Ladies. The Troop pass 

once about the stage, and Garter speaks. 

Gart. Heaven, 
From thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, 
Long, and ever liappy, to the high and mighty 
Princess of England, Elizabeth ! 

Flourish. Enter King, and Train. 

Cran. And to your royal grace, and the good queen, 

[Kneeling. 
My noble partners, and myself, thus pray: — 
All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady, 
Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy. 
May hourly fall upon ye ! 

K Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop. 

What is her name ? 

Cran. ' Elizabeth. 

K. Tlcn. Stand up. 

With this kiss take my bles.sing : 
Into whose hand I give thy life. 

Cran. 

K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal. 
I tliank ye heartily : so shall this lady, 
When she has so much English. 

Cran. Let me speak, sir. 

For Heaven now bids me ; and the words I utter 
Let none think flattery, for they '11 find them truth. 
This royal infant, — heaven still move about her ! — 
Though in her cradle, yet now promises 
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings. 
Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be 
(But few now living can beliold that goodness) 
A pattern to all princes living with her, 
And all that shall succeed : Slieba was never 
More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue. 
Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces, 
That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 
With all the virtues that attend the good. 
Shall still he doubled on her : truth shall nurse her; 
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: 
She shall be lov'd, and fear'd : her own shall bless her : 
Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, 
And hang their heads with sorrow : good grows with 
her. 



In her days every man shall eat in safety 

Under his own vine what he plants, and' sing 

The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours. 

God shall be truly known; and those about her 

From her shall read the perfect ways of honour. 

And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 

Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when 

The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, 

Her ashes new create another heir, 

As great in admiration as herself; 

So shall she leave her blessedness to one, [ness) 

(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of dark- 

Wlio, from the sacred ashes of her honour, 

Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, 

And so stand fix'd. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, 

That were the servants to this chosen infant. 

Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him: 

Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, 

His honour and the greatness of his name 

Shall be, and make new nations : he shall flourish, 

And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 

To all the plains about him. Our children's children 

Shall sec this, and bless heaven. 

K. lien. Thou speakest wonders. 

Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England, 
An aged princess ; many days shall see her. 
And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 
Would I had known no more ! but she must die : 
She must ; the saints must have her : yet a virgin, 
A most unspotted lily shall .she pa.'-s 
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. 

K. Hen. 0. lord archbishop ! 
Thou hast made me now a man : never, b»fore 
This happy child, did I get any thing. 
This oracle of comfort has .so pleased me. 
That when I am in heaven I shall desire ■ 
To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. — 
I thank ye all. — To you, my good lord mayor. 
And you, good brethren. I am much beholding : 
I have receiv'd much honour by your presence. 
And ye shall find me thankful. — Lead tlie way, lords : — 
Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye; 
She will be sick else. This day, no man thirdt 
He has business at his house, for all shall stay: 
This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt. 



EPILOGUE. 



; 'T IS ten to one, this play can never please 
All that are here. Some come to take their ease, 
And sleep an act or two ; but those, we fear. 
We have frighted with our trumpets ; so, 't is clear, 
They '11 say, 't is naught : others, to hear the city 
Abus'd extremely, and to cry, — "that 's witty," 
Which we have not done neither : that, I fear, 

1 Not in I", e. 



All the expected good we 're like to hear 
For this play, at this time, is only in 
The merciful construction of good women ; 
For such a one we show'd 'cm. If lliey smile, 
And say, 't will do, I know, within a while 
All the best men are ours : for 't is ill hap. 
If they hold, when their ladies bid 'em clap. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



DRAMATIS PEKSON"^. 



Priam, King of Troy. 

Hkctor, 

Troilus, 

Paris, y his Sons. 

Deiphobup, 

Helenus, 

Antenor, 1 '^^^J'^" Commanders. 
Calchas, a Trojan Priest, taking part with 

Greeks. 
Pandarus, Uncle to Cressida. 
Margarelon, a Bastard Son of Priam. 
Agamemnon, the Grecian General. 
Menelaus, his Brother. 

Trojan and Greek 
SCENE, Troy, and 



Grecian Commanders. 



Achilles, 
Ajax, 
Ulysses, 
Nestor, 
Diomedes. 
Patrocli's, 

Thersites. a deformed and scurrilous Grecian. 
Alexander, Servant to Cressida. 
the Servant to Troilus ; Servant to Paris ; Servant to 

Diomedes. 

Helen, Wife to Menelaus. 

Andromache, Wife to Hector. 

Cassandra, Daughter to Priam ; a Prophetess. 

Cressida, Daughter to Calchas. 

Soldiers, and Attendants. 

the Grecian Camp before it. 



THE PROLOGUE^ (m Armour^), 



In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece, 

The princes orgulous, their high blood chaf'd, 

Have to the port of Athens sent their ships, 

Fraught with the ministers and instruments 

Of cruel war : sixty and nine, that wore 

Their crowncts regal, from th' Athenian bay 

Put forth toward Plirygia ; and their vow is made, 

To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures 

The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen. 

With wanton Paris sleeps ; and that 's the quarrel. 

To Tenedos they come. 

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge 

Their warlike fraughtage : now on Dardan plains 

The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch 

Their brave pavilions : Priam's six-gated city, 

Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan, 



And Antenorides, with massy staples 

And eorresponsive and fulfilling bolts, 

Sperr^ up the sons of Troy. 

Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits 

On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, 

Sets all on hazard. — And liither am I come 

A Prologue arm'd, — but not in confidence 

Of author's pen, or actor's voice, but suited 

In like conditions as our argument, — 

To tell you, fair beholders, that our play 

Leaps o'er the vaunt* and firstlings of those broils, 

Beginning in the middle ; starting thence away 

To what may be digested in a play. 

Like, or find fault ; do as your pleasures are ; 

Now, good or bad, 't is but the chance of war. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I— Troy. Before Priam's Palace. 
Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus. 
Tro. Call here my varied ; I '11 unarm again : 
Why should I war without the walls of Troy, 
That find such cruel battle here within? 
Each Trojan, that is master of his heart. 
Let him to the field ; Troilus, alas ! hath none. 
Pan. Will this gear ne'er be mended ? 
Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their 
strength. 
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant ; 



But I am weaker than a woman's tear. 
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance ; 
Less valiant than the virgin in the night, 
And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy. 

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this : for my 
part, I '11 not meddle nor make no farther. He that 
will have a cake out of the wheat must' tarry the 
grinding. 

Tro. Have I not tarried ? 

Pan. Ay, the grinding ; but you must tarry the 
bolting. 

Tro. Have I not tarried ? 



1 First printed in the folio. 
* Van. s Hireling, servant. 



2 The words in parenthesis are not in f. e. ' Stir : in folio. Theobald made the change to sperr, or bar. 
' must needs : in folio. 



SCENE II. 



TPvOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



569 



Pan. Ay, the bolting ; but you must tarry the 
leavening. 

Tro. Still have I tarried. 

Pan. Ay, to the leavening : but here 's yet, in the 
word hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, j 
the heating the oven, and the baking : nay, you must 
stay the cooling too, or you may chance burn your lips. 

Tro. Patience herself, what goddc.-s c"er she be, 
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do. 
At Priam's royal table do I sit ; 
And when fair Cre.'^sid comes into my thoughts, — 
So. traitor ! — when she comes ! — When is slie thence ? 

Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than 
ever I saw her look, or any woman else. 

Tro. I was about to tell thee, — when my heart, 
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain. 
Lest Hector or my fatiier sliould perceive me, 
I have (as when the sun doth light a storm) 
Bury'd this sigh in wrinkle of a smile ; 
But .sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, 
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. 

Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than 
Helen's, (well, go to) there were no more comparison 
between the women, — but. for my part, she is my 
kinswoman : I would not, as they term it, praise her, 
— but I would somebody had lieard her talk yesterday, 
as I did : I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's 
wit, but — 

Tro. Pandarus ! I tell thee, Pandarus. — 
Wlien I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd. 
Reply not in how many fathoms deep 
They lie indrench'd, I tell thee, I am mad 
In Cressid's love : thou answer'st, she is fair ; 
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart 
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice ; 
Handiest in thy discourse, O ! that her hand. 
In whose comparison all whites are ink, 
Writing their own reproach : to whose soft seizure . 
Tlie cygnet's dowii is harsh, and spirit of sense 
Hard as the palm of ploughman ! This thou tell'st me, 
As true thou tell'st me, when I say — I love her ; 
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm. 
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me 
The knife that made it. 

Pan. I speak no more than truth. 

Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. 

Pan. 'Faith, I '11 not meddle in 't. Let her be as she 
is : if she be fair, 't is the better for her ; an she be 
not, she has the 'mends in her own hands. 

Tro. Good Pandarus. How now, Pandarus ! 

Pan. I have had my labour for my travail ; ill-thought 
on of her, and ill-thought on of you : gone between 
and between, but small thanks for my labour. 

Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus ? what, with me ? 

Pan. Because she's kin to me, therefore, she's not 
60 fair as Helen : and she were not kin to me, she 
would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. 
But what care I ? I care not, an she were a black-a- 
moor ; 't is all one to me. 

Tro. Say I. she is not fair ? 

Pan. I do not care wliether you do or no. She 's a 
fool to stay behind her father : let her to the Greeks : 
and so I '11 tell her the next time I .see her. For my 
p.vrt, I '11 meddle nor make no more i' the matter. 

Tro. Pandarus, — 

Pan. Not I. 

Tro. Sweet Pandarus, — 

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me : I will leave all 
as I found it, and there an end. [Exit Pan. An Alarum. 

» Is fitting. 



Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours ! peace, rude 
sounds ! 
Fools on both sides ! Helen must needs be fair. 
When with your blood you daily paint her thus. 
I caimot tight upon this argument ; 
It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. 
But Pandarus ! — O gods, how dt) you plague me ! 
I cannot come to Cressid, but by Pandar ; 
And he 's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo, 
And she is stubborn-cliaste against all suit. 
Tell me, Apollo, tor thy Daphne's love, 
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? 
Ilcr bed is India ; there she lies, a pearl : 
Between our Ilium, and where she resides, 
Let it be calTd the wild and wandering flood : 
Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar, 
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark. 
Alarum. Enter iENKAS. 

Mnc. How now, prince Troilus ! wherefore not 
afield ? 

Tro. Because not there : this woman's answer sorts,' 
For womanish it is to be from thenee. 
What news. iEncas, from the field to-day? 

JEne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. 

Tro. By whom, iEneas ? 

JEne. Troilus, by Menelaus. 

Tro. Let Paris bleed : 't is but a scar to scorn ; 
Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. \Alarum. 

JEne. Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day ! 

Tro. Better at home, if " would I might," were 
'• may." — 
But to the sport abroad : — are you bound thither ? 

ALne. In all swift haste. 

Tro. Come ; go we, then, together. \Excunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Street. 
Enter Cressida and Alexander. 

Cres. Who were those went by ? 

Alex. Queen Hecuba, and Helen. 

Cres. And whither go they ? 

Alex. LTp to the eastern tower, 

Whose height commands as subject all the vale, 
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience 
Is as a virtue fix'd, to-day was mov'd : 
He cliid Andromache, and struck his armourer ; 
And, like as (here were husbandry in war, 
Before the sun rose he was harness'd light. 
And to the field goes he ; where every flower 
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw 
In Hector's wrath. 

Cres. What was his cause of anger ? 

Alex. The noise goes, thus : there is among the 
Greeks 
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector ; 
They call him. Ajax. 



Cres. 



Good ; and what of him ? 



Alex. They say he is a very man per se, 
And stands alone. 

Cres. So do all men ; unless they arc drunk, sick, 
or have no legs. 

Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of 
their particular additions : he is as valiant as the lion, 
churlish as tlie bear, slow as the elephant ; a man into 
whom nature hath so crowded humours, tiiat his valour 
is crushed into folly, his tolly sauced with discretion : 
there is no man liath a virtue that he hath not a 
glimpse of, nor any man an attaint but he carries some 
stain of it. He is melancholy without cause, and 
merry against the hair : he hath the joints of every 



570 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT I. 



thing ; but every thing so out of joint, that he is a 
gouty Briareus, many hands and no use ; or purblind 
Argus, all eyes and no sight. 

Ores. But how should this man, that makes me 
smile, make Hector angry ? 

Alex. They say, he yesterday eoped Hector in the 
battle, and struck him down ; the disdain and shame 
whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and 
waking. 

Enter Pandarus. 

Cres. Who comes here ? 

Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. 

Cres. Hector "s a gallant man. 

Alex. As may be in the world, lady. 

Pan. What 's that ? what 's that ? 

Ores. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. 

Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid. What do you 
talk of ? — Good morrow, Alexander. — How do you, 
cousin ? When were you at Hium ?^ 

Cres. This morning, uncle. 

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came? 
Was Hector armed, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium ? 
Helen was not up, was she ? 

Cres. Hector was gone ; but Helen was not up. 

Pan. E'en so : Hector was stirring early. 

Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger. 

Pan. Was he angry ? 

Cres. So he says, here. 

Pan. True, he was so ; I know the cause too. He '11 
lay about him to-day, I can tell them that; and there 's 
Troilus will not come far behind him : let them take 
heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too. 

Cres. What, is he angry too ? 

Pan. Who, Troilus ? Troilus is the better man of 
the two. 

Cres. 0, Jupiter ! there 's no comparison. 

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector ? Do 
you know a man if you see him ? 

Cres. Ay ; if I ever saw him before, and knew him. 

Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus. 

Cres. Then you say as I say : for, I am sure, lie is 
not Hector. 

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees. 

Cres. 'T is just to each of them ; he is himself. 

Pan. Himself ? Alas, poor Troilus ! I would, he 
were, — 

Cres. So he is. 

Pan. — Condition, I had gone bare-foot to India. 

Cres. He is not Hector. 

Pan. Himself? no, he's not himself.— Would 'a 
were himself ! Well, the gods are above : time must 
friend, or end. Well, Troilus, well.— I would, my 
heart were in her body ! — No, Hector is not a better 
man than Troilus. 

Cres. Excuse me. 

Pan. He is elder. 

Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. 

Pan. Th' otlier 's not come to 't ; you shall tell me 
another tale, when th' other 's come to 't. Hector shall 
not have his wit this year. 

Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own. 

Pan. Nor his qualities. 

Cres. No matter. 

Pan. Nor his beauty. 

Cres. 'T would not become him ; his own 's better. 

Pan. You have no judgment, niece. Helen herself 
swore th' other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour, 
(for so 't is, I must confess) — not brown neither — 

Cres. No, but brown. 



Pan. 'Faith, to say troth, brown and not brown. 

Cres. To say the truth, true and not true. 

Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris. 

Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough. 

Pan. So lie has. 

Cres. Then, Troilus should have loo much : if she 
praised him above, his complexion is higher than his : 
he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too 
flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief 
Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a 
copper nose. 

Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves him better 
than Paris. 

Cres. Then she 's a merry Greek, indeed. 

Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him 
th' other day into the compassed window^^; and. you 
know, he has not past three or four hairs on his cliin. 

Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetick may soon bring 
his particulars therein to a total. 

Pan. Why, he is very young; and yet will he, 
within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector. 

Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter 'P 

Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him : — 
slie came, and puts me her white hand to his cloA'^en 
chin, — 

Cres. 

Pan. 
smiling 
Phrygia. 

Cres. 

Pan. 

Cres. 

Pan. 



Juno have mercy ! How came it cloven ? 
Why, you know, 't is dimpled. I think 
becomes him better than any man in 



his 
all 



'twere a cloud in autumn, 
then. — But to prove to you that 



! he smiles valiantly. 
Does he not ? 
O ! yes, an 
Why, go to 
Helen loves Troilus, — 

Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you '11 prove 
it so. 

Pan. Troilus? why, he esteems her no more than I 
esteem an addle egg. 

Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love 
an idle head, you would cat chickens i' the shell. 

Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she 
tickled his chin : — indeed, she has a marvellous wliite 
hand, I must needs confess. 

Cres. Without the rack. 

Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on 
his chin. 

Cres. Alas, poor chin ! many a wart is richer. 

Pan. But, there was such laugliing : queen Hecuba 
laughed, that her eyes ran o'er. 

Cres. With mill-stones. 

Pan. And Cassandra laughed. 

Cres. But there was more temperate fire under the 
pot of her eyes : did her eyes run o'er too? 

Pan. And Hector laughed. 

Cres. At what was all this laughing ? 

Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on 
Troilus' chin. 

Cres. An 't had been a green hair I should have 
laughed too. 

Pan. They laiighed not so much at the hair, as at 
his pretty answer. 

Cres. What was his answer ? 

Pan. Quoth she, "Here 's but two and fifty hairs on 
your chin, and one of them is white." 

Cres. This is her question. 

Pan. That 's true ; make no question of that. " Two 
and fifty hairs," quoth he, " and one white : that white 
hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons." ".Tu- 
piter !" quoth she, " which of these hairs is Paris, my 



1 The palace of Priam was so called by the romance writers. * Bow-window. ' Thief. 



SCENE n. 



TEOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



571 



here 's an excellent place : here 



husband?" "The forked one," quoth he; " pluck 't 
out, and give it him." But there was such laughing, 
and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed, and all the 
rest so laughed, that it passed' . 

Cres. So let it now. for it has been a great while 
going by. 

Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; 
think on 't. 

Crcs. So I do. 

Pan. I '11 be sworn, 't is true : he will weep you, an 
't were a man born in April. 

Cres. And I '11 spring up in his tears, an 'twere a 
nettle against May. [A retreat sounded. 

Pan. Hark ! they are coming from the field. Shall 
we stand up here, and see them, as they pass toward 
Ilium ? good niece, do ; sweet niece, Cressida. 

Cres. At your pleasure. 

Pan. Here, here 
we may see most bravely. I '11 tell you them all by 
their names, as they pa.«s by, but mark Troilus above 
the rest. 

Cres. Speak not so loud. 

^NEAS passes over the Stage. 

Pan. That 's iEneas. Is not that a brave man? he 's 
one of the flowers of Troy. I can tell you : but mark 
Troilus : you shall see anon. 

Cres. Who 's that ? 

Antenor passes over. 

Pan. That 's Antenor : he has a shrewd wit, I can 
tell you ; and he 's a man good enough : he 's one o' the 
soundest judgment in Troy, whosoever, and a proper 
man of his^ person. — When comes Troilvis ? — I '11 show 
you Troilus anon : if he see me, you shall see him 
nod at me. 

Cres. Will he give you the nod ? 

Pan. You shall see. 

Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more. 
Hector passes over. 

Pan. That's Hector; that, that, look you, that: 
there 's a fellow ! — Go thy way. Hector. — There 's a 
brave man, niece. — brave Hector ! — Look how he 
looks; there 's a countenance. Is 't not a brave man? 

Cres. O ! a brave man. 

Pan. Is 'a not ? It does a man's heart good — Look 
you what hacks are on liis helmet ! look you yonder, 
do you see ? look you there. There 's no jesting : 
there 's laying on, take 't off" who will, as they say ; there 
be hacks ! 

Cres. Be those with swords ? 

Paris passes over. 

Pan. Swords ? any thing, he cares not; an the devil 
come to him, it 's all one : by god's lid, it does one's 
heart good. — Yonder comes Paris ; yonder comes Paris: 
look ye yonder, niece : is 't not a gallant man too, is 't 
not ? — Wliy, this is brave now. — Who said he came 
hurt home to-day ? he 's not hurt : why, this will do 
Helen's heart good now. Ha ! would I could see 
Troilus now. — You shall see Troilus anon. 

Cres. Who 's that ? 

Helenus passes over. 

Pan. That 's Helciuis. — I marvel, where Troilus is. 
Helenus. — 1 think he went not forth to-day. — 
Helenus. 



That 's 

That 's 

Cres 



Can Helenus fight, uncle ? 



Pan. Helenus ? no ; — yes, he '11 fight indifferent well. 
— I marvel, where Troilus is. — Hark ! do you not hear 
the people cry, Troilus '<' — Helenus is a priest. 

Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder ? 
Troilus pas.^es over. 

* Passed expression. ' This word is not in f. e. ^ money : in fol 



Pan. Where? yonder? that's Deiphobus. — 'T is 
Troilus ! there 's a man, niece ! — Hem ! — Brave Troi- 
lus, the prince of chivalry ! 

Cres. Peace ! for shame : peace ! 

Pan. Mark him; note him. — brave Troilus! — 
look well upon him, niece : look you how his sword is 
bloodied, and his helm more hack'd than Hector's ; 
and how he looks, and how he goes ! — admirable 
youth ! he ne'er saw three and twenty. Go thy way, 
Troilus, go thy way ; had I a sister were a grace, or a 
daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. ad- 
mirable man ! Paris? — Paris is dirt to him ; and, I 
warrant, Helen, to change, would give an eye^ to boot. 
Soldiers pass over the Stage. 

Cres. Here come more. 

Pan. Asses, fools, dolts, chaff and bran, chaff and 
bran ; porridge after meat. I could live and die i' the 
eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look : the eagles 
are gone : crows and daws, crows and daws. I had 
rather be such a man as Troilus, than Agamemnon and 
all Greece. 

Crcs. There is among the Greeks Achilles, a better 
man than Troilus. 

Pan. Achilles ? a drayman, a porter, a very camel. 

Cres. Well, well. 

Pan. Well, well ? — Why, have you any discretion ? 
have you any eyes ? Do you know what a man is ? 
Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood, 
learning, gentlene.<-s, virtue, youth, liberality, and such 
like*, the spice and salt that season a man ? 

Cres. Ay, a minced man ; and then to be baked 
with no date in the pye, — for then the man's date 's 
out. 

Pan. You are such a woman ! one knows not at 
what ward you lie. 

Cres. Upon my back, to defend my belly ; upon my 
wit, to defend my wiles ; upon my secrecy, to defend 
mine honesty ; upon my mask, to defend my beauty ; 
and upon you, to defend all these : and at all these 
wards I lie, at a thousand watches. 

Pan. Say one of your watches. 

Cres. Nay, I '11 watch you for that ; and that 's one 
of the chiefest of them too : if I cannot ward what I 
would not have hit. I can watch you for telling how I 
took the blow, unless it swell past hiding, and then it 's 
past watching. 

Pan. You are such another ! 

Enter Troilus' Boy. 

Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. 

Pan. Where ? 

Boy. At your own house" ; there he unarms him. 

Pan. Good boy, tell him I come. [Exit Boy. 

I doubt he be hurt. — Fare ye well, good niece. 

Cres. Adieu, uncle. 

Pan. I '11 be with you, niece, by and by. 

Cres. To bring, uncle, — 

Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus. 

Cres. By the same token, you are a bawd. — 

[Exit Pandarus. 
Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice, 
He offers in another's enterprise ; 
But more in Troilus thousand fold I see. 
Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be. 
Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing : 
Things won are done, joy's souf lies in the doing : 
That she belov'd knows nought, tliat knows not tliis, — 
Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is : 
That she was never yet, that ever knew 
Love got so sweet as when desire did sue. 

o. * so forth : in folio. * The rest of the line is not in the folio. 



572 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT I. 



Therefore, this maxim out of love I teach, — 
Achieved men still command :' im<,'ain'd, beseech : 
Then, though my heart's content tirm love doth bear, 
Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. [Exit. 

SCENE III. — The Grecian Camp. Before Agamem- 
non's Tent. 
Sennet. Enter Agamkmnon, Nestor, Ulysses, 
Menelaus, and other.'?. 

Agam. Princes, 
What grief hath set the jaundice on your checks? 
The ample proposition, tliat hope makes 
In all designs begun on earth below. 
Fails in the promis'd largeness: checks and disasters 
Grow in the veins of actions highest rcar'd ; 
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap. 
Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain 
Toitivc and errant from his course of growth. 
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us, 
That we come short of our suppose so far. 
That after seven years' siege yet Troy walls stand; 
Si 111 every action that hath gone before. 
Whereof we have record, trial did draw 
Hius and thwart, not answering the aim. 
And that unbodied figure of the thought 
'I'hat gave 't surmised shape. Why tlien, you princes, 
Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our wrecks'", 
And call' them shames, which are, indeed, nought else 
But the protractivc trials of great Jove, 
To find persistive constancy in men? 
The tineness of which metal is not found 
In fortune's love; for then, the bold and coward,. 
The wi.sc and fool, the artist and unread, 
The hard and soft, seem all affin'd and kin: 
But, in the wind and tempest of her frown. 
Distinction, with a broad^ and powerful fan, 
Pulling at all, winnows the light away; 
And what hath mass, or matter, by itself 
Lies rich in virtue, and unmingled. 

Nest. With due observance of thy godlike seat, 
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply 
Tliy latest words. In the rejiroof of chance 
Lies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth. 
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail 
Upon her patient breast, making their way 
With those of nobler bulk : 
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage 
The gentle Thetis, and, anon, behold, 
'I'lie strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut, 
Bounding between the two moist elements. 
Like Perseus' horse : where 's then the saucy boat, 
Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now 
Co-rival'd greatness ? either to harbour fled, 
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so 
Doth valour's show, and valour's worth, divide 
In storms of fortune : for, in her ray and brightness, 
The herd hath more annoyance by the brizc'. 
Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind 
Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, 
And flies fled under shade, why then, the thing of 

courage, 
As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize, 
And with an accent tun'd in self-same key, 
Ileplies' to chiding fortune. 

Ulij.s.<i. Agamemnon, 

Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece, 
Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit, 
In whom the tempers and the minds of all 

* Achievement is command : in f. e. 2 works : in _ . 
hj Tope, of " retires," in the old copies. ^ Ornamented. 



Should be shut up, hear what Ulysses speaks. 

Besides the applause and ajjprobation 

The which, — most mighty for tliy place and sway, — 

[To Agamemnon, 
And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out life, — 

[7b Nestor. 
I give to both your speeches, which were such. 
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece 
Sliould hold up high in brass; and such again, 
As Venerable Nestor, hatch'd' in silver. 
Should with a bond of air (strong as the axlctree 
On which heaven rides) knit all the Grcekish ears 
To his experienc'd tongue, — yet let it please both, — 
Thou great, — and wise, — to hear Ulysses speak. 

Agam.^ Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be 't of less 
expect ^ 

That matter needless, of importless burden, 
Divide thy lips, than we are confident. 
When rank Thcrsites opes his mastifl" jaws, 
Wo shall hear music, wit, and oracle. 

Uly.s.s. Troy, yet upon his basis, liad been down, 
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master. 
But for these instances. 
The specialty of rule hath been neglected : 
And look, how many Grecian tents do stand 
Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. 
When that the general is not like the hive. 
To whom the foragers shall all repair. 
What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded, 
Th' unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask. 
The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre. 
Observe degree, priority, and place, 
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, 
Oflice, and custom, in all line of order : 
And therefore is the glorious planet, Sol, 
In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd 
Amidst the other; whose med'cinable eye 
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, 
And posts, like the commandment of a king, 
Sans check, to good and bad. But when the planets. 
In evil mixture, to disorder wander. 
What plagues, and what portents ! what mutiny ! 
What raging of the sea, shaking of earth. 
Commotion in the winds, frights, changes, horrors, 
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate 
The unity and married calm of states 
Quite from their fixure ! O ! when degree is shak'd, 
Which is the ladder to all high designs, 
The enterprise is sick. How could communities. 
Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities. 
Peaceful commerce from dividable shores. 
The primogenitive and due of birth, 
Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, 
But by degree stand in authentic place? 
Take but degree away, untune that string, 
And, hark, what discord follows ! each thing meets' 
In mere oppugnancy : the bounded waters 
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores. 
And make a sop of all this solid globe: 
Strength should be lord of imbecility, 
And the rude son should strike his father dead : 
Force should be right ; or, rather, right and wrong, 
(Between whose endless jar justice resides) 
Should lose their names, and so should justice too. 
Then every thing includes itself in power. 
Power into will, will into appetite; 
And appetite, an universal wolf. 
So doubly seconded with will and power, 

f. e. 3 think • in folio. ♦ loud : in folio, s Ga<1fly. « Returns : in f. e. A chaugo 
8 This speech is not in the quartos. 9 melts : in quartos. 



SCENE in. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



573 



Must make perforce an universal prey, 

And last eat up himself. Great A2;amcmnon, 

This chaos, when degree is suflbcate, 

Follows the choking : 

And this neglection of degree it is, 

That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose 

It hath to climb. The general 's disdain'd 

By him one step below: he, by the next ; 

That next, by him beneath : so, every step, 

Examplcd by the first pace that is sick 

Of his superior, grows to an envious fever 

Of pale and bloodless emulation : 

And 't is this fever that keeps Troy on foot, 

Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, 

Troy in our weakness stands,' not in her strength. 

Nest. Most wisely hath Ulysses hero discovcr'd 
The fever whereof all our power is sick. 

Again. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, 
What is the remedy? 

XJly.-is. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns 
The sinew and the forehand of our host, 
Having his ear full of his airy fame. 
Grows dainty of Ids worth, and in his tent 
Lies mocking our designs. With him, Patroclus, 
Upon a lazy bed the livelong day 
Breaks scurril jests ; 

And with ridiculous and awkward' action 
(Which, slanderer, he imitation calls.) 
He pageants us : sometime, great Agamemnon, 
Thy topless deputation he puts on; 
And, like a strutting pkyer, — whose conceit 
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich 
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound 
'Twixt his streteh'd footing and the scafToldage, — 
Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming 
Ho acts thy greatness in : and when ho speaks, 
'T is like, a chime a mending; with terms unsquar'd, 
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd, 
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff 
The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling, 
From his deep chest laughs out a loud ajiplause ; 
Cries — '■ Excellent ! — 't is Agamemnon right. ^ — 
Now play me Nestor; — hem, and stroke thy beard 
As he, being 'drest to some oration.^' 
That 's done ; — as near as the extremest ends 
Of parallels — as like as Vulcan and his wife : 
Yet god Achilles still cries, " Excellent ! 
'T is Nestor right ! Now play him me, Patroclus, 
Arming to answer in a night alarm.'' 
And then, for.sooth, the faint defects of age, 
Must be the scene of mirth ; to cough, and spit. 
And with a palsy, fumbling on his somet, 
Shake in and out the rivet: — and at this sport. 
Sir Valour dies; cries "0! — enough. Patroclus, 
Or give me ribs of steel ! I shall split all 
In pleasure of my spleen."' And in this fashion, 
All our iibilitics, gifts, natures, shapes, 
Scverals and generals, all grace extract,* 
Achievements, plots, orders, ])reventions, 
Excitem'^nts to the field, or speech for truce, 
Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves 
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. 

Nest. And in the imitation of these twain, 
(Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns 
With an imperial voice) many are infect. 
Ajax is grown self-wiU'd ; and bears his head 
In such a rein, in full as proud a place 
As broad Achilles : keeps his tent like him : 
Makes factions feasts; rails on our state of war, 

' lives : in folio. 2 silly : in quartos. ' juet : in folio. * of 



Bold as an oracle ; and sets Thersites, 

A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint, 

To match us in comparisons with dirt ; 

To weaken and discredit our exposure. 

How rank soever rounded in with danger. 

Ulyss. They tax our policy, and call it cowardice; 
Count wi.sdom as no member of the war; 
Forestall prescience, and esteem no act 
But that of hand : the still and mental parts, — 
That do contrive how many hands shall strike. 
When fitness calls them on, and know, by measure 
Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight, — 
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity. 
They call this bed- work, mappery, closet-war : 
So that the ram, that batters down the wall, 
For the great swing and rudeness of his poise, 
They place before his hand that made the engine, 
Or those that with the fineness of their souls 
By rea.son guide his execution. 

Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse 
Makes many Thetis' sons. \A Tucket. 

Ao-arn. What trumpet? look. Menelaus. 

Enter yEneas. 

Men. From Troy. 

Agam. What would you 'fore our tent. 

JEnc. Is this 

Great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you? 

Agam. Even this. 

JEne. May one, that is a herald and a prince. 
Do a fair message to his kingly ears? 

Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles' arm, 
'Fore all the Grcckish heads, which with one voice 
Call Agamemnon head and general. 

JLne. Fair leave, and large security. How may 
A stranger to those most imperial looks 
Know them from eyes of other mortals? 

Agam. How? 

JEne. Ay: I ask, that I might waken reverence. 
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush, 
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes 
The youthful Pha'bus. 
Whicli is that god in office, guiding men? 
Which is the hiiih and mighty Agamemnon? 

Agam. This Trojan scorns us, or the men of Troy 
Are cenMnonious courtiers. 

jEne. Courtiers as free, as debonair, nnarm'd, 
As bending angels : that 's their fame in peace; 
But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls, 
Good arms, strong joints, true swords ; and, Jove's 

accord. 
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, ^Eneas ! 
Peace, Trojan ! lay thy finaer on thy lips. 
The worthiness of praise distains his worth. 
If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth; 
What" the repining enemy commends. 
That breath fame blows; that praise, soul-pure,* tran- 
scends. 

Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself jEncas ? 

jEiie. Ay, Greek, that is my name. 

Again. What 's your afl^air, I pray you? 

yEne. Sir, pardon: 'l is for Agamemnon's ears. 

Agam. He hears nought privately that comes from 
Troy. 

jEne. Nor I from Troy came not to whisper him : 
I bring a trumpet to awake his car; 
To set his sense on the attentive bent, 
And then to speak. 

Agam. Speak frankly as the wind. 

It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour: 

grace exact : in f. e. * But -what : in f. e. ' sole pure : in f. e. 



574 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT I, 



That thou shalt know, Trojau, he is awake, 
He tells thee so himself. 

^ne. Trumpet, blow loud, 

Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents; 
And every Greek of mettle, let him know. 
What Troy means fairly shall be t^poke aloud. 

[ Trumpet sounds 
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy, 
A prince call'd Hector, Priam is his father, 
Who in this dull and long-conlinu'd truce 
Is n^sty grown : he bade me take a trumpet. 
And to this purpose speak. — Kings, princes, lords, 
If there be one among the fair'st of Greece, 
That holds his honour higher than his ease; 
That seeks^ his praise more than he fears his peril ; 
That knows his valour, and knows not his fear ; 
That loves his mistress more than in confession 
With truant vows to her own lips he loves. 
And dare avow her beauty and her worth 
In other arms than hers, — to liim this challenge. 
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, 
Shall make it good, or do his best to do it. 
He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer, 
Than ever Greek did couple- in his arms; 
And will to-iuorrow with his trumpet call, 
Mid- way between your tents and walls of Troy, 
To rouse a Grecian that is true in love. 
If any come. Hector shall honour him ; 
If none, he '11 say in Troy, when he retires, 
The Grecian dames are sun-burnt, and not worth 
The splinter of a lance. Even so much. 

Agam. This shall be told our lovers, lord ^neas : 
If none of them have soul in such a kind. 
We left them all at home ; but we are soldiers, 
Ami may that soldier a mere recreant prove. 
That means not, hatli not, or is not in love ! 
If then one is, or hath, or means to be. 
That one meets Hector; if none else, I am^ he. 

Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man 
When Hector's grandsire suck'd : he is old now ; 
But if there be not in our Grecian host* 
One noble man that hath one spark of lire. 
To answer for his love, tell him from me, 
I 11 hide my silver beard in a gold beaver, 
And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn; 
And, meeting him, will tell him, that my lady 
Was fairer than his grandam, and as chaste 
As may be in the world. His youth in flood, 
I '11 prove' this truth with my three drops of blood. 

JEne. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth ! 

TJlyss. Amen. 

Agam. Fair lord ^neas, let me touch your hand ; 
To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. 
Achilles shall have word of this intent, 
So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent ; 
Yourself shall feast with us before you go. 
And find the welcome of a noble foe. 

{Exeunt all but Ui.ysses and Nestor. 

TJlyss. Nestor ! 

Nest. What says Ulysses? 

JJlyss. I have a young conception in my brain ; 
Be vou mv time to bring it to some shape. 

Nest. What is 't ? 

Ulyss. This 't is. 
Blunt v.edges rive hard knots : the seeded pride, 
Tliat hath to this maturity grown up 
In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd, 
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, 



To overbulk us all. 

Nest. Well, and how ? 

Ulyss. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends, 
However it is spread in general name, 
Relates in purpose only to Achilles. 

Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance, 
Whose grossness little characters sum up : 
And in the publication make no strain, 
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren 
As banks of Libya, (though, Apollo knows, 
'T is dry enough) will, with great speed of judgment, 
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose 
Pointing 021 him. 

Uyss. And wake him to the answer, think you ? 

Nest. Why^, 't is most meet : whom may you else 
oppose, ^ 

That can from Hector bring his honour off. 
If not Achilles ? Though 't be a sportful combat, 
Yet in the trial much opinion dwells; 
For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute 
With their fin'st palate : and trust to me, Ulysses, 
Our reputation .'■■hall be oddly pois'd 
In this wild action : for the success. 
Although particular, shall give a scantling 
Of good or bad unto the general ; 
And in such indexes (altlioiigh small pricks 
To their subsequent volumes) there is seen 
The baby figure of the giant mass 
Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd. 
He that meets Heelor issues from our choice : 
And choice, being mutual act of all our souls. 
Makes merit her election, and doth boil, 
As 't were from forth us all, a man distill'd 
Out of our virtues ; who miscarrying, 
What heart receives from hence the conquering part, 
To steel a strong opinion to themselves? 
Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments, 
In no less working, than are swords and bows 
Directive by the limbs. 

Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech : — 
Therefore 't is meet Achilles meet not Hector. 
Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, 
And think, perchance, they '11 sell ; if not, 
The lustre of the better shall exceed,' 
By showing the worst first.* Do not consent, 
That ever Hector and Achilles meet ; 
For both our honour and our shame, in this, 
Are dogg'd with two strange followers. 

Nest. I see them not with my old eves : what are 
they ? 

Ulyss. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, 
Were he not proud, we all should share' with him : 
But he already is too insolent ; 
And we were better parch in Afric sun, 
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, 
Should he 'scape Hector fair. If he were foil'd, 
Why, then we did our main opinion crush 
In taint of our best man. No; make a lottery. 
And by device let blockish Ajax draw 
The sort to fight with Hector : among ourselves 
Give him allowance lor the better man,'° 
For that will jihysie the great Myrmidon. 
Who broils in loud applause : and make him fall 
His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends. 
If the dull, brainless Ajax come safe off, 
We '11 dress him up in voices : if he fail. 
Yet go we under our opinion still, 
That we have better men. But, hit or miss, 



^ feeds : in quartos. 2 compafs : in folio. ^ I 'n fce : in folio. ■* mould : in folio, 
show : in folio. 8 ghall show the better : in folio. ^ wear : in folio. i" As the worthier. 



• pawn : in 



foli. 



6 Yes : in folio, ' yet to 



SCENE I. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



575 



Our project's life this shape of sense assumes, — 
Ajax empioy'd plucks down Achilles' plumes. 

Nest. Now [ begin to relish thy advice; 
And I will give a taste of it forthwith 



To Agamemnon : go we to him straight. 
Two curs shall tame each other : pride alone 
Must tarre' the mastiffs on, as 't were their bone. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



how if he had boils ? full, all 



SCENE I. — Another Part of the Grecian Camp 
Enter Ajax and Thersites. 

Ajax. Thersites ! 

Titer. Agamemnon- 
over, generally ? 

Ajax. Thersites ! 

Tkcr. And those boils did run ? — Say so, — did not 
the general run then ? were not that a botchy sore ? 

Ajax. Dog ! 

Ther. Then would come seme matter from him : I 
see none now. 

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear ? 



How now, Thersites ! what 's the matter, man ? 

Thcr. You .'ec him there, do you ? 

Achil. Ay ; what 's the matter? 

Ther. Nay, look upon him. 

Achil. So I do : wiiat "s the matter ? 

Ther. Nay. but regard him well. 

Achil. Well, why I do so. 

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him: for, 
whosoever you take him to be. he is Ajax. 

Achil. I know that, fool. 

Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. 

Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. 

7'her. Lo, lo. lo. lo, what modicums of wit he utters ! 



Feel then. [Strikes him. his orations have ears thus long. I have bobbed his 

Thcr. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mon- 1 brain, more than he has beat my bones : I will buy 



grel beef-witted lord ! 

Ajax. Speak tlicn, thou vincwd'st" leaven, speak : I 
will beat thee into handsomeness. 

Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness : 
but. I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration, than 
thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, 
canst thou ? a red murrain o' thy jade's tricks ! 

Ajax. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation. 

Thcr. Dost Ihou think I have no sense, thou strik'st 
me thus ? 

Ajax. The proclamation, — 

Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. 

Ajax. Do not, porcvipine, do not: my fingers itch. 

Thcr. I would, thou did.'it itch from head to foot, 
and I had the scratching of thee : I would make thee 
the loathsomest scab in Greece.^ When thou art forth 
in the incursions, thou strikcst as slow as another. 

Ajax. I say, the proclamation. — 

Ihcr. Thou grumblest and railcst every hour on 
Achilles ; and thou art as full of envy at his greatness. 



nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not 
worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles, 
Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly, and his guts in 
his head, I '11 tell you what I say of him. 

Achil. What? 

Thcr. I say, this Ajax — 

Achil. Nay, good Ajax. [Ajax offers to strike him. 

Ther. Has not so much wit — 

Achil. Nay, I must hold you. 

Thcr. As Mill stop the eye of Helen's needle, for 
whom he comes to fight. 

Achil. Peace, fool ! 

Thcr. I would have peace and quietness, but the 
fool will not : he there ; that he, look you there. 

Ajax. 0. thou damned cur ! 1 shall — 

Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's ? 

Ther. No, I warrant you ; for a fool's will shame it. 

Patr. Good words, Thersites. 

Achil. What 's the quarrel ? 

Ajax. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of 



as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that thou the proclamation, and he rails upon me. 



barkcst at him. 

Ajax. Mistress Thersites ! 

Ther. Thou shouldest strike him. 

Ajax. Cobloaf ! 

Thcr. He would pun* thee into shivers with his fist, 
as a sailor breaks a biticuit. 

Ajax. You whoreson cur ! [Beating him. 

Thcr. Do, do. 

Ajax. Thou stool for a witch ! 

Ther. Ay. do, do ; thou sodden-witted lord ! thou 
hast no more brain than I liave in mine elbows ; an 
assinego' may tutor thee : thou scurvy valiant ass ! 
thou art here but to thrash Trojans; and thou art 
bought and sold among those of any wit, like a Bar- 
barian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at | up the war. 



Ther. I serve thee not. 

Ajax. Well, go to, go to. 

Ther. I serve here voluntary. 

Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'tAvas not 
voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was 
here the voluntary, and you as under an impress. 

Ther. Even so ? — a great deal of your wit, too, lies 
in your sinews, or el.se there be liars. Hector shall 
have a great catch, if he knock out either of your 
brains : ho were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel. 

Achil. What, with me too, Thersites ? 

Ther. There 's Ulysses, and old Nestor. — whose vnt 
was mouldy ere your grandsircs had nails on their toes, 

■yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough 



thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing 
of no bowels, thou ! 

Ajax. You dog ! 

TJier. You scurA'y lord ! 

Ajax. You cur ! [Beating him. 

Ther. Mar's idiot ! do, rudeness ; do. camel ; do, do. 
Enter Achilles and Patuoclis. 



Achil. What? what? 
Thcr. Yes, good sooth : to Achilles ! to Ajax ! to — 
Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. 
Ther. 'T is no matter; I shall speak as much as 
thou, afterwards. 

Patr. No more words, Thersites ; peace ! 

Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach'' 



Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ! wherefore do you this ? bids me, shall I ? 

1 Set on. ' Most Tnoiiliiy. ^ The rest of the speech is only in the quartos. * Pound. ^ A small ass. 



e Dog. 



676 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT II. 



Achil. There 's for you, Patroclus. 

Thcr. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I 
come any more to your tents : I will keep wliere there 
is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. [Exit. 

Patr. A good riddance. 

Achil. Marry, thi.s, sir, is proclaimed through all our 
host : — 
That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun, 
Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, 
To-morrow morning call some knight to arms, 
That hath a .'^tomach ; and such a one, that dare 
Maintain — I know not what : "t is trash. Farewell. 

A/ax. Farewell. Who shall answer him ? 

Achil. I know not: it is put to lottery; otherwise, 
He knew his man. 

Ajax. ! meaning you. — I will go learn more of it. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE H. — Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. 
Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, and Helenus. 

Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent, 
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks : — 
'•■ Deliver Helen, and all damage else — 
As honour, loss of time, travail, expence. 
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd 
In hot digestion of this cormorant war, — 
Shall be struck ofTf — Hector, what say you to 't ? 

Ilect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I, 
As far as toucheth my particular, 
Yet, dread Priam, 

There is no lady of more softer bowels, 
More spungy to suck in the sense of fear. 
More ready to cry out — " Who knows what follows ?" 
Than Hector is. The wound of peace is surety, 
Surety secure ; but modest doubt is call'd 
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches 
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go : 
Since the first sword was drawn about this question, 
Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes', 
Hath been as dear as Helen; 1 mean, of ours : 
If we have lost so many tenths of ours, 
To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us, 
Had it our name, the value of one ten. 
What merit 's in that rca.son which denies 
The yielding of her up ? 

Tro. Fie, fie ! my brother 

Weigh you the worth and honour of a king. 
So great as our dread father, in a scale 
Of common ounces? will you with counters sum 
The past-proportion of his infinite ? 
And buckle in a waist most fatliomless, 
With spans and inches so diminutive 
As fears and reasons ? fie, for godly shame ! 

Hel. No marvel, lliongh you bite so sharp at reasons. 
You are so em]>ty of them. Should not our father 
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons. 
Because your speech hath none, that tells him so ? 

Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother 
priest : 
You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your rea- 
sons : 
You know, an enemy intends you harm, 
You know, a sword employ'd is perilous, 
And reason flies the object of all harm. 
Who marvels, then, when Helenus beholds 
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set 
The very wings of reason to his heels, 
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, 
Or like a star dis-orb'd ? — Nay, if we talk of reason, 

1 Tenths. • attributive : in q^uartos. ' Start away. * spoil'd : 



Let 's shut our gates, and sleep : manhood and honour 
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their 

thoughts 
With tiiis cramm'd reason : reason and respect 
Make livers pale, and lustihood deject. 

Hcct. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost 
The holding. 

Tro. What is aught, but as 't is valued? 

Hect. But value dwells not in particular will ; 
It holds his estimate and dignity, 
As well wherein 't is precious of itself. 
As in the prizer. 'T is mad idolatry. 
To make the service greater than the god ; 
And the will dotes, that is inclinable^ 
To what infectiously itself affects, 
Without some image of th' affected merit. - 

Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election 
Is led on in the conduct of my will ; 
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears. 
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores 
Of will and judgment. How may I avoid, 
Although my will distaste what it elected. 
The wife I chose ? there can be no evasion 
To blench^ from this, and to stand firm by honour. 
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant. 
When we have soiled* thein; nor the remainder viands 
We do not throw in unrcspective sieve. 
Because we now are full. It was thought meet, 
Paris siiould do some vengeance on the Greeks : 
Your breath of full consent bellied his sails : 
The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce, 
And did him service ; he toueh'd the ports desir'd ; 
And for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held captive, 
He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and fresh- 
ness 
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes pale'' the morning. 
Why keep we her ? the Grecians keeps our aunt. 
Is she wortli keeping? why. she is a pearl. 
Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships, 
And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. 
If you'll avouch 'twas wisdom Paris went, 
As you must need, for you all cry'd — " Go, go ;" 
If you '11 confess, he brought home noble prize. 
As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands. 
And cry'd — " Inestimable !" why do you now 
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate, 
And do a deed that fortune never did. 
Beggar the estimation which you priz'd 
Richer than sea and land ? 0, theft most base, 
That we have stolen what we do fear to keep ! 
But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stolen, 
That in their country did them that disgrace, 
We fear to warrant in our native place ! 

Cas. [IVithin.] Cry, Trojans, cry ! 

Pri. What noise ? what shriek is this ? 

Tro. 'T is our mad sister : I do know her voice. 

Cu.s. [Within.] Cry, Trojans.' 

Hcct. It, is Cassandra. 

Enter Cassandra, raving. 

Cas. Cry. Trojans, cry ! lend me ten thousand eyes, 
And I will fill them with prophetic tears. 

Hect. Peace, sister, peace ! 

Co."f. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld, 
Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, 
Add to my clamours ! let us pay betimes 
A moiety of that mass of moan to come. 
Cry, Troja,np, cry ! practise your eyes with tears; 
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand ; 
Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all. 

in folio. ° sta.le : in folio. 



SCENE III. 



TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



577 



Cry, Trojans, cry ! a Helen, and a woe ! 

Cry. cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit. 

Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high 
strains 
Of divination in our sister work 
Some touches of remorse ? or is your blood 
So madly hot, that no discourse of reason, 
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause, 
Can qualify the same ? 

Tro. ' Why, brother Hector, 

We may not think the justness of each act 
Such and no other than event doth form it ; 
Nw once deject the courage of our minds, 
Because Cassandra 's mad : her brain-sick raptures 
Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel. 
Which hath our several honours all engag'd 
To make it gracious. For my private part, 
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons ; 
And Jove forbid, there should be done amongst us 
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen 
To tight for, and maintain. 

Par. Else might the world convince^ of levity, 
As well my undertakings, as your counsels • 
But, I attest the gods, your full consent 
Gave wings to my propcnsion, and cut off 
All fears attending on so dire a project : 
For what, alas ! can these my single arms ? 
What propugnation is in one man's valour. 
To stand the push and enmity of those 
This quarrel would excite ? Yet, I protest, 
Were I alone to poise^ the difficulties. 
And had as ample power as I have will, 
Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done. 
Nor faint in the pursuit. 

Pri. Paris, you speak 

Like one besotted on your sweet delights : 
You have the honey still, but these the gall. 
So to be valiant is no praise at all. 

Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself 
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it, 
But I would have the. soil of her fair rape 
Wip'd off in honourable keeping her. 
What treason were it to the ransack'd queen, 
Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me, 
Now to deliver her possession up. 
On terms of base compulsion ? Can it be, 
That so degenerate a strain as this, 
Should once set footing in your generous bosoms? 
There 's not the meanest spirit on our party, 
Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw. 
When Helen is defended ; nor none so noble. 
Whose life were ill bestow'd, or death unfam'd, 
Wlicre Helen is the subject : then, I say. 
Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well, 
The world's large spaces cannot ])aral]el. 

Hect. Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well ; 
And on the cause and question now in hand 
Have gloz'd, — but superficially ; not much 
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought 
Unfit to hear moral philosophy. 
The reasons you allege do more conduce 
To the hot pas.sion of distemper'd blood, 
Than to make up a free determination 
'Twixt right and wrong : for pleasure, and revenge, 
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice 
Of any (rue decision. Nature craves, 
All dues be render'd to their owners: now. 
What nearer debt in all humanity 
Than wife is to the husband ? if this law 



Of nature be corrupted through affection. 

And that great minds, of partial indulgence 

To their benumbed wills, resist the same. 

There is a law in each well-order'd nation, 

To curb those raging appetites that are 

Most disobedient and refractory. 

If Helen, then, be wife to Sparta's king. 

As it is known she is, these moral laws 

Of nature, and of nation, speak alovxd 

To have her back return'd : thus to persist 

In doing wrong extenuates not wrong. 

But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion 

Is this, in way of truth : yet, ne'ertheless, 

My spritely brethren, I propend to you 

In resolution to keep Helen still ; 

For 't is a cause that hath no mean dependance 

Upon our joint and several dignities. 

Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of our design. 
Were it not glory that we more affected, 
Than the performance of our heaving spleens, 
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood 
Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector, 
She is a theme of honour and renown; 
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds ; 
Whose present courage may beat down our foes. 
And fame in time to come canonize us : 
For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose 
So rich advantage of a promis'd glory. 
As smiles upon the forehead of this action, 
For the wide world's revenue. 

Hect. I am yours, 

You valiant offspring of great Priamus. — 
I have a roisting challenge sent amongst 
The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks, 
Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits. 
I was advertis'd, their great general slept, 
Whilst emulation in the army crept : 
This, I presume, will wake him. [Exeunt. 



SCENE III. 



-The Grecian Camp. 
Tent. 



Before Achilles' 



Enter Thersites. 

Ther. How now, Thersites ! what ! lost in the laby- 
rinth of thy fury? Shall the elephant Ajax carry it 
thus ? he beats me, and I rail at him : worthy satis- 
faction ! would, it were otherwise ; that I could beat 
him, whilst he railed at me. 'Sfoot, I '11 learn to con- 
jure and raise devils, but I '11 see some issue of my 
spiteful execrations. Then, there 's Achilles, — a rare 
engineer. If Troy be not taken till these two under- 
mine it, the walls will stand till they fall of themselves. 
[Kneels.^] O, thou great thunder-darter of Olympus ! 
forget that thou art Jove the king of gods ; and. Mer- 
cury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy Caduceus, if ye 
take not that little, little, less-than-little wit from them 
that they have ; which short-armed* ignorance itself 
knows is so abundant scarce, it will not in circum- 
vention deliver a fly from a spider, without drawing 
their massy irons and cutting the web. After this, the 
vengeance on the whole camp ! or, rather the Nea- 
politan" bone-ache : for that, methinks, is the curse 
dependant on those that Avar for a placket. [Rises.'^] 
I have said my prayers, and devil, cnA'y, say Amen. 
What, ho ! my lord Achilles ! 

Enter Patroclus. 

Patr. Wlio's there? Thersites? Good Thersites, 
come in and rail. 

Ther. If I could have remembered a gilt counterfeit, 
thou wildest not have slipped out of my contcmpla- 



1 Convict. 3 pass : in f. e. ' Not in f. e. 



* Dyce read.s : fhort-aim'd. ' ' Not in f. e. 

37 



578 



TEOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT II. 



tion ; but it is no matter : thyself upon thyself ! The 
common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be 
thine in great revenue ! heaven bless thee from a tutor, 
and discipline come not near thee ! Let thy blood be 
thy direction till thy death ! then, if she, that lays thee, 
out, says thou art a fair corse, I '11 be sworn and sworn 
upon 't she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. 
Where 's Achilles ? 

Patr. What ! art thou devout ? wast thou in prayer ? 

Ther. Ay ; the heavens hear me ! 
Enter Achilles. 

Achil. Who 's there? 

Pair. Thersites, my lord.. 

Achil. Where, where ? — Art thou come ? Why, my 
cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served thyself 
in to my table so many meals ? Come ; what 's Aga- 
memnon ? 

Ther. Thy commander, Achilles. Then, tell me, 
Patroclu.*, what 's Achilles? 

Patr. Thy lord, Thersites. Then, tell me. I pray 
thee, what 's thyself? 

Ther. Thy knowcr, Patroclus. 
clus, what art thou ? 

Patr. Thou must tell, that knowest. 

Achil. ! tell, tell. 

Ther. I '11 decline the whole question. Agamemnon 
commands Achilles ; Achilles is my lord : I am Patro- 
clus' knower ; and Patroclus is a fool. 

Patr. You rascal ! 

Ther. Peace, fool ! I have not done. 

Achil. He is a privileged man. — Proceed, Thersites. 

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool ; Achilles is a fool ; 



Then tell mc, Patro- 



Thersites is a fool : 



Achil. Derive this 



and, as aforesaid. 



Patroclus is a fool. 



TJier. Agamemnon 



come. 

is a fool to offer to command 
Achilles ; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Aga- 
memnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool ; and 
Patroclus is a fool positive. 

Patr. Why am I a fool ? 

Ther. Make that demand of thy Creator.' — It suffices 
me, thou art. Look you, who comes here? 
Enter Agamemkon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, and 

Ajax. 

Achil. Patroclus, I '11 speak with nobody. — Come in 
with me, Thersites. [Exit. 

Ther. Here is such patchery,^ such juggling, and 
such knavery ! all the argument is a cuckold, and a 
whore ; a good quarrel, to draw cmiilous factions, and 
bleed to death upon. Now, the dry serpigo^ on the 
subject, and war and lechery confound all ! [Exit. 

Agam. Where is Achilles? 

Patr. Within his tent ; but ill-dispos'd, my lord. 

Again. Let it be known to him that we are here. 
We sent* our messengers ; and we lay by 
Our appertainments visiting of him : 
Let him be told so, lest,= percliance, he think 
We dare not move the question of our place, 
Or know not what we are. 

Pair. I shall say so to him. [Exit. 

Ulyss. We saw him at the opening of his tent : 
He is not sick. 

Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart : you may 
call it melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, 
by my head, 'tis pride : but wiiy? why? let him show 
us a cause. — A word, my lord. 

[Taking Agamemnon aside. 

Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him ? 

Ulyss. Achilles liath inveigled his fool from him. 



Nest. Who? Thersites? 

Ulyss. He. 

Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost 
his argument. 

Ulyss. No ; you see, he is his argument, that has his 
argument, Achilles. 

Nest. All the better ; their fraction is more our 
wish, than their faction : but it was a strong com- 
posure, a fool could disunite. 

Ulyss. The amity that wisdom knit^ not, folly may 
easily untie. Here comes Patroclus. 

Nest. No Achilles with him. 

Re-enter Patroclus. , 

Ulyss. The elephant hath joints, but none for cour- 
tesy: his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure. 

Patr. Achilles bids me say, lie is much sorry, 
If any thing more than your sport and pleas'ure 
Did move your greatness, and this noble state, 
To call upon him : he hopes, it is no other. 
But, for your health and your digestion sake, 
An after-dinner's breath. 

Agam. Hear you, Patroclus. 

We are too well acquainted with these answers ; 
But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn. 
Cannot ouffly our apprehensions. 
Much attribute he hath, and much the reason 
Why we ascribe it to him ; yet all his virtues, 
Not virtuously on his own part beheld. 
Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss ; 
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, 
Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him. 
We come to speak with him ; and you shall not sin. 
If you do say, we think him over-proud. 
And under-honest ; in self-assumption greater, 
Than in the note of judgment ; and worthier than 
Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on, [liiinself 
Disguise the holy strength of their command, 
And underwrite in an observing kind 
His humorous predominance ; yea, watch • 

His pettish luncs,^ his ebbs, his flows, as if 
The passage and whole carriage of this action 
Rode on his tide. Go, tell him this : and add, 
That, if he overbold his price so much. 
We '11 none of him : but let him, like an engine 
Not portable, lie under this report — 
Bring action hither, this cannot go to war. 
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give 
Before a sleeping giant : — tell him so. 

Patr. I shall ; and bring his answer presently. [Exit. 

Agam. In second voice we '11 not be satisfied. 
We come to speak with him. — Ulysses, enter you. 

[Exit Ulysses. 

Ajax. What is he more than another ? 

Agam. No more than what he thinks he is. 

Ajax. Is he so much ? Do you not think, he thinks 
himself a better man than I am ? 

Agam. No question. 

Ajax. Will you subscribe his thoiight, and say he is? 

Agam. No, noble Ajax ; you are as strong, as 
valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and 
altogether more tractable. 

Ajax. Why should a man be proud? How doth 
pride grow? I knoAv not what pride is. 

Agam. Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your 
virtues the fairer. He that is proud, eats up himself: 
pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chron- 
icle ; and whatcA^cr praises itself but in the deed, de- 
vours the deed in the praise. 



' of the prover : in quartos. = Patching up to deceive 
' of, so ; in folio. 6 Lunacies, lines : iu folio. 



Tosuery. 3 A kind of tetter. * He sent : in folio. Theotald reads : He shent 



SCENE ni. 



TROILUS AND CllESSIDA. 



579 



Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engen- 
dering of toads. 

Nest. Yet lie loves himself : is 't not strange ? [Aside. 

Re-enter Ulysses. 
Uly.'is. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. 
As:nm. What 's his excuse ? 

Ulyss. He doth rely on none • 

But carries on the stream of his dispose 
Without observance or respect of any, 
In will peculiar, and in self-admission. 

Again. Why will he not, upon our fair request, 
Untent his person, and share the air Avith us? 

Ulyss. Things small as nothing, for request's sake 
only, 
He makes important. Possess'd he is with greatness ; 
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride 
That quarrels at self-breath: imagined worth 
Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse. 
That, "twixt his mental and his active parts, 
Kiiigdom'd Achilles in commotion rages, 
And batters down himself.' What should I say? 
He is so plaguy proud, that the death tokens of it 
Cry — ''No recovery." 

Agam. Let Ajax go to him. — 

Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent : 
'T is said, he holds you well ; and will be led, 
At your request, a little from himself. 

Uh/ss. O Agamemnon ! let it not be so : 
We 'il consecrate the steps that Ajax makes 
When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord, 
Tliat bastes his arrogance with Jiis own seam,^ 
And never suffers matter of the world 
Enter his thoughts, — save such as doth revolve 
And ruminate himself, — shall he be worshipp'd 
Of that we hold an idol more than he ? 
No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord 
RTust not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd ; 
Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit. 
As amply titled^ as Achilles is, by going to Achilles : 
That were to enlard his fat-alrcady pride ; 
And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns 
With entertaining gi-eat Hyperion. 
This lord go to him ? Jupiter forbid ; 
And say in thunder — '• Achilles, go to him." 

Ncst.Ol this is well; he rubs the vein of him. 

[Aside. 
Dio. And how his silence drinks up this applause ! 

[Aside. 
Ajax. If I go to him, with my armed fist 
I'll pash him o'er the face. 

Agam. O, no ! you shall not go. 
Ajax. An a' be proud w^ith me, I "11 pheeze* his pride. 
Let me go to hiiu. 

Ulyss. Not for the worth lliat hangs upon our quarrel. 
Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow ! 
Nest. How he describes 

Himself? [Aside. 

Ajax. Can he not be sociable ? 
Ulyss. The raven 

Chides blackness. [Aside. 

Ajax. I '11 let his humours blood. 



Agam. He will be the physician, that should be the 
patient. [Aside. 

Ajax. An all men were o' my mind, — 

Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion. [Aside. 

Ajax. 'A should not bear it so, 
'A should eat swords first: shall pride carry it? 

Nest. An 't would, you 'd carry half. [Aside. 

Ulyss. 'A would have ten .<<hares. Aside. 

Ajax. I will knead him; I will make him supple. 

Nest. He 's not yet thorough warm; force him with 
praises. 
Pour in, pour in ; his ambition is dry. [Aside. 

Ulyss. My lord, you feed too much on this dislike. 

[To Agame.mnon. 

Nest. Our noble general, do not do so. 

Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. 

Ulyss. Why, 't is this naming of liim does him liarm. 
Here is a man — but 't is before his face; 
I will be silent. 

Nest. Wherefore should you so ? 

He is not emulous, as Achilles is. 

Ulyss. Know' the whole world, he is as valiant. 

Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus with us ! 
Would, he were a Trojan ! 

Nest. What a vice 

Were it in Ajax now — 

Ulyss. If he were proud ? 

Dio. Or covetous of praise ? 

Ulyss. Ay, or surly borne ? 

Dio. Or strange, or self-affected ? 

Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet 
composure ; 
Praise him that got thee, her that gave thee suck : 
Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature 
Thrice-fam'd, beyond all erudition ; 
But he that disciplin'd thine arms to fight, 
Let Mars divide eternity in twain, 
And give him half ; and for thy vigour, 
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield 
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom. 
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines 
Thy spacious and dilated parts : here 's Nestor, 
Instructed by the antiquary times. 
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise ; 
But pardon, father Nestor, were your days 
As green as Ajax. and your brain so temper'd, 
You should not have the eminence of him, 
But be as Ajax. 

Ajax. Shall I call you father ? 

Nest.^ Ay, my good son. 

Dio. Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax. 

Ulyss. There is no tarrying here : the hart Achilles 
Keeps thicket. — Please it our grcat^ general 
To call together all his state of war : 
Fresh kings are come to Troy ; to-morrow. 
We must with all our main of power stand fast : 
And here 's a lord, — come knights from east to west, 
And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. 
Agam. Go we to council : let Achilles sleep. 
Light boats sail' swift, though greater hulks* draw 
deep. [Exeimt. 



' "gainst itself 
•> bulks : in folio. 



in folio. 2 Grease. ^ likei : in quarto. * Humble. ' Ulysses: in folio. 'Not in folio, 'may sail: in folio 



580 



TROILIJS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT ni. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. 
- Enter Pandarus and a Servant. 

Pan. Friend you ; pray you, a word. Do not you 
follow the young lord Paris ? 

Scrv. Ay, sir, wlicn he goes before me. 

Pan. You depend vipon him, I mean? 

Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the lord. 

Pan. You depend upon a noble gentleman : I must 
needs praise him. 

Serv. The lord be praised ! 

Pan . You know me, do you not ? 

Serv. Faith, sir, superficially. 

Pan. Friend, know me better. I am the lord Pan- 
darus. 

Serv. I hope, I shall know your honour better. 

Pan. I do desire it. 

Serv. You are in the state of grace. \Miisk u'itJiin. 

Pan. Grace ! not so. friend ; honour and lordship 
are my titles. — What music is this? 

Serv. I do but partly know, sir ; it is music in parts. 

Pan. Know you the musicians ? 

Serv. Wholly, sir. 

Pan. Who play they to ? 

Serv. To the hearers, sir. 

At whose pleasure, friend? 



Pan. 
Scrv. 
Pan. 
Serv. 



At mine, sir; and theirs that love musie. 
Command, I mean, friend. 
Who shall I command, sir? 



Pan. Friend, we understand not one another: I 
am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whose 
request do these men play ? 

Serv. That's to 't, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, at the 
request of Paris, my lord, who is there in per.son ; with 
him, the mortal Vcnu.«, the heart-blood of beauty, love's 
invisible soul — 

Pan. Who? my cousin Cressida? 

Scrv. No, sir, Helen : could you not find out that by 
her attributes? 

Pan. It .should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen 
the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from 
the prince Troilus: I will make a complimental as- 
sault, upon him. for my business sceths. 

Serv. Sodden business: there's a stewed phrase, 
indeed. 

Enter Paris and Helen, attended. 

Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair 
company ! fair desires, in all fair measure, lairly guide 
them ; especially to you, fair queen : fair thoughts be 
your fair pillow ! 

Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. 

Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. — 
Fair prince, here is good broken music. 

Par. You have broke it, cousin; and, by my life, 
you shall make it whole again: you shall piece it out 
with a piece of your performance.— Nell, he is full of 
harmony. 

Pan. Truly, lady, no. 

Helen. O, sir ! — 

Pan. Rude, in sooth ; in good sooth, very rude. 

Par. Well said, my lord. Well, you saj' so in fits. 

Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen. — My 
lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ? 

Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out : we '11 hear 
you sing, certainly. 

» These word.s are only in the quartos. 3 disposer : in f. e. 



Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. 
But, marry, thus, my lord. — My dear lord, and most 
esteemed friend, your brother Troilus — 

Helen. My lord Pandarus ; honey-sweet lord, — 

Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to : — commends himself 
most affectionately to you. 

Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody : if 
you do. our melancholy upon your head. 

Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen • that 's a sweet 
queen, — i' faith — 

Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour 
offence. 

Pan. Nay. that shall not serve your turn : that shall 
it not, in truth, la ! Nay, I care not for such words : 
no, no. — And, iny lord, he desires you, that if the king 
call for him at supper, you will make his excuse. 

Helen. My lord Pandarus, — 

Pan. What says my sweet queen, — my very very 
sweet queen ? 

Par. What exploit 's in hand ? where sups he to- 
night ? 

Helen. Nay, but my lord, — 

Pan. What says my sweet queen? — My cousin will 
fall out with you. You must not know where he sups. 

Par. I '11 lay my life,' with my dispraiser,* Cressida. 

Pan. No, no; no such matter, you are wide. Come, 
your dispraiser is sick. 

Par. Well, 1 '11 make excuse. 

Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say 
Cressida? no, your poor dispraiser 's sick. 

Par. I spy. 

Pan. You spy ! what do you spy ? — Come, give me 
an instrument. — Now, sweet queen. 

Helen. Why, this is kindly done. 

Pun. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you 
have, sweet queen. 

Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my 
lord Paris. 

Pan. He ! no, she '11 none of him ; they two are twain. 

Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make them 
three. 

Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this. I'll 
sing you a song now. 

Helen. Ay, ay, pr'ythee now. By my troth, sweet 
lord, thou hast a fine forehead. 

Pan. Ay, you may, you may. 

Helen. Let thy song be love : this love will undo us 
all. O, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid ! 

Pan. Love? ay, that it shall, i' faith. 

Par. Ay. good now, love, love, nothing but love. 

Pan. In good troth, it begins so : 

Love, love, nothing hut love., still more ! 

For, oh ! love.'! bow 

Shoot.-i biicfc and doe : 

Tlie .shaft coyifovnds, 

Not that it ii'omuh 
Bvt tickles still the sore. 
These lovers cry — Oh ! oh ! they die ! 

Yet that which seems a rvonnd to kill, 
Doth turn oh ! oh 1 to ha ! ha ! he ! 

So dying love lives .still : 
Oh! oh ! a tvhile, but ha ! ha ! ha! 
Oh ! oh ! groans out for ha ! ha ! ha ! — 

Hey ho ! 



SCENE n. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



581 



Helen. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose. 

Par. He eats nothing but doves, love. 

Pan. And that breeds hot blood, and hot blood be- 
gets hot thoughts, and hot thouglits beget hot deeds, 
and hot deeds is love. 

Helen. Is this the generation of love? hot blood, 
hot thoughts, and hot deeds? — Why, they arc vipers: 
is love a generation of vipers ? 

Pan. Sweet lord, who's a-field to-day? 

Par. Hector, Deii)hobus, Helcnns, Antenor, and all 
the gallantry of Troy: I would fainliave armed to-day, 
but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my 
brother Troilus went not ? 

Helen. He hangs the lip at something. — You know 
all, lord Pandarus. 

Pa/1. Not I, honey-sweet queen. — I long to hear 
how they sped to-day. — You '11 remember your brother's 
excuse ? 

Par. To a hair. 

P(ni. Farewell, sweet queen. 

Helen. Commend me to your niece. 

Pan. I will, sweet queen. \Exit. 

[A Retreat .'bounded. 

Helen. They 're come from field : let us to Priam's 
hall, 
To greet the warriors. 

Par. Sweet Helen, I must woo you 
To help unarm our Hector : his stubborn buckles, 
With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd, 
Shall more obey than to the edge of steel. 
Or force of Greekish sinews : you shall do more, 
Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector. 

Helen. 'T will make us proud to be his servant, 
Paris : 
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty, 
Gives us more palm in beauty than we have : 
Yea, overshines ourself. 

Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. Pandarus' Orchard. 
Enter Pandarus and a Servant, meeting. 

Pan. How now! where 's thy master ? at my cousin 
Cressida's ? 

Serv. No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him 
thither. 

Enter Troii.us. 

Pan. ! here he comes. — How now, how now ! 

Tro. Sirrah, walk off. [Exit Servant. 

Pan. Have you seen my cousin ? 

Tro. No, Pandarus: I stalk about her door, 
Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks 
Staying for wattage. ! be thou my Charon, 
And give me swift transportance to those fields, 
Where I may wallow in the lily beds 
Proposed for the deserver. O, gentle Pandarus ! 
From Cupid's .sliouldcr pluck his painted wings, 
And fly with me to Crc.^sid. 

Pan. Walk here i' the orchard : I '11 bring her 
straight. [Exit Pandarus. 

Tro. I am giddy: expectation whirls me round. 
Til' imaginary rcli.sh is so sweet 
That it enchants my sense ; what will it be. 
When that the watery palate tastes indeed 
Love's thrice-repured' nectar? death, I fear me; 
Swooning destruction ; or some joy too fine, 
Too subtle-potent, tuu'd'' too sharp in sweetness, 
For the capacity of my ruder powers. 
I fear it much ; and I do fear besides, ' 



That I shall lose distinction in my joys, 

As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps 

The enemy flying. 

Re-enter Pandarus. 

Pan. She 's making her ready ; she '11 come straight : 
you must be witty now. She does so blush, and 
fetches her wind so short, as if she were frayed with a 
sprite: I '11 fetch her. It is the prettiest villain : she 
fetches her breath so short as a ncw-ta'cn sparrow. 

[Exit Pandarus. 

Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom : 
My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse, 
And all my powers do their bestowing lose, 
Like vassalage at unawares encountering 
The eye of majesty. 

Enter Pandarus and Crersida. 

Pan. Come, come, wliat need you blush ? shame 's a 
baby. — Here she is now : swear the oaths now to her, 
that you have sworn to me. — What ! are you gone 
again? you must be watclicd ere you be made tame, 
must you ? Come your ways, come your ways ; an you 
draw backward, we '11 put you i' the fills. =• — Why do 
you not speak to her? — Come, draw this curtain, and 
let 's see your picture. [Unveiling her.^] Alas the day, 
how loalh you are to offend daylight ! an 't were dark. 



you 'd close sooner. So, so : 



rub on,* and kiss the mis- 
trcss.' How now ! a kiss in fee-farm' ? build there, 
carpenter; the air is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your 
hearts out, ere I part you. The falcon as the tercel,^ 
for all the ducks i' the river : go to, go to. 

Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady. 

Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds ; but she '11 
bereave you of the deeds too, if she call your activity 
in question. What ! billing again? Here's — "In wit- 
ness whereof the parties interchangeably" — Come in, 
come in : I '11 go get a fire. [Exit Pandarus. 

Cre."!. Will you walk in, my lord ? 

Tro. O Cressida ! how often have I wished me thus? 

Ores. Wished, my lord ? — The gods grant ! — my 
lord ! 

Tro. What should they grant ? what makes this 
pretty abruption? What too curious dreg espies my 
sweet lady in the fountain of our love? 

Ores. More dregs tlian water, if my fears have eyes. 

Tro. Fears make devils of cherubins ; they never 
see truly. 

Cre.s. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer 
footing than blind reason, sturfibling without fear : to 
fear the worst, oft cures the worse. 

Tro. ! let my lady apprehend no fear : in all Cu- 
pid's pageant there is presented no monster. 

Crcs. Nor nothing monstrous neither? 

Tro. Nothing, but our undertakings ; when we vow 
to weep seas, live in fire, cat rocks, tame tigers ; think- 
ing it harder for our mistress to devise imposition 
enough, than for us to undergo any difficulty imposed. 
This is the monstrosity in love, lady, — that the will is 
infinite, and the execution confined ; that the desire is 
boundless, and the act a slave to limit. 

Crcs. They say, all lovers swear more performance 
than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they 
never perform ; vowing more than the perfection of 
ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one. 
They that have the voice of lions, and the act of hares, 
are they not monsters? 

Tro. Are there such ? such are not we. Praise us 
as we are lasted : allow us as we prove : our head shall 
go bare, till merit crown it. No perfection in reversion 



' reputed : in folio. 
jack. ' Perpetuity. 



» and : in folio. ' Thills, shafts. « Not in f e. s « Terms used in the game of bowls ; the latter refers to the 
8 The falcon, or female, is as good as the tercel, or male hatch. 



582 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT III. 



shall have a praise in present : we will not name de- 
sert, before his birth ; and, being born, his addition shall 
be humble. Few words to fair faith : Troilus shall be 
such to Cressid, as what envy can say worst, shall be 
a mock for his truth ; and what truth can speak truest, 
not truer than Troilus. 

Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ? 
Re-enter Pandarus. 

Pan. What ! blushing still ? have you not done 
talking yet ? 

Ores. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate 
to you. 

Pan. I thank you for that : if my lord get a boy of 
you, you '11 give him me. Be true to my lord ; if he 
flinch, chide me for it. 

Tro. You know now your hostages ; your uncle's 
word, and my firm faith. 

Pan. Nay, I '11 give my word for her too. Our kin- 
dred, though they be long ere they are wooed, they are 
constant, being won : they are burs, I can tell you : 
they '11 stick where they are thrown. 

Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings me 
heart. — 
Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day 
For many weary months. 

Tro. Why was my Cre.ssid, then, so hard to win? 

Cres. Hard to seem won ; but I was won, my lord, 
With the first glance that ever — Pardon me, — 
If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. 
I love you now; but not, till now, so much 
But I might master it. — In faith, I lie : 
My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown 
Too headstrong for their mother : see, we fools ! 
Why have I blabb'd ? who shall be true to us, 
When we are so unsecret to ourselves ? — 
But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not ; 
And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man, 
Or that we women had men's privilege 
Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue : 
For, in this rapture, I shall surely speak 
The thing I shall repent. See, see ! your silence. 
Cunning' in dumbness, from my weakness draws 
My very soul of counsel.^ Stop my mouth. 

Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issues hence. 

[Kissing her'. 

Pan. Pretty, i' faith. 

Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me ; 
'T was not my purpose thus to beg a kiss. 
I am asham'd : — heavens ! what have I done ? — 
For this time will I take my leave, my lord. 

Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid ? 

Pan. Leave ! an you take leave till to-morrow morn- 
ing,— 

Cres. Pray you, content you. 

Tro. What offends you, lady ? 

Cres. Sir, mine own company. 

Tro. You cannot shun 

Yourself. 

Cres. Let me go and try. 
I have a kind self* that resides with you ; 
But an unkind self, that itself will leave 
To be another's fool. I would be gone. — 
Where is my wit ? I know not what I speak^. 



Tro. Well know they what they speak, that speak 
so wisely. 

Cres. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than love, 
And fell so roundly to a large confession, 
To angle for your thoughts ; but you are wise, 
Or else you love not, for to be wise, and love. 
Exceeds man's might ; that dwells with gods above. 

Tro. ! that I thought it could be in a woman, 
(As, if it can, I will presume in you) 
To feed for aye her lamp and flame of love ; 
To keep her constancy in plight and youth. 
Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind 
That doth renew swifter than blood decays : 
Or. that persuasion could but thus convince me, 
That my integrity and truth to you ^ 

Might be afl'ronled with the match and weight 
Of such a winnow'd purity in love ; 
How were I then uplifted ! but, alas ! 
I am as true as truth's simplicity. 
And simpler than the infancy of truth. 

Cres. In that I '11 war with you. 

Tro. O, virtuous fight ! 

When right with right wars who shall be most right. 
True swains in love shall, in the world to come. 
Approve their truths by Troilus : when their rhymes, 
Full of protest, of oath, and big compare. 
Want similes, truth tir'd with iteration, — 
As true as steel, as plantage' to the moon, 
As sun to day, as turtle to her mate. 
As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre, — 
Yet, after all comparisons of truth. 
As truth's authentic author to be cited, 
As true as Troilus shall crown up the verse, 
And sanctify the numbers. 

Cres. Prophet may you be ! 

If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, 
When time is old and hath forgot itself. 
When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, 
And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, 
And mighty states characterless are grated 
To dusty nothing ; yet let memory. 
From false to false among false maids in love, 
Upbraid my falsehood. When they have said — as false 
As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, 
As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, 
Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son , 
Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood. 
As false as Cressid. [Troilus kisses her.'' 

Pan. Go to, a bargain made ; seal it. seal it ; I '11 be 
the witness. — Here I hold your hand : here, my cou- 
sin 's : if ever you prove false one to another, since I 
have taken such pains to bring you together, let all 
pitiful goers-bctwccn be called to the world's end after 
my name, call them all — Pandars : let all constant men 
be Troiluscs, all false women Cressids, and all brokers- 
between Pandars ! say, amen. 

Tro. Amen. 



Cres. 
Pan. 



Amen. 

Amen. 



' Coming : in old copies. Pope made the change. 
5 In folio : 



Whereupon I will show you a cham- 
ber ; which bed, because it shall not speak of yovu" 
pretty encounters, press it to death : away ! [Exeunt.^ 
And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here, 
Bed, chamber, Pandar to provide this gear ! [Exit.^ 

3 Not in f. e. * kind of self : in f. e. 



2 My soul of counsel from me : in folio. 
Where is my wit? 
I would be gone. I speak I know not what. 
" The poore husbandman perceiveth that the increase of the moone maketh plants fruitful!, so as in the full moone they are 'n the be.st 
strength; decaieingin the wane; and in the conjunction, do utterlie wither and vade. — Scott''s Discoverie of Witchcraft, l5Si. ' " Not in f.e 
• Exeunt : in f. e. 



SCENE III. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



583 



SCENE III.— The Grecian Camp. 

Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, 
Ajax, Menelaus, and Calchas. 

Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have done you, 
Th' advantage of the time prompts me, aloud 
To call for recompense. Appeal' it to your mind, 
That, through the sight I bear in things above', 
I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, 
Incurr'd a traitor's name ; expos'd myself. 
From certain and possess'd conveniences. 
To doubtful fortunes ; sequestering from me all 
That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition, 
Made tame and most familiar to my nature ; 
And here, to do you service, am become 
As new into the world, strange, unacquainted : 
I do beseech you. as in way of taste, 
To give me now a little benefit. 
Out of those many register'd in promise, 
Which, you say, live to come in my behalf. 

Agam. What wouldst tliou of us, Trojan ? Make 
demand. 

Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd Ant«nor, 
Yesterday took : Troy holds him very dear. 
Oft have you, (often have you tiianks therefore) 
Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange, 
Whom Troy hath still denied ; but this Antenor, 
I know, is such a wrest^ in their affairs, 
That their negotiations all must slack, 
Wanting his manage : and they will almost 
Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, 
In change of him : let him be sent, great princes, 
And he shall buy my daughter; and lier presence 
Shall quite strike off all service I have done 
In most accepted pain. 

Agnm. Let Diomedes bear him, 

And bring us Cressid hither : Calchas shall have 
What he requests of us. — Good Diomed, 
Furnish you fairly for this interchange : 
Withal, bring word, if Hector will to-morrow 
Be answer'd in his challenge. Ajax is ready. 

Dio. This shall I undertake ; and 't is a burden 
Which I am proud to bear. 

[Exeunt Diomedes and Cai-chas. 

Enter Achilles and Patroclus, before their Tent. 

Vhj.s.s. Achilles stands i' the entrance of his tent : 
Please it our general to pass strangely by him, 
As if he were forgot ; and princes ail, 
Lay negligent and loose regard upon him. 
I will come last : 't is like, he '11 question me, 
Wliy such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on him ? 
If so, I have deri.sion medicinable. 
To use between yoixr strangeness and his pride, 
Which his own will shall have desire to drink. 
It may do good : pride hath no other glass 
To show itself, but pride ,* for supple knees 
Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees. 

Agam. We '11 execute your purpose, and put on 
A form of strangeness as we pass along : 
So do each lord ; and cither greet him not, 
Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more 
Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way. 

Achil. AVhat ! comes the general to speak with me? 
You know my mind : I '11 fight no more 'gain.'^t Troy. 

Agam. What says Achilles ? would he aught with us ? 

Ne.'^t. Would you, my lord, aught with the general ? 

Achil. No. 

Nest. Nothing, my lord 



Agam. The better, [^.ceu??^ Agamemnon arjc? Nestor. 

Achil. Good day, good day. 

Men. How do you ? how do you ? [Exit Menelaus. 

Achil. What ! does the cuckold scorn me ? 

Ajax. How now, Patroclus ! 

Achil. Good morrow, Ajax. 

Ajax. Ha ? 

Achil. Good morrow. 

Ajax. Ay, and good next day too. [Exit Ajax. 

Achil. What mean these fellows ? Know they not 
Achilles ? 

Patr. They pass by strangely ; they were us'd to bend, 
To send their smiles before them to Achilles ; 
To come as humbly, as they us'd to creep 
To holy altars. 

Achil. What ! am I poor of late ? 

'T is certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune, 
Must fall out with men too : what the dcclin'd is. 
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others. 
As feel in liis own fall ; for men, like butterflies, 
Show not their mealy wings but to the summer. 
And not a man, for being simply man. 
Hath any honour ; but honour for tliose honours 
That are witliout him, as place, riclies, favour, 
Prizes of accident as oft as merit : 
Which, when they fall, as being slippery standers, 
The love that lean'd on them, as slippery too, 
Doth one pluck down another, and together 
Die in the fall. But 't is not so with me : 
Fortune and I are friends : I do enjoy 
At ample point all that I did possess, 
Save these men's looks ; who do, methinks, find out 
Something not worth in me such ricli beholding 
As they have often given. Here is Ulysses : 
I '11 interrupt his reading. — 
How now, Ulysses ! 

Ulyss. Now, great Thetis' son ! 

[Looking up from his book.* 

Achil. What are you reading ? 

Vlyss. A strange fellow here 

Writes me, that man — how dearly ever parted*. 
How much in having, or without or in, — 
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, 
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection ; 
As when his virtues shining upon others 
Heat them, and they retort that heat again 
To the first giver. 

Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses. 

The beauty that is borne here, in the face, 
The bearer knows not, but commends itself 
To others' eyes : nor doth the eye itself, 
That most pure sjiirit of sense, behold itself,* 
Not going from itself ; but eye to eye oppos'd 
Salutes each other with each other's form : 
For speculation turns not to itself. 
Till it hath travel I'd, and is mirror'd' there 
Where it may .see itself. This is not strange at all. 

Vlyss. I do not strain at the position. 
It is familiar, but at the author's drift; 
Who in his circumstance expressly proves, 
Tliat no man is the lord of any thing, 
Though in and of him there be much consisting, 
Till he comnuinicate his parts to others : 
Nor doth he of himself know them for aught 
Till he behold them form'd in the applause 
Where they are extended ; which, like an arch, rever- 
berates 
The voice again ; or like a gate of steel, 



' Appear : in f. o. - ii> jui 
Tious line are not in the folio 



' to Jove : in f. e. ^ A tuner of musical instruments. — Douce. ♦ Not in f. e. * Endowed. « This and the pre- 
he folio. ' married : in f. e. 



584 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT III. 



Fronting the sun, receives and renders back 

His figure and his heat. I was much wrapt in this j 

And apprehended here immediately 

The unknown Ajax. 

Heavens, what a man is there ! a very horse ; 

That has he knows not what. Nature ! what things 

there are, 
Most abject in regard, and dear in use. : 
What things, again, most dear in the esteem, 
And poor in worth. Now, siiall we see to-morrow, 
An act that very chance do(h tlirow upon him, 
Ajax renowned. heavens ! what some men do, 
While some men leave to do. 
How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall, 
Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes ! 
How one man eats into another's pride, 
While pride is feasting in liis wantonness ! 
To see these Grecian lords ! — why, even already 
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder, 
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast. 
And great Troy shrieking'. 

Achil. I do believe it ; for they pass'd by me. 
As misers do by beggars, neither gave to me, 
Good word, nor look. What ! are my deeds forgot ? 

Uhjss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion ; 
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : 
Those scraps are good deeds past ; which are devour'd 
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 
As done. Perseverance, dear my lord, 
Keeps honour bright : to have done, is to hang 
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail 
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way ; 
For honour travels in a strait so narrow. 
Where one but goes abreast : keep, then, the path 
For emulation hath a thousand sons, 
That one by one pursue : if yovx give way, 
Or edge^ aside from the direct forthright, 
Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by. 
And leave you hindmost ; 
Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, 
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear. 
O'er-run and trampled on. Then, what they do in 

present. 
Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yom-s ; 
For time is like a fashionable host, 
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand. 
And M'ith his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly, 
Grasps-in the comer : welcome ever smiles, 
And farewell goes out sighing. Let not virtue seek 
Remuneration for the thing it was ; for beauty, wit, 
High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, 
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 
To envious and calumniating time. 
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, — 
That all, with one consent, praise new-born gawds. 
Though they are made and moulded of things past, 
And give to dust, that is a little gilt, 
More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. 
The present eye praises the present object : 
Then, marvel not, thou great and complete man. 
That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax, 
Since things in motion quicklier^ catch the eye, 
Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee, 
And still it might, and yet it may again. 
If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive. 
And case thy reputation in thy tent ; 
Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, 
Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves. 



Of this my privacy 



And drave great Mars to faction. 

Achil. 
I have strong reasons. 

Ulyss. But 'gainst your privacy 

The reasons are more potent and heroical. 
'T is known, Achilles, that you are in love 
With one of Priam's daughters. 

Achil. Ha ! known ? 

Ulyss. Is that a wonder ? 
The providence that 's in a M-atchful state 
Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold. 
Finds bottom in th? uncomprehensive deeps, 
Keeps pace* with thought, and almost, like the gods. 
Docs thoughts unveil in their dumb crudities.' 
There is a mystery (with whom relation 
Durst never meddle) in the soul of state. 
Which hath an operation more divine 
Than breath, or pen, can give expres-sure to. 
All the commerce that you have had with Troy 
As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord; 
And better would it fit Acliilles much 
To throw down Hector, than Polyxena : 
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus, now at home. 
When fame shall in our islands sound her trump. 
And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing, — 
'' Great Hector's sister did Achilles win. 
But our great Ajax bravely beat down him." 
Farewell, my lord ; I as your lover speak : 
The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break. 

[Exit. 

Pair. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you. 
A woman impudent and mannish grown 
Is not more loath'd, than an ciTeminate man 
In time of action. I stand conderan'd for this : 
They think, my little stomach to the war. 
And your great love to me, restrains you thus. 
Swift^, rouse yourself: and the weak wantcn Cupid 
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold. 
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, 
Be shook to air'. 

Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector ? 

Pair. Ay; and, perhaps, receive much houovtr by 
him. 

Achil. I see, my reputation is at stake; 
My fame is shrewdly gor'd. 

Pair. ! then beware : 

Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves. 
Omission to do what is necessary 
Seals a commission to a blank of danger; 
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints. 
Even then, when we sit idly in the sun. 

Achil. Go call Thcrsites hither, sweet Patroclus, 
I '11 send the fool to Ajax, and desire hira 
T' invite the Trojan lords, after the combat, 
To see us here unarm'd. I have a woman's longing, 
An appetite that I am sick withal, 
To see great Hector in his weeds of peace ; 
To talk with him, and to behold his visage. 
Even to my full of view. — A labour sav'd ! 
Enter Thersites. 
A wonder ! 
What? 
Ajax goes up and down the field asking for 



Ther. 
Achil 
Ther. 
himself. 
Achil 
Ther. 



How so ? 

He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector ; 
and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling, 
that he raves in saying nothing. 
Achil. How can that be ? 



1 shrinking : in folio. = turn : in quartos. = , 



in f. e. * place : in f. e. ' cradles : in f. e. ^ Sweet : in f. e. ^airy air : in folio. 



SCENE I. 



TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



585 



Thjr. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock ; 
a stride, and a stand : ruminate?, like an hostess, that 
hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her rcck- 
onini?: bites his lip with a politic regard, as who 
should say — •' there were wit in this head, an 't would 
out:'' and so there is; but it lies as coldly in him as 
fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. 
The man 's undone for ever ; for if Hector break not 
his neck i' the combat, he '11 break 't himself in vain- 
glory. He knows not me : I said, " Good-morrow. 
Ajax;"' and he replies, '' Thanks, Agamemnon." What 
think you of this man, that takes me for the general ? 
He 's grown a very land-fi.'^h, languageless, a monster. 
A plague of opinion ! a man may wear it on both sides, 
like a leather jerkin. 

Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Tlier- 
sitcs. 

Titer. Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody; he pro- 
fesses not answering : speaking is for beggars ; he 
wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his pre- 
sence : let Patroclus make his demands to me, you 
shall see the pageant of Ajax. 

Achil. To him, Patroclus : tell him, — I humbly de- 
sire the valiant Ajax to invite the most valorous Hector 
to come unarmed to my tent; and to procure safe con- 
duct for his person of the mai:nanimous, and most il- 
lustrious, six-or-seA'cn-times-honoured, captain-general 
of the Grecian army, Agamemnon. Do this. 

Pdtr. Jove bless great Ajax. 

Ther. Humph ! 

Pair. I come from the worthy Achilles, — 



Ther. Ha! 

Patr. Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector 
to his tent. — 

Ther. Humph ! 

Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon. 

Ther. Agamemnon? 

Putr. Ay, my lord. 

Ther. Ha! 

ratr. What say you to 't ? 

Ther. God be wi' you with all my heart. 

Patr. Your answer, sir. 

Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day. by eleven o'clock 
it will go one way or other: howsoever, he shall pay 
for me ere he has me. 

Patr. Your answer, sir. 

Ther. Fare you well with all my heart. 

Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he? 

Ther. No, but he 's out o' tune thus. What music 
will be in him when Hector has knocked out his brains, 
I know not ; but, I am sure, none, unless the fiddler 
Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on. 

Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a lelter to him straight. 

Ther. Let me bear^ another to his horse, for that 's 
the more capable creature. 

Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd ; 
And [ myself see not the bottom of it. 

[Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus. 

Ther. Would the fountain of your mind were clear 
again, that I might water an at-s at it. I had rather 
be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance. 

[Exit. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— Troy. A Street. 
Enter, at one side, JEseas, and Servant, icith a Torch; 

at the other, Paris. Deiphobcs, Antenor, Dio.medes, 

and others, with Torches. 

Par. See, ho ! who is that there? 

Dei. It is the lord jEneas. 

^Tie. Is the prince there in person ? — 
Had I so good occasion to lie long, 
As you. prince Paris, notliing but heavenly business 
Should rob my bed-mate of my company. 

Dio. That's my mind too. — Good morrow, lord 
iEncas. 

Par. A valiant Greek, ^Eneas, take his hand, 
Witness the process of your speech, wherein 
You told how Diomed, a whole week by days, 
Did haunt you in the field. 

jEnc. Health to you. valiant sir. 

During all question of the gentle truce ; 
But when I meet you arm'd. as black defiance, 
As licart can think, or courage execute. 

Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. 
Our bloods are now in calm, and so long health: 
But when contention and occasion meet, 
By Jove, I '11 play the hunter for thy life, 
With all my fierce''' pursuit, and policy. 

JEnc. And thou slialt hunt a lion, that will fly 
With his face backward. — In humane gentleness, 
Welcome to Troy: now. by Anchiscs' life, 
Welcome, indeed. By Venus' liand I swear, 
No man alive can love, in such a sort. 
The thing he means to kill, more excellently. 



Dio. We sympathize. — Jove, let ^Eneas live, 
If to my sword his fate be not the glory, 
A thousand complete courses of the sun ! 
But, in mine emulous honour, let him die 
With every joint a wound, and that to-morrow ! 

JEne. We know each other well. 

Dio. We do ; and long to know each other worse. 

Par. This is the most despiteful^ gentle greeting, 
The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. — 
What business, lord, so early? 

jEne. I was sent for to the king ; but why, I know not. 

Par. His purpose meets you. 'T was to bring this 
To Calchas' house ; and there to render him, [Greek 
For tlie enfrced Antenor. the fair Crcssid. 
Let 's have your company ; or, if you please. 
Haste there before us. I constantly do think. 
(Or, rather, call my thought a certain knowledge) 
^ly brother Troilus lodges there to-night: 
Ron.se him, and give him note of our approach, 
With the whole quality wherefore : I fear, 
We shall be much unwelcome. 

jEne. That I assure you : 

Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece, 
Than Crcssid borne from Troy. 

Par. There is no help; 

The bitter disposition of the time 
Will have it so. On, lord; we '11 follow you. 

jEne. Good morrow, all. [Exit. 

Par. And tell me, noble Diomed ; 'faith, tell me true^ 
Even in the soul of sound good-fellow.'ihip. 
Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen besf, 
Myself, or Menelaus ? 



carry : in folio. * force, pursuit, Sec. : in f. e. 3 despitefuU'st : in folio. * most : in folio. 



586 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT IV. 



Dio. 



Both alike: 



He merits well to have her, that doth sock her 

Not making any scruple of her soihire, 

With such a hell of pain, and world of charge ; 

And yon as well to keep her. that defend her 

Not- paJuting the taste of her dishonour, 

With such a costly loss of wcaltli and friends. 

He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up f 

Tlic Iocs and dregs of a flat tamed piece; 

You, like a lecher, out of wliorish loins 

Are plcas'd to breed out your inheritors; 

Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more; 

But he as he, each' heavier for a whore. 

Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman. 

Dio. She 's bitter to her country. Hear me, Paris : — 
For every false drop in her bawdy veins 
A Grecian's life hath sunk ; for every scruple 
Of her contaminated carrion weight, 
A Trojan hath been slain. Since she could speak. 
She hath not given so many good words breath, 
As for her Greeks and Trojans sufTerd death. 

Par. Fair T)iomed, you do as chapmen do. 
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy; 
But we in silence hold this virtue well, — 
We '11 not conuiiend what we intend not sell. 
Here lies our way. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Court before the House 

of Pandauus. 

Enter Troilus and Cressida. 

Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself: the morn is cold. 

Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I '11 call mine uncle down : 
He shall unbolt the gates. 

Tro. Trouble him not; 

To bed, to bed: sleep kill those pretty eyes, 
And give as soft attachment to thy senses, 
As infants' empty of all thouglit ! 

Cres. Good morrow, then. 

Tro. Pr'ythee now, to bed. 

Cres. Arc you aweary of me ? 

Tro. Cressida ! but that the busy day, 
Wak'd by tlic lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows, 
And dreaming night will Ixide our joys' no longer, 
I would not from thee. 

Cres. Night hath been too brief. 

Tro. Bcshrew the witch ! with venomous wights she 
stays, 
As tcdiou.sly^ as hell ; but flies the grasps of love, 
With wings more momentary-swift than thought. 
You will catch cold, and curse me. 

Cres. Pr'ythee, tarry. — 

You men will never tarry. 

foolish Cressid ! — I might have still held off", 

And, then, you would have tarried. Hark! there's 
one ui>. 
Pan. [Iflthin.] What! are all the doors open here ? 
Tro. It is your uncle. 

Enter Pandauus. 
Cres. A pestilence on him ! now will he be mocking : 

1 shall have such a life. — 

Pan. How now, how now! how go maidenheads? — 
Here, you maid; where 's my cousin Cressid? 

Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle ! 
You bring me to do, — and then you (lout me too. 

Pan. To do what? to do what? — lot her say what : 
— what have I brought you to do ? 

Cres. Come, come; beshrew your heart ! you '11 ne'er 
be good. 
Nor suffer others. 



Pan. Ha, ha ! Alas, poor wretch ! a poor capocchio !* 
— liast not slept to-night ? would he not, a naughty man, 
let it sleep ? a bugbear take him ! [KnocJcing. 

Cres. Did not I tell you ? — 'would he were knocked 
o' the head ! — 
Who 's that at door ? good uncle, go and see. — 
My lord, come you again into my chamber : 
You smile, and mock me, as if I meant naughtily. 

Tro. Ha, ha ! 

Cres. Come, you are decciv'd ; I think of no such 
thing. — [Knocking. 

How earnestly they knock. — Pray you, come in : 
I would not for half Troy have you seen here. 

[K.veunt Troii.us and Cressida. 

Pan. [Going to the door.] Who 's there ? js'hat 's the 
matter ? will you beat down the door ? Ilbw now ! 
what 's the matter ? [Opening it.'' 

Enter ^Eneas. 

JEnc. Good morrow, lord, good morrow. 

Pan. Who 's there ? my lord jEneas ! By my troth, 
I knew you not : what news with you so early ? 

JEne. Is not prince Troilus here ? 

Pan. Here ! what should he do here? 

Mnc. Come, he is here, my lord ; do not deny him : 
it doth import him much to speak with me. 

Pan. Is he here, say you ? 't is more than I know, 
I '11 be sworn : — for my own part, I came in late. What 
should he do here ? 

JEnc. Who! — nay, then: — come, come, you'll do 
him wrong ere y' arc 'ware. You '11 be so true to him, 
to be false to him. Do not you know of him, but yet 
go fetch him hither : go. 

Enter Troilus. 

Tro. How now ! what 's the matter ? 

JEne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, 
My matter is so rash. There is at hand 
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, 
The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor 
Dcliver'd to us; and for him, forthwith, 
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, 
We must give up to Diomcdcs' hand 
The lady Cressida. 

Tro. Is it so concluded ? 

JEne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy : 
They are at hand, and ready to effect it. 

Tro. How my achievements mock me ! 
I will go meet Ihem : — and, my lord ^Eneas, 
We met by chance ; you did not find mc here. 

JEne. Good, good, my lord ; the secret laws of* nature, 
Have not more gift in taciturnity. [Excvntlv.o. ^' AZuts.. 

Pan. Is 't i)ossible ? no sooner got, but lost ? The 
devil take Antenor ! the young prince will go mad. A 
plague upon Antenor ! I would, they had broke 's neck ! 
Enter Cressida. 

Cres. How now ! What is the matter ? Who was here? 

Pan. Ah ! ah ! 

Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly ? where 's my 
lord ? gone ! 
Tell me, sweet uncle, what 's the matter ? 

Pan. Would I were as deep under the earth as T am 
above ! 

Cres. the gods ! — what 's the matter ? 

Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in. Would thou hadst ne'er 
been born ! I knew, thou wouldst be his death. — 
poor gentleman ! — A plague upon Antenor ! 

Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I 
beseech you, what 's the matter ? 

Pan 
gone : thou art changed for Antenor. Thou must to 



Thou must be gone, wench ; thou must be 



I the : in f. e. » eyes : in folio. 3 hideously : in folio. " jDolt. ' Not in f. e. <- the secrets of : in f. o. 



SCENE IV. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



58; 



thy father, and be gone from Troilus : 'twill be his 
death ; 't will be his bane ; he cannot bear it. 

Crcs. 0, you immortal gods ! — I will not go. 

Pan. Thou must. 

Crcs. I will not, uncle : I have forgot my father; 
I know no touch of consanguinity ; 
No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me, 
As the sweet Troilus. — O, you gods divine, 
Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood, 
If ever she leave Troilus ! Time, force, and death, 
Do to tills body what extremes you can. 
But the strong base and building of my love 
Is as the very centre of the earth, 
Drawing all things to it. — I '11 go in, and weep. — 

Pail. Do, do. 

C/-e.y. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised 
cheeks ; 
Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart 
With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. Before Pandarus' House. 

Enter Paris, Troilus, .(Eneas, Deiphobus, Antenor, 

and Diomedes. 

Par. It is great morning, and the hour prefix'd 
Of her delivery to this valiant Greek 
Comes fast upon. — Good my brother Troilus, 
Tell you the lady what slie is to do. 
And liaste her to the purpose. 

Tro. Walk into her house, 

I '11 bring her to the Grecian presently ; 
And to his hand when I deliver her, 
Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus 
A priest, tliere offering to it his own heart. [Exit. 

Par. I know wliat 't is to love ; 
And would, as I shall pity, I could help ! — 
Please you, walk in, my lords. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. A Room in Pandarus' 
House. 

Enter Pandarus and Cressida. 
Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. 
Cres. Why tell you me of moderation? 
Tiie grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, 
And violcnteth' in a sense as strong 
As that which causcth it : how can I moderate it ? 
If I could temporize with my affection. 
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate. 
The like allayment could I give iny grief: 
My love admits no qualifying dross, '■' 
No more my grief, in such a precious loss. 
Enter Troilus. 
Pan. Here, here, here he comes. — A sweet duck ! 
Cres. Troilus ! Troilus ! [Embracing him. 

Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here ! Let me 
embrace too. O heart. — as the goodly saying is, — 
hearty heart. O heavy heart ! 
Why ■•iigh'st thou without breaking ? 
where he answers again. 

Because thou canst not ca.te thy smart. 
By silence^ nor by .speaking. 
There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away 
nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse : 
we see it, we see it. — How now, lambs ! 

Tro. Crcssid, I love thee in so strain'd* a purity, 
That the bless'd gods — as angry with my fancy, 
More bright in zeal than the devotion which 
Cold lips blow to their deities, — take thee from me. 



Cres. Have the gods envy ? 

Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay : 'tis too plain a case. 

Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy? 

Tro. A hateful truth. 

Cres. What ! and from Troilus too ? 

Tro. From Troy, and Troilus. 

Cres. Is it possible ? 

Tro. And suddenly ; where injury of chance 
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by 
All time of pau.se, rudely beguiles our lips 
Of all rcjoindnre, forcibly prevents 
Our lock'd cmbra.sures, strangles our dear vows 
Even in the birth of our own labouring breath. 
We two, that with so many thousand sighs 
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves 
With the rude brevity and discliarge of one. 
Injurious time, now, with a robber's haste. 
Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how: 
As many farewells as be stars in heaven, 
W^ith distinct breath and consign'd kii-scs to them, 
He fumbles up into one loose adieu ; 
And scants us witii a single famish'd kiss, 
Distasting with the salt of broken tears. 

jEnc. [IVithin.] My lord ! is the lady ready ? 

Tro. Hark ! you are call'd : some say, the Genius so 
Cries, " Come !" to him that instantly must die. — 
Bid them have patience; she .shall come anon. 

Pan. Where are my tears ? rain, to lay this wind, or 
my heart will be blown up by the root^ ! [Exit Pand. 

Crcs. I must then to the Grecians ? 

Tro. No remedy. 

Cres. A woeful Crcssid 'mongst the merry Greeks ! 
When shall we sec again ? 

Tro. Hear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart — 

Cres. I true ? how now ! what wicked deem is this ? 

Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, 
For it is parting from us. 
I speak not, " be thou true," as fearing thee ; 
For I will throw my glove to death himself. 
That there 's no maculation in thy heart ; 
But, " be thou true," say I, to fashion in 
My sequent protestation. Be thou true. 
And I will .see thee. 

Cres. O ! you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers 
As infinite as imminent : but I '11 be true. 

Tro. And I '11 grow friend with danger. Wear this 
sleeve. 

Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you ? 

Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels, 
To give thee nightly visitation. 
But yet, be true. 



Cres. 



heavens ! — be true, again ? 



Tro. Hear why I speak it, love. 
The Grecian youths are full of quality ; 
Their loving well compos'd with gitt of nature, 
Flowing and swelling o'er with arts and exercise: 
How novelties may move, and parts with person, 
Alas ! a kind of goodly jealousy 
(Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin) 
Makes me afraid. ♦ 

Cres. O heavens ! you love me not. 

Tro. Die I a villain, then ! 
In this I do not call your faith in question. 
So mainly as my merit : I cannot sing. 
Nor heel the high Javolt', nor sweeten talk. 
Nor play at subtle games : fair virtues all, 
To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant : 
But I can tell, that in each grace of these 



1 And no less : in folio. The word is found in Fuller and Latimer. ^ cross : 
* throal : in quartos. ' A quick dance. 



in folio, ^friendship : in f. e. ♦ strange : in folio. 



588 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT IT. 



There Im-ks a still and dumb-discoursivc devil, 
That tempts most cunningly. But be not tempted. 

Cres. Do you think. I will ? 

Tro. No; 
But something may be done, that we will not : 
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves, 
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, 
Presuming on their chainfuP potency. 

^ne. [Within.] Nay. good my lord, — 

Tro. Come, kiss ; and let us part. 

Par. \\Vithinl\ Brother Troilus ! 

Tro. Good brother, come you hither; 

And bring ^Encas, and the Grecian, with you. 

Crcs. My lord, will you be true ? 

Tro. Who, I? alas, it is my vice, my fault: 
Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion, 
I with great truth catch mere simplicity : 
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns, 
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. 
Fear not my truth : the moral of my wit 
Is plain, and true, — there's all the reach of it. 

Enter ^neas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus. and 

DiOMEDES. 

Welcome, sir Diomed. Here is the lady, 
Which for Antenor we deliver you : 
At the port, lord, I '11 give her to thy hand. 
And by the way possess thee what she is. 
Entreat her fair ; and, by my soul, fair Greek, 
If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword, 
Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe, 
As Priam is in Iliori. 

Dio. Fair lady Cressid, 

So please you, save the thanks this prince expects : 
The lustre in your eye, heaven in your check. 
Pleads your fair usage ; and to Diomed 
You shall be mistrcf-s, and command him wholly. 

Tro. Grecian, thou dost not use mc courteously, 
To shame the zeal of my petition to thee, 
In praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece, 
She is as far liigh-soaring o'er thy praises, 
As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant. 
I charge thee, use her well, even for my charge ; 
For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not, 
Though the great bulk Achilles be tliy guard, 
I '11 cut thy throat. 

Dio. ! be not mov'd, prince Troilus. 

Let me be privileg'd by my place, and message, 
To be a speaker free : when I am hence. 
I '11 answer to thy last^ ; and know you, lord, 
I '11 nothing do on charge. To her own worth 
She shall be priz'd ; but that you say — be 't so, 
t '11 speak it in my spirit and honour. — no. 

Tro. Come to the port. — I '11 tell thee. Diomed, 
This brave shall oft make thee to hide tliy head. — 
Lady, give me your hand ; and, as we walk. 
To our own selves bend we our needful talk. 

{Exeunt Tro. Cres. and Diom. Trumpet sounded. 

Par. Hark ! Hector's trumpet. 

jEne. How have we spent this morning ! 

The prince must think me tardy a^jd remiss, 
That swore to ride before him to the field. [him. 

Par. 'T is Troilus' fault. Come, come, to field with 

Dei. Let us make ready straight. 

vE/je. Yea. with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity, 
Let us address to tend on Hector's heels. 
The glory of our Troy doth this day lie 



On his fair worth, and single chivalry. 



[Exeunt. 



SCENE v.— The Grecian Camp. Lists set out. 

Enter Ajax, armed ; Agamemnon, Achili.es, Patro- 

CLus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, and others. 

Agam. Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair, 
Anticipating time. With startling courage 
Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, 
Thou dreadful Ajax ; that the appalled air 
May pierce the head of the great combatant. 
And hale him hither. 

Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there 's my purse. 

Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe : 
Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek 
Out-swell the colic of puff d Aquilon. 
Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood ; 
Thou blow'st for Hector. [Trumpet somids. 

Uly.ss. No trumpet answers. 

Achil. 'T is but early day. 

Agam. Is not yond'^ Diomed with Calehas' daughter? 

UIi/.ss. 'T is he, I ken the manner of his gait ; 
He rises on the toe : that spirit of his ' 
In aspiration lifts him from the earth. 

Enter Diomed, with Cressida. 

Agam. Is this the lady Cressid ? 

Dio. Even she. 

Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet 
lady. [Kissing her.* 

JVctt. Our general doth salute you with a kiss. 

Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular; 
'T were better she were kiss'd in general. 

Nest. And very courtly counsel : I '11 begin. — 

[Kissing her.^ 
So much for Nestor. 

Achil. I '11 take that winter from your lips, fair lady : 
Achilles bids you welcome. [Ki.fsing her.^ 

Men. I had good argiunent for kissing once. 

Patr. But that 's no argument for kissing now : 

[Putting him hack.'' 
For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment. 
And parted thus you and j^our argument." [Kissing her. ^ 

Ulyss. ! deadly gall, and tlieme of all our scorns, 
For which we lose our heads, to gild his horns. 

Patr. The first was Menelaus' kiss ; — this, mine : 
Patroclus kisses you. [Kissing her again.^" 

Men. ! this is trim. 

Patr. Paris, and I, kiss evermore for him. 

Men. I '11 have my kiss, sir. — Lady, by your leave. 

Cres. In kissing do you render or receive ? 

Patr. Both take and give. 

Cres. I '11 make my match to live. 

The kiss you take is better than you give ; 
Therefore no kiss. 

3Icn. I '11 give you boot ; I '11 give you three for one. 

Crcs. You 're an odd man : give even, or give none. 

Men. An odd man, lady ? every man is odd. 

Crcs. No, Paris is not ; for, you know, 't is true, 
That you are odd, and he is even with you. 

Men. You fillip me o' the head. 

Cres. No, I '11 be sworn. 

Ulyss. It were no match, your nail against his horn. — 
May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you ? 

Cres. You may. 

Uly.fs. I do desire it. 

Cres. Why, beg then. 

Uly.'fs. Why then, for Venus' sake, give me a kiss, 
When Helen is a maid again, and his. 

Crcs. I am your debtor ; claim it when 't is due. 

Ulyss. Never 's my day, and then a kiss of you. 



I changeful : in f. e. 
in f. e. 



2 my lust : in f. e. 



folio. * 5 « ■'Not in f e. 8 This line is not in the folio. ^ i" Not 



SCENE V. 



TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



589 



Dio. Lady, a word : — I '11 bring you to your father. 

[DioMED leads out Ckessida. 

Nest. A "W'oman of quick sense. 

Ulyss. Fie, fie upon her ! 

There 's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, 
Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out 
At every joint and motive of her body. 
! these encounterers, so glib of tongue. 
That give occasion' welcome ere it comes, 
And wide unclasp the tables of their tlioughts 
To every tickling' reader, set them down 
For sluttish spoils of opportunity. 
And daughters of the game. [Trumpet within. 

All. The Trojans' trumpet. 

Agam. Yonder comes the troop. 

Enter Hector, armed; ^Eneas, Troilus, and other 
Trojans., with Attendants. 

JEne. Hail, all you state of Greece ! what shall be done 
To him that victory commands ? Or do you purpose, 
A victor shall be known ? will you, the knights 
Shall to the edge of all extremity 
Pursue each other ; or shall be divided 
By any voice or order of the field ? 
Hector bade ask. 

Agam. Which way would Hector have it ? 

^ne. He cares not : he '11 obey conditions. 

Achil. 'T is done like Hector ; but securely done, 
A little proudly, and great deal misprizing 
The knight oppos'd. 

^ne. If not Achilles, sir, 

What is your name ? 

Achil. If not Achilles, nothing. 

jEne. Therefore Achilles ; but, whate'er, know this : — 
In the extremity of great and little, 
Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector • 
The one almost as infinite as all, 
The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, 
And that which looks like pride is courtesy. 
This Ajax is half-made of Hector's blood : 
In love whereof half Hector stays at home ; 
Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek 
This blended knight, half Trojan, and half Greek. 

Achil. A maiden battle, then? — ! I perceive you. 
Re-enter Diomed. 

Agam. Here is sir Diomed. — Go, gentle knight, 
Stand by our Ajax : as you and lord .3ineas 
Consent upon the order of their fight, 
So be it ; either to tlic utterance^. 
Or else a breach : the combatants being kin. 
Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. 

[Ajax and Hector enter the lists. 

Vlyss. They arc oppos'd already. 

Agam. What Trojan is tliat same that looks so hea^v^ ? 

Uly.'is. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight ; 
Not yet mature, yet matchless ; firm of word, 
Speaking in deeds, and decdlcss in his tongue ; 
Not soon provok'd, nor being provokd soon calm'd : 
His heart and hand both open, and both free : 
For what he has, he gives, what thinks, he sliows ; 
Yet gives he not till judiiinent guide his bounty. 
Nor dignifies an impure* thought with breath. 
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous ; 
For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes 
To tender abjccts; but he, in heat of action, 
Is more vindicative than jealous love. 
They call him Troilus ; and on him erect 
A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. 
Thus says ./Eneas ; one that knows the youth, 
Even to his inches, and with private soul 



I thank thee, Hector : 



Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. 

[Alarum. Hector and AjAxJight. 

Agam. They are in action. 

Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own. 

Tro. Hector, thou sleep'st : 

Awake thee ! 

Agam. His blows are well dispos'd : — there, Ajax ! 

Dio. You must no more. [Trumpets cease. 

jEne. Princes, enough, so please you. 

Ajax. I am not warm yet : let us fight again. 

Dio. As Hector pleases. 

Hect. Why then, will I no more. — 

Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son, 
A cousin-german to great Priam's seed ; 
The obligation of our blood forbids 
A gory emulation 'twixt us twain. 
Were thy cominixtion Greek and Trojan so. 
That thou couldst say — "This hand is Grecian all, 
And this is Trojan ; the sinews of this leg 
All Greek, and this all Troy ; my mother's blood 
Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister 
Bounds in my father's :" by Jove multipotent. 
Thou shouldst not bear from me a Grcekish member 
Wherein my sword had not impressure made 
Of our rank feud. But the just gods gainsay, 
That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother. 
My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword 
Be drain'd. Let me embrace thee, Ajax. — 
By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms. 
Hector would have ihem fall upon him thus : 
Cousin, all honour to thee ! [?'/*<^2/ embrace.* 

Ajax. 
Thou art too gentle, and too free a man. 
I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence 
A great addition earned in thy death. 

Hect. Not Neoptolcinus so mirable 
On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st Oyez 
Cries, " This is he !" could promise to himself 
A thought of added honour torn from Hector. 

AUne. There is expectance here from both the sides, 
What farther you will do. 

Hect. We '11 answer it ; 

The issue is embraccment. — Ajax. farewell. 

Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success. 
As seld I have the chance, I would desire 
My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. 

Dio. 'T is Agamemnon's wish ; and great Achilles 
Dotli long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector. 

Hect. iEneas, call my brother Troilus to me ; 
And signify this loving interview 
To the expeeters of our Trojan part : 
Desire them home. — Give me thy hand, my cousin; 
I will go eat with thee, and see your knights. 

Ajnx. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here. 

Hect. The worthiest of them tell me, name by name; 
But for Achilles, mine own .'searching eyes 
Shall find him by his large and porily .size. 

Agam. Worthy of arms ! as welcome as to one 
That would be rid of such an enemy. 
But that 's no welcome : understand more clear. 
Wliat 's past, and what 's to come, is strew'd with husks 
And formless ruin of oblivion ; 
But in tliis extant moment, faith and troth, 
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing, 
Bids thee, with most divine integrity, 
From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. 

Hect. I thank tliee, most imperious Agamemnon. 

Agam. My wcU-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you. 

[To Troilus. 



' a coasting ; in f. e. ^ ticklish : in quartos. ' uttermost : in f. e. * impair : in folio. Johnson suggested the change. ' Not in f. 



590 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT IV. 



3Icn. Let me confirm my princely brother's greeting : 
You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. 

Hect. Whom must we answer ? 

jEne. The noble Menelaus, 

Hect. ! you, my lord ? by Mars his gauntlet, thanks. 
Mock not, that I atfect th' untraded oath : 
Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove ; 
She 's well, but bade me not commend her to you. 

Men. Name her not now, sir ; she 's a deadly theme. 

Hect. 0! pardon; I offend. 

Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft. 
Labouring for destiny, make cruel way 
Through ranks of Greekish youth : and I liave seen thee. 
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phyrgian steed, 
Despising many^ forfeits and subduements. 
When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' th' air. 
Not letting it decline on the declin'd ; 
That I have said unto my standers-by, 
"Lo ! Jupiter is yonder, dealing life." 
And I have teen thee pause, and take thy breath. 
When that a ring of Greeks have hcmm'd thee in. 
Like an Olympian wrestling : this have I seen ; 
But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, 
I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire. 
And once fought with him : he was a soldier good; 
But, by great Mars the captain of us all. 
Never like thee. Let an old man embrace thee ; 
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents. 

jEne. 'T is the old Nestor. 

Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle. 
That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with lime. 
Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. 

Nest. I would my arms could match thee in conten- 
tion, 
As they contend with thee in courtesy. 

Hect. I would they could. 

Nest. Ha ! by this white beard, I 'd fight with thee 
to-morrow. 
Well, welcome, welcome ! I have seen the time. 

Ulyss. I wonder now how yonder city stands, 
When we have here her base and pillar by us. 

Hect. I know your favour, lord Ulysses, well. 
Ah, sir ! there 's many a Greek and Trojan dead, 
Since first I saw yourself and Diomed 
In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy. 

IJlyss. Sir, I foretold you then Avhat would ensue : 
My prophecy is but half his journey yet ; 
For yonder walls, that portly front your town, 
Yond' towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, 
Must kiss their own feet. 

Hect. I must not believe you. 

There they stand yet : and modestly I think, 
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost 
A drop of Grecian blood : the end crowns all; 
And that old common arbitrator. Time, 
Will one day end it. 

TJlyss. So to him we leave it. 

Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome. 
After the general, I beseech you next 
To feast with me, and see me at my tent. 

Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, then. — 
Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee : 
I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector, 
And quoted" joint by joint. 

Hect. Is this Achilles ? 

Achil. I am Achilles. 

Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee : let me look on thee. 



Acliil Behold thy fill. 

Hect. Nay, I have done already. 

Achil. Thou art too brief : I will the second time. 
As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. 

Hect. ! like a book of sport thou 'It read me o'er; 
But there 's more in me than thou understand'st. 
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye ? 

Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his 
body 
Sliall I destroy him, whether there, there, or there ? 
That I may give the local wound a name. 
And make distinct the very breach, whereout 
Hector's great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens ! 

Hect. It would discredit the bless'd gods, proud man, 
To answer such a question. Stand again ; 
Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly. 
As to predominate in nice conjecture, " 
Where thou wilt hit me dead ? 

AchiL I tell thee, yea. 

Hect. Wert thou an^ oracle to tell me so, 
I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well, 
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; 
But, by the forge that stithied* Mars his helm, 
I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er. — 
You. wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag : 
His insolence draws folly from my lips : 
But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words. 
Or may I never — 

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin : — 

And you, Achilles, let these threats alone, 
Till accident, or purpose, bring you to 't : 
You may have eveiy day enough of Hector, 
If you have stomach. The general state, I fear, 
Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. 

Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the field : 
We have had pelting' wars, since you refus'd 
The Grecians' cause. 



Achil. 



Dost thou entreat me, Hector ? 



To-morrow, do I meet thee, fell as death ; 
To-night, all friends. 

Hect. Thy hand upon that match. 

Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent ; 
There in the full convive we^ afterwards, 
As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall 
Concur together, severally entreat him. — 
Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets blovf, 
That this great soldier may his welcome know. 

[Exeunt all hut Troilus and Ula'sses. 

Tro. My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you. 
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep ? 

Ulyss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus : 
There Diomed doth feast with him to-night; 
Who neither looks upon the heaven, nor earth, 
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view 
On the fair Cressid. 

Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so m.nch. 
After we part from Agamemnon's tent. 
To bring me thither ? 

Ulyss. 
As gentle tell me, of what honour was 
This Cressida in Troy ? Had she no lover there 
That wails her absence? 

Tro. 0, sir! to such as boasting show their scars, 
A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? 



You shall command me, sir. 



She was belov'd, she lov'd , 



she is, and doth : 



But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. [Exeimt 



1 And seen thee sooming : in fobo. ' Noted, s the : in folio. * A stith, is an anvil. ' Petty. « you : in folio. 



tsCENE n. 



TROILUS AND CEESSIDA. 



591 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — The Grecian Camp. Before Achilles' 

Tent. 
Enter Achilles and Patroclus. 

AcJiil. I '11 heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night, 
Which with my scimitar I '11 cool to-morrow. 
Patrcclus, let us feast him to the height. 

Patr. Here comes Thersites. 

Enter Thersites. 

Achil. How now, tliou cur* of envy ! 

Thou crusty batch of nature, what 's the news? 

TJicr. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and 
idol of idiot- worshippers, here 's a letter for thee. 

Achil. From whence, fragment ? 

Thcr. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. 

Patr. Who keeps the tent now? 

Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound. 

Pa//-. Well said, adversity! and what need these tricks? 

Ther. Pr'ythee be silent, boy ; I profit not by thy 
talk : thou art thought to be Achille-s' male varlet. 

Patr. JNlale varlet, you rogue ! what 's that. 

Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten 
diseases of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, 
loads o' gravel i' the back. lethargies, cold palsies, raw 
eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of 
impcsthumc, sciaticas, lime-kilns i' the palm, incurable 
bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take 
and take again such preposterous discolourers^ ! 

Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what 
meanest thou to curse thus ? 

Thcr. Do I curse thee ? 

Patr. Why no, ycu ruinous butt, you whoreson in- 
distinguishable cur, no. 

Ther. No? why art thou then exasperate, thou idle 
immaterial skein of sleave^ silk, thou green sarcenet 
flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, 
thou ? Ah ! how the poor world is pestered with such 
water-flics, diminutives of nature ! 

Pair. Out, gall I 

Thcr. Finch egg ! 

Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite 
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle. 
Here is a letter from queen Hecuba ; 
A token from her daughter, my fair love ; 
Both taxing me, and 'gaging me to keep 
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it : 
Fall Greeks, fail fame, honour, or go, or stay. 
My major vow lies here ; tliis I '11 obey. — 
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent; 
This night in banqueting must all be spent. — 
Away, Patroclus. [Exeunt Achilles a7id Patroclus. 

Ther. With too much blood, and too little brain, 
tliesc two may run mad : but if with too much brain, 
and too little blood, they do, I '11 be a curerof madmen. 
Here "s Agamemnon, — an honest fellow enough, and 
one that loves quails : but he has not so much brain as 
ear-wax : and the goodly transformation of Jupiter 
there, his brother, the bull. — the primitive statue, and 
oblique memorial of cuckolds, a thrifty shoeing-horn 
in a cliain, lianging at his brother's leg, — to what 
form, but that he is, should wit larded with malice, and 
malice forced with wit, turn him to? To an ass, were 
nothing: he is both ass and ox : to an ox were nothing ; 
he is both ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a 
fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a hcr- 

' core : in folio. * discoveries : in f. e. ^ Floss. 



ring without a roe, I would not care ; but to be Mene- 
laus, — I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not 
what I would be, if I were not Thersites, for I care not 
to be the louse of a lazar, so I were not Alenelaus. — 
Hey-day ! spirits and fires ! 

Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, 
Nestor, Menelaus, and Diomedes, u'ith lights. 

Agam. We go wrong; we go wrong. 

Ajax. No, yonder 'tis; 

There, where we see the lights. 

Hect. I trouble you. 

Ajax. No, not a whit. 

Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you. 

Enter Achilles. 

Achil. Welcome, brave Hector, welcome, princes all. 

Agam. So now, fair prince of troy, I bid good night. 
Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. 

Hect. Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks' general. 

Men. Good night, my lord. 

Hect. Good night, sweet lord Menelaus. 

Ther. Sweet draught : sweet, quoth 'a ! sweet sink, 
sweet sewer. 

Achil. Good night, and welcome, both at once to those 
That go, or tarry. 

Again. Good night. [Exeunt Agam. and Men. 

Achil. Old Nestor tarries ; and you too, Diomed, 
Keep Hector company an hour or two. 

Dio. I cannot, lord ; I have important business. 
The tide whereof is now. — Good night, great Hector. 

Hect. Give me your hand. 

Ulyss. Follow his torch, he goes 

To Calchas' tent : I '11 keep you company. 

[Aside to Troilus. 

Tro. Sweet sir, you honour me. 

Hect. And so good night. 

[Exit DioMED ; Ulysses and Troilus follcnving. 

Achil. Come, come ; enter my tent. 

[Exeunt Achilles, Hector, Ajax, 0?^/ Nestor. 

Ther. That same Diomed 's a false-hearted rogue, a 
most unjust knave : I will no more trust liim when he 
leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses. He will 
spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabler the hound ; 
but when he performs, astronomers foretel it : it is pro- 
digious, there will come some change : the sun borrows 
of the moon when Diomed keeps his word. I will 
rather leave to see Hector, than not to dog him ; they 
say, he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Cal- 
chas' tent. I '11 after. — Nothing but lechery : all in- 
continent varlets. [Exit. 

SCENE H.— The Same. Before Calchas' Tent. 

Enter Diomedes. 
Dio. What are vou up here, ho ? speak. 
Cal. [Within.] Who calls? 

Dio. Diomed. — Calchas, I think. — Where 's your 
daughter ? 

Cal. [Within.] She comes to you. 
Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance ; after them 
Thersites. 
Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not discover us. 

Enter Cressida. 
Tro. Cressid comes forth to him. 
Dio. How now. my charge ! 

Ores. Now, my sweet guardian. — Hark .* a word with 
you. [Whispers. 



592 



TEOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT V. 



Tro. Yea, so familiar ! 

Ulyss. She will sing any man at first sight. 

Thcr. And any man may find her key,' if he can 
take her cleft;* she 's noted. 

Dio. Will you remember? 

Cres. Remember ? yes. 

Dio. Nay. but do then; and let your mind be 
coupled with your words. 

Tro. What should she remember ? 

Ui'y.s.'i. List. 

Cre.<i. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly. 

Ther. Roguery ? 

Dio. Nay, then, — 

Cres. I '11 tell you what — 

Dio. Pho ! pho ! come tell, a pin; you are forsworn. — 

Cres. Ill faith, I cannot. What would you have me do ? 

Thnr. A juggling trick, — to be secretly open. 

Dio. What did you swear you would bestow on me? 

Cres. I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath; 
Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek. 
Good night. 



Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. [Giving it* 
Tro. beauty ! where is thy faith ? 
C//j/.s5. My lord, — 

Tro. I will be patient; outwardly I will. 
Cres. You look upon that sleeve: behold it well. — 
He lov'd me — false wench ! — Give 't me again. 
Dio. Whose was 't? 



patience ! 
How now, Trojan ? 

Diomed ! — 
I 'II be your fool no more. 



Dio 

Tro. Hold, 

Uly.ss. 

Cres. 

Dio. No, no : good night 

Tro. Thy better must. 

Cres. Hark ! one word in your ear. 

Tro. O, plague and madness ! 

Ulyss. You are mov'd, prince : let us depart, I pray 
you, 
Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself 
To wrathful terms. This place is dangerous ; 
The time right deadly: I beseech you, go. 

Tro. Behold, I pray you ! 

Ulyss. Nay, my good lord, go off: 

You How to great distraction; come, my lord. 

Tro. I pr'ythee, stay. 

Uly.ss. You have not patience; come. 

Tro. I pray you, stay. By hell, and all hell's torments, 
I will not speak a word. 

Dio. And so, good night. 

Cres. Nay, but you part in anger. 

Tro. Doth that grieve thee ? 

0, wither'd truth ! 

Ulyss. Why, how now, lord ! 

Tro. By Jove. 

I will be patient. 

Cres. Guardian ! — why, Greek ! 

Dio. Pho, pho ! adieu ; you palter. 

Cres. In faith, I do not : come hither once again. 

Uhjss. You shake, my lord, at something : will you go ? 
You will break out. 

Tro. She strokes his cheek ! 

Uly.ss. Come. come. 

Tro. Nay, stay: by Jove, I will not speak a word. 
There is between my will and all offences 
A guard of patience. — Stay a little while. 

Ther. How the devil luxury, with his fat rump and 
potatoc finger, tickles these together ! Fry, lechery, fry ! 

Dio. But will you then ? 

Cres. In faith, I will, lord :' never trust me else. 

Dio. Give me some token for the surety of it. 

Cres. I '11 fetch you one. [Exit. 

Ulyss. You have sworn patience. 

Tro. Fear me not, sweet lord ; 

I will not be myself, nor have cognition 
Of what I feel : I am all patience. 

Re-enter Cressida. 

Ther. Now the nledae ! now 



Now the pledge ! 

may sing her : in f. e. " cliff : 



now, now ! 

in f. 0. 3 la : in f. e. 



Cres. 



It is no matter, now I have 't again ; 



Diomed; 'faith you 



I will not meet with you to-morrow night. 
I pr'ythee, Diomed, visit me no more. 

Ther. Now she sharpens. — Well said, whetstone, 

Dio. I shall have it. 

Cres. What, this ? 

Dio. Ay, that. 

Cres. O, all you gods ! — pretty, pretty pledge ! 
Thy master now lies thinking in his bed 
Of thee, and me ; and sighs, and takes my glqye, 
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it, 
As I kiss thee. — Nay, do not snatch it from me ; 
He that takes that doth take my heart withal. 

Dio. I had your heart before ; this follows it. 

Tro. I did swear patience. 

Cres. You shall not have it^ 
shall not: 
I '11 give you something else. [They strive.* 

Dio. I will have this. Whose was it ? 

Cres. 'T is no matter. 

Dio. Come, tell me whose it was. 

Cres. 'T was one's that lov'd me better than you ^^■ill. 
But, now you have it, take it. 

Dio. Whose was it ? 

Cres. By all Diana's waiting-women yond', 
And by herself, I will not tell you whose. 

Dio. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm. 
And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it. 

Tro. Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on thy horn, 
It should be challeng'd. 

Cres. Well, well, 't is done, 't is past; — and yet it is 
not : 
I will not keep my word. 

Dio. Why then, farewell. 

Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. 

Cres. You shall not go. — One cannot speak a word. 
But it straight starts you. 

Dio. I do not like this fooling. 

Ther. Nor I, by Pluto : but that that likes not you,* 
pleases me best. 

Dio. What ! shall I come ? the hour ? 

Cres. Ay, come : — O Jove ! — 

Do come : — I shall be plagu'd. 

Dio. Farev.'cll till then. 

Cres. Good night : I pr'ythee, come. — [Exit Dio. 
Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on thee, 
But with my heart the other eye doth see. 
Ah, poor our sex ! this fault in us I find, 
The error of our eye directs our mind. 
W^hat error leads must err : ! then conclude, 
Minds, sway'd by eyes, are full of turpitude. 

[Exit Cressida. 

Ther. A proof of strength, she could not publ ish more, 
Unless she said, " my mind is now turn'd whore." 

Ulyss. All 's done, my lord. 

Tro. It is. 

Ulyss. Why stay wo then ? 

Tro. To make a recordation to my soul 
Of every syllable that here yvas spoke. 
But if I tell how these two did co-act, 
Shall I not lie in publishing a truth? 
Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, 

* ' Not in f. e. ^ me : in folio. 



SCENE m. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA, 



693 



An esperance so obstinately strong, 

That doth invert th' attest of eyes and ears ; 

As if those organs had deceptious functions, 

Created only to calumniate. 

Was Cressid here ? 

JJlyss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. 

Tro. She was not, sure. 

Vlyss. Most sure, she was. 

Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness. 

Ulyss. Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here but now. 

Tro. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood ! 
Think we had mothers : do not give advantage 
To stubborn critics — apt, without a theme. 
For depravation, — to square the general sex 
By Cressid's rule: rather think this not Cressid. 

Vlyss. What hath she done, prince, that can soil 
our mothers ? 

Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were she. 

Ther. Will he swagger himself out on 's own eyes ? 

Tro. This she? no; this is Diomed's Cressida.. 
If beauty have a soul, this is not she : 
If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony. 
If sanctimony be the gods' delight, 
If there be rule in unity itself. 
This is not she. O madness of discourse, 
That cause sets up with and against itself !' 
Bi-fold authority ! where rea.son can revolt 
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason 
Without revolt : this is, and is not, Cressid. 
Within my soul there doth conduce a fight 
Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate 
Divides more wider than the sky and earth ; 
And yet the spacious breadth of this division 
Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle 
As Arachne's broken woof, to enter. 
Instance ? instance ! strong as Pluto's gates , 
Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven : 
Instance ? O instance ! strong as heaven itself ; 
The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and loos'd : 
And with another knot, five-finger-tied. 
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love. 
The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy reliques 
Of her o'er-eaten faith, are given" to Diomed. 

Vlyss. May worthy Troilus be half attach'd 
With that which here his passion doth express ? 

Tro. A.Y~ Greek; and that shall be divulged well 
In characters as red as Mars his heart 
Inflam'd with Venus : never did young man fancy 
Witii so eternal and so fix'd a soul. 
Hark, Greek : — as much as I do Cressid love, 
So much by weight hate I her Diomed. 
That sleeve is mine, that he '11 bear on his helm : 
Were it a casque composed by Vulcan's skill. 
My sword should bite it. Not the dreadful spout, 
Which shipmen do the hurricano call, 
Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun, 
Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear 
In his descent, than shall my prompted sword 
Falling on Diomed. 

Ther. He '11 tickle it for his concupy. 

Tro. Cressid ! false Cressid ! false, false, false ! 
Let all untruths stand by thy stained name, 
And they '11 seem glorious. 

Vlyss. ! contain yourself; 

Your passion draws ears hither. 

Enter ^Eneas. 

Mne. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord. 



Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy: 
Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. 

Tro. Have with you, prince. — My courteous lord, 
adieu. — 
Farewell, revolted fair ! — and, Diomed, 
Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head ! 

Vlyss. I '11 bring you to the gates. 

Tro. Accept distracted thanks. 

[Exeunt Troilus, ^Eneas, and Ulysses. 

Ther. [Coming forimrd.] Would, I could meet that 
rogue Diomed. I would croak like a raven; I would 
bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me anything 
for the intelligence of this whore : the parrot will not 
do more for an almond, than he for a commodious drab. 
Lechery, lechery ; still, wars and lechery : nothing else 
holds fashion. A burning devil take them ! [Exit. 

SCENE III.— Troy. Before Priam's Palace. 
Enter Hector and Andromache. 

And. When was my lord so much ungently temper'd, 
To stop his ears against admonishment ? 
Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. 

Hect. You train me to offend you ; get you in' : 
By all* the everlasting gods, I '11 go. 

And. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to-day 

Hect. No more, I say. 

Enter Cassandra. 

Cas. Where is my brother Hector? 

And. Here, sister ; arm'd, and bloody in intent. 
Consort with me in loud and dear petition : 
Pursue we him on knees ; for I have dream'd 
Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night 
Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter. 

Cas. ! 't is true. 

Hect. Ho ! bid my trumpet sound. 

Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother. 

Hect. Begone, I say : the gods have heard me swear. 

Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish' vows : 
They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd 
Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. 

And. O ! be persuaded : do not count it holy 
To hurt by being just : it is as lawful 
For us to give much count to violent thefts,' 
And rob in the behalf of charity. 

Cas. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow ; 
But vows to every purpose must not hold. 
Unarm, sweet Hector. 

Hect. Hold you still, I say ; 

Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate : 
Life every man holds dear ; but the dear man 
Holds honour far more precious-dear than life. — 

Enter Troilus. 
How now, young man ! mean'st thou to fight to-day ? 

And. Cassandra, call my father to persuade. 

[Exit Cassandra, 

Hect. No, 'faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, 
youth ; 
I am to-day i' the vein of chivalry. 
Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong. 
And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. 
Unarm thee, go ; and doubt thou not, brave boy, 
I '11 stand to-day for thee, and me, and Troy. 

Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, 
Which better fits a lion than a man. 

Hect. What vice is that, good Troilus ? chide me for it. 

Tro. When many times the captive Grecians fall, 
Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, 



1 thyself : in folio. » bound . in folio. ^ pone : in folio. ♦ Not in folio, 
to as violent thefts." The line has been variously arranged by modern editors. 
one of the best. 



* Foolish. • The folio : '• For we would count give mnch 
•' For we would give much, to so count violent thefts," is 



38 



594: 



TEOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT T. 



You bid them rise, and live. 

Hcct. ! 't is fair play. 

Tro. Fool's play, by heaven. Hector. 

Hect. How now ! how now ! 

Tro. For the love of all the gods, 

Let 's leave the hermit pity with our mothers, 
And when we have our armours buckled on, 
The vcnom'd vengeance ride upon our swords ; 
Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth. 

Hect. Fie, savage, fie ! 



Tro. 



Hector, then 't is wars. 



Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-da}^ 

Tro. Who should witlihold mo? 
Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars 
Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire ; 
Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees, 
Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears ; 
Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, 
Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, 
But by my ruin. 

Re-enter Cassandra with Priam. 

Cas. Lay liold upon him, Priam, hold him fast : 
He is thy crutch ; now, if thou lose thy stay, 
Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, 
Fall all together. 

Fri. Come, Hector, come : go back. 

Thy wife hath drcam'd, thy mother hath had visions, 
Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself 
Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt, 
To tell thee that tliis day is ominous : 
Therefore, come back. 

Hect. jEneas is a-ficld ; 

And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks, 
Even in the faith of valour, to appear 
This morning to them. 

Pri. Ay, but thou slialt not go. 

Hect. I must not break my faiUi. 
You know me dutiful : therefore, dear sir, 
Let me not shame respect, but give me leave 
To take that course by your consent and voice, 
Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam, 

Cas. Priam ! yield not to liim. 



And. 



Do not, dear father. 



Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you : 
Upon the love you bear me, get you in. 

{Exit Andromache. 

Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl 
Makes all these bodements. 

Cas. O farewell, dear Hector ! 

Look, how thou diest ! look, how thine eye turns pale ! 
Look, how thy Avounds do bleed at many vents ! 
Hark, how Troy roars ! how Hecuba cries out ! 
How poor Andromache .'thrills her dolour forth ! 
Behold, distraction, frenzy, and amazement. 
Like witless antics, one another meet, 
And all cry— Hector ! Hector 's dead ! Hector ! 

Tro. Away ! — Away I — 

Cas. Farewell.— Yet, sol\ !— Hector, I take my leave : 
Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. [Exit. 

Hcct. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim. 
Go in, and cheer the town : we '11 forth, and fight ; 
Do deeds worth prait^e, and tell you them at night. 

Pri. Farewell : the gods with safety stand about thee ! 
[Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums. 

Tro. They are at it; hark! — Proud Diomcd, believe, 



' Not in f. e. 2 The folio adds : 



As they occur again near the close of the play, 
f. e. 6 Not in f. e 



I come to lose mine arm, or win my sleeve. [Going. 
Enter Pandarus. 

Pan. Do you hear, my lord? do you hear? 

Tro. What now ? 

Pan. Here 's a letter come from yond' poor girl. 

[ Giving it} 

Tro. Let me read. 

Pa7i. A whoreson phtliisick, a whoreson rascally 
phthisick so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this 
girl ; and what one thing, what another, that I shall 
leave you one o' these days : and I have a rheum in 
mine eyes too ; and such an ache in my bones, that, 
unless a man wcr(; cursed, I cannot tell what to think 
on 't. — What says she there ? 

Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter from the 
heart; [Tearing the letter. 

Th' effect doth operate another way. — " 

Go, -wand to wind, there turn and change together. — 
My love with words and air still she feeds^ 
But edifies another with her deeds^. [Exeunt severally. 

SCENE IV. — Between Troy and the Grecian Camp. 
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Tiiersites. 

Ther. Now they are clapper- clawing one another : 
I '11 go look on. That dissembling abominable varlet, 
Diomed, has got that same scvuwy doting foolish young 
knave's sleeve, of Troy there, in his helm : I would 
fain see them meet ; that same young Trojan ass, that 
loves the whore there, might send that Greckish 
whoremasterly villain, with the sleeve, back to tlie dis- 
sembling luxurious drab of a sleeveless errand. 0' the 
other side, the policy of those crafty swearing rascals, 
— that stale old mouse-eaten dry chee.^e, Nestor, and 
that same dog-fox, Ulysses, — is not proved worth a 
blackberry : — they set me up in policy that mongrel 
cur, Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles : 
and now is the cur Ajax prouder than the eur Achilles, 
and will not arm to-day : whereupon the Grecians 
begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an 
ill opinion. Soft ! here come sleeve, and sleeveless'. 

[Stands back.* 
Enter Dior.iEDEs, Troilus folloiving. 

Tro. Fly not ; for shouldst thou take the river Styx, 
I would swim after. 

Dio. Thou dost miscall retire : 

I do not fly, but advantageous care 
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude. 
Have at thee ! 

Thcr. Hold thy whore, Grecian ! — now for thy 
whore, Trojan ! — now the sleeve ! now the sleeveless !° 
[Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes, fighting. 
Enter Hector. 

Hect. What art thou. Greek ? art thou for Hector's 
matcli ? 
Art thou of blood, and honour? 

[Dragging Ther. foj'ward.^ 

Ther. No, no : — I am a rascal ; a scurvy railing 
knave, a very filthy rogue. 

Hcct. I do believe thee : — live. [Exit. 

Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe mc : but 
a plague break thy neck, for frighting me ! What 's 
become of the wcncliing rogues ? I think, they have 
swallowed one another: I would laugh at that miracle; 
yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself, I'll seek them. 

[Exit. 



Pan. Why, but hear you ! 

Tro. Hence, brother lackey I ignomy and shame, 
Pursne thy life, and live aye ■with thy name, 
they are emitted in this place, by most mod. eds. ' th' other. 



* Not in f. e. ' sleeve : in 



SCENE vin. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



595 



SCENE v.— The Same. 
Enter DiOMEDES and a Servant. 
Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse ; 
Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid. 
Fellow, commend my service to her beauty : 
Tell her, I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan, 
And am her knight by proof. 

Serv. I go, my lord. {Exit Servant. 

Enter Agamemnon. 
Agam. Renew, renew ! The fierce Polydamus 
Frath beat dow^l JNIcnon : bai^tard Margarelon 
Hath Doreus prisoner, 

And stands colo.'^sus-wise, waving his beam. 
Upon tlic pashcd corses of the kings 
Epislrophus and Cedius : Polixencs is slain ; 
Aniphimachus, and Thoas, deadly hurt ; 
Patroclus ta'en, or slain; and Palamedes 
Sore hurt and brnis'd : the dreadful Sagittary 
Appals our numbers. Haste we, Diomcd, 
To reinforcement, or we perish all. 
Enter Nestor. 
Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles, 
And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame. — 
There is a thousand Hectors in the field : 
Now, here he fights on Galathe his horse, 
And there lacks work; anon, he 's there afoot, 
And there they fly, or die, like scaled sculls^ 
Before the belching whale : then, is he yonder, 
And there the strawy^ Greeks, ripe for his edge, 
Fall down before him, like tlie mower's swath. 
Here, there, and every where, he leaves, and takes ; 
Dexterity so obeying appetite. 
That what he will, he does ; and does so much, 
That proof is call'd impossibility. 
Enter Ulysses. 
t//j/.w. 0, courage, courage, princes ! great Achilles 
Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance. 
Patroclus' wounds liave rous'd his drowsy blood, 
Together with his mangled Myrmidons, 
That noseless, handless, liack'd and chipp'd, come to 

him. 
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend. 
And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd, and at it, 
Ii oaring for Troilus: who hath done to-day 
Mad and fantastic execution. 
Engaging and redeeming of himself. 
With such a careless force, and forceless care, 
As if that luck, in very spite of cunning, 
Bade him win all. 

Enter Ajax. 
Ajax. Troilus ! thou coward Troilus ! {Exit. 

Dio. Ay, there, there. 

Nest. So, so, we draw together. 

Enter Achilles. 
Achil. Where is this Hector? 

Come, come, thou boy-quellcr, show thy face; 
Know what it is to meet Achilles angry. 
Hector ! where 's Hector? I will none but Hector. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— Another Part of the Field. 
Enter Ajax. 
Ajax. Troilus ! thou coward Troilus, show thy head ! 

Enter Diomedes. 
Dio. Troilus, I say! where 's Troilus? 
Ajax. What wouldst thou ? 

Dio. I would correct him. 

Ajax. Were I the general, thou shouldst have my 
office, 



Ere that correction. — Troilus, I say ! what, Troilus ! 
Enter Troilus. 
Tro. 0, traitor Diomcd ! — turn thy false face, thou 
traitor. 
And pay the life thou ow'st me for my horse. 
Dio. Ha ! art thou there ? 

Ajax. I '11 fight with him alone : stand, Diomcd. 
Dio. He is my prize ; I will not look upon^. 
Tro. Come both, you cogging* Greeks ; have at you 
both. [Exeunt fighting. 

Enter Hector. 
Hect. Yea, Troilus. ! well fought, my youngest 
brother. 

Enter Achilles. 
Achil Now do I see thee. Ha! — Have at thee. 

Hector. 
Jfcct. Pause, if thou wilt. 

Achil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan. 
Be happy that my arms arc out of use : 
My rest and negligence befriend thee now, 
But thou anon shalt hear of me again; 
Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit. 

Hect. Fare thee well. 

I would have been much more a fresher man. 
Had I expected thee. — How now, my brother ! 
Re-enter Troilus. 
Tro. Ajax hath ta'en ^Eneas : shall it be ? 
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, 
He shall not carry him : I '11 be taken too. 
Or bring liim off. — Fate, hear me what I say ! 
I reck not though P end my life to-day. [Exit. 

Enter one in goodly Armour. 
Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek : thou art a goodly 
mark. — 
No ! wilt thou not ? — I like thy armour well ; 
I 'U frush° it, and unlock the rivets all. 
But I '11 be master of it. — Wilt thou not, beast, abide ? 
Why then, fly on, I '11 hunt thee for thy hide. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— The Same. 
Enter Achilles, with Myrmidons. 
Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons ; 
Mark what I say. — Attend me where I wheel : 
Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath ; 
And when I have the bloody Hector found. 
Empale liini with your weapons round about ; 
In fellest manner execute your aims'. 
Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye. — 
It is decreed — Hector the great must die. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VIII.— The Same. 
Enter Mexelaus and Vauis., fighting : then, Thersites. 

Thcr. The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. 
Now, bull ! now, dog ! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo ! now, my 
doublc-henned sparrow ! 'loo, Paris, 'loo ! The bull 
has the game : — 'ware horns, lie ! 

[Exeunt Paris and Menelaus. 
Enter Maroarelon. 

Mar. Turn, slave, and fight. 

TJier. What art thou ? 

3Iar. A bastard son of Priam's. 

Thcr. I am a bastard too. I love ba.stards ; I am a 
bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bas- 
tard in valour, in every thing illegitimate. One bear 
will not bite another, and wherefore should one bas- 
tard ? Take heed, the quarrel 's most ominous to us: 
if the son of a whore fight for a Avhorc, he tempts 
jndsment. Farewell, bastard. 

Mar. The devil take thee, coward ! [ Exeuyit. 



'^ Shoal of fish ' slrayinj; : in folio. ' Be a looker on. * Cheatins- ^ thou : in folio. * Break to j)ieces. ' arm : in folio. 



596 



TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



ACT V. 



SCENE IX.— Another Part of the Field. 
Enter Hector. 
Hect. Most putrified core, so fair without, 
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. 
Now is my day's work done ; I '11 take good breath : 
Rest, sword ; thou hast thy fill of blood and death ! 

[Puts off his Helmet, and lays dmvn his Sword. 
Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. 
Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set ; 
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels : 
Even with the vaiP and darking of the sun, 
To clo.se the day up. Hector's life is done. 

Hect. I am unarm'd : forego this vantage, Greek. 
Achil. Strike, fellows, strike ! this is the man I seek. 

[Hector is slain. 
So, Ilion, fall thou next !* now, Troy, sink down; 
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. — 
On, MjTmidons ; and cry you all amain, 
Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain. 

[A Retreat sounded. 
Hark ! a retire' upon our Grecian part. 

Myr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord. 
Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth, 
And, stickler* like, the armies separates. 
My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed, 
Plcas'd with this dainty bit,' thus goes to bed. — 

[Sheathes his Sword. 
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail ; 
Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt. 

SCENE X.— The Same. 

Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, Dio- 
MEDES, and others, marching. Shouts within. 

Agam. Hark ! hark ! what shout is that ? 

Nest. Peace, drums ! 

[ Voices Withi7i.] Achilles ! 

Achilles ! Hector 's slain ! Achilles ! 

Dio. The bruit is. Hector 's slain, and by Achilles. 

Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be : 
Great Hector was a man as good as he. 

Agatn. March patiently along. — Let one be sent 
To pray Achilles see us at our tent. — 
If in his death the gods have us befriended, 
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. 

[Exeunt, marching. 

SCENE XL— Another Part of the Field. 
Enter ^Eneas and Trojan Forces. 
Mne. Stand, ho ! yet are we masters of the field. 
Never go home : here starve we out the night. 
Enter Troilus. 
Tro. Hector is slain. 

All. Hector ?— The gods forbid ! 

Tro. He 's dead ; and at the murderer's horse's tail, 
In beastly sort dragg'd through the shameful field. — 



Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed ! 
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and ^mile at Troy ! 
I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy. 
And linger not our sure destructions on ! 

^ne. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. 

Tro. You understand me not, that tell me so. 
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death ; 
But dare all imminence, that gods and men 
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone ! 
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba ? 
Let him, that will a screech-owl aye be call'd. 
Go in to Troy, and say there — Hector 's dead : 
There is a word will Priam turn to stone. 
Make wells and Niobes of the maid.s and wives, 
Cold* statues of the youth ; and, in a word, 
Scare Troy out of itself. But, march, away : 
Hector is dead ; there is no more to say. ^ 

Stay yet. — You vile abominable tents. 
Thus proudly pight' upon our Phrygian plains, 
Let Titan rise as early as he dare, 
I '11 through and through you ! — And, thou great-siz'd 

coward. 
No space of earth shall simder our two hates : 
I '11 haunt thee like a wicked conscience still. 
That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts. — 
Strike a free march to Troy ! — with comfort go : 
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. 

[Exeunt ^neas and Trojan forces. 

As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other side, 
Pandarus. 

Pan. But hear you, hear you ! 

Tro. Hence, brothel-lackey® ! ignomy and shame 
Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name ! 

[Exit Troilus. 

Pan. A goodly medicine for mine aching bones ! — 
[Left alone, let him .lay this by way of Epilogue.^] O 
world ! world ! world ! thus is the poor agent despised. 
and bawds, how earnestly are you set 'a 



0, traitors 



work, and how ill requited ! why should our endeavour 
be so loved", and the performance so loathed ? what 
verse for it? what instance for it? — Let me see. — 

" Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing. 
Till he hath lost his honey, and his sting : 
And being once subdued in armed tail. 
Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail." — 
Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths." 

As many as be here of Pander's Hall, 
Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall ; 
Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans, 
Though not for me, yet for your aching bones. 
Brethren, and sisters, of the hold-door trade. 
Some two months hence my will shall here be made : 
It should be now, but that my fear is this, — 
Some galled goose of Winchester'" would hiss. 
Till then I '11 sweat, and seek about for eases ; 
And at that time bequeath you my diseases. [Exit. 



1 Lowering. ^ Not in folio. ^ retreat : in folio. * One who stands by in a contest, to part the combatants when victory could be 
determined without bloodshed. He carried a stick for this purpose. * bed : in folio. 6 Cool : in folio. ■> Pitched. 8 broker, lackey : in 
f. e. 9 This direction is not in f. e. lO desired : in folio. n Used like tapestrf , to cover the walls of rooms. They often had " wise saws"' 
inscribed upon them, i' The neighborhood of the Bishop of Winchester's palace was in bad repute. 



CORIOLANUS. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Caics Marcius Coriolanus, a noble Roman. 
Titus Lartius, J Qgn^rals against the Volscians. 

COMINIUS, ) 

Menenius Agrippa, Friend to Coriolanus. 

SiciNRs Velutus, I Tribunes of the People. 

Junius Brutus, j 

Young Marcius, Son to Coriolanus. 

A Roman Herald. 

TuLLus AuFiDius. General of the Volscians. 
Lieutenant to Aufidius. 

SCENE, partly in Rome; and partly in the 



Conspirators with Aufidius. 
A Citizen of Antium. 
Two Volscian Guards. 

VoLUMNiA, Mother to Coriolanus. 
ViRGiLiA, Wife to Coriolanus. 
Valeria, Friend to Virgilia. 
Gentlewoman, attending on Virgilia. 

Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, ^diles, 
Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Ser- 
vants to Aufidius. and other Attendants. 

Territories of the Volscians and Aiitiates. 



ACT I. 



You are all resolved rather to die, than to famish? 



SCENE I.— Rome. A Street. 
Enter a Company of mutinous Citizens, with Staves, 

Clubs, and other Weapons. 
1 Cit. Before we proceed any farther, hear me speak 
All. Speak, speak. 
iCit 

All. Resolved, resolved 
1 Cit. First you know, Caius Marcius is chief enemy 
to the people. 

All. We know 't, we know 't. 

1 Cit. Let us kill him, and we '11 have corn at our 
own price. Is 't a verdict? 

All. No more talking on 't ; let it be done. Away, away! 

2 Cit. One word, good citizens. — 

1 Cit. We are accounted poor citizens ; the patri- 
cians good. What authority surfeits on, would relieve 
us : if they would yield us but the superfluity, while it 
were wholesome, we might guess they relieved us 
humanely ; but they think, we are too dear : the lean- 
ness that afflicts us. the abjectness' of our misery, is as an 
inventory to particularize their abundance ; our suffer- 
ance is a gain to them. — Let us revenge this with our 
pikes, ere we become rakes : for the gods know, I 
speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge. 

2 Cit. Would you proceed especially against Caius 
Marcius ? 

All. Against him first : he * s a very dog to the com- 
monalty. 

2 Cit. Consider you what services he has done for 
his country ? 

1 Cit.^ Very well ; and could be content to give him 
good report for 
proud. 

2 Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously. 

1 Cit. I say unto you, what he hath done famously, 
he did it to that end : though soft-conscienccd men 
can be content to say it was for his country, he did it 
to please his mother, and partly to be proud ; which he 
is, even to the altitude of his virtue. 



t, but that he pays himself with being 



2 Cit. What he cannot help in his nature, you account 
a vice in him. You must in no way say he is covetous. 

1 Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren of accusa- 
tions : he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition. 
[Shouts within.] What shouts are these ? The other 
side o' the city is risen : why stay we prating here ? to 
the Capitol ' 

All. 

1 Cit. 



Come, come. 



Soft ! who comes here ? 

Enter Menenius Agrippa. 
2 Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa: one that hath 
always loved the people. 

1 Cit. He 's one honest enough : would, all the rest 
were so ! 

Men. What work's, my countrymen, in hand? Where 
go you 
With bats and clubs ? The matter ? Speak, I pray you. 

2 Cit. Our business is not unknowii to the senate : 
they have had inkling this fortnight what we intend 
to do, which now we '11 show 'em in deeds. They say, 
poor suitors have strong breaths : they shall know, we 
have strong arms too. 

Men. Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest 
neighbours, 
Will you undo yourselves ? 

2 Cit. We cannot, sir ; we are undone already. 

Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care 
Have the patricians of you. For your wants, 
Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well 
Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them 
Against the Roman state ; whose course will on 
The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs 
Of more strong link asunder, than can ever 
Appear in your impediment. For the dearth. 
The gods, not the patricians, make it ; and 
Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack ! 
You are transported by calamity. 
Thither where more attends you ; and you slander 
The helms o' the state, who care for you like fathers, 
When you curse them as enemies. 



I object: inf. e. 2 All. 



t foil* 



598 



CORIOLANUS. 



ACT I. 



2 Cit. Care for us ? — True, indeed ! — They ne'er 
cared for us yet. Suffer us to famish, and their store- 
houses crammed with grain ; make edicts for usury, to 
support usurers ; repeal daily any wholesome act esta- 
blished against the rich, and provide more piercing 
statutes daily to chain up and restrain the poor. If 
the wars eat us not up, they will ; and there 's all the 
love they bear us. 

Men. Either you must 
Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, 
Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you 
A pretty tale : it may be, you have heard it ; 
But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture 
To scale' 't a little more. 

2 Cit. Well, 
I '11 hear it, sir : yet you must not think 
To fob off our disgraces with a tale ; 
But, an 't please you, deliver. 

3Ien. There was a time, when all the body's members 
Rebell'd against the belly ; thus accus'd it : — 
That only like a gulf it did remain 
I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, 
Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing 
Like labour with the rest ; where th' other instruments 
Did see, and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, 
And, mutually participate, did minister 
Unto the appetite, and affection common 
Of the whole body. The belly answered. — 

2 Cit. Well, sir, what answer made the belly ? 

3Ien. Sir, I shall tell you. — With a kind of smile. 
Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus, 
(For, look you, I may make the belly smile. 
As well as speak) it tauntingly replied 
To the discontented members, the mutinous parts 
That envied his receipt ; even so most fitly 
As you malign our senators, for that 
They are not such as you. 

2 Cit. Your belly's answer ? What ! 

The kingly crowned head, the vigilant eye, 
The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier, 
Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter. 
With other muniments and petty helps 
In this our fabric, if that they — 

3Icn. What then ? 

'Fore me, this fellow speaks ! — what then ? what then ? 

2 Cit. Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd. 
Who is the sink o' the body, — 

Men. ' Well, what then ? 

2 Cit. The former agents, if they did complain. 
What could the belly answer ? 

Men. I will tell you, 

If you '11 bestow a small (of what you have little) 
Patience a while, you '11 hear the belly's answer. 

2 Cit. Y' are long about it. 

Men. 
Your most grave belly was deliberate, 
Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd : — 
" True is it, my incorporate friends," quoth he, 
" That I receive the general food at first, 
Which you do live upon ; and fit it is. 
Because I am the store-heuse, and the shop 
Of the whole body : but if you do remember, 
I send it through the rivers of your blood. 
Even to the court, the heart, the senate, brain f 
And through the ranks^ and offices of man : 
The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins, 
From me receive that natural competency 
Whereby they live. And though that all at once. 
You, my good friends," this says the belly, mark me, — 

1 Theobald reads : stale. » to the seat o' the brain : in f. e. 



Note me this, good friend ; 



2 Cit. Ay, sir; well, well. 

Men. " Though all at once cannot 

See what I do deliver out to eacli. 
Yet I can make my audit up, that aJl 
From me do back receive the flour of all, 
And leave me but the bran." What say you to 't ? 

2 Cit. It was an answer. How apply you this ? 

Men. The senators of Rome are this good belly, 
And you the mutinous members : for c-caniine 
Their counsels, and their ci^rcs : digest things rightly, 
Touching the weal o' the common, you shall find, 
No public benefit which you receive, 
But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you, 
And no way from your;;elves. — Wliat do you think, 
You, the great toe of this assembly ? — 

2 Cit. I the great toe ? Why the great toe ? 

Men. For that being one o' the lowest, basest^poorest, 
Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost : 
Thou rascal, that art wor.^t in blood to run. 
Lead'st first to win some vantage. — 
But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs, 
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle ; 
The one side must have bale.* — Hail, noble Marcius ! 
Enter Caius Marcius. 

Mar. ThanJvs. — What 's the matter, you dissentious 
rogues. 
That rubbing the poor itch of your opinion. 
Make younselves scabs ? 

2 Cit. We have ever your good word. 

Mar. He that will give good words to yc, will flatter 
Beneath abhorring. — What would you have, you curs, 
That like nor peace, nor war ? the one affrights you ; 
The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, 
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares ; 
Where foxes, geese : you are no surer, no, 
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice. 
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is 
To make him worthy, whose offence suddues him. 
And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness, 
Deserves your hate ; and your affections are 
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that 
Which would increase his evil. He that depends 
Upon your favours swims with fins of lead. 
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! Trust ye ? 
With every minute you do change your mind, 
And call him noble, that was now your hate. 
Him vile, that was your garland. What 's the matter. 
That in these several places of the city 
You cry against the noble senate, who, 
Under the gods, keep you in awe. which else 
Would feed on one another ? — What 's their seeking ? 

3'Icn. For corn at their own rates ; whereof, they say. 
The city is well stor'd. 

3Iar. Hang 'em ! They say ? 

They '11 sit by the fire, and presvur.e to know 
What 's done i' the Capitol ; who 's like to rise, 
Who thrives, and who declines ; side factions, and give 

out 
Conjectural marriages ; making parties strong. 
And feebling such as stand not in their liking 
Below their cobbled shoes. They say, there 's grain 

enough ? 
Would the nobility lay aside their ruth. 
And let me use my sword, I 'd make a quarry^ 
With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high 
As I could pick* my lance. 

3Ien. Nay, these are all most' thoroughly persuaded; 
For though abundantly they lack discretion. 
Yet are tliey passing cowardly. But, I beseech you, 

3 cranks : in f e. * Evil ^ Heap of dead game. ^ Throw. ' almost : in f. e. 



\ 



SCENE n. 



COKIOLANUS. 



599 



What says the other troop ? 

Mar. They are dissolved. Hang 'em ! 

They said, they were an-hungry ; sigh'd forth pro- 
verbs, — 
That hunger broke stone walls ; that dogs must eat ; 
That meat was made for mouths ; that the gods sent not 
Corn for the rich men only. — With these shreds 
They vented their complainings ; which being answer'd, 
And a petition granted them, a strange one, 
(To break tlie heart of generosity, 
And make bold power look pale) they threw their caps 
As they would hang them on the horns o' the moon, 
Shouting their exultation^ 

Men. What is gi-anted them ? 

3Iar. Five tribunes, to defend their vulgar wisdoms, 
Of their own choice : one 's Junius Brutus, • 
Sicinius Velutus, and I know not — 'Sdeath ! 
The rabble should have first unroof'd the city. 
Ere so prevail'd with me : it will in time 
Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes 
For insurrection's arguing. 

3Ien. This is strange. 

Mar. Go ; get you home, you fragments ! 
Filter a Messenger. 

Mess. Where 's Caius Marcius ? 

Mar. Here. What 's the matter ? 

Mess. The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. 

Mar. I am glad on 't : then, we shall have means to 
vent 
Our musty superfluity. — See, our best elders. 
Enter Cominius, Titus Lartius, and other Senators ; 
Junius Brutus, and Sicinius Vklutus. 

1 Sen. Marcius, 't is true that you have lately told us ; 
The Volsces are in arms. 

3Iar. They have a leader, 

TuUus Aufidius, that will put you to 't. 
I sin in envying his nobility. 
And, were I any thing but what I am. 
Would wish me only he. 

Com. You have fought together. 

Mar. Were half to half the world by th' ears, and he 
Upon my party, I 'd revolt, to make 
Only my wars with him : he is a lion 
That I am proud to hunt. 

1 Sen. Then, worthy Marcius, 

Attend upon Cominius to these wars. 

Com. It is your former promise. 

Mar. Sir, it is ; 

And I am constant. — Titus Lartius, thou 
Shalt see me once more strike at TuUus' face. 
Wliat ! art thou stiff? stand'st out? 

Tit. No, Caius Marcius ; 

I '11 lean upon one crutch, and fight with the other. 
Ere stay behind this business. 

Men. 0. true bred ! 

1 Sen. Your company to the Capitol; where^Iknow, 
Our greatest friends attend us. 

Til. Lead you on: 

Follow, Cominius ; we must follow you, 
Right worthy your priority. 

Com. Noble Marcius I 

1 Sen. Hence ! To your homes ! be gone. 

[7b the Citizens. 

Mar. Nay. let them follow. 

The Volsces have much corn : take these rats thither. 
To gnaw; their garners. — Worshipful mutineers, 
Your valour puts well forth : pray, follow. 

[Exeunt Senators, Com. JNLir. Tit. and Menen. 
Citizens steal axcay. 

' emulation : in f. e. 3 Taunt. 3 Merits. * Not in f. e. 



Sic. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? 

Bru. He has no equal. 

Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the people, — 

Bru. Mark'd you his lip, and eyes ? 

Sic. Nay, but his taunts. 

Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird= the gods. 

Sic. Bemock the mode.st moon. 

Bru. The present wars devour him : he is grown 
Too proud to be so valiant. 

Sic. Such a nature. 

Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow 
Which he treads on at noon. But I do wonder, 
His insolence can brook to be commanded 
Under Cominius. 

Bru. Fame, at the which he aims. 

In whom already he is well gi-ac'd, cannot 
Better be held, nor more attain'd. than by 
A place below the first ; for what miscarries 
Shall be the general's fault, though he perform 
To the utmost of a man ; and giddy censure 
Will then cry out of Marcius, " 0, if he 
Had borne the business !" 

Sic. Besides, if things go well, 

Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall 
Of his demerits' rob Cominius. 

Bru. Come: 

Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius, 
Though Marcius earn'd them not ; and all his faults 
To Marcius shall be honours, though, indeed, 
In aught he merit not. 

Sic. Let 's hence, and hear 

How the despatch is made ; and in what fashion, 
More than his singularity, he goes 
Upon his present action. 

Bru. . Let 's along. \Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Corioli. The Senate-House. 
Enter Tullus Aufidius, and Senators. 

1 Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, 
That they of Rome are enter'd in our counsels, 
And know how we proceed. 

Auf. Is it not yours ? 

What ever have been thought on in this state, 
That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome 
Had circumvention? 'T is not four days gone. 
Since I heard thence ; these are the words : I think, 
I have the letter here; yes, here it is : — [Reads. 

'•'■ They have press'd a power, but it is not known 
Whether for east, or west. The dearth is great ; 
The people mutinous ; and it is rumour'd, 
Cominius, Marcius your old enemy, 
(Who is of Rome worse hated than of you) 
And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, 
These three lead on this preparation 
Whither 't is bent : most likely, 't is for you. 
Consider of it." 

1 Sen. Our army '.s in tlie field. 
We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready 
To answer us. 

Auf. Nor did you think it folly, 

To keep your great pretences veil'd. till when [ing, 
They needs must show themselves ; which in the hatch- 
It seem'd. appear'd to Rome. By the discovery, 
We shall be shortened in our aim ; which was, 
To take in many towns, ere, almost, Rome 
Should know we were afoot. 

2 Sen. Noble Aufidius, 
Take your commission; hie you to your bands. 

[Giving it.* 



600 



CORIOLANUS. 



ACT I. 



Let us alone to guard Corioli : 
If they set down before 's, for the remove 
Bring up your army ; but, I think, you '11 find 
They 've not prepar'd for us. 

Aiif. ! doubt not that ; 

I speak from certainties. Nay, more ; 
Some parcels of their power are forth already, 
And only hitherward. I leave your honours. 
If wc and Caius Marcius chance to meet, 
'T is sworn between us, we shall ever strike 
Till one can do no more. 

All. The gods assist you ! 

Auf. And keep your honours safe ! 

1 Sen. Farewell. 

2 Sen. Farewell. 
All. Farewell. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Rome. An Apartment in Marcius' 

House. 

Enter Volumnia, and Virgilia. They sit down on 

two low Stoolsj and sew. 

Vol. I pray you. daughter, sing ; or express yourself 
in a more comfortable sort. If )ny son were my hus- 
band, I should freelier rejoice in that absence wherein 
he won honour, than in the embracements of his bed, 
where he would show most love. When yet he was 
but tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb ; "when 
youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his way ; when, 
for a day of king's entreaties, a mother should not sell 
him an hour from her beholding ; I, — considering how 
honour would become such a person ; that it was no 
better than picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown 
made it not stir, — was pleased to let him seek danger 
where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war I sent 
him ; from whence he returned, his brows bound with 
oak. I tell thee, daughter, I sprang not more in joy 
at first hearing he was a man-child, than now in first 
seeing he had proved himself a man. 

Vir. But had he died in the business, madam ? how 
then ? 

Vol. Then, his good report should have been my 
son : I therein would have found issue. Hear me pro- 
fess sincerely : — had I a dozen sons, — each in my love 
alike, and none less dear than thine and my good 
Marcius, — I had rather had eleven die nobly for their 
country, than one voluptuously surfeit out of action. 
Enter a Gentlewoman. 

Gent. Madam, the lady Valeria is come to visit you. 

Vir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself. 

Vol. Indeed, you shall not. 
Methinks, I hear hither your husband's drum. 
See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair ; 
As children from a bear the Volsces shunning him : 
Methinks, I see him stamp thus, and call thus, — 
'■'■ Come on, you cowards ! you were got in fear. 
Though you were born in Rome." His bloody brow 
With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes. 
Like to a harvest-man, that 's task'd to mow 
Or all, or lose his hire. 

Vir. His bloody brow? 0, Jupiter! no blood. 

Vol. Aw^ay. you fool ! it more becomes a man, 
Than gilt his trophy : the breasts of Hecuba, 
When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier 
Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood, 
At Grecian swords contemning.* — Tell Valeria, 
We are fit to bid her M-elcome. [Exit Gent. 

Vir. Heavens^bless my lord from fell Aufidius ! 



Vol. He '11 beat Aufidius' head below his knee, 
And tread upon his neck. 
Re-enter Gentlewoman, with Valeria and her Usher. 

Val. My ladies both, good day to you. 

Vol. Sweet madam. 

Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship. 

Val. How do you both ? you are manifest house- 
keepers. What are you sewing here ? A fine spot, in 
good faith. — How does your little son ? 

Vir. I thank your ladyship; well, good madam. 

Vol. He had rather see swords, and hear a drum, 
than look upon his school-master. 

Val. 0' my word, the father's son : 1 '11 swear, 't is a 
very pretty boy. O' my troth, I looked upon him o' 
Wednesday half an hour together : he has such a con- 
firmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded but- 
terfly ; and when he caught it, he let it go again ; and 
after it again ; and over and over he come.«, and up 
again ; catched it again : or whether his fall enraged 
him, or how 't was, he did so set his teeth, and tear it j 

! I warrant, how he mammocked it ! 
Vol. One of his father's moods. 

Val. Indeed la, 't is a noble child. 

Vir. A crack*, madam. 

Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery ; I must have 
you play the idle huswife with me this afternoon. 

Vir. No, good madam ; I will not out of doors. 

Val. Not out of doors ? 

Vol. She .shall, she shall. 

Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience : I will not over 
the threshold, till my lord return from the wars. 

Vol. Fie ! you confine yourself most unreasonably. 
Come ; you must go visit the good lady that lies in. 

Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her 
with my prayers ; but I cannot go thither. 

Vol. Why, I pray you ? 

Vir. 'T is not to save labour, nor that I want love. 

Val. You would be another Penelope ; yet. they say. 
all the yarn she spun in Ulysses' absence did but fill 
Ithaca full of moths. Come : I would, your cambric 
were sensible as your finger, that you might leave 
pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us. 

Vir. No, good madam, pardon me ; indeed, I will 
not forth. 

Val. In truth, la, go with me ; and I '11 tell you ex- 
cellent news of your husband. 

Vir. ! good madam, there can be none yet. 

Val. Verily, I do not jest with you, there came 
news from him last night. 

Vir. Indeed, madam ? 

Val. In earnest, it 's true : I heard a senator speak it. 
Thus it is : — The Volsces have an army forth, against 
whom Cominius the general is gone, with one part of 
our Roman power : your lord, and Titus Lartius, are 
set down before their city Corioli ; they nothing doubt 
prevailing, and to make it brief wars. This is true on 
mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us. 

Vir. Give me excuse, good madam ; I will obey you 
in every thing hereafter. 

Vol. Let her alone, lady : as she is now, she will 
but disease our better mirth. 

Val. In troth, I think, she would. — Fare you well 
then. — Come, good sweet lady. — Pr'ythee, Virgilia, 
turn thy solemness out o' door, and go along with us. 

Vir. No, at a word, madam; indeed, I must not. 

1 wish you much mirth. 

Val. Well then, farewell. 



\Exeunt. 



1 contending : in f. e. ^ A fine boy. 



SCENE VI. 



CORIOLANUS. 



601 



SCENE IV.— Before Corioli. 

Enter, with Drum and Colours, Marcius*, Titus Lar- 
Tius, Officers, and Soldiers. 

Mar. Yonder comes news : — a wager, they have met. 

Lart. My horse to yours, no. 

Mar. 'T is done. 

Lart. Agreed. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mar. Say. has our general met the enemy ? 

Mess. They lie in view, but have not spoke as yet. 

Lart. So, the good horse is mine. 

Mar. I "11 buy him of you. 

Lart. No, I 'II nor sell, nor give him : lend you him 
I will, 
For half a hundred years. — Summon the town. 

Mar. How far off lie these armies ? 

Mess. Within this mile and half. 

Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours. 
Now, Mars, I pr'ythce, make us quick in work, 
That we with smoking swords may march from hence. 
To help our fielded friends ! — Come, blow thy blast. 
A Parley sounded. Enter, on the Walls, two Senators, 

and others. 
Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls ? 

1 Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than he. 
That 's lesser than a little. Hark, our drums 

[Drums afar off. 
Are bringing forth our youth : we '11 break our walls, 
Rather than they shall pound us up. Our gates. 
Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes ; 
They '11 open of themselves. Hark you, far off: 

[Alarum afar off. 
There is Aufidius : list, what work he makes 
Amongst your cloven army. 

3Iar. O ! they arc at it. 

Lart. Their noise be our instruction. — Ladders, ho ! 
The Volsces enter, and. pass over the Stage. 

Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their city. 
Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight 
With hearts more proof than shields. — Advance, brave 

Titus : 
They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts. 
Which makes me sweat with wrath. — Come on, my 
He that retires, I '11 take him for a Volsce, [fellows : 
And he shall feel mine edge. 
Alarum, and exeunt Romans and Volsces, fighting. The 

Romans are beaten back to their Trenches. Re-enter 

Marcius enraged. 

Mar. All the contagion of the south light on you, 
You shames of Rome ! Unheard-of boils and plagues^ 
Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd 
Farther than seen, and one infect another 
Against the wind a mile ! You souls of geese, 
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run 
From slaves that apes would beat ! Pluto and hell ! 
All hurt behind ; backs red, and faces pale 
With llight and agued fear ! Mend, and charge home, 
Or, by the fires of heaven, I '11 leave the foe. 
And make my wars on you. Look to 't : come on ; 
If you '11 stand fast, we '11 beat them to their wives. 
As they us to our trenches follow. 
Another Alarum. The Volsces and Romans re-enter, 

and the Fight is renewed. The Vol.sces retire into 

Corioli, and MxRcivs follows them to the Gates. 
So, now the gates are ope : — now prove good seconds. 
'T is for the followers fortune widens them, 
Not for the fliers : mark nic, and do the like. 

[He enters the Gates, and is shut in. 



1 Sol. Fool-hardiness ! not I. 

2 Sol. Nor I. 

3 Sol. See, they have shut him in. [Alarum continues. 
All. To the port^ I warrant him. 

Enter Titus Lartius. 

Lart. What is become of Marcius ? 

All. Slain, sir, doubtless. 

1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels, 
With them he enters ; who, upon the sudden, 
Clapp'd-to their gates: he is himself alone. 
To answer all the city. 

Lart. noble fellow ! 

Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword, 
And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius : 
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art. 
Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier 
Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible 
Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks, and 
The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds. 
Thou mad'st tliine enemies shake, as if the world 
Were feverous, and did tremble. 

The Gates open. Re-enter Marcius. bleeding, assaulted 
by the Enemy. 

1 Sol. Look, sir ! 

Lart. 0, 't is Marcius ! 

Let 's fetch him off, or make remain alike. 

[They fight, and all enter the City. 

SCENE v.— Within the Town. A Street. 
Enter certain Romans, with Spoils. 

1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome. 

2 Rom. And I this. 

3 Roju. A murrain on 't ! I took this for silver, 

[Alarum continues still afar off. 
Enter Marcius, and Titus Lartius, with a Trumpet. 

Mar. Sec here these movers, that do prize their hours 
At a crack'd drachm ! Cushions, leaden spoons. 
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would 
Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves. 
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up. — Down with them ! — 
And hark, what noise the general makes. — To him ! 
There is the man of my soul's hate. Aufidius. 
Piercing our Romans : then, valiant Titus, take 
Convenient numbers to make good the city. 
Whilst t, with those that have the spirit, yrnW haste 
To help Cominius. 

Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st ; 

Thy exercise hath been too violent 
For a second course of fight. 

Mar. Sir, praise me not : 

My work hath yet not warm'd me. Fare you well. 
The blood I drop is rather physical 
Than dangerous to me. To Aufidius thus 
I will appear, and fight. 

Lart. Now the fair goddess. Fortune, 

Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms 
Misguide thy opposers' swords ! Bold gentleman. 
Prosperity be thy page ! 

Mar. Thy friend no less 

Than those she placeth highest. So, farewell. 

Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius ! — [Exit ^Iarcius. 
Go, .sound thy trumpet in the market-place ; 
Call thither all the officers of the town. 
Where they shall know our mind. Away ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— Near the Camp of Cominrs. 

Enter Cominius and Forces, as in retreat. 

Com. Breathe you, my friends. Well fought : we 
are come off 



1 f. e. add : " to them a Messenger," and omit the stage direction below. * Yon herd of — Boils and plagues : in f. e. ^ pg^ : ;n f g_ 



602 



COEIOLANUS. 



ACT I. 



else had I, sir, 



Like Puomans, neither foolish in our stands, 
Nor cowardly in retire : believe me, sirs, 
We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck. 
By interims and conveying gusts we have heard 
The charges of our friends : — ye. Roman gods. 
Lead their successes as we wish our own, 
That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering 
May give you thankful sacrifice ! — 
Enter a Messenger. 

Thy news ? 

3Iess. The citizens of Corioli have issued, 
And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle : 
I saM' our party to their trenches driven, 
And then I came away. 

Com. Though thou speak" st truth, 

Methinks. thou speak' st not well. How long is 't since ? 

3I(ss. Above an hour, my lord. 

Co7n. 'T is not a mile ; briefly we heard their drums : 
How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour. 
And bring thy news so late ? 

3Iess. Spies of the Volsces 

Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel 
Three or four miles about ; 
Half an hour since brought my report. 
Enter Marcius. 

Com. Who 's yonder, 

That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods ! 
He has the stamp of Marcius, and I have 
Before-time seen him thus. 

3Iar. Come I too late ? 

Cant. The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor. 
More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue 
From every meaner man. 

Mar. Come I too late ? 

Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, 
But mantled in 3'our own. 

Mar. ! let me clip you 

In arms as sound, as when I w"oo'd ; in heart 
As merry, as when our nuptial day was done. 
And tapers burn'd to bedward. 

Com. Flower of warriors. 

How is 't with Titus Lartius ? 

3Iar. As with a man busied about decrees : 
Condemning some to death, and some to exile ; 
Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the other; 
Holding Corioli, in the name of Rome, 
Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, 
To let him slip at will. 

Com. Where is that slave. 

Which told me they had beat you to your trenches ? 
Where is he ! — Call hira hither. 

Mar. Let him alone, 

He did inform the truth : but for our gentlemen, 
The common tile. (A plague ! — Tribunes for them ?) 
The mou.se ne"er shunn'd the cat, as they did budge 
From rascals worse than they. 

Com. But how prevail'd you ? 

Mar. Will the time serve to tell ? I do not think it. 
Where is the enemy ? Are you lords o' the field ? 
If not, why cease you till you are so ? 

Com. INIarcius, we have at disadvantage fought. 
And did retire to win our purposes. 

Mar. How lies their battle ? Know you on which side 
They have plac'd their men of trust ? 

Com. As I guess, Marcius, 

Tliose bands i' the vayward are the Antiates, 
Of their best trust : o'er them AufidiuSj 
Their very heart of hope. 

3Iar. I do beseech you. 



By all the battles wherein we have fought, 
By the blood we have shed together, by the vows 
We have made to endure friends, that you directly 
Set me against Aufidius, and hi.s Antiates ; 
And that you not delay the present, but, 
Filling the air with swords advanc'd and darts. 
We prove this very hour. 

Com. Though I could wish 

You were conducted to a gentle bath. 
And balms applied to you, yet dare I never 
Deny your asking. Take your choice of those 
That best can aid your action. 

Mar. Those are they 

That most are willing.— If any such be here, 
(As it were sin to doubt) that love this painting 
Wherein you see me smear'd : if any fear 
Lesser his person than an ill report ; " 

If any think brave death outweighs bad life. 
And that his covintry 's dearer than himself; 
Let him, alone, or so many so minded. 
Wave thus, to express his disposition, 
And follow Marcius. 

[They all shout, and wave their Sivords ; take 
him lip in their arms, and cast vp their Caps. 
me, alone ! Make you a sword of me ? 
If these shows be not outward, which of you 
But is four Volsces ? None of you, but is 
Able to bear against the great Aufidius 
A shield as hard as his. A certainnumber, 
Though thanks to all. must I select from all : the rest 
Shall bear the bvisine^s in some other fight, 
As cause will be obey'd. Please you, march before^ 
And I'-* shall quickly draw out my command. 
Which men are best inclin'd. 

Com. March on, my fellows : 

Make good this ostentation, and you shall 
Divide in all with us. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— The Gates of Corioli. 

Titus Lartius, having set a Guard vpon Corioli, going 
with Drum and Trumpet toirard Cominius and Caius 
Marcius, enters with a Lieutenant, aparty of Soldiers, 
and a Scout. 
Lart. So ; let the ports be guarded : keep your duties, 

As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch 

Those centuries to our aid ; the rest will serve 

For a short holding : if we lose the field. 

We cannot keep the town. 

Lieu. Fear not our care, sir. 

Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us. — 

Our guider, come ; to the Roman camp conduct us. 

[ Exeunt. 

SCENE VIII.— A Field of Battle between the Roman 
and the Volscian Camps. 

Alarum. Enter Marcius and Aufidius. 

3Iar. I '11 fight with none but thee : for I do hate thee 
Worse than a promise-breaker. 

Auf. We hate alike : 

Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor 
More than thy fame P envy. Fix thy foot. 

3Iar. Let the first budger die the other's slave, 
And the gods doom him after ! 

Auf. If I fly, Marcius, 

Halloo me like a hare. 

3Jar. Within these three hours, TuUus, 
Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, 
And made what work I pleas'd. 'T is not my blood. 
Wherein thou seest me mask'd : for thy revenge, 



I to march : in f. e. 2 four : in f. 



^ and : in f. e. 



SCENE X. 



COKIOLANUS. 



603 



Wrench up thy power to the highest. 

Auf. Were thou the Hector, 

That was the whip of your hragg'd progeny, 
Thou shouldst not scape me here. — 

[They Jight, and certain Volsces come to the aid of 

AUFIDIUS. 

Officious, and not valiant^ — you have sham'd me 
In your condemned seconds. 

[Exeunt fighting, all driven in by Marcius. 

SCENE IX.— The Roman Camp. 
Alarum. A Retreat sounded. Flourish. Enter at 
one side., Cominius, and Romans ; at the other side, 
Marcius, with his Arm in a Scarf, and other Romans. 

Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work. 
Thou 'It not believe thj^ deeds ; but I '11 report it, 
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles. 
Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug, 
I' the end, admire: where ladies shall be frighted, 
And. gladly quak'd, hear more : where the dull Tribunes, 
That with the fusty plebeians hate thine honours. 
Shall say, against their hearts, — 

" We thank the gods our Rome hath such a soldier !'' — 
Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast, 
Having fully dined before. 
Enter Titus Lartius with his Tower, from the pursuit. 

Lart. general, 

Here is the steed, we the caparison : 
Hadst thou beheld — 

3Iar. Pray now, no more : my mother, 

Who has a charter to extol her blood, 
When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done, 
As you have done ; that 's what I can ; induc'd 
As you have been ; that 's for my country : 
He that has but effected his good will 
Hath overt a' en mine act. 

Com. You shall not be 

The grave of your deserving: Rome must know 
The value of her own : 't were a concealment 
Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, 
To hide your doings : and to silence that. 
Which, to the spire and top of praises voueh'd. 
Would seem but modest. Therefore, I beseech you. 
In sign of what you are, not to reward 
What you have done, before our army hear me. 

3[ar. I liave some wounds upon me, and they smart 
To hear themselves remember'd. 

Com. Should they not. 

Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, 
And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses, 
(Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store) of all 
The treasure, in this field achiev'd and city, 
We render you the tenth : to be ta'en forth. 
Before the common distribution. 
At your only choice. 

Mar. I thank you, general ; 

But cannot make my heart consent to take 
A bribe to pay my sword : I do refuse it ; 
And stand upon my common part with those 
That have beheld the doing. 

[A long flourish. They all cry, Marcius ! Marcius ! 
ca.^t up their Caps and Lances : Cominius and Lar- 
tius .stand bare. 

Mar. May the.se same instrviments, wliich you profane. 
Never sound more : when drums and trumpets shall 
I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be 
Made all of false-fae"d soothing : 
When steel grows soft as tlie parasite's silk. 
Let it' be made a coverture"-* for the wars. 

' tUem : in f. e. ' overture : in f. e. 



No more, I say. For that I have not wash'd 

My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch, 

Which without note here 's many else have done. 

You shout me forth 

In acclamations h>iierbolieal ; 

As if I loved my little .should be dieted 

In praises sauc'd with lies. 

Com. Too modest are you : 

More cruel to your good report, than grateful 
To us that give you truly. By your patience, 
If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we '11 put you 
(Like one that means his proper harm) in manacles. 
Then reason safely with you. — Therefore, be it known, 
As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius 
Wears this war's garland : in token of the which 
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, 
With all his trim belonging : and. from this time. 
For what he did before Corioli, call him. 
With all th' applause and clamour of the host, 
Caius Marcius Coriolanus. — 
Bear the addition nobly ever ! 

[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and Drums. 

All. Caius Slarcius Coriolanus ! 

Cor. I will go wash ; 
And when my face is fair, you shall perceive 
Whether I blush, or no : howbeit, I thank you. — 
I mean to stride your steed ; and, at all times, 
To undercrest your good addition 
To the fairness of my power. 

Com. So, to our tent ; 

Where, ere we do repose us, we will write 
To Rome of our success. — ^You, Titus Lartius, 
Must to Corioli back : send us to Rome 
The best, with whom we may articulate. 
For their own good, and ours. 

Lart. I shall, my lord. 

Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now 
Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg 
Of my lord general. 

Com. Take it : 't is yours. — What is 't ? 

Cor. I .sometime lay, here in Corioli, 
At a poor man's house : he us'd me kindly : 
He cried to me ; I saw him prisoner ; 
But then Aufidius was within my view, 
And wrath o'erwlielm'd my pity. I request you 
To give my poor host freedom. 

Com. 0, well-begg'd ! 

Were he the butcher of my son, he should 
Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. 

Lart. Marcius, his name ? 

Cor. By Jupiter, forgot : — 

I am weary ; yea, my memory is tir'd. — 
Have we no wine here? 

Com. Go we to our tent. 

The blood upon your visage dries ; 't is time 
It should be look'd to. Come. [Exeunt. 

SCENE X.— The Camp of the Volsces. 

A Flourish. Cornets. Enter Tuli.us Aufidius, 
bloody, with two or three Soldiers. 

Auf. The town is ta'en. 

1 Sold. 'T will be deliver'd back on good condition. 

Aiif. Condition ! — 
I would I were a Roman ; for I cannot, 
Being a Volsce. be that I am. — Condition ! 
What good condition can a treaty find 
I' the part that is at mercy ? — Five times, Marcius, 
I have fou2ht with thee : so often hast thou beat me ; 
And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter 



604 



COKIOLANUS. 



ACT n. 



As often as we eat. — By the elements. 

If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, 

He is mine, or I am his. Mine emulation 

Hath not that honour in 't, it had ; for where 

I thought to crush him in an equal force, 

True sword to sword, I '11 potch' at him some way, 

Or wrath, or craft, may get him. 

1 Sold. He 's the devil. 

Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour 's 
poison' d. 
With only suffering stain by him : for him 
'T shall fly out of itself: nor sleep, nor sanctuary. 
Being naked, sick; nor fane, nor Capitol, 
The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice, 



Embargments' all of fury, shall lift up 

Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst 

My hate to Marcius. Where I find him, were it 

At home, upon my brother's guard, even there, 

Against the hospitable canon, would I 

Wash my fierce hand in 's heart. — Go you to the city: 

Learn, how 't is held ; and what they are, that must 

Be hostages for Rome. 

1 Sold. Will not you go? 

Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove : I pray you, 
('T is south the city mills) bring me word thither 
How the world goes, that to the pace of it 
I may spur on my journey. 



1 Sold. 



I shall, sir. [Exeunt. 



ACT II 



SCENE I.— Rome. A Public Place. 
Enter Menenius, Sicinius, and Brutus. 

Men. The augurer tells me, we shall have news to- 
night. 

Bru. Good, or bad ? 

3Icn. Not according to the prayer of the people, for 
they love not Marcius. 

Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. 

Men. Pray you, whom does the wolf love ? 

Sic. The lamb. 

Men. Ay, to devour him ; as the hungry plebeians 
would the noble Marcius. 

Bru. He 's a lamb, indeed, that baes like a bear. 

Men. He 's a bear, indeed, that lives like a lamb. You 
two are old men : tell me one thing that I shall ask you. 

Both Trib. Well, sir. 

Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you 
two have not in abundance ? 

Bru. He 's poor in no one fault, but stor'd with all. 

Sic. Especially in pride. 

Bru. And topping all others in boasting. 

Men. This is strange now. Do you two know how 
you are censured here in the city, I mean of us o' the 
right-hand file ? Do you ? 

Both Trih. Why, how are we censured? 

3Icn. Because you talk of pride now, — Will you not 
be angry? 

Both Trib. Well, well, sir ; well. 

Men. Why, 't is no great matter: for a very little thief 
of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience : 
give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your 
pleasures ; at the least, if you take it as a pleasure to 
you, in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud ? 

Bru. We do it not alone, sir. 

Men. I know, you can do very little alone ; for your 
helps are many, or else your actions would grow won- 
drous single : your abilities are too infant-like for doing 
much alone. You talk of pride : O ! that you could 
turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks, and 
make but an interior survey of your good selves ! 0, 
that you could ! 

Bru. What then, sir ? 

3Icn. Why, then you should discover a brace of un- 
meriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, (alias, fools) 
as any in Rome. 

Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough, too. 

Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and 
one that loves a cup of hot wine, without* a drop of 



allaying Tiber in 't : said to be something imperfect in 
favouring the thirst* complaint ; hasty, and tinder-like, 
upon too trivial motion : one that converses more with 
the buttock of the night, than with the forehead of the 
morning. What I think I utter, and spend my malice 
in my breath. Meeting two such weals-men as you 
are, (I cannot call you Lycurguses) if the drink you 
give me touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked 
face at it. I cannot say, your worships have delivered 
the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with 
the major part of your syllables : and though I must be 
content to bear with those that say you are reverend 
grave men, yet they lie deadly, that tell you, you have 
good faces. If you see this in the map of my micro- 
cosm, follows it, that I am known well enough, too ? 
What harm can your bisson' conspectuities glean out 
of this character, if I be known well enough, too ? 

Bru. Come, sir, come ; we know you well enough. 

Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any 
thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and 
legs : you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hear- 
ing a cause between an orange-wife and a fosset-seller, 
and then adjourn" the controversy of three-pence to a 
second day of audience. — When you are hearing a 
matter between party and party, if you chance to be 
pinched with the colic, you make faces like mummers, 
set up the bloody flag against all patience, and, in roar- 
ing for a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy plead- 
ing', the more entangled by your hearing : all the peace 
50U make in their cause is calling both the parties 
knaves. You are a pair of strange ones. 

Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be a 
perfecter giber for the table, than a necessary bencher 
in the Capitol. 

3Ien. Our very priests must become mockers, if they 
shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. 
When you speak best unto the purpose, it is not worth 
the wagging of your beards ; and your beards deserve 
not so honourable a grave as to stuff" a botcher's cushion, 
or to be entombed in an ass's pack-saddle. Yet you 
must be saying, Marcius is proud ; who. in a cheap 
estimation, is worth all your predecessors since Deuca- 
lion, though, pcradventure, some of the best of 'em were 
hereditary hangmen. Good den to your wor.ships : more 
of your conversation would infect my brain, being the 
herdsmen of the beastly plebeians. I will be bold to take 
my leave of you. [Brutus and Sicinius stand back. 

Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, Valeria, ^c. 
How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and the moon. 



• Thrust at with a pointed itistrument. 
ing: in f. e. 



Embargoes. ' with not : in f. e. * first : in f. e. * Blind. * rejourn : in f. e. 'bleed- 



SCENE I. 



COKIOLANUS. 



605 



were she earthly, no nobler) whither do you follow 
your eyes so fast ? 

Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius ap- 
proaches : for the love of Juno let 's go. 

Men. Ha! Marcius coming home ? 

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most prosper- 
ous approbation. 

Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. — Ho ! 
Marcius coming home? [Throwing vp his Cap.^ 

Both Ladies. Nay, 't is true. 

Vol. Look, here 's a letter from him : the state hath 
another, his wife another ; and, I think, there 's one at 
home for you. 

3Ien. I will make my very house reel to-night. — A 
letter for me ? 

Vir. Yes, certain, there 's a letter for you ; I saw it. 

Men. A letter for me ? It gives me an estate of 
seven years' health; in which time I will make a lip 
at the physician : the most sovereign prescription in 
Galen is but empiric physic", and, to this preservative, 
of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not 
wounded? he was wont to come home wounded. 

Vir. ! no, no, no. 

Vol. ! he is wounded ; I thank the gods for 't. 

3Ien. So do I too, if it be not too much. — Brings 'a 
victory in his pocket, the wounds become him. 

Vol. On 's brows : Menenius. he comes the third 
time home with the oaken garland. 

3Ien. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly? 

Vol. Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, but 
Aufidius got off. 

3l€n. And 't was time for him too ; I '11 warrant him 
that : an he had stay'd by him, I would not have been 
so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold 
that 's in them. Is the senate possessed of this? 



the 



Vol. Good ladies, let 's go. — Yes, yes, yes: tne se- 
nate has letters from the general, wherein he gives my 
son the whole name of the war. He hath in this ac- 
tion outdone his former deeds doubly. 

Val. In troth, there 's wondrous things spoke of him. 

3Ien. Wondrous : ay, I warrant you, and not with- 
out his true purchasing. 

Vir. The gods grant them true ! 

Vol. True ! pow, wow. 

3Ien. True ! I '11 be sworn they are true. — Where is 
he wounded? — God save your good worships ! [To the 
Tribunes, ivho come forward^ Marcius is coming home : 
he has more cause to be proud. — Where is he wounded? 

Vol. V the shoulder, and i' the left arm : there will 
be large cicatrices to show the people, when he shall 
stand for his place. He received in the repulse of 
Tarquin seven hurts i' the body. 

Men. One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh, — there 's 
nine that I know. 

Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five 
wounds upon him. 

Men. Now it 's twenty-seven : every gash was an 
enemy's grave. [A Shout and Flourish.] Hark ! the 
trumpets. 

Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius : before him 
He carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears. 
Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie , 
Which, being advanc'd, declines, and then men die. 
A Sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius and Titus 

Lartius : betiveen them. Coriolanus, crowned ivith 

an oaken Garland; with Captains, Soldiers, and a 

Herald. 

Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight 



Within Corioli's gates : where he hath won. 

With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these 

In honour follows, Coriolanus : — 

Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus ! [Flourish. 

All. Welcome to Rome, renowiied Coriolanus ! 

Cor. No more of this ; it does offend my heart : 
Pray now, no more. 

Com. Look, sir, your mother. — 

Cor. ! 

You have, I know, petition'd all the gods 
For my prosperity. [Kneels. 

Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up; 

My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and 
By deed-achieving honour newly nam'd, 
What is it ? Coriolanus, must I call thee ? 
But O ! thy wife — 

Cor. My gracious silence, hail ! [Rising.^ 

Would.st thou have laugh'd, had I come coffin'd home, 
That weep'st to see me triumph ? Ah ! my dear, 
Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, 
And mothers that lack sons. 

Men. Now, the gods crown thee ! 

Cor. And live you yet? — O my sweet lady, pardon. 

[To Valeria. 

Vol. I know not where to turn : — ! welcome home ; 
And welcome, general; — and you are welcome all. 

Me7i. A hundred thousand welcomes : I could weep, 
And I could laugh ; I am light, and heavy. Welcome ! 
A curse begin at very root on 's heart. 
That is not glad to see thee ! — You are three, 
That Rome should dote on ; yet, by the faith of men, 
We have some old crab-trees here at home, that will not 
Be grafted to yovir relish. Yet welcome, warriors ! 
We call a nettle, but a nettle ; and 
The faults of fools, but folly. 

Com. Ever right. 

Cor. Menenius, ever, ever. 

Her. Give way there, and go on ! 

Cor. Your hand, — and yours. 

[ To his Wife and Mother. 
Ere in our own house I do sliade my head, 
The good patricians must be visited ; 
From whom I have receiv'd, not only greetings, 
But with them charge of honours. 

Vol. I have lived 

To see inherited my very wishes. 
And the buildings of my fancy : 
Only there 's one thing wanting, which I doubt not, 
But our Rome will cast upon thee. 

Cor. Know, good mother, 

I had rather be their servant in my way. 
Than sway with them in theirs. 

Com. On, to the Capitol ! 

[Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before. 
The Tribunes remain. 
Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights 
Are spectacled to see him : your prattling nurse 
Into a rapture* lets her baby cry 
While she cheers' him : the kitchen malkin" pins 
Her richest lockram" 'bout her reeehy* neck. 
Clambering the walls to eye him : stalls, bulks, windows, 
Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd 
With variable complexions, all agreeing 
In earnestness to see him : seld-sho\A-n flamens 
Do press among the popular throngs, and puft' 
To win a vulgar station : our veil'd dames 
Commit the war of white and damask, in 
Their nicely-gauded cheeks, to the wanton spoil 



' Not in f. e. 
of Mall or Mary- 



» is but empiricutic : in f. e. ; emperickqutique : in folio. ^ j|ot in f. e. * Fit. 2 chats : in f. e. ^ The diminutive 
-used as " ivenck." It also means a jnop, a clout. ' A kind of cheap linen. * Sjno/cy, dirty. 



606 



CORIOLANUS. 



ACT II. 



Of Phacbus' burning kisses : such a pother, 
As if that whatsoever god, who leads him, 
Were slily crept into his human powers, 
And gave him graceful posture. 

Sic. On the sudden 

I warrant him consul. 

Bru. Then our office may. 

During his power, go sleep. 

Sic. He cannot temperately transport his honours 
From where he should begin, and end ; but will 
Loj-e those he hath won. 

Brn. In that there 's comfort. 

Sic. Doubt not, the commoners, for wliom we stand, 
Bat they, upon their ancient malice, will 
Forget, with the least cause, these his new honours ; 
Wiiich that he '11 give them, make I as little question 
As he is proud to do 't. 

Bru. I heard him swear, 

Were he to stand for consul, never would he 
Appear i' the market-place, nor on him put 
The napless vesture of humility ; 
Nor, showing (as the manner is) his wounds 
To the people, beg their stinking breaths. 

Sic. ' 'T is right. 

Bru. It was his word. ! he would miss it, rather 
Than carry it but by the suit o' the gentiy to him, 
And the desire of the nobles. 

Sic. I wish no better, 

Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it 
In execution. 

Bru. 'T is moi5t like, he will. 

Sic. It shall be to him, then, at our good wills, 
A sure destruction. 

Bru. So it must fall out 

To him, or our authorities, for an end. 
We must suggest the people, in what hatred 
He still hath, held them ; that to his power he would 
Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, and 
Dispropertied their freedoms ; holding them. 
In human action and capacity. 
Of no more soul, nor fitness for the world, 
Than camels in the war ; who have their provand 
Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows 
For sinking under them. 

Sic. This, as you say, suggested 

At some time when his soaring insolence 
Shall touch^ the people, (which time shall not want, 
If he be put upon 't ; and that 's as easy, 
As to set dogs on sheep) will be his fire 
To kindle their dry stubble ; and their blaze 
Shall darken him for ever. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Bru. What 's the matter? 

Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol. "T is thought, 
That Marcius shall be consul. I have seen 
The dumb men throng to see him, and the blind 
To hear him speak : matrons flung gloves, 
Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchiefs, 
Upon him as he pass'd ; the nobles bended, 
As to Jove's statue, and the commons made 
A shower, and thunder, with their caps, and shouts. 
I never saw the like. 

Bru. Let 's to the Capitol ; 

And can-y with us ears and eyes for the time, 
But hearts for the event. 

Sic. Have with you. [Exeunt. 



> teach : in f. e. = treaty : in f. e. = Llest : jn f. e. 



SCENE II.— The Same. The Capitol. 
Enter two Officers., to lay Cushions. 

1 Off. Come, come : they are almost here. How 
many stand for consulships ? 

2 Off. Three, they say ; but 't is thought of every one 
Coriolanus will carry it. 

1 Off. That 's a brave fellow ; but he 's vengeance 
proud, and loves not the common people. 

2 Off. 'Faith, there have been many great men that 
have flattered the people, who ne'er loved them ; and 
there be many that they have loved, they know not 
wherefore : so that, if they love they know not why, 
they hate upon no better a ground. Therefore, for Cori- 
olanus neither to care whether they love or hate him 
manifests the true knowledge he has in their dispof^^i- 
tion : and, out of his noble carelessness. Ids tliem 
plainly see 't. 

1 Off. If he did not care whether he had their love 
or no, he wav'd indifferently 'twixt doing them neither 
good, nor harm ; but he seeks their hate with greater 
devotion than they can render it him, and leaves 
nothing undone that may fully discover him their oppo- 
site. Now, to seem to affect the malice and displea- 
sure of the people is as bad as that which he dislikes, 
to flatter them for their love. 

2 Off. He hath deserved worthily of his country; 
and his ascent is not by such easy degrees as those, 
who, having been supple and courteous to the people, 
bonneted, without any farther deed to have them at 
all into their estimation and report : but he hath so 
planted his lionours in their eyes, and his actions in 
their hearts, that for their tongues to be silent, and 
not confess so much, were a kind of ingrateful injury ; 
to report otherwise were a malice, that, giving itself 
the lie, would pluck reproof and rebuke from every ear 
that heard it. 

1 Off. No more of him : he is a worthy man. Alake 

way, they are coming. 

A Sennet. Enter., with Lictors before them, Cominius 
the Consul, Menenius, Coriolanus, man?/ of/ier Sena- 
tors, SiciNius and Brutus. The Senators take their 
places ; the Tribunes take theirs also by themselves. 
Men. Having determined of the Volsccs, and 

To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, 

As the main point of this our after-meeting. 

To gratify his noble service that 

Hath thus stood for his country. Therefore, please you, 

Most reverend and grave elders, to desire 

The present consul, and last general 

In our well-found successes, to report 

A little of that worthy work pcrform'd 

By Caius Marcius Coriolanus ; whom 

We meet here, both to thank, and to remember 

With honours like himself. 

1 Sea. Speak, good Cominius: 

Leave nothing out for length, and make us think, 

Rather our state 's defective for requital. 

Than we to stretch it out. — Masters o' the people, 

We do request your kindest ears ; and, after. 

Your loving motion toward the common tody, 

To yield what passes here. 

Sic. We are convented 

Upon a pleasing treatise- ; and have hearts 

Inclinable to honour and advance 

The theme of our assembly. 

Bru. Which the rather 

We shall be prest^ to do, if he remember 

A kinder value of the people, than 



SCENE in. 



CORIOLANUS. 



607 



He hath hereto priz'd them at. 

3Icn. That 's off, that 's off: 

I woukl you rather had been silent. Please you 
To hear Commius speak ? 

Biu. Most willingly ; 

But yet my caution was more pertinent, 
Than the rebuke you give it. 

Men. He loves your people : 

But tie him not to be their bed-fellow. — 
Worthy Cominius, speak. — Nay, keep your place. 

[CouiOLANUS risesj and offers to go away. 

1 -Sen. Sit, Coriolanus : never shame to hear 
What you have nobly done. 

Cor. Your honours' pardon : 

I had rather have my wounds to heal again. 
Than hear say how I got them. 
f^ru. Sir, I hope. 

My words dis-bench'd you not. 

Cor. No, sir : yet oft, 

When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. 
You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not. But, your people, 
I love thein as they weigh. 

3Icn. Pray now. sit down. 

Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head i' the sun. 
When the alarum were struck, than idly sit 
To hear my nothings monstercd. [Exit. 

Men. Masters of the people, 

Your nmltiplying spawn how can he flatter. 
(That 's thousand to one good one) when you now see. 
He had rather venture all his limbs for honour, 
Than one on 's ears to hear it ? — Proceed, Cominius. 

Com. I shall lack voice : the deeds of Coriolanus 
Should not be iittcr'd feebly. — It is held. 
That valour is the chiefcst virtue, and 
Most dignities the haver : if it be, 
The man I speak of cannot in the world 
Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years, 
When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought 
Beyond the mark of others : our then dictator. 
Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight. 
When with his Amazonian chin he drove 
The bristled lips before Inm. He bestrid 
An o'er-prcssed Roman, and i' the consul's view 
Slew three opposers : Tarquin's self he met, 
And struck him on his knee. In that day's feats. 
When he might act the woman in the scene, 
He prov'd best man i' the field ; and for his meed 
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age 
Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea ; 
And in the brunt of seventeen battles since. 
He lurch'd' all swords of tlie garland. 
Before and in Corioli, let me say, 
I cannot speak him home : he stopp'd the fliers. 
And by his rare example made the coward 
Turn terror into sport. As weeds before 
A A'c^.'-el luider sail, so men obey'd, 
And fell below his stem : his sword, death's stamp, 
Wheie it did mark, it took : from face to foot 
He was a thing of bleed, m hcse every motion 
Was tuned^ with dying cries. Alone he enter'd 
The mortal gnte of the city, which he painted 
With sliuiilcs.s destiny, aidless came off. 
And with a sudden re-inforcemcnt struck 
Corioli like a iilanot. Now all 's his ;. 
When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce 
His ready sense : then, straight his doubled spirit 
Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate, 
And to the battle came he ; where he did 
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 

1 Gained by an easy victory. ^ timed : in f. c. ' Not in f. e. 



For this last, 



'T were a perpetual spoil ; and till we call'd 
Both field and city ours, he never stood 
To ease his breast with panting. 

Men. Worthy man ! 

1 Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the honours 
Which we devise him. 

Com. Our spoils he kick'd at ; 

And look'd upon things precious, as they were 
The common muck o' the world : he covets less 
Than misery itself would give, rewards 
His deeds with doing them, and is content 
To spend the time to end it. 

Men. He 's right noble : 

Let him be called for, 

1 Sen. Call Coriolanus. 

Off. He doth appear. 

Re-enter Coriolanus. 

il/en. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd 
To make thee consul. 

Cor. I do owe them still 

My life, and services. 

Men. It then remains, 

That you do speak to the people. 

Cor. I do beseech you. 

Let me o'erleap that custom : for I cannot 
Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them. 
For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage : please you, 
That I may pass this doing. 

Sic. Sir, the people 

Must have their voices ; neither will they bate 
One jot of ceremony. 

Men. Put them not to 't . 

Pray you, go fit you to the custom, and 
Take to you, as your predecessors have, 
Your honour with your form. 

Cor. It is a part 

That I shall blush in acting, and might well 
Be taken from the people. 

Bru. Mark you that ? [Jo Sicinius.' 

Cor. To brag unto them, — thus I did, and thus ; — 
Show them th' unaching scars which I should hide. 
As if I had receiv'd them for the hire 
Of their breath only. — 

Men. Do not stand upon 't. — 

We recommend to you, tribunes of the people, 
Our purpose : — to them, and to our noble consul, 
Wish we all joy and honour. 

Sen. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour ! 

[Flourish. Exeunt Senators. 

Brit. You see how he intends to use the people. 

Sic. May they perceive 's intent ! He will require them. 
As if he did contemn what he requested 
Should be in them to give. 

Bru. Come; we'll inform them 

Of our proceedings here : on the market-place, 
I know they do attend us. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— The Same. The Forum. 
Enter several Citizens. 

1 Cit. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought 
not to deny him. 

2 Cit. Wc may, sir. if we will. 

3 Cit. We have jwwer in ourselves to do it, but it is 
a power that we have no power to do : for if he show 
us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we are to put our 
tongues into those wounds, and speak for them ; so, if 
he tell us his noble deeds, we must also tell him our 
noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is monstrous, 

[and for the multitude to be ingrateful were to make a 



608 



COEIOLANUS. 



ACT n. 



monster of the multitude ; of the which we, being mem- 
bers, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members. 

1 Cit. And to make us no better thought of, a little 
help will serve : for once, when we stood up about the 
corn, lie himself stuck not to call us the many-headed 
multitude. 

3 Cit. We have been called so of many ; not that 
our heads are some brown, some black, some auburn, 
some bald, but that our wits arc so diversely coloured : 
and truly, I tliink. if all our wits were to i.«sue out of 
one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south ; and 
their consent of one direct way should be at once to all 
the points o' the compass. 

2 Cit. Think you so ? Which way, do you judge, 
my wit would fly ? 

3 Cit. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another 
man's will : 't is strongly wedged up in a block-head ; 
but if it were at liberty, 't would, sure, southward. 

2 Cit. Why that way ? 

3 Cit. To lose itself in a fog ; where, being three 
parts moiled away with rotten dews, the fourth would 
return, for conscience sake, to help to get thee a wife. 

2 Cit. You are never without your tricks : — you 
may, you may. 

3 Cit. Are you all resolved to give your voices ? 
But that "s no matter ; the greater part carries it. I 
say, if he would incline to the people, there was never 
a worthier man. 

Enter Couiolanus and Menenius. 
Here he comes, and in the gown of humility : mark 
his behaviour. We are not to stay altogether, but to 
come by him, where he stands, by ones, by twos, and 
by threes. He 's to make his requests by particulars ; 
wherein every one of us has a single honour, in giving 
him our own voices with our own tongues : therefore, 
follow me, and I '11 direct you how you shall go by him. 
' All. Content, content. [Exeunt. 

Men. O sir ! you are not right : have you not known 
The worthiest men have done 't ? 

Cor. What must I say ? — 

I pray, sir, — Plague upon 't ! I cannot bring 
My tongue to such a pace. — Look, sir; — my wounds; — 
I got them in my country's service, when 
Some certain of your brethren roar'd. and ran 
From the noise of our own drums. 

me, the gods ! 



you must desire them 



'em ! 



3Ien. 
You must not speak of that 
To think upon you. 

Cor. Think upon me ? Han 

I would they would forget me, like the virtues 
Which our divines lose by 'em. 

3Ien. You '11 mar all : 

I '11 leave you. Pray you, speak to them, I pray you, 
In wholesome manner. [Exit. 

Enter two Citizens. 

Cor. Bid them wash their faces. 

And keep their teeth clean. — So, here comes a brace. — 
You know the cause, sir, of my standing here. 

1 Cit. We do, sir : tell us what hath brought you to 't. 
Cor. Mine own desert. 

2 Cit. Your own desert ? 

Cor. Ay, not 

Mine o\ati desire. 

1 Cit. How ! not your own desire ? 

Cor. No, sir: 'twas never my desire yet, 
To trouble the poor with begging. 

1 Cit. You must think, if wc give you any thing, 
we hope to gain by you. 

Cor. Well then. I pray, your price o' the consulship ? 

1 -woolvish : in f. e. 



1 Cit. The price is, to ask it kindly. 

Cor. Kindly? 

Sir, I pray, let me ha 't : I have wounds to show you, 
Which shall be yours in private. — Your good voice, sir; 
What say you ? 

2 Cit. You shall ha 't, worthy sir. 
Cor. A match, sir. — 

There is in all two worthy voices begg'd. — 
I have your alms : adieu. 

1 Cit. But this is something odd. 

2 Cit. An 'twere to give again, — but 't is no matter. 

[Exettnt the two Citizens, 
Enter two other Citizens. 
Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune 
of your voices that I may be consul, I have here the 
customary gown. 

3 Cit. You have deserved nobly of your cbuntrj^ 
and you have not deserved nobly. 

Cor. Your enigma ? 

3 Cit. You have been a scourge to her enemies, you 
have been a rod to her friends : you have not, indeed, 
loved the common people. 

Cor. You should account me the more virtuous, that 
I have not been common in my love. I will not, sir, 
flatter my sworn brothers, the people, to earn a dearer 
estimation of them ; 't is a condition they account 
gentle ; and since the wisdom of their choice is rather 
to have my hat than my heart, I will practise the in- 
sinuating nod, and be off" to them most counterfeitly : 
that is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some 
popular man, and give it bountifully to the desirers. 
Therefore, beseech you. I may be consul. 

4 Cit. We hope to find you our friend, and there- 
fore give you our voices heartily. 

3 Cit. You have received many wounds for your 
country. 

Cor. I will not stale your knowledge with showing 
them. I will make much of your voices, and so 
trouble you no farther. 

Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily. 

[Exeunt. 

Cor. Most sweet voices ! — 
Better it is to die, better to starve, 
Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. 
Why in this woolless' toge should I stand here. 
To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear. 
Their needless vouches ? Custom calls me to 't : — 
What custom wills, in all things should we do 't. 
The dust on antique time would lie unswepf. 
And momitainous error be too liighly heap'd 
For truth to o'er-peer. — Ilather than fool it so. 
Let the high office and the honour go 
To one that would do thus. — 1 am half through : 
The one part sufFer'd, the other will I do. 
Enter three other Citizens. 
Here come more voices. — 
Your voices : for your voices I have fought : 
Wateh'd for your voices ; for your voices bear 
Of wounds two dozen odd ; battles thrice six 
I have seen, and heard of : for your voices. 
Have done many things, some less, some more. 



Your voices ; for indeed, I would be consul. 



without 



5 Cit. He has done nobly, and cannot go 
any honest man's voice. 

6 Cit. Therefore, let him be consul. The gods give 
him joy, and make him good friend to the people. 

All. Amen, amen. — 
God save thee, noble consul ! [Exeunt Citizens. 



Cor. 



Wortliv voices 



SCENE III. 



COllIOLANUS. 



609 



Re-enter Menenius, u'ith Bruti's. and Sicinius. 

Men. You have stood yourlitriitatioii; and the tribunes 
Endue you with the people's voice : remains 
That, in th' official marks invested, you 
Anon do meet the senate. 

Cor. Is this done ? 

Sic. The custom of request you have discharg'd : 
The people to admit you ; and are summon'd 
To meet anon upon your approbation. 

Cor. Where ? at the senate-hou.se ? 

Sic. There, Coriolanus. 

Cor. May I change these garments ? 

Sic. You may, sir. 

Cor. That I Ml straight do; and, knowing myself again, 
Repair to the senate-house. 

Men. I '11 keep you company. — Will you along? 

Bru. We stay here for the people. 

Sic. Fare you well. — [Exeunt Coriol. and Menen. 
He has it now ;, and by his looks, methinks, 
'T is warm at 's heart. 

Bru. With a proud heart he wore 

His humble weeds. Will you di.<miss the people ? 
Re-enter Citizens. 

Sic. How now, my masters ! have you chose this man ? 

1 Cit. He has our voices, sir. 

Bru. We pray the gods he may deserve your loves. 

2 Cit. Amen, sir. To my poor unworthy notice. 
He mockd us when he bcgg'd our voices. 

3 Cit. Certainly, 
He flouted us down-right. 

1 Cit. No, 't is his kind of speech : he did not mock us 

2 Cit. Not one amongst us. save yourself, but says. 
He us'd us scornfully : he should have show'd us 
His marks of merit, wounds recciv'd for 's country. 

Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure. 
All 

3 Cit 

in priA'ate ; 
Anl with his hat thus waving it in scorn, 
'■ I would be consul," says he : " aged custom, 
But by your voices, will not so permit me ; 
Your voices therefore." When we granted that, 
Here was. — " I thank you for your voices. — thank you. — 
Your most sweet voices : — now you have left your voices, 
I have no farther with you." — Was not this mockery? 

Sic. Why, either, were you ignorant to see't, 
Or, seeing it. of such childish friendliness 
To yield your voices ? 

Bru. Could you not have told him, 

As you were lesson'd. when he had no power, 
But was a petty servant to the stale, 
He was your enemy ; ever spake against 
Your liberties, and the charters that you bear 
I' the body of the weal : and now, arriving 
A place of potency, and sway i' the state. 
If he should still malignantly remain 
Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might 
Be curses to yourselves. You should have said, 
That, as his worthy deeds did claim no less 
Than what he stood for. so his gracious nature 
Would think upon you for your A^oiccs. and 
Translate his malice towards you into love. 
Standing your friendly lord. 

Sic. Thus to have said, 

As you were fore-advis'd, had toucli'd his spirit, 
And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd 
Either his gracious promise, which you might, 
As cause had called you up. have lield him to. 
Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature. 



No, no ; no man saw 'em. 
He said, he had wounds, which he could show 



Which easily endures not article 
Tying him to aught; so, putting him to rage. 
You should have ta'en th' advantage of his choler, 
And pass'd him unelected. 

Bru. Did you perceive. 

He did solicit you in free contempt. 
When he did need your loves, and do you think. 
That his contempt shall not be bruising to you. 
When he hath power to crush ? Why, had your bodies 
No heart among you ? or had you tongues to cry 
Against the rectorship of judgment? 

Sic. Have you, 

Ere now, denied the asker; and, now again, 
Of him, that did not ask, but mock, bestow 
Your sued-for tongues ? 

3 Cit. He 's not confirmed ; Ave may deny him yet. 

2 Cit. And will deny him : 
I '11 have five hundred voices of that sound. 

1 Cit. Ay, twice five hundred, and their friends to 
piece 'em. 

Bru. Get you hence instantly, and tell those friends, 
They have chose a consul that wnll from them take 
Their liberties ; make them of no more voice 



Than dogs. 



that are as often beat for barking. 



As therefore kept to do so. 
Sic. 



Let them assemble ; 



And, on a safer judgment, all revoke 
Your ignorant election. Enforce his pride, 
And his old hate unto you : besides, forget not 
With Avhat contempt he AA'ore the humble AA-eed ; 
How in his suit he scorn'd you ; but your loves, 
Thinking upon his services, took from you 
The apprehension of his present portance, 
Which most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion 
After the inveterate hate he bears you. 

Bru. Lay 

A fault on us, your tribunes ; that we labour'd 
(No impediment betAA'een) but that you must 
Cast your election on him. 

Sic. Say, you chose him 

More after our commandment, than as guided 
By your oaati true afl'ections ; and that, your minds, 
Pre-occupy'd with what you rather must do, 
Than what you should, made you again.st the grain 
To A'oice him consul. Lay the fault on us. 

Bru. Ay, spare us not. Say, Ave read lectures to you, 
How youngly he began to serve his country. 
HoAV long continued, and Avhat stock he springs of, 
The noble house o' the Marcians ; from whence came 
That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son. 
Who, after great Hostilius, here was king. 
Of the same house Publius and Quintus were. 
That our best water brought by conduits hither ; 
And Censorinus. darling of the people,^ 
And nobly nam'd so, tAvice being censor. 
Was his great ancestor. 

Sic. One thus descended. 

That hath beside well in his person WTOught 
To be set high in place, aa'c did commend 
To your remembrances ; but you have found, 
Scaling his present bearing Avith his past. 
That he 's your fixed enemy, and revoke 
Your sudden approbation. 

Bru. Say, you ne'er had done 't, 

(Harp on that still) but by our putting on; 
And presently, when you haA'e drawn yoiir number, 
Repair to the Capitol. 

All. We Avill so : almost all 

Repent in their election. [Exeunt Citizens. 



' On. ' This lino ■was ad;'.eJ by Pope. 



^9 



610 



COEIOLANUS. 



ACT in. 



Bru. Let Ihcm go on : 

This mutiny were better put in hazard, 
Than stay, past doubt, for greater. 
If, as his nature is, he fall in rage 
With their refusal, both observe and answer 



The vantage of his ariger. 

Sic. To the Capitol: 

Come, we '11 be there before the stream o' the people ; 
And tins shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own. 
Which we liave goaded onward. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— The Same. A Street. 

Cornets. Enter Coriolanus, Menenius. Cominius, 

Titus Lartius, Senator.^, and Patricians. 

Cor. Tullus Aufidins, then, had made new head? 

Lart. He had, my lord ; and that it was, which caus'd 
Our swifter composition. 

Cor. So then, the Volsces stand but as at first; 
Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road 
Upon us again. 

Com. They are worn, lord consul, so, 
That we shall hardly in our ages see 
Their banners wave again. 

Cor. Saw you Aufidius ? 

Lart. On safe-guard he came to me ; and did curse 
Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely 
Yielded the town : he is retir'd to Antium. 

Cor. Spoke he of mc ? 

Lart. He did, my lord. 

Cor. How? what? 

Lart. How often he had met you, sword to sword ; 
That of all things upon the earth he hated 
Your person mo.st; that he would pawn his fortunes 
To hopeless restitution, so he might 
Be call'd your vanquisher. 

Cor. At Antium lives he ? 

Lart. At Antium. 

Cor. I wish, I had a cause to seek him there, 
To oppose his hatred fully. — Welcome home. 

[To Lartius. 
Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 
Behold ! these are tlie tribunes of the people. 
The tongues o' the common moulh. 1 do despise them. 
For they do prank them in authority. 
Against all noble sufferance. 

Sic. Pass no farther. 

Cor. Ha ! what is that ? 

Bru. It will be dangerous to go on : no farther. 

Cor. What makes this change ? 

Men. The matter? 

Com. Hath he not pass'd the nobles, and the commons ? 

Bru. Cominius, no. 

Cor. Have I had children's voices ? 

Sen. Tribunes, give way: he shall to the market-place. 

Bru. The people are incens'd against him. 

Sic. Stop, 

Or all will fall in broil. 

Cor. Arc these your herd ? — 

Must these have voices, that can yield them now. 
And straight disclaim their tongues ? — What are your 

offices ? 
You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth ? 
Have you not set them on ? 

Men. Be calm, be calm. 

Cor. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot, 
To curb the will of the nobility : 
Suffer 't. and live with such as cannot rule, 
Nor ever will be rul'd. 

* Lepers. 



Bru. Call 't not a plot. 

The people cry, you mock'd them ; and, of late. 
When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd; 
Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them 
Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. 

Cor. Why, this was known before. 

Bru. Not to them all. 

Cor. Have you inform'd them since ? 

Bru. How! I inform them? 

Com. You are like to do such business. 

Bru. Not unlike, 

Each way, to better yours. 

Cor. Why, then, should I be consul ? By yond' clouds, 
Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me 
Your fellow tribune. 

Sic. You show too much of that, 

For which the people stir. If you will pass 
To where you are bound, you must inquire your way, 
Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit ; 
Or never be so noble as a consul, 
Nor yoke with him for tribune. 

Men. Let 's be calm. 

Com. The people are abus'd ; set on. — This paltering 
Becomes not Home ; nor has Coriolanus 
Deserv'd this so dishonoiu-'d rub, laid falsely 
I' the plain way of his merit. 

Cor. Tell mc of corn ! 

This was my speech, and I will speak 't again — 

3Icn. Not now, not now. 

1 Se7i. Not in this heat. sir. now. 

Cor. Now, as I live, I will. — Rly nobler friends, 
T crave their pardons : — 

For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them 
Regard me as [ do not flatter, and 
Therein behold themselves. I say again. 
In soothing them we nourish 'gainst our senate 
The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition. 
Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, and 

scatter'd. 
By mingling them with us. the honour'd number ; 
Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that 
Which they have given to beggars. 



Men. 



Well, no more. 



Sen. No more words, we beseech 3'ou. 

Cor. How ! no more ' 

As for my country I have shed my blood. 
Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs 
Coin words till they decay against those mcazcls'. 
Which we disdain should tetter us. yet sought 
The very way to catch them 



Bru. 



As if you were a god to punish, not 
A man of their infirmity. 

Sic. 'T were well, 

We let the peoj^le know 't. 

Men. 

Cor. Choler! 
Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, 



'You speak o' the people, 



What, what? his choler? 



SCENE I. 



COPJOLANUS. 



611 



By Jove, 't would be my mind. 

Sic. It is a mind, 

That shall remain a poison where it is. 
Not poison any farther. 

Cor. Shall remain ! — 

Hear you this Triton of the minnows ? mark you 
His absolute " shall ?" 

Com. 'T was from the canon. 

Cor. _ "Shall!" 

0, good but most unwise patricians ! why, 
You grave but reckless senators, have you thus 
Given Hydra leave' to choose an oflicer, 
That with his peremptory " shall," being but 
The horn and noise o' the monster', wants not spirit 
To say, he '11 turn your current in a ditch. 
And make your channel his ? If he have power, 
Then vail your impotence^ ; if none, revoke* 
Your dangerous bounty*. If you are learned. 
Be not as common fools ; if you are not. 
Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians, 
ir they be senators ; and they are no less. 
When both your voices blended, the grcat'st taste 
Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate ; 
And such a one as he, who puts his " shall," 
His popular "shall," against a-graver bench 
Than ever frown'd in Greece. By Jove himself. 
It makes the consuls base ; and my soul aches 
To know, when two authorities are up. 
Neither supreme, how soon confusion 
May enler 'twixt the gap of both, and take 
The one by the other. 

Com. Well — on to the market-place. 

Cor. Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth 
The corn o' the store-house gratis, as 't was used 
Sometime in Greece, — 

]\Icn. Well, well ; no more of that. 

Cor. Though there the people had more absolute 
]iower, 
I say, they nourish'd disobedience, fed 
The ruin of the state. 

Bru. Why, shall the people give 

One that speaks thus their voice ? 

Cor. I '11 give my reasons, 

More worthier than their voices. They know the corn 
Wris not their' recompence, resting well assur'd 
Tliey ne'er did service for 't. Being press'd to the war. 
Even when the navel of the state was touch'd. 
They would not thread the gates : this kind of service 
Did not deserve corn gratis : being i' tlie war, 
Tlieir mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd 
Most valour, spoke not for them. Th' accusation 
Which they have often made against the senate. 
All cause unborn, could never be the motive' 
Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? 
How .shall this bisson* multitude' digest 
The senate's courtesy? Let deeds express 
Wiiat 's like to be their words : — •' We did request it ; 
We are the greater poll, and in true fear 
They gave us our demands." — Thus we debase 
The nature of our scats, and make the rabble 
Call our cares, fears; which will in time break ope 
The locks o' the senate, and bring in the crov.'s 
To peek the eagles. — 

Men. Come, enough. 

Bru. Enough, with over-measure. 

Cor. No, lake more : 

What may be sworn by, both divine and liuman. 
Seal what I cud withal ! — This double worship. — 



Where one part does disdain -vnih. cause, the other 

Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wisdom. 

Cannot conclude, but by the yea and no 

Of general ignorance, — it must omit 

Real necessities, and give way the while 

To unstable slightness. Purpose so barr'd. it follows, 

Nothing is done to purpose : therefore, beseech you, 

You that will be less fearful than discreet, 

That love the fundamental part of state, 

More than you doubt the change on 't ; that prefer 

A noble life before a long, and wish 

To jump'" a body with a dangerous physic 

Tiiat 's sure of death without it, at once pluck out 

The multitudinous tongue : let them not lick 

Tlie sweet which is their poison. Your dishonour 

Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state 

Of thai integrity which should become it. 

Not having the power to do the good it would, 

For th' ill which doth control it. 

Brit. He has said enough. 

Sic. He has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer 
As traitors do. 

Cor. Thou wretch ! de.'=pite o'erwhelm thee ! — 
What should the people do with these bald tribunes? 
On whom depending, their obedience fails 
To the greater bench. In a rebellion, 
When what 's not meet, but what must be, was law, 
Tlien were they chosen: in a better hour. 
Let what is meet be said, it must be meet. 
And throw tlieir power i' the dust. 

Bru. Manifest treason. 

Sic. This a consul ? no. 

Bru. The iEdiles, ho' — Let him be apprehended. 
Enter an jEdilc. 

Sic. Go, call the people; [Exit .Mdile.] in whose 
name, myself 
Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, 
A foe to tlie public weal. Obey, I charge thee, 
And follow to thine answer. 



Cor. 

Sen. We '11 surety him. 

Com. 



Hence, old goat ! 



Aged sir, hands off. 

Cor. Hence, rotten thing, or I shall shake thy bones 
Out of thy garments. 

Sic. Help, ye citizens ! 

Re-enter the JEcUle, with others, and a Rabble of Citizens. 

Men. On both sides more respect. 



Sic. 



Here 's he, that would 



Take from you all your power. 

Bru. Seize him, .^diles. 

Cit. Down with him! down with him! [Several speah 

2 Sen. Weapons ! weapons ! weapons ! 

[They all bn.%tle about Couiolanus 
Tribunes, patricians, citizens ! — what ho ! — 
Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens ! 

Cit. Peace, peace, peace ! stay, hold, peace ! 

Mc7i. What is about to be ? — I am out of breath ; 
Confusion 's near : I cannot speak. — You. tribunes 
To the people, — Coriolanus, patience : — 
Speak, good Sicinius. 

Sic. Hear me ! people, peace ! 

Cit. Let 's hear our tribune : — Peace ! Speak, 
speak. 

Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties : 
Marcius would have all from you ; Marcius, 
Whom late you have nam'd for consul. 



jpeak. 



Men. 



Fie. fie, fie ! 



This is the way to kindle, not to quench. 



1 here : in f. e. 2 monsters : in f. e. ^ ipnorance : in f. e. * awake : in f. c. ' lenity : in f. e. 
> Blind. 9 bosom mulliplied : in f. e. i" liislc. 



f. e. 



native : in f. e. 



612 



CORIOLANUS. 



ACT ni. 



Sen. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat. 

Sic. What is the city, but the people ? 

Cit. True ; 

The people are the city. 

Bru. By the consent of all, we were established 
The people's magistrates. 

Cit. You so remain. 

Me7i. And so are like to do. 

Com. That is the way to lay the city flat: 
To bring the roof to the foundation, 
And bury all, which yet di.stinctly ranges, 
In heaps and piles of ruin. 

Sic. This deserves death. 

Bill. Or let us stand to our authority, 
Or let us lose it. — We do here pronounce, 
Upon the part o' the people, in whose power 
We were elected theirs. Marcius is worthy 
Of present death. 

Sic. Therefore, lay hold of him. 

Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence 
Into destruction cast him. 



Bru. 



jEdiles, seize him. 



Cit. Yield, Marcius, yield. 

Men. Hear me one word. 

Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. 

jEdi. Peace, peace ! 

Men. Be that you seem, truly your country's friend, 
And temperately proceed to what you would 
Thus violently redress. 

Bru. Sir, those cold ways. 

That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous 
Where the disease is A'iolent. — Lay hands upon him. 
And bear him to the rock. 

Cor. No ; I '11 die here. \Drawing his Sword. 

There 's some among you have beheld me fighting : 
Come, try upon yoiu-selvcs what you have seen me. 

3Icn. Down with that sword ! — Tribunes, withdraw 
a while. 

Brii. Lay hands upon him. 

Men. Help Marcius, help. 

You that be noble: help him, young and old ! 

Cit. Down with him ! down with him ! 

[In this mutiny, the Tribunes, the Mdiles, and 
the People, are beat in. 

Men. Go, get you to your house : be gone, away ! 
All will be naught else. 

2 Sen. Get you gone. 

Com. Stand fast : 

Wc have as many friends as enemies. 

Men. Shall it be put to that? 

1 Sen. The gods forbid! 

I pr'ythee, noble friend, home to thy house ; 
Leave us to cure this cause. 

Men. For 't is a sore upon us, 

You cannot tent yourself. Begone, 'beseech you. 

Com. Come, sir, along with us. 

Cor. I would they were barbarians, as they are, 
Though in Rome litter'd, not Romans, as they are not, 
Though calv'd i' the porch o' the Capitol ! 

Men. Be gone ; 

Put not your worthy rage into your tongue : 
One time will owe another. 

Cor. On fair ground, 

I could beat forty of them. 

Men. I could myself 

Take up a brace of the best of them; yea, the two tribunes. 

Com. But now 't is odds beyond arithmetic ; 
And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands 
Against a falling fabric. — Will you hence, 

1 df'sprved : in f. e. 



Before the tag return, whose rage doth rend 
Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear 
What they are used to bear ? 

Men. Pray you, be gone. 

I '11 try whether my old wit be in request 
With those that have but little : this must be patch'd 
With cloth of any colour. 

Com. Nay, come away. 

{Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, and others. 

1 Pat. This man has marr'd his fortune. 
Men. His nature is too noble lor the world : 

He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, 

Or Jove for 's power to thunder. His heart 's his mouth : 

What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent ; 

And, being angry, docs forget that ever 

He heard the name of death. [A noise within. 

Here 's goodly work ! " 

2 Pat. I would they were a-bed ! 
3Ie7i. I would they were in Tyber ! — What, the 

vengeance, 
Could he not speak them fair ? 

Re-enter Brutus and Sicinius, u'ilh the Rabble. 

Sic. Where is this viper, 

That would depopulate the city, and 
Be every man himself? . 

Men. You worthy tribunes, — 

Sic. He shall be thro"wni down the Tarpeian rock 
With rigorous hands : he hath resisted law, 
And therefore law shall scorn him farther trial 
Than the severity of the public power. 
Which he so sets at nought. 

1 Cit. He shall well know, 

The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, 
And we their hands. 

Cit. He shall, sure on 't. 

3Ien. Sir, sir, — 

Sic. Peace ! 

3Ien. Do not cry havock, where you should but hunt 
With modest warrant. 

Sic. Sir, how comes 't, that you 

Have holp to make this rescue ? 

3Icn. Hear me speak. — 

As I do know the consul's worthiness. 
So can I name his faults. — 

Sic. Consul ! — what consiil? 

Men. The consul Coriolanus. 

Bru. He a consul ! 

Cit. No, no, no, no, no. 

3Ien. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people, 
I may be heard. I would crave a word or two ; 
The which shall turn you to no farther harm, 
Than so much loss of time. 

Sic. Speak briefly then : 

For we are peremptory to despatch 
This viperous traitor. To eject him hence. 
Were but one danger, and to keep him here, 
Our certain death : therefore, it is decreed 
He dies to-night. 

3Ien. Now the good gods forbid. 

That our renowned Rome, Mhose gratitude 
Towards her deserving^ children is enroll'd 
In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam 
Should now eat up her own ! 

Sic. He's a disease, that must be cut away. 

3Ie)i. ! he 's a limb, that has but a disease ; 
Mortal, to cut it ofl"; 



to cure it, easy. 



What has ho done to Rome that 's worthy death? 
Killing our enemies ? The blood he hath lost, 
(Which, I dare vouch, is more than he hath, 



SCENE n. 



CORIOLAKUS. 



613 



By many an ounce) he dropp'd it for his country : 
And what is left, to lose it by liis country, 
Were to us all, that do 't and suffer it, 
A brand to th' end of the world. 

Sic. This is clean kani'. 

Bru. Merely awry. When he did love his country, 
It honoured him. 

Men. The service of the foot. 

Being once gangren'd, is not then respected 
For what before it was. 

Bru. We '11 hear no more. — 

Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence. 
Lest his infection, being of catching nature. 
Spread farther. 

Mm. One word more, one word. 

This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find 
The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will, too late, 
Tie leaden pounds to 's heels. Proceed by process ; 
Lest parties (as he is belov'd) break out, 
And sack great Rome with Romans. 

Bru. If it were so, — 

Sic. What do ye talk ? 
Have we not had a taste of his obedience ? 
Our ^Ediles smote ? ourselves resisted ? — Come ! — 

31en. Consider this : — he has been bred i' the wars 
Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 
In boulted language ; meal and bran together 
He throws without distinction. Give me leave, 
I '11 go to him. and undertake to bring him in peace 
Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, 
In peace, to his utmost peril. 

1 Sen. Noble tribunes, 

It is the humane way : the other course 
Will prove too bloody, and the end of it 
Unknown to the beginning. 

Sic. Noble Menenius, 

Be you, then, as the people's officer. — 
Masters, lay down your weapons. 

Bru. Go not home. 

Sic. Meet on the market-place. — We '11 attend you 
there : 
Where, if you bring not Marcius, we '11 proceed 
In ovxr first way. 

3Ien. I '11 bring him to you. — 

Let me desire your company. [To the Senators.] He 

must come. 
Or what is worst will follow. 

1 Sen. Pray you, let 's to him. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Coriolanus's House. 
Enter Coriolanus, and Patricians. 
Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears : present me 
Death on the wheel, or at wild horses' heels ; 
Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock. 
That the precipitation might down stretch 
Below the beam of sight, yet will I still 
Be thus to them.* 

1 Pat. You do the nobler. 

Cor. I muse my mother 
Docs not approve me farther, who was wont 
To call them woollen vassals; things created 
To buy and sell with groats: to show bare heads 
In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder, 
Wlien one but of my ordinance stood up 
To speak of peace, or war. 

Enter Volumnia^. 

I talk of you : 
Why did you wish me milder ? Would you have me . 



False to my nature? Rather say. I play 
The man I am. 

Vol. O, son, son, son !* 

I would have had you put your power well on, 
Before you had worn it out. 

Cor. Let go. 

Vol. You might have been enough the man you are, 
With striving less to be so : lesser liad been 
The thwartings of your dispositions, if 
You had not show'd them how you were dispos'd, 
Ere they lack'd power to cross you. 

Cor. Let them hang. 

Vol. Ay, and burn too. 

Enter Menenius, and Senators. 

Men. Come, come ; you have been too rough, some- 
thing too rough : 
You must return, and mend it. 

1 Sen. There 's no remedy; 

Unless, by not so doing, our good city 
Cleave in the midst, and perish. 

Vol. Pray, be counsell'd. 

I have a heart as little apt as yours 
To brook control without the use of anger,* 
But yet a brain, that leads my use of anger 
To better vantage. 

Men. 'Well said, noble woman ! 

Before he should thus stoop o' the heart,* but that 
The violent fit o' the time craves it as physic 
For the whole state, I would put mine armour on. 
Which I can scarcely bear. 

Cor. What must I do ? 

Men. Return to the tribunes. 

Cor. Well, what then ? what then ? 

Men. Repent what you hav^ spoke. 

Cor. For them ? — I cannot do it to the gods ; 
Must I then do 't to them ? 

Vol. You are too absolute ; 

Though therein you can never be too noble. 
But when extremities speak. I have heard you say, 
Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, 
I' the war do grow together : grant that, and tell me, 
In peace what each of them by th' other lose. 
That they combine not there ? 

Cor. Tush, tush ! 

Men. A good demand. 

Vol. If it be honour in your wars to seem 
The same you are not, (which for your best ends 
You adopt your policy) how is it less, or worse, 
That it shall hold companionship in peace 
With honour, as in war, since that to both 
It stands in like request? 

Cor. Why force you this ? 

Vol. Because that now it lies you on to speak 
To the people; not by your own instruction. 
Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you. 
But with such words that are but roted' in 
Your tongue, though but bastards, and syllables 
Of no allowance to your bosom's truth. 
Now, this no more dishonours you at all, 
Tlian to take in a town with gentle words. 
Which else would put you to your fortune, and 
The hazard of much blood. — 
I would dissemble with my nature, where, 
My fortunes and my friends at stake, requir'd 
I should do so in honour : I am in this. 
Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; 
And you will rather show our general lowts 
How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon 'em. 



1 Crooked. 2 Enter Volusinia : in f. e. ' Not in f. c. * sir, 
changed by Theobald, from heart, in the folio. ' roated : in folio. 



fir, sir: in f. o. ' This line is not in f. e. 
Dyce reads : rooted. 



' to the herd : in f. e 



614 



COPJOLANUS. 



ACT ni. 



For the inheritance of theii- loves, and safeguard 
Of what that want might ruin. 

Men. Noble lady ! — 

Come, go with us : speak fair ; you may salve so, 
Not what is dangerous present, but the loss 
Of what is past. 

Vol. I pr'ythee now, my son, 

Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand ; 
And thus far having stretch'd it, (here be with them) 
Thy knee bussing the stones, (for in such business 
Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant 
More learned than the ears) waving thy head, 
Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart. 
Now 's humble as the ripest mulberry 
That will not hold the handling. Or say to them, 
Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils, 
Hast not the soft way, which thou dost confess. 
Were fit for thee to use as they to claim, 
In asking their good loves ; but thou wilt frame 
Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far 
As thou hast power, and person. 

3Ien. This but done. 

Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours ; 
For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free 
As words to little purpose. 

Vol. Pr'ythee now. 

Go, and be rul'd ; although, I know, thou hadst rather 
Follow tliine enemy in a fiery gvilf, 
Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius. 
Enter Cominius. 

Com. I have been i' the market-place ; and, sir, 't is fit 
You make strong party, or defend yourself 
By calmness, or by absence : all 's in anger. 

3Ien. Only fair speech. 

Com. • I think, 't will serve ; if he 

Can thereto frame his spirit. 

Vol. He must, and will. — 

Pr'ythee now, say you will, and go about it. 

Cor. Must I go show them my unbarbed sconce ? 
Must I with my base tongue give to my noble heart 
A lie, that it mu.st bear? Well, I will do 't: 
Yet were there but this single plot to lose, 
This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it. 
And throw 't against tlie wind. — To the market-place ! 
You have put me now to such a part, which never 
I shall discharge to the life. 

Com. Come, come, we '11 prompt you. 

Vol. I pr'ythee now, sweet son : as thou hast said, 
My praises made thee first a soldier, so. 
To have my praise for this, perform a part 
Thou hast not done before. 



Cor. 



Well, I must do 't. 



Away, my disposition, and possess me 

Some harlot's spirit ! My throat of war be turn'd. 

Which quired with my drum, into a pipe 

Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice 

That babies lulls asleep ! The smiles of knaves 

Tent in my cheeks: and school-boys' tears take up 

The glasses of my sight ! A beggar's tongue 

Make motion through my lips : and my arm'd knees. 

Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his 

That hath receiv'd an alms ! — I will not do 't. 

Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth. 

And by my body's action teach my mind 

A most inherent baseness. 

Vol. At thy choice, then : 

To beg of thee it is my more dishonour. 
Than thou of them. Come all to ruin : let 
Thy mother rather feel thy pride, than fear 



Thy dangerous stoutness ; for I mock at death 
With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. 
Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me, 
But ow'st^ thy pride thyself. 

Cor. Pray, be content : 

Mother, I am going to the market-place ; 
Chide me no more. I '11 mountebank their loves. 
Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov'd 
Of all the trades in Rome. Look. I am going. 
Commend me to my wife. I '11 return consul, 
Or never trust to what my tongue can do 
I' the way of flattery farther. 

Vol. Do your will. [Exit. 

Com. Away ! the tribunes do attend you : arm yourself 
To answer mildly; for they are prepar'd 
With accusations, as I hear, more strong 
Than are upon you yet. ^ 

Cor. The word is, mildly: — pray you, let us go. 
Let them accuse me by invention, I 
Will answer in mine honour. 

3Ien. Ay, but mildly. 

Cor. Well, mildly be it then ; mildly. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— The Same. The Forum. 
Enter SiciNius and Brutus. 

Bru. In this point charge him home ; that he afiects 
Tyrannical power : if he evade us there. 
Enforce him with his envy'' to the people ; 
And that the spoil got on the Antiates 
Was ne'er distributed. — 

Enter an jEdile. 
What ! will he come ? 

jEd. He 's commg. 

Bru. How accompanied ? 

JB(7. With old Menenius, and those senators 
That always favour'd him. 

Sic. Have you a catalogue 

Of all tlie voices that we have procur'd, 
Set down by the poll ? 

JEd. I have ; 't is ready. 

Sic. Have you collected them by tribes ? 

JEd. I have. 

Sic. Assemble presently the people hither: 
And when they hear me say, '' It shall be so, 
r the right and strength o' the commons," be it either 
For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them. 
If I say, fine, cry " fine ;" if death, cry " death;" 
Insisting on their old prerogative 
And power i' tlie truth o' the cause. 

JEd. I shall inform them. 

Bri(. And Avhen such time they have begun to cry, 
Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd 
Enforce the present execution 
Of what we chance to sentence. 

JEd. Very well. 

Sic. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint. 
When we shall hap to give 't them. 

Bru. Go; about it. — 

[Exit JEdile. 
Put him to choler straight. He hath been usd 
Ever to conquer, and to have his mouth^ 
Of contradiction: being once chaf'd, he cannot 
Be rein'd again to temperance ; then he speaks 
What 's in his heart ; and that is there, which looks 
With us to break his neck. 

Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, Cominius, Senators, and 
Patricians. 



1 owe : in f. e. 2 Hatred. 3 worth : in f. 



Sic. Well, here he comes. 
Men. 



Calmly, I do beseech you. 



SCENE III. 



CORIOLANUS. 



615 



Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece 
Will bear the knave by the volume. — The honour'd gods 
Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice 
Supplied with worthy men ! plant love among us ! 
Throng our large temples with the shows of peace, 
And not our streets with war ! 

1 Sen. Amen, amen. 

Men. A noble wish. 

Re-enter ^dile, with Citizens. 

Sic. Draw near, ye people. 

^d. List to your tribunes. Audience : peace ! I say. 

Cor. First, hear me speak. 

Both Tri. Well, say.— Peace, ho ! 

Cor. Shall I be charg'd no farther than this present? 
Must all determine here ? 

Sic. I do demand, 

If you submit you to the people's voices, 
Allow their officers, and are content 
To suffer lawful censure for such faults 
As shall be prov'd upon you ? 

Cor. I am content. 

3Ien. Lo, citizens ! he says, he is content. 
The warlike service he has done, consider : 
Tliink upon the wounds his body bears, which show 
Like graves i' the holy churchyard. 

Cor. Scratches with briars ; 

Scars to move laughter only. 

Men. Consider farther. 

That when he speaks not like a citizen, 
You find him like a soldier. Do not take 
His rougher accents for malicious sounds, 
But, as I say, such as become a soldier. 
Rather than envy you. 

Com. Well, well; no more. 

Cor. What is the matter, 
That being pass'd for consul with full voice, 
I am so dishonour'd. that the very hour 
You take it off again ? 

Sic. Answer to us. 

Cor. Say then : 't is true, I ought so. 

Sic. We charge you, that you have contriv'd to lake 
From Rome all seasonal office, and to wind 
Yourself into a power tyrannical : 
For which you are a traitor to the people. 

Cor. How! Traitor? 

3Ien. Nay, temperately; your promise. 

Cor. The fires i' the lowest hell fold in the people ! 
Call me their traitor? — Thou injurious tribune. 
Within tliine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, 
In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in 
Thy lying tongiie both numbers, I would say, 
Tliou liest, unto thee, with a voice as free 
As I do pray the gods. 

Sic. Mark you this, people ? 

Cit. To the rock ! to the rock with liim ! 

Sic. Peace ! 

We need not put new matter to liis charge : 
Wliat you have seen him do, and heard him speak, 
ReatiniT your officers, cursing yourselves, 
Opiwsing laws with strokes, and here defying 
Those whose great power must try him ; even this, 
So criminal, and in such capital kind. 
Deserves th' extremest death. 

Bru. But since he hath 

Serv'd well for Rome. — 

Cor. What do you prate of service ? 



Bru. I talk of that, that know it. 

Cor. 

Men. 



You? 



Is this 



The promise that you made your mother ? 

Com. Know, 

I pray you, — 

Cor. I '11 know no farther. 

Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, 
Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger 
But with a grain a day, I would not buy 
Their mercy at the price of one fair word. 
Nor check my carriage* for what they can give, 
To havc't with saying, good morrow. 

Sic. For that he has 

(As much as in him lies) from time to time 
Envied against the people, seeking means 
To pluck away their power ; as now at last 
Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence 
Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers 
That do distribute it ; in the name o' the people, 
And in the power of us, the tribunes, we. 
Even from this instant, banish him our city, 
In peril of precipitation 
From off the rock Tarpeian, never more 
To enter our Rome gates. I' the people's name, 
I say, it shall be so. 

Cit. It shall be so, it shall be so : let him away. 
He 's banish'd, and it shall be so. 

Com. Hear me, my masters, and my common 
friends ; — 

Sic. He 's sentenc'd : no more hearing. 

Com. Let me speak. 

I have been consul, and can show for Rome, 
Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love 
My country's good, with a respect more tender, 
More holy and profound, than mine own life. 
My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase, 
And treasure of my loins ; then, if I would 
Speak that — 

Sic. We know your drift. Speak what ? 

Bru. There 's no more to be said : but he is banish'd, 
As enemy to the people, and his country. 
It shall be so. 

Cit. It shall be so : it shall be so. 

Cor. You common cry of curs ! whose breath I hate 
As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize 
As the dead carca.'rses of unburied men 
That do corrupt my air, I banish you ; 
And here remain with your uncertainty. 
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts ! 
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes. 
Fan you into despair ! Have the power still 
To banish your defenders ; till, at length. 
Your ignorance, (which finds not, till it feels) 
Making not^ reservation of yourselves, 
(Still your own foes) deliver you as most 
Abated captives, to some nation 
That won you without blows ! Despising, 
For you. the city, thus I tarn my back. 
There is a world elsewhere. 

[Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, Menenius, 
Senators^ and Patricians. 

JEd. The people's enemy is gone, is gone ! 

Cit. Our enemy is banish'd ! he is gone ! Hoo ! hoo ! 
[The People shout., and throiv tip their Caps. 

Sic. Go, see him out at gates ; and follow him, 
As he hath follow'd you. with all despite : 
Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard 
Attend us through the city. 

Cit. Come, come ; let vis see him out at gates : come. — 
The gods preserve our noble tribunes ! — Come. [Exeunt. 



* courage : in f. e. " but : in folio. CapcU made the change. 



616 



COKIOLANUS. 



ACT rv. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— The Same. Before a Gate of the City. 

Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Menenius. 

CoMiNius, and several young Patricians. 

Cor. Come, leave your tears : a brief farewell. — The 
beast 
With many heads butts me away. — Nay, mother, 
Wiierc is your aneient courage ? you were us'd 
To say. extremity was the trier of spirits ; 
That common chances common men could bear ; 
That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike 
Sliow'd mastership in floating : fortune's blows, 
When most struck home, being gentle minded' craves 
A noble cunning. You were us'd to load me 
With precepts, that would make invincible 
The heart that conn'd them. 

Vir. heavens ! heavens ! 



Cor. 



Nay, I pr'ythec, woman. — 



Vol. Now, the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome, 
And occupations perish ! 

Cor. What, what, what ! 

I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay. mother. 
Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, 
If you had been the wife of Hercules, 
Six of liis labours you 'd have done, and sav'd 
Your husband so much sweat. — Cominius, 
Droop not : adieu. — Farewell, my wife ! my mother ! 
I '11 do well yet. — Thou old and true Menenius, 
Thy tears are salter than a younger man's, 
And venomous to thine eyes. — My sometime general, 
I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld 
Heart-hardening spectacles ; tell tliese sad women, 
'T is fond to wail inevitable strokes. 
As 't is to laugh at 'em. — My mother, you wot well. 
My hazards still have been your solace; and 
Believe 't not lightly, though I go alone. 
Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen 
Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more than seen, your son 
Will or exceed the common, or be caught 
With cautelous baits and practice. 

Vol. My first son, 

Wliither wilt thou go ? Take good Cominius 
With thee a while : determine on some course 
More than a wild exposure" to each chance, 
That starts i' the way before thee. 

<^'or. O the gods ! 

Com. I '11 follow thee a month : devise with thee 
Where thou shalt rest, that thou may'st hear of us. 
And we of tliee : so, if the time thru.vt forth 
A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send 
O'er the vast world to seek a single man. 
And lose advantage, which doth ever cool 
I' the absence of the needer. 

Cor. Fare ye well : 

Thou hast years upon thee ; and thou art too full 
Of tlie wars' surfeits to go rove with one 
That 's yet unbruis'd : bring me but out at gate. — 
Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and 
My friends of noble touch, when I am forth. 
Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. 
While I remain above the ground, you shall 
Hear from me still ; and never of me aught 
But what is like me formerly. 

Men. That 's worthily 

As any ear can hear. — Come ; let 's not weep. — ■ 

> -B'ounded : in f. o. 2 exposture : in folio. 



If I could shake off but one seA^en years 

From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, 

I 'd with thee every foot. 

Cor. Give me thy hand. — 

Come. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Street near the Gate. 
Enter Sicinius, Brutus, and an jEdile. 

Sic. Bid them all home : he 's gone, and we '11 no 
farther. — 
The nobility are vex'd, who, we see, have sided 
In his behalf. 

Bru. Now we haA'e shown our power. 

Let us seem humbler after it is done, 
Than when it was a doing. 

Sic. Bid them home : 

Say, their great enemy is gone, and they 
Stand in their ancient strength. 

Bru. Dismiss them home. 

[Exit JEdile. 
Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius. 
Here comes his mother. 

Sic. Let 's not meet her. 

Bru. Why? 

Sic. They say, she 's mad. 

Bru. They liave ta'en note of us : keep on your way. 

Vol. ! y'are well met. The hoarded plague o' the 
Requite your love ! [gods 

Men. Peace, peace ! be not so loud. 

Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should hear, — 
Nay, and you shall hear some. — Will you be gone ? 

[To Brutus. 

Vir. You shall stay too. [To Sicin.] I would, I had 
the power 
To say so to my husband. 

Sic. Are you mankind ? 

Vol. Ay. fool ; is that a shame ? — Note but tliis fool. 
Was not a man my father ? Hadst thou foxship 
To banish him that struck more blows for Rome, 
Than thou hast spoken words ? 

Sic. 0, blessed heavens ! 

Vol. More noble blows, than ever thou wise words ; 
And for Rome's good. — I'll tell thee what^ — yet go : — 
Nay, but thovi shalt stay too. — I would my son 
Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him. 
His good sword in his hand. 

Sic. What then? 

Vir. What then ! 

He 'd make an end of thy posterity. 

Vol. Bastards, and all. — 
Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome ! 

Men. Come, come : peace ! 

Sic. I would he had continued to his country. 
As he began ; and not unknit himself 
The noble knot he made. 

Bru. I would he had. 

Vol. I would he had. 'T was you incens'dthe rabble: 
Curs, that can judge as fitly of his worth, 
As I can of those mysteries, which heaven 
Will not have earth to know. 

Brti,. Pray, let us go. 

Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone : 
You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this : — 
As far as doth tlie Capitol exceed 
The meanest house in Rome, so far my son, 



SCENE V. 



CORIOLANUS. 



G17 



This lady's husband here, this, do you sec, 
Whom you have banish'd, docs exceed you all. 

Bru. Well, well; we'll leave you. 

Sic. Why stay we to be baited 

With one that wants her wits? 

Vol. Take my prayers with you. — [Exeunt Tribunes. 
I would the gods had notliing else to do, 
But to confirm my curses. Could I meet 'cm 
But once a day, it would unclog my heart 
Of what lies heavy to 't. 

Men. You have told them home, 

And, by my troth, you have cause. You '11 sup with me ? 

Vol. Anger 's my meat : I sup upon myself, 
And so shall starve with feeding. — Come, let 's go. 
Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do, 
In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. 

Men. Fie, fie, fie ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — A Highway between Rome and Antium. 
Enter a Roman and a Vol.'sce, meeting. 

Rom. I know you well, .sir; and you know me. 
Your name, I think, is Adrian. 

Vol. It is so, sir : truly, I have forgot you. 

Rom. I am a Roman : and my services are, as you 
arc, against 'em. Know you me yet ? 

Vol. Nicanor ? No. 

Ro77i. The same, sir. 

Vol. You had more beard, when I last saw you ; but 
your favour is well approved^ by your tongue. What 's 
the news in Rome ? I have a note from the Volscian 
state, to find you out there : you have well sav'd me a 
,day"s journey. 

Rom. There hath been in Rome strange insurrection : 
the people against the senators, patricians, and nobles. 

Vol. Hath been ! Is it ended then ? Our state thinks 
not so : they are in a most warlike prejiaration, and 
hope to come upon them in the heat of their division. 

Rom. The main blaze of it is past, but a small thing 
would make it flame again ; for the nobles receive so 
to heart the banishment of that worthy, Coriolanus, 
that tliey are in a ripe aptness to take all power from the 
people, and to pluck from them their tribunes for ever. 
This lies glowing, I can tell j'ou, and is almost mature 
for the violent breaking out. 

Vol. Corialanus banished? 

Rom. Banished, sir. 

Vol. You will be welcome with this intelligence, 
Nicanor. 

Rom. The day serves well for them now. I have 
heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt a man's wife is 
when she's fallen out with her husband. Your noble 
Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these wars, his 
great opposer. Coriolanus, being now in no request of 
his country. 

Vol. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate, thus 
accidentally to encounter you: you have ended my 
busiiie.'^s, and I will merrily accompany you home. 

Rom. I shall between this and supper tell you most 
strange things from Rome, all tending to the good of 
their adversaries. Have you an army ready, say you? 
Vol. A mo.-^t royal one ; the centurions and their 
charges distinctly billeted, already in the entertain- 
ment, and to be on foot at an hour's warning. 

Rom. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and am the 

man. I tliink, that shall set them in present action. So, 

sir, heartily well met, and most glad of your company. 

Vol. You take my part from me, sir : I have the 

most cause to be glad of yours. 



He is, and feasts the nobles of the state 



Rom. Well, let us go together. 



[Exeunt. 



SCENE IV. — Antium. Before the House of Aufidius. 
Enter Coriolanus, in mean Apparel, disguised and 

muffled. 

Cor. A goodly city is this Antium. — City, 
'T is I that made thy widows : many an heir 
Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars 
Have I heard groan, and drop : then, know me not, 
Lest that thy wives with spits, and boys with stones, 

Enter a Citizen. 
In puny battle slay me. — Save you, sir. 

Cit. And you. 

Cor. Direct me, if it be your will, 

Where great Aufidius lies. Is he in Antium? 

Cit. 
At his house this night. 

Cor. Which is his house, beseech you? 

Cit. This, here before you. 

Cor. Thank you, sir. Farewell. [Exit Citizen. 

world, thy slippery turns ! Friends now fast swonij 
Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, 
Whose house^, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise. 
Are still together, who twin, as 't were, in love 
Unseparable, shall within this hour. 

On a dissension of a doit, break out 

To bitterest enmity : so, fellest foes, 

Wliose passions and whose plots have broken their sleep 

To take the one the other, by some chance. 

Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends, 

And interjoin their issues. So witli me: — 

My birth-place hate' I, and my love 's upon 

This enemy town. I '11 enter : if he slay me, 

He does fair justice ; if he give me way, 

1 '11 do his country service. [Hxit. 

SCENE v.— The Same. A Hall in Aufidius's House. 
Music within. Enter a Servant. 

1 Serv. Wine, wine, wine ! What service is here ? 
I think our fellows are asleep. [Exit. 

Enter a second Servant. 

2 Serv. Where 's Cotus ? My master calls for him. — 
Cotus ! [E.xit. 

Enter Coriol.\nus. 
Cor. A goodly house. The feast smells well ; but I 
Appear not like a guest. 

Re-enter the first Servant. 

1 Serv. What would you have, friend ? Whence are 
you? Here 's no place for you: pray, go to the door. 

Cor. I have deserv'd no better entertainment, 
In being Coriolanus. 

Re-enter second Servant. 

2 Serv. Whence are you, sir ? Has the porter his 
eyes in his head, that he gives entrance to such com- 
panions' ? Pray, get you out. 

Cor. Away ! 

2 Serv. Away ? Get you away. 

Cor. Now, th' art troublesome. 

2 Serv. Are you so brave ? I '11 have you talked 
with anon. 

Enter a third Servant : the first meets him. 

3 Serv. What fellow 's this ? 

1 Serv. A strange one as ever I looked on: I cannot 
get him out o' the house. Pr'ythee, call my master to 
him. 

3 Serv. What have you to do here, fellow? Pray 
you, avoid the house. 

Cor. Let me but stand ; I will not hurt your hearth. 

3 Serv. What are you? 

Cor. A gentleman. 



' appeared : in f. e. ^ hours : in f. e. ' have : in folio. Steevens maJe the change. * Often used in a disparaging sense, like fellows. 



618 



CORIOLANUS. 



ACT IV. 



3 Serv. A marvellous poor one. 

Cor. True, so 1 am. 

3 Serv. Pray you. poor gentleman, take up some other 
station ; here 's no place for yovi. Pray you, avoid : come. 

Cor Follow your function; go, 
And batten on cold bits. [Pushes him away. 

3 Serv. What, will you not? Pr'ythee, tell my master 
what a strange guest he has here. 

2 Serv. And I shall. [Exit. 

3 Serv. Where dwcll'st thou ? 
Cor. Under the canopy. 
3 Serv. Under the canopy? 
Cor. Ay. 

3 Serv. Where 's that ? 
Cor. V Ihe city of kites and crows. 
3 Serv. V llic city of kites and crows? — What an 

ass it is ! — Then, thou dwellest with daws too? 

Cor. No : I serve not thy master. 

3 Serv. How, sir ! Do you meddle with my master? 

Cor. Ay ; 't is an honester service than to meddle 
with thy mistress. 

Thou prat'st, and prat'st: serve with thy trencher. 
Hence ! [Beats him. 

Enter Aufidius and the second Servant. 

Aiif. Where is this fellow? 

2 Serv. Here, sir. I 'd have beaten him like a dog, 
but for disturbing the lords within. 

Auf. Whence com'st thou? what wouldst thou? 
Thy name ? 
Why speak'st not ? Speak, man : what 's thy name ? 

Cor. If, Tullus, [Umnujfling. 

Not yet thou know'st me, and seeing me, dost not 
Think me for the man I am, necessity 
Commands me name myself. 

Aiif. What is thy name ? [Servants retire. 

Cor. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, 
And harsh in sound to thine. 

Avf. Say. what 's thy name ? 

Thou hast a grim apj^earance, and thy face 
Bears a command in 't : though thy tackle 's torn, 
Thou show'st a noble vessel. What 's thy name? 

Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown. Know'st tliou me 
yet? 

Aiif. I know thee not. — Thy name ? 

Cor. My name is Caius INIarcius, who hath done 
To thee particularly, and to all the Volsces 
Great hurt and- mischief ; thereto witness may 
My surname, Coriolanus. The painful service, 
Tlic extreme dangers, and the drops of blood 
Shed for my thankless country, are requited 
But with that surname ; a good memory, 
And witness of the malice and displeasure 
Which thou shouldst bear me. Only that name re- 
mains : 
The cruelty and envy of the people. 
Permitted by our dastard nobles, who 
Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest; 
And suffered me by the voice of slaves to be 
Wlioop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity 
Hatli brought me to thy hearth : not out of hope, 
Mistake me not, to save nny life; for if 
I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world 
I would have 'voided thee ; but in mere spite. 
To be full quit of those my banishers, 
Stand I before thee here. Then, if thou hast 
A heart of wreak in thee, that will revenge 
Thine own particular wrongs, and stop those maims 
Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight, 
And make my misery serve thy turn : so use it, 

» scarr'd : in folio. ' Embrace. ^ Out and out ; completely/. * beat : in folio. 



That my revengeful services tnay prove 

As benefits to thee ; for I will fight 

Against my canker'd country with the spleen 

Of all the under fiends. But if so be 

Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes 

Thou art tir'd ; then, in a word, I also am 

Longer to live most weary, and present 

My throat to thee, and to thy ancient malice : 

Which not to cut would show thee but a fool, 

Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate. 

Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast. 

And cannot live but to thy shame, unless 

It be to do thee service. 

Avf. O Marcius, Marcius ! 

Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart 
A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter 
Should from yond' cloud speak divine things, " 
And say, " 'T is true ;"' I 'd not believe them more 
Than thee, all noble Marcius. — Let me twine 
Mine arms about that body, where against 
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke. 
And scar'd' the moon with splinters ! Here I clip" 
The anvil of my sword ; and do contest 
As hotly and as nobly with thy love. 
As ever in ambitious strength I did 
Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, 
I lov'd the maid I married :, never man 
Sighed truer breath ; but that I see thee here, 
Thou noble thing, more dances my rapt heart, 
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw 
Bestride iny threshold. Why, thou Mars, I tell thee, 
We have a power on foot ; and I had pvu-pose 
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn. 
Or lose mine arm for 't. Thou hast beat me out^ 
Twelve several times, and I have nightly since 
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me : 
We have been down togetlicr in my sleep, 
Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat, 
And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius, 
Had we no other quarrel else to Rome, but that 
Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all 
From twelve to seventy ; and, pouring war 
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, 
Like a bold flood o'er-bear.* ! come : go in, 
And take our friendly senators by the hands. 
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me, 
Who am prepared against your territories. 
Though not for Rome itself. 

Cor. You bless me, gods ! 

Ai(f. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt have 
The leading of thine own revenges, take 
Th' one half of my connnission ; and set down, — 
As best thou art expericnc'd, since thou know'st 
Thy country's strength and weakness, — thine own ways ; 
Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, 
Or rudely visit them in parts remote. 
To fright them, ere destroy. But come in : 
Let me commend thee first to those, that shall 
Say, '• yea," to thy desires. A tliousand welcomes ! 
And more a friend than e'er an enemy ; 
Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand : most wel- 
come ! [Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius. 

1 Serv. [Advancing] Here 's a strange alteration ! 

2 Serv. By my hand, I had thought to have strucken 
him with a cudgel ; and yet my mind gave me, his 
clothes made a false report of him. 

1 Serv. What an arm lie has ! He turned me about 
with his finger and his thiunb, as one would set up a top. 

2 Serv. Nay, I knew by his face that there was some- 



SCENE VI. 



CORIOLANUS. 



619 



tiling in liim : he had, sir, a kind of face, methought, — 
1 cannot tell how to term it. 

1 Scrv. He had so; looking as it were, — Would I 
were hanged, but I thought there was more in him 
than I could think. 

2 Serv. So did I, I '11 be sworn. He is simply the 
rarest man i' the world. 

1 Scrv. I think, he is; but a greater soldier than he, 
you wot one. 

2 Serv. Who? my ma.ster ? 

1 Scrv. Nay, it 's no matter for that. 

2 Scrv. Worth six on him. 

1 Scrv. Nay, not so neither ; but I take him to be 
the greater soldier. 

2 Scrv. 'Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say 
that : for the defence of a town, our general is excellent. 

1 Serv. Ay, and for an assault too. 
Re-enter third Servant. 

3 Scrv. 0, slaves ! I can tell you news ; news, youras- 
1. 2. Serv. What, what, what ? let's partake. [cals. 
3 Serv. I would not be a Roman, of all nations ; I 

had as lieve be a condemned man. 

1. 2. Serv. Wherefore? wherefore? 

3 Serv. Why, here 's he that was wont to thwack 
our general, — Caius Marcius. 

1 Serv. Why do you say thwack our general ? 

3 Serv. I do not say, thwack our general ; but he 
was always good enough for him. 

2 Serv. Come, we are fellows, and friends : he was 
ever too hard for him ; I have heard him say so himself. 

1 Serv. He was too hard for him directly, to say the 
truth on 't : before Corioli, he scotched him and notched 
him like a carbonado'. 

2 Scrv. An he had been cannibally given, he might 
have broiled'^ and eaten him too. 

1 Serv. But, more of thy news? 

3 Serv. Why, he is so made on here within, as if he 
were son and heir to Mars : set at upper end o' the 
table ; no question asked him by any of the senators, 
but they stand bald before him. Our general liimself 
makes a mistress of him ; sanctifies himself with 's hand, 
and turns up the white o' the eye to his discourse. But 
the bottom of the news is, our general is cut i' the 
middle, and but one half of what he was yesterday, for 
the other has half, by the entreaty and grant of the 
whole table. He '11 go, he says, and sowlc^ the porter 
of Home gates by the ears. He will mow down all be- 
fore him, and leave his passage polled*. 

2 Serv. And he 's as like to do 't, as any man I can 
imagine. 

3 Serv. Do 't ! he will do 't ; for, (look you, sir,) he 
hns as many friends as enemies; which friends, sir, (as 
it were.) durst not (look you, sir) show themselves (as 
we term it) his friends, whilst he 's in dejectitude'. 

1 Scrv. Dejcctitude'^ ! what 's that ? 

3 Serv. But when they shall see, sir, his crest up 
again, and the man in blood, they will out of their 
burrows, like conies after rain, and revel all with him. 

1 Serv. But when goes tliis forward ? 

3 Serv. To-morrow: to-day; presently. You shall 
have the drum struck up tliis afiernoon : 't is, as it were, 
a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere they wipe 
their lips. 

2. Serv. Why, then we shall have a stirring world 
again. This peace is nothins, but to rust iron, increase 
tailors, and breed ballad-makers. 

1 Serv. Let me have war, say I : it exceeds peace, 
as far as day does night; it's spritcly, waking, audible. 



and full of vaunt.' Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; 
mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bas- 
tard children, than wars a destroyer of men. 

2 Scrv. 'T is so : and as wars in some sort may be 
said to be a ravisher, so it cannot be denied, but peace 
is a great maker of cuckolds. 

1 Scrv. Ay, and it makes men hate one another. 

3 Serv. Iteason ; because they then less need one 
another. The wars, for my money. I hope to see 
Romans as cheap as Volscians. — They are rising, they 
are rising. 

All. In, in, in, in, [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— Rome. A Public Place. 
Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 

Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him; 
His remedies are tamed by" the present peace 
And quietness o' the people, which before 
Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends 
Blu.sh that the world goes well ; who rather had, 
Though they themselves did suffer by 't, behold 
Dissentious numbers pestering streets, than see 
Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going 
About their functions friendly. 

Enter Menenius. 

Bru. We stood to't in good time. Is this Menenius? 

Sic. 'T is he, 't is he. ! he is grown most kind 
Of late.— Hail, sir ! 

3Ien. Hail to you both ! 

Sic. Your Coriolanus is not much miss'd, 
But with his friends : the common-wealth doth stand, 
And so would do, were he more angry at it. 

Me7i. All 's well ; and might have been much bet- 
ter, if 
He could have temporiz'd. 

Sic. Where is he, hear you? 

3Ien. Nay, I hear nothing : his mother and his wife 
Hear nothing from him. 

Enter three or four Citizens. 

Cit. The gods preserve you both ! 

Sic. Good-den, our neighbours. 

Bri'. Good-den to you all, good-den to you all. 

1 Cit. Oursel ses, our wives, and children, on our knees, 
Are bound to pray for you both. 

Sic. Live, and thrive. 

Bru. Farewell, kind neighbours. We wish'd Corio- 
Had lov"d you as we did. [lanus 

Cit. Now the gods keep you ! 

Both Tri. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt Citizens. 

Sic. This is a happier and more comely time, 
Than wlien these fellows ran about the streets, 
Crying confusion. 

Bru. Caius Marcius was 
A worthy officer i' the war ; but insolent, 
O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, 
Self-loving, — 

Sic. And affecting one sole throne, 

Without assistance. 

Men. I think not so. 

Sic. We should by this, to all our lamentation, 
If he had gone forth consul, found it so. 

Bru. The gods have well prevented it; and Rome 
Sits safe and still without him. 

Enter an JEdilc. 

JEd. Worthy tribunes, 

There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, 
Reports, the Volsces with two several powers 
Are enter'd in the Roman territories : 



' A piece of meat cut and hacked for broiling. 
* tame i' : in f. e. 



2 boiled : in folio. ^ Pull out. * Cleared. * ' directitude : in f. e. 'vent : in f. e. 



620 



COKIOLANUS. 



ACT IV. 



And with the deepest malice of the "war 
Destroy what lies before them. 

3Ien. 'T is Aufidius, 

Who, hearing of our Marcins' banishment, 
Thrusts forth his horns again into the world : 
Which were inshell'd Mhen Marcius stood for Rome, 
And durst not once peep out. 

Sic. Come, what talk you 

Of Marcius ? 

Bru. Go see this rumourer whipp'd. — It cannot be. 
The Volsces dare break with us. 

Men. Cannot be ! 

We have record that very well it can ; 
And three examples of the like have been 
Within my age. But reason with the fellow, 
Before you punish him, where he heard this, 
Lest you shall chance to whip your information, 
And beat the messenger who bids beware 
Of what is to be dreaded. 

Sic. Tell not me : 

I know, this cannot be. 

Bru. Not possible. 

Enter a Messenger. 

]\Iess. The nobles in great earnestness are going 
All to the senate house : some news is come in. 
That turns their countenances. 

Sic. 'Tis this slave. 

Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes: — his raising; 
Nothing but his report. 

3Iess. Yes, worthy sir. 

The slave's report is seconded ; and more. 
More fearful, is deliver'd. 

Sic. What more fearful ? 

3Icss. It is spoke freely out of many mouths. 
How probable I do not know, that Marcius, 
Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome, 
And vows revenge as spacious, as between 
The young'st and oldest thing. 

Sic. This is most likely ! 

Bru. Rais'd only, that the weaker sort may wish 
God' Marcius home again. 

Sic. The very trick on't. 

3Ien. This is unlikely : 
He and Aufidius can no more atone,' 
Than violentest contrariety. 

Enter another Messenger. 

3Iess. You are sent for to the senate. 
A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius, 
Associated with Aufidius, rages 
Upon our territories; and have already 
Overborne their way, eonsum'd with fire, and took 
What lay before them. 

Enter Cominius. 

Co7n. ! you have made good work. 

3Icn. What news? what news? 

Com. You have holp to ravish your own daugliters, and 
To melt the city leads upon your pates : 
To see yoiir wives dishonour'd to your noses : — 

3Icn. What's the news? what's the news? 

Com. Your temples burned in their cement; and 
Your franchises, wliereon you stood, confin'd 
Into an auger's bore. 

3Icn. Pray now. ^-our news ? — 

You have made fair work, I fear me. — Pray, your news ? 
If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians. — 

Com. If! 

He is their god : he leads them like a thing 
Made by .some other deity than nature, 
That shapes man better ; and they follow him 

1 Good : in f. e. ' At one, agree. * This word is not in f. e. 



Against us brats, with no less confidence 
Than boys pursuing summer butterflies. 
Or butchers killing flies. 

3Ien. You have made good work. 

You, and your apron-men ; you that stood so much 
Upon the voice of occupation, and 
The breath of garlic-eaters ! 

Com. He will shake 

Your Rome about your ears. 

3Icn. As Hercules 

Did shake down mellow fruit. You have made fair work, 

Bru. But is this true, sir ? 

Com. Ay ; and you '11 look pale 

Before you find it other. All the legions 
Do smilingly revolt, and who resist 
Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, 
And perish constant fools. Who is't can bl^me him r 
Your enemies, and his, find something in him. 

Men. We are all undone unless 
The noble man have mercy. 

Com. Who shall ask it ? 

The tribunes cannot do 't for shame ; the people 
Deserve such pity of him, as the wolf 
Docs of the shepherds : for his best friends, if they 
Should say, " Be good to Rome," they charg'd him, even 
As those should do that had deserv'd his hate. 
And therein show'd like enemies. 

3Icn. 'Tis true: 

If he were putting to my house the brand 
That should consume it, I have not the face 
To say, "Beseech you, cease." — You have made fair 
You, and your handy* crafts have crafted fair, [hands, 

Com. You have brought 

A trembling upon Rome, such as was never 
So incapable of help. 

Tri. Say not, we brought it. 

3Ien. How ! Was it we ? We lov'd him ; but, like 
beasts 
And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters. 
Who did hoot him out o' the city. 

Com. But I fear 

They '11 roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, 
The second name of men, obeys his points 
As if he were his officer. Desperation 
Is all the policy, strength, and defence, 
That Rome can make against them. 

Enter a Troop of Citizens. 

3Ien. Here come the clusters. — 

And is Aufidius with him? — You are they 
That made the air unwholesome, when you cast 
Your stinking, greasy caps, in hooting at 
Coriolanus' exile. Now he 's coining ; 
And not a hair upon a soldier's head, 
Which will not prove a wliip: as many coxcombs, 
As you threw caps up, will he tumble down, 
And pay you for your voices. 'T is no matter ". 
If he could burn us all into one coal, 
We have deserv'd it. 

Cit. Faith, we hear fearful news. 

1 Cit. For mine own part. 
When I said, banish him, I said, 't was pity. 

2 Cit. And so did I. 

3 Cit. And so did I : and, to say the truth, so did 
very many of us. That we did. we did for the best; 
and though we willingly consented to his banishment, 
yet it was against our will. 

Com. Y' are goodly things, you voices ! 
3fen. You have made 

I Good work, you and your cry ! — Shall 's to the Capitol ? 



SCENE I. 



COPJOLANUS. 



021 



Com. ! ay, what else ? [Exeunt Com. and Men. 

Sic. Go, masters, get you home ; be not dismay'd : 
These are a side that would be glad to have 
This true, which they so seem to fear. Go home, 
And show no sign of fear. 

1 Cit. The gods be good to us I Come, masters, 
let "s home. I ever said, we were i' the wrong, when 
we banished him. 

2 Cit. So did we all. But come, let 's home. 

[Exeunt Citizens. 
Bru. I do not like this news. 
Sic. Nor I. 

Bru. Let's to the Capitol. — Would half my wealth 
Would buy this for a lie ! 

Sic. Pray, let us go. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. — A Camp; at a small distance from 

Rome. 

Enter Aufidius, and his Lieutenant. 

Auf. Do they still fly to the Roman? 

Lieu. 1 do not know what witchcraft 's in him, but 
Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat, 
Their talk at table, and their thanks at end; 
And you are darkcn'd in this action, sir. 
Even by your own. 

Auf. I cannot help it now. 

Unless, by using means, I lame the foot 
Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier, 
Even to my person, than I thought he would 
When first I did embrace him ; yet his nature 
In that's no changeling, and I must excuse 
What cannot be amended. 

Lieu. Yet I wish, sir, 

(I mean, for your particular) you. had not 
join'd in commission with him ; but either 
Had borne the action of yourself, or else 
To hiin had left it solely. 

Auf. I understand thee well ; and be thou sure, 
When he shall come to his account, he knows not 
What I can urge against him. Though it seems. 



And so he thinks, and is no less apparent 
To the -vulgar eye, tliat he bears all things fairly, 
And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state, 
Fights dragoii-like, and docs acliieve as soon 
As draw his sword ; yet he hath left undone 
That, which shall break his neck, or hazard mine, 
Whene'er we come to our account. 

Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he '11 carry Rome? 

Aif. All places yield to him ere he sits down ; 
And the nobility of Rome are his: 
The senators and patricians love him too. 
The tribunes are no soldiers ; and their people 
Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty 
To expel him thence. I think, he '11 be to Rome, 
As is the osprey to the fish, wlio takes it 
By sovereignty of nature.' First he was 
A noble servant to them, but he could not 
Carry his honours even; whether 'twas pride, 
Which out of daily fortune ever taints 
The happy man; whether defect of judgment, 
To fail in the disposing of those chances 
Which he was lord of ; or whether nature, 
Not to be other than one thing, not moving 
From the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace, 
Even with the same austerity and garb 
As he controll'd the war ; but one of these 
(As he hath spices of them all, not all, 
For I dare so far free him) made him fear'd. 
So hated, and so banish'd : but he has a merit, 
To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues 
Live'' in the interpretation of the time, 
And power, in^ itself most commendable, 
Hath not a tomb so evident as a cheer* 
To extol what it hath done. 
One fire drives out one fire ; one nail, one nail ; 
Rights by rights suffer', strengths by strengths do fail. 
Come, let 's away. — When, Caius, Rome is thine, 
Thou art poor'st of all ; then, shortly art thou mine. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— Rome. A Public Place. 

Enter Menenus, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus, and 

others. 

Men. No, I '11 not go : you hear what he hath said 
To one sometime his general : who lov'd him 
In a most dear particular. He call'd me father, 
But what o' that? Go, you that banish"d him, 
A mile before his tent fall down, and kneel 
Tlie way into his mercy. Nay, if he coy'd 
To hear Cominiiis speak, I '11 keep at home. 

Com. He would not seem to know me. 

J/f/i. Do you hear? 

Com. Yet one time ho did call me by my name. 
I urg"d our old acquaintance, and the drops 
That we have bled together. Coriolanus 
He would not answer to ; forbad all names : 
He was a kind of nothing, titleless. 
Till lie had forg'd himself a name o' the fire 
Of burning Rome. 

Men. ^Yhy, so ; you have made good work : 

A pair of tribunes, that have wrcck'd' for Rome, 
To make coals cheap, a noble memory ! 

Coi}i. I minded him, how royal 't was to pardon 

' An old popular belief is referred to. ' Lie : in f. e. ^ unto : in f. e. * chair : in f. e. ' fouler : in f. e. ' Most mod. ejs. read : rack'd. 



When it was least expected : he replied, 
It was a bare petition of a state 
To one whom they had punish'd. 

Men. Very well : could he say less ? 

Com. I offer'd to awaken his regard 
For his private friends : his answer to me was. 
He could not stay to pick them in a pile 
Of noisome, musty cliafl'. He said, 't was folly 
For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt, 
And still to nose th' offence. 

3Ien. For one poor grain or two ? 

I am one of those ; his mother, wife, his child, 
And this brave fellow too ; we are the grains : 
You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt 
Above the moon. We must be burnt for you. 

Sic. Nay, pray, be patient : if you refuse your aid 
In this so never-needed help, yet do not 
Upbraid 's with our distress. But, sure, if j'ou 
Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue. 
More than the instant army we can make. 
Might stop our coimtryman. 

Men. No; I '11 not meddle. 

Sic. Pray you, go to him. 

3Ien. What .should I do? 



622 



CORIOLANUS. 



ACT V. 



Bru. Only make trial what your love can do 
For Rome towards Marcius. 

Men. Well ; and say that Marcius 

Return me, as Cominius is return'd, 
Unheard, what then ? — 
But as a discontented friend, grief-shot 
With his unkindncss ? say 't be so ? 

Sic. Yet your good will 

Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure 
As you intended well. 

Men. I '11 undertake it : 

I think, he '11 hear me. Yet to bite his lip. 
And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. 
He was not taken well ; he had not din'd : 
The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then 
Wo pout upon the morning, arc unapt 
To give or to forgive ; but when we have stufTd 
Tliese pipes, and these conveyances of blood 
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
Than in our priest-like fasts : therefore, I '11 watch him 
Till he be dieted to my request, 
And then I '11 set upon him. 

Bru. You know the very road into his kindness. 
And cannot lose your way. 

3Ien. Good faith. I '11 prove him. 

Speed how it will. You shall ere long have knowledge 
Of my success. [Exit. 

Com. He '11 never hear him. 

Sic. Not? 

Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye 
Red as 't would burn Rome, and his injury 
The gaoler to his pity. I knecl'd before him ; 
'T was very faintly he said. " Rise ;" dismiss'd me 
Thus, with his speechless hand. What he would do, 
He sent in writing after me ; what he would not. 
Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions : 
So that all hope is vain. 
Unless liis noble mother, and his wife ; 
Who. as I hear, mean to solicit him 
For mercy to his covmtry. Therefore, let 's hence. 
And with our fair entreaties haste them on. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Volseian Camp before Rome. The 

Guards at their Sations. 

Enter to them^ Menenius. 

1 G. Stay ! Whence are you ? 

2 G. Stand, and go back. 
Men. You guard like men: 'tis well; but, by your 

leave, 
I am an ollicer of state, and come 
To speak with Coriolanus. 

1 G. From whence ? 

Men. From Rome. 

1 G. You may not pass ; you must return: our general 
Will no more hear from 1 hence. 

2 G. You '11 sec your Rome embrac'd with fire, before 
You 'U speak with Coriolanus. 

Men. Good my friends, 

If you have heard your general talk of Rome, 
And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks, 
INIy name hath toueh'd your ears : it is Menenius. 

1 G. Be it so : go back : the virtue of your name 
Is not here passable. 

Men. I tell thee, fellow, 

Thy general is my lover' : I have been 
The book of his good acts, whence men have read 
His fame unparallel'd, haply, amplified; 
For I have ever magnified- my friends, 
(Of whom he 's chief) with all the size that verity 



Would without lapsing suffer : nay, sometimes. 
Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, 
I have tumbled past the throw, and in his praise 
Have almost stamp'd the leasing^ Therefore, fellow, 
I nmst have leave to pass. 

1 G. 'Faith, sir. if you had told as many lies in his 
behalf, as you have uttered words in your own, you 
should not pass here : no. though it were as virtuous 
to lie, as to live chastely. Therefore, go back. 

Men. Pr'ythee, fellow, remember my name is Mene- 
nius, always factionary on the party of your general. 

2 G. Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say 
you have, I am one that, telling true under him, must 
say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go back. 

Men. Has he dined, canst tlK^u tell ? for I would 
not speak with him till after dinner. 
1 G. You .are a Roman, are you? 
Men. I am, as thy general is. 

1 G. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can 
you, when you have pushed out your gates the very 
defender of them, and, in a violent popular ignorance, 
given your enemy your shield, think to front his le- 
venges with the queasy groans of old women, the virginal 
palms of your daughters, or with the palsied interces- 
sion of such a decayed dotai'd as you seem to be ? Can 
you think to blow out the intended fire your city is 
ready to flame in with such weak breatli as this? No, 
you are deceived: therefore, back to Rome, and pre- 
pare for your execution. You are condemned, our 
general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon. 

Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he 
would use me with estimation. 

2 G. Come, my captain knows you not. 
Men. I mean, tliy general. 

1 G. My general cares not for you. Back, I say : 
go, lest I let forth your half pint of blood, — back, — 
that 's the vitmost of your having : — back. 

Men. Nay, but fellow, fellow, — 

Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius. 

Cor. What 's the matter ? 

Men. Now, you companion, I '11 say an errand for 
you : you shall know now that I am in cstinnition ; you 
shall perceive that a Jack giiardant cannot office me 
from my son Coriolanus : guess, but by my entertain- 
ment with him, if thou stand'st not i' the state of 
hanging, or of some death more long in spcctatorship, 
and crueller in suffering : behold now presently, and 
swoon for what 's to come upon thee. — The glorious 
gods sit in hourly synod about thy particular pros- 
perity, and love thee no worse than thy old father 
Menenius does ! 0, my son ! my son ! thou art pre- 
paring fire for us ; look thee, here 's water to quench it. 
I was hardly moved to come to thee ; but being assured, 
none but myself could move thee. I have been blown 
out of your gates with sighs, and conjure thee to 
pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen. The 
good gods assuage thy WTath, and turn the dregs of it 
upon this varlet here; this, who, like a block, liath 
denied my access to thee. 

Cor. Away ! 

Men. How ? away ? 

Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs 
Are servanted to others: though I owe 
My revenge properly, my remission lies 
In Volseian breasts. That we have been familiar. 
Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather 
Than pity note how much. — Therefore, be gone : 
Mine ears against your suits are stronger than 
Your gates against my force. Yet. for I lov'd Ihce, 



I This word -was often used ior friend. 2 verified : in f. e. 3 Falsehood. 



SCENE ni. 



CORIOLANUS. 



623 



Take this along j I writ it for thy sake, [Gives a Paper. 
And would have sent it. Another word. Mriicnius, 
I will not hear thee speak. — Tliis man, Aufidiusj 
Wa.s my belov'd in Rome ; yet tiiou behold'st — 
Aiif. You keep a constant temper. 

[Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius. 

1 G. Now, sir, is your name Mcncnius? 

2 G. 'T is a spell, you see, of much power. You know 
the way home again. 

1 G. Do you hear how wc are shcnt' for keeping 
your greatness hack ? 

2 G. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon ? 
3Ien. I neither care for the worhl, nor your general : 

for such things as you, I can scarce think there 's any, 
you are so slight. He that hath a will to die by himself, 
fears it not from an(Tther. Let your general do his 
wor,-t. For you, be that you are, long ; and your 
misery increase with your age. I say to you, as I was 
said to, away! [Exit. 

1 G. A noble fellow, I warrant him. 

2 6^. The worthy fellow is our general : he is the 
rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Tent of Coriolanus. 
Enter Coriolanus, Aufidius, and other.s. 

Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow 
Set down our host. — My partner in this action, 
You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly 
1 have borne this business. 

Atif. Only their ends 

You have respected ; stopp'd your cars against 
The general suit of Rome ; never admitted 
A private whisper, no, not with such friends 
That thought them sure of you. 

Cor. This last old man, 

Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, 
Loved me above the measure of a father : 
Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge 
Was to send him ; for whose old love, I have 
(Though I show'd sourly to him) once more offer'd 
Tlie first conditions, which they did refuse, 
And cannot now accept, to grace him,only 
Tiiat thought he could do more. A very little 
I have yielded, too : fresh embassies, and suits, 
Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter 
Will I lend ear to. — Ha! what .shout is this? [Shout 
Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow [within. 

In the same time 'tis made ? I will not. — 
Enter, in mourning Habits. Virgilia, Volumnia, 

lending young Marcius, Valeria, and Attendants. 
My wife comes foremost; then, the honour'd mould 
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand 
The grand-child to her blood. But, out, affection ! 
All bond and privilege of nature, break ! 
Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. — 
What is that curt'sy worth? or those doves' eyes, 
Which can make gods forsworn ? — I melt, and am not 
Of stroiigcr earth than others. — My mother bows, 
As if Olympus to a molehill should 
In supplication nod; and my young boy 
Halh an aspect of intercession, which 
Groat nature cries, " Deny not." — Let the Volsccs 
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I'll never 
Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand 
As if a man were author of himself. 
And knew no oilier kin. 

Vir. My lord and Imsband ! 

Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. 



Vir. The sorrow, that delivers us thus chang'd, 
Makes you think so. 



Cor. 



Like a dull actor, now, 



I have forgot my part, and I am out. 

Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, 

Forgive my tyranny; but do not say 

For that, " Forgive our Romans." — ! a kiss 

Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge ! 

Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss 

I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip 

Hath virgin'd it e'er since. — You gods ! I prate''', 

And the most noble mother of the world 

Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i' the earth; [Kneels. 

Of thy deep duty more impression show 

Than that of common sons. 

Vol. 0, stand up bless'd ! 

W^hilst, with no softer cushion tlian the flint, 
I kneel before thee, and unproperly 
Show duty, as mistaking^ all this while 
Between the child and parent. [Kneels. 

Cor. Wliat is this ? 

Your knees to me ? to your corrected son ? 
Then, let the pebbles on the hungry beach 
Fillip the stars ; then, let the mutinous winds 
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun, 
JNIurd'ring impossibility, to make 
What cannot be slight work. [Risiiig and raising her.* 

Vol. Tliou art my warrior ; 

1 holp' to frame thee. Do you know this lady ? 

Cor. The noble sister of Publicola, 
The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle, 
That 's curdled by the frost from purest snow, 
And hangs on Dian's temple : dear Valeria ! 

Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours. 
Which, by the interpretation of full time, 
May show like all yourself. 

Cor. The god of soldiers, 

With the consent of supreme Jove, inform 
Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou may'st prove 
To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' the wars 
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw. 
And saving those that eye thee ! 

Vol. Your knee, sirrah. 

Cor. That 's my brave boy ? 

Vol. Even lie, your wife, this lady, and myself, 
Are suitors to you. 

Cor. I beseech yon, peace ; 

Or, if you 'd ask, remember this before : 
The things I have forsworn to grant may never 
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me 
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate 
Again with Rome's mechanics : tell mc not 
Wherein I seem unnatural : desire not 
To allay my rages and revenges with 
Your colder reasons. 

Vol. ! no more, no more ! 

You have said, you will not grant us any thing; 
For we have nothing else to ask, but that 
Which you deny already: yet we will ask; 
That, if we fail in our request, the blame 
i\Iay hang upon your hardness. Therefore, hear us. 

Cor. Aufidius, and you Volsccs, mark : for wc '11 
Hear nought from Rome in private. [Takes his seat.' 
— Your request ? 

Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment, 
And state of bodies, would bewray what life 
We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself, 
How more unfortunate than all living women 



> liebuked. 
Not in f. e. 



2 pray : in folio. Tlicobald made the change. ' mistaken : in f. e. ^ Not in f. e. * hope : in folio. Corrected by Pope. 



624 



COEIOLANUS. 



ACT V. 



Arc we come hither : since that thy sight, wliich should 
Make our eyes flowwith joy, hearts dance with comforts, 
Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and sorrow ; 
Making the mother, wife, and chikl, to see 



The son, the husband. 



and the father, tearing 



His country's bowels out; and so poor we. 

Thine enemies most capital.' Thou barr'st us 

Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort 

That all but we enjoy; for how can we, 

Alas ! how can we, for our country pray, 

Whereto we are bound, together with thy A'ictory, 

Whereto we are bound ? Alack ! or we must lose 

The country, our dear nurse; or else thy person, 

Our comfort in the country. W^e must find 

An evident calamity, though we had 

Our wish, which side shovild win : for either thou 

Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 

Witli manacles through our streets, or else 

Triumpliantly tread on thy country's ruin. 

And bear the palm, for having bravely shed 

Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, 

1 purpose not to wait on fortune, till 

These wars determine : if I cannot persuade thee 

Rather to show a noble grace to both parts, 

Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner 

]\'Iarch to assault thy country, than to tread 

(Trust to 't, thou shalt not) on thy mother's womb, 

Tliat brought thee to this world. 

Vir. Ay, and mine. 

That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name 
Living to time. 

Boy. He shall not tread on me : 

I '11 run away till I am bigger, but then I '11 fight. 



Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be. 



[Aside.' 



R,cqnircs nor child nor woman's face to see. 

I have sat too long. [Rising. 

Vol. Nay, go not from us thus. 

If it were so, that our request did tend 
To save tlie Romans, thereby to destroy 
The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us. 
As poisonous of your honour : no : our suit 
Is, that you reconcile them : while the Volsces 
May say, " This mercy we have show'd ;"' the Romans, 
'■ This we receiv'd ;" and each in either side 
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, '• Be bless'd 
For making up this peace !" Thou know'st, great son, 
Tlie end of war 's uncertain ; but this certain, 
Tliat if thou conquer Rome, the benefit 
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name. 
Whose repetition shall be dogg'd with curses, 
"Whofc clironicle thus writ, — " The man was noble, 
But witli liis last attempt he wip'd it out, 
Destroy'd his country, and his name remains 
To eneh ensuing age abhorr'd." Speak to me, son ! 
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, 
To imitate the graces of the gods ; 
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air. 
And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt 
Tliat sliould but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? 
Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man 
Still to remember wrongs? — Daughter, speak you; 
He cares not for your weeping. — ?peak thou, boy : 
Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more 
Than can our reasons. There is no man in the AA'orld 
More boiuid to 's mother ; yet here he lets me prate 
Like one i' the stocks. — Thou hast never in thy life 
Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy; 



When slie, (poor hen !) fond of no second brood, 
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, 
Loaden with honour. Say. my request 's unjust, 
And spurn me back ; but, if it be not so. 
Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee, 
That tliou restrain'st from me the duty, which 
To a mother's part belongs. — He turns away : 
Down, ladies ; let us shame him with our knees. 

[All kneeV 
To his surname, Coriolanus, 'longs more pride. 
Than pity to our prayers. Down : an end ; 
This is the last ; — so we will home to Rome, 
And die among our neighbours. — Nay, behold us : 
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have, 
But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship. 
Does reason our petition with mor£ strength 
Than thou hast to deny 't. — Come, let us go. ^ 
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother ; 
His wife is in Corioli, and his child 
Like him by chance. — Yet give us our despatch : 
I am hush'd until our city be afire. 
And then I '11 speak a little. [strvggUng.* 

[He holds Volumnia by the hand, long, and sclf- 

Cor. mother, mother ! 

What have you done ? Behold ! the lieavens do ope. 
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene 
They laugh at. O my motlier ! mother ! ! 
You have won a happy victory to Rome ; 
But, for your son, — believe it, O ! believe it, — 
IMost dangerously you have with him prevail'd. 
If not most mortal to him. But let it come. — 
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, 
I '11 frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, 
Were you in my stead, would you have heard 
A motiicr less, or granted less, Aufidius? 

Auf. I was mov'd withal. 

Cor. I dare be sworn, you were : 

And, sir, it is no little thing to make 
Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, 
What peace you '11 make, advise me. For my part, 
I '11 not to Rome, I '11 back with you ; and pray you. 
Stand to me in this cause. — mother ! Avife ! 

Auf. [Aside.] I am glad, thou hast set thy mercy 
and thy honour 
At difl^erence in thee : out of that I '11 AA-ork 
Myself a firmer fortune. 

[The Ladies make signs to Coriolanus. 

Cor. Ay, by and by; 

[To Volumnia, Virgilia, Sfc. 
But we will drink together : and you shall bear 
A better witness back than words, AA'hich we 
On like conditions will liaA-e counter-seal'd. 
Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve 
To haA'e a temple built you : all the swords 
In Italy, and her confederate arms, 
Could not have made this peace. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Rome. A Public Place. 
Enter Menenius and Sicinius. 

3Icn. See you 3'ond' coign o' the Capitol ; yond' 
corner-stone ? 

Sic. Why, what of that ? 

Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with 
your litttle finger, there is some hope the ladies of 
Rome, especially his mother, may prcA-ail Avitli him ; 
but I say, there is no hope in 't. Our throats are sen- 
tenced, and stay upon execution. 



1 f. e. have : And to poor \vc, 

Thine enmity's most capital. 
2 3 Not in f. e. * He holds Volvmma by the hand, silent : in f. e. 



SCENE V. 



CORIOLANUS. 



625 



Sic. Is 't possible, that so short a time can alter the 
condition of a man ? 

Men. There is differency between a grub, and a but- 
terfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. Tliis Marcius is 
grown from man to dragon : he has wings ; he 's more 
than a creeping thing. 

Sic. He loved his mother dearly. 

3Ien. So did he me ; and he no more remembers his 
mother now, than an eight year old horse. The tart- 
ness of his face sours ripe grapes : when he walks, he 
moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before 
his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with his 
eye : talks like a knell, and his hem ! is a battery. He 
sits in his state as a thing made for Alexander. What 
he bids be done, is finished with his bidding : he wants 
nothing of a god but eternity, and a heaven to throne in. 

Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. 

3Icn. I paint him in the character. Mark what 
mercy his mother shall bring from him : there is no 
more mercy in liim. than there is milk in a male tiger; 
that shall our poor city find : and all this is 'long of you. 

Sic. The gods be good unto us ! 

3Ien. No, in such a case the gods will not be good 
unto us. When wc banished him, we respected not 
thern ; and he returning to break our necks, they 
respect not us. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Sir, if you 'd save your life, fly to your house. 
The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune. 
And hale him up and down; all swearing, if 
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, 
They "11 give him death by inches. 

Enter another Messenger. 

Sic. What 's the news ? 

Me.'ss. Good news, good news ! — The ladies have pre- 
The Volscians are dislodg'd. and Marcius gone, [vail'd. 
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, 
No. not the expulsion of the Tarquins. 

Sic. Friend, 

Art thou certain this is true ? is it most certain ? 

Mess. As certain, as I know the sun is tire : 
Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? 
Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, 
As the recomforted through the gates. Why. hark you ! 
[ShoiitSj Tnnnpcts and Hautboys sounded^ and 
Drums beaten, all together. 
The trumpets, saekbuts, p.^altcries. and fifes. 
Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, 
Make the sun dance. Hark you ! [Shouting again. 

Men. This is good news. 

I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia 
Is wortii of consuls, senators, patricians, 
A city full : of tribunes, such as you, 
A sea and land-full. You have pray'd well to-day: 
This morning for ten thousand of your throats 
I 'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy ! 

[Shouting and Music. 

Sic. First, the gods bless you for the tidings: next, 
Accept my thankfulness. 

3Ie.ss. Sir, we have all 

Great cause to give great thanks. 

Sic. They are near the city. 

3Iess. Almost at point to enter. 

Sic. "We will meet them, 

And liclp the joy. [Going. 

Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators, Patricians, 
and People. They pass over the Stage. 

1 Sc7i. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome ! 
Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, 

' end : in f. e. ^ Paid. 



And make triumphant fires : sirew flowers before them. 
Unshout the noise tliat banish'd Marcius ; 
Repeal him with the welcome of his mother: 
Cry. — W^elcome. ladies, welcome ! 

-^11- Welcome, ladies ! 

Welcome ! [A Flourish with Drums and Trumpets. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— Antium. A Public Place. 

Enter Tullus Aufidius, icith Attendants. 
Auf. Go tell the lords of the city, I am here. 
Deliver them this paper: having read it, 
Bid them repair to the market-place ; where I, 
Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, 
Will vouch the truth of it. Him T accuse 
Tlie city ports by this hath entered, and 
Intends t' appear before the people, hoping [Attendants 
To purge himself with words. Despatch. [Exeunt 

Enter Qon.^pirators o/ Aufidius' Faction. 
Most welcome ! 

1 Con. How is it with our general ? 

Auf. Even so, 

As with a man by his own alms cmpoison'd. 
And with his charity slain. 

2 Con. Most noble sir. 
If you do hold the same intent, wherein 
You wish'd us parties, we '11 deliver you 
Of your great danger. 

Auf. Sir, I cannot tell : 

We must proceed, as we do find the people. 

3 Con. The people will remain uncertain, whilst 
'Twixt you there 's difl^erenee ; but the fall of either 
Makes the survivor heir of all. 

Auf. I know it ; 

And my pretext to strike at him admits 
A good construction. I rais'd him. and I pawn'd 
Mine honour for his truth : who being so heighten'd. 
He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, 
Seducing so my friends; and to this end 
He bow'd his nature, never known before 
But to be rough, unswayablc, and fierce. 

3 Con. Sir, his stoutness. 
When he did stand for consul, which he lost 
By lack of stooping. — 

Auf. That I would have spoke of. 

Being banish'd for 't, he came unto my hearth ; 
Presented to my knife his throat : I took him ; 
Made him joint-servant with me ; gave him way 
In all his own desires; nay, let him choose 
Out of my files, his projects to accomplish. 
My best and freshest men : scrv'd his designments 
In mine own person ; holp to reap the fame 
Which he did ear' all his; and took some pride 
To do myself this wrong: till, at the last, 
I seem'd his follower, not partner; and 
He waged' me with his countenance, as if 
I had been mercenary. 

1 Con. So he did, my lord ; 

The army marvell'd at it; and, in the last. 
When he had carried Rome, and that we look'd 
For no less si)oil. than glory, — 

Auf. There was it; 

For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. 
At a few drops of women's rheum, which are 
As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour 
Of our great action : therefore shall he die. 
And I '11 renew me in his fall. But. hark ! 

[Drums and Trumpets sound, with great Shouts of 
the People. 



626 



COPJOLANUS. 



ACT V. 



1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post, 
And had no welcoines home • hut he returns, 
Splitting the air with noise. 

2 Con. And patient fools, 
Wiiose children he hath slain, their base throats tear 
With giving him glory. 

3 Con. Therefore, at your vantage. 
Ere he express himself, or move the people 

With what he would say, let him feel your sword, 
Which we will second. When he lies along, 
After your way his tale pronounc'd shall hury 
His reasons with his body. 

Juf. Say no more. 

Here come the Iord.s. 

Enter the Lords of the City. 

Lords. You are most welcome home. 

Aiif. I have not deserv'd it. 

But, worthy Iord.s, have you with heed perus'd 
What I have written to you ? 

Lords. We have. 

1 Lord. And grieve to hear it. 

What faults he made before the last, 1 think, 
Might have found easy fines : but there to end. 
Where he was to begin, and give away 
The benefit of our levies, answering us 
W^Uh our own charge, making a treaty where 
There was a yielding; this admiis no excuse. 

Auf. He approaches: you shall hear him. 
Enter Coriolanus, with Drums and Colours ; a crowd 
of Citizens with him. 

Cor. Hail, lords ! I am return'd your soldier ; 
No more infected with my country's love, 
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting 
Under your great command. You are to know, 
That prosperously I have attempted, and 
With bloody passage led your wars, even to 
The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home, 
Do jnore than counterpoise, a full third part, 
The charges of the action. Wo have made peace, 
With no less honour to the Antiates, 
Than shame to the Romans ; and we here deliver, 
Subscribed by the consuls and patricians, 
Together with the seal o' the senate, what 
We have compounded on. 

Avf. Read it not, noble lords ; 

But tell the traitor in the highest degree 
He hath abus'd your powers. 

Cor. Traitor ! — how now ! — 

Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. 

Cor. JMarcius ! 

_Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius. Dost thou think 
I '11 grace tliee with that robbery, thy stol'n name 
Coriolanus in Ccrioli ? — 
You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously 
He has betray'd your business, and given up 
For certain drops of salt your city, Rome; 
I say your city, to his wife and mother. 
Breaking his oath and resolution, like 
A twist of rotten silk ; never admitting 
Counsel o' the war, but at his nurse's tears 
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory, 
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart 
Look'd wondering each at other. 

Cor. Hear'st thou. Mars ? 

Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears. 

Cor. Ha ! 

Aif. No more 

1 The rest of this stage direction is not in f. e. 



Cor. ]\Ieasureless liar, thou hast made my heart 
Too great for what contains it. Boy ! slave ! — 
Pardon me, lords, 't is the first time that ever 
I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords, 
Must give this cur the lie : and his own notion 
(Who wears my stripes impress'd upon him. that 
Must bear my beating to his grave) shall join 
To thrust the lie unto him. 

1 Lord. Peace both, and hear me speak. 
Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads, 

Stain all your edges on me. — Boy ! False hound ! 
If you have writ your annals true, 't is there, 
That like an eagle in a dove-cote, I 
Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli : 
Alone I did it. — Boy ! 

Auf. Why, noble lords. 

Will you be put in mind of his blind fortuue. 
Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 
'Fore your own eyes and ears? 

All Con. Let him die for "t. 

All People. Tear him to pieces ; do it presently. He 
killed my son ; — my daughter : — he killed my cousin 
Marcus : — lie killed my father. — 

2 Lord. Peace, ho ! — no outrage : — peace ! 
The man is noble, and his fame folds in 
This orb o' tlie earth. His last otfenccs to us 
Shall have judicious hearing. — Stand, Aufidius, 
And trouble not the peace. 

Cor. ! that I had him, 

With six Aufidiuscs, or more, his tribe, 
To use my lawful sword ! 

Auf. Insolent villain ! 

All Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him ! 

[AiFiDiis and the Conspirators draw, and kill Co- 
riolanus, who falls : Aufidius stands on him. 

Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold ! 

Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak. 

1 Lord. Tullus !— 

2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will 

weep. 

3 Lord. Tread iiot upon him. — Masters all, be 

quiet. — 
Put up your swords. 

Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this rage, 
Provok'd by him. you cannot) the great danger 
Which this man's life did owe you, you '11 rejoice 
That he is thus cut off". Please it your honours 
To call me to your senate, I '11 deliver 
Myself your loyal servant, or endure 
Your heaviest censure. 

1 Lord. Bear from hence his body, 
And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded. 
As the most noble corse that ever herald 

Did follow to liis urn. 

2 Lord. His own impatience 
Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. 
Let 's make the best of it. 

Auf. My rage is gone, 

And 1 am struck w^ith sorrow. — Take him up: — 
Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers: I '11 be one. — 
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully; 
Trail your steel spikes. — Though in this city he 
Hath widow'd and unchiklcd many a one, 
Which to this hour bewail the injury, 
Yet he shall have a noble memory. — 
Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the Body of Coriolanus. 

A dead M.trch^, while they pass round the Stage. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Saturninus, Son to the late Emperor of Rome, 

and afterwards declared Emperor. 
Bassianus, Brother to Saturninus ; in love with 

Lavinia. 
Titus Andronicus, a noble Roman, General 

against the Goths. 
Marcus Andronicus, Tribune of the People; 

and Brother to Titus. 
Lucius, 



QuiNTUS, 

Maktius, 



Sons to Titus Andronicus. 



PuBLius, Son to Marcus the Tribune. 

^MiLR's, a noble Roman. 

Alarbus, ) 

Demetrius, > Sons to Tamora. 

Chiron, ) 

Aaron, a Moor, beloved by Tamora. 

A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown. 

Goths and Romans. 



Tamora, Queen of the Goths. 

Lavinia, Daughter to Titus Andronicus. 

A Nurse, and a black Child. 



MUTIUS, 

Young Lucius, a Boy, Son to Lucius. 

Kinsmen of Titus. Senators, Tribunes, O.Ticcrs, Soldiers, and Attendants. 
SCENE, Rome; and the Country near it. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L— Rome. Before the Capitol. 
TJie Tomb of the Andronici appearing ; the Tribimcs 
and Senators aloft, as in the Capitol. Enter, below, 
Saturninus and his Followers, on one side ; and 
Bassianus and his Followers, on the other ; with 
Drum and Colours. 

Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, 
Defend the justice of my cause with arms ; 
And, countrymen, my loving followers. 
Plead my successive title with your swords. 
I am the first-born son, of him the last 
That wore the imperial diadem of Rome: 
Then, let my father's honours live in me. 
Nor wrong mine age with tliis indignity. 

Bas. Romans, — friends, followers, favourers of my 
right. 
If ever Bassianus, Csesar's son, 
Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, 
Keep then this passage to the Capitol ; 
And suffer not dishonour to approach 
Th' imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, 
To justice, conscience,' and nobility, 
But let desert in pure election shine ; 
And. Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. 

Enter Marcus Andronicus. aloft, u-ith the Crown. 

Mar. Princes, that strive by factions, and by friends, 
Ambitiously for rule and empery, 
Know, that the people of Rome, for whom wc stand 
A special party, have by common voice 
In election for the Roman empery, 
Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius, 
For many good and great dc.'^erts to Rome : 
A nobler man, a braver warrior, 
Lives not this day within the city walls. 
He by the senate is accitcd'' home, 
From weary wars against the barbarous Goths ; 
That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, 

> f. e : continence ' Sent for. ^ Confide. 



Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms. 
Ten years are spent since first he undertook 
Xliis cause of Rome, and chastised with arms 
Our enemies' pride : five times he hath retunrd 
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons 
In cothns from the field ; 
And now at last, laden with honour's spoils, 
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome. 
Hcnowncd Titus, flourishing in arms. 
Let us entreat, — by honour of his name. 
Whom worthily you would have now succeed, 
And in the Capitol and senate's right, 
Whom you pretend to honour and adore, — 
That you withdraw you, and abate your strength : 
Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, 
Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. 

Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts. 

Bas. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy^ 
In thy uprightness and integrity, 
And so I love and honour thee and thine. 
Thy noble brother Titus, and his sons, 
And her, to whom my thoughts are humbled all. 
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, 
That I will here dismiss my loving friends : 
And to my fortunes, and the people's favour, 
Connnit my cause in balance to be weigh d. 

[Exeunt the Followers of Bassianus. 

Sat. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right, 
I thank you all and here dismiss you all ; 
And to the love and favour of my country 
Comnul myself, my person, and my cause. 

[Exeunt the Followers of Saturninus. 
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me. 
As I am confident and kind to thee. — 
Open the brazen gates, and let me in. 

Bas. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. 

[Sat. and Bas. go into the Capitol ; and exeunt with 
Senators, Marcus, fyc. 



628 



TITUS A^^DRONICUS. 



ACT I. 



SCENE [I.— Tlie Same. 
Enter a Captain , and others. 
Cap. Ptomans ! make way ! The good Andronicus. 

Patron of virtue. Rome's best champion. 

Successful in the battles that he fights, 

With honour, and with fortune, is return'd. 

From where he circumscribed with his sword, 

And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. 

Soi.nd Dnnns and Trumpets., Sfc. Enter Martius and 
MuTius : after them, two Men bearing a Coffin 
covered u'ith black ; //jp?i Lucius a?(f/QuiNTUs. After 
them.; Titus Andronicus ; and then Tamora, with 
Alarbus, Chiron, Demetrius, Aaron, and other 
Goths, prisoners ; Soldiers and People, following. 
The Bearers set down the Coffin. 
Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds ! 

Lo ! as the bark that hath discharg'd her fraught 

Returns with precious lading to the bay. 

From whence at first she weigh"d her anchorage, 

Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs. 

To re-salute his country with his tears ; 

Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. 

Thou great defender of this Capitol, 

Stand gracious to the rites that we intend ! 

Romans, of five-and-twenty valiant sons. 

Half of the number that king Priam had, 

Beliold the poor remains, alive, and dead ! 

Tliesc that survive let Rome reward with love; 

These that I bring unto their latest home, 

Witli burial amongst their ancestors : 

Here Gotlis have given me leave to slieath my sword. 

Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own. 

Why suifcr'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, 

To hover on the dreadful siiore of Styx ? — 

Make way to lay them by their brethren. 

[The Tomb is opened. 

There greet in silence, as the dead are wont. 

And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars ! 

sacred receptacle of my joys, 

Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, 

How many sons hast thou of mine in store, 

That thou wilt never render to me more? 

Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, 

That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile 

Jd manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, 

Bi'fore this earthy^ prison of their bones; 

That so their shadows be not unappeas'd, 

Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. 

Tit. I give him you ; the noblest that survives, 

Tbe eldest son of this distrcs.><ed queen. 

Tarn. Stay, Roman brethren ! — Gracious conqueror. 

Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed. 

A motlier's tears in passion for her son ; 

And, if thy sons were ever dear to thee, 

O ' think my son to be as dear to me. 

SafTiceth not. that we are brought to Rome, 

To beautify thy triumphs, and return. 

Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke ; 

But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets, 

For valiant doings in tlieir country's cause ? 

O ! if to fight for king and common weal 

Were piety in thine, it is in these. 

Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood. 

Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? 

Draw near them, then, in being merciful : 

Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge. 

Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son. 
Tit. Patient yourself, madam, ajid pardon me. 

'eaithly : in folio. - gone : in f. e. ^4 Xot in f. e. 



These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld 
Alive, and dead ; and for their brethren slain. 
Religiously they ask a sacrifice : 
To this your son is marked ; and die he must. 
T' appease their groaning shadows that are dust.' 

Luc. Away with him ! and make a fire straight ; 
And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, 
Let 's hew his limbs, till they be clean consum'd. 

[Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, IVUrtius. and Mutius, 
tvith Alarbus. 

Tam. cruel, irreligious piety ! 

Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous? 

Deyn. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. 
Alarbus goes to rest ; and we survive 
To tremble under Titus' threatening look. 
Then, madam, stand resolv'd ; but hope withal, 
The selfsame gods, that arm'd the queen df Troy 
With opportunity of sharp revenge 
Upon the Tliracian tyrant in his tent, 
May favour Tamora. the queen of Goths, 
(When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen) 
To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. 

Re-enter Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and Mutius, 
with their Swords bloody. 

Luc. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd 
Our Roman rites. Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, 
And entrails feed the sacrificing fire. 
Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. 
Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, 
And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. 

Tit. Let it be .so ; and let Andronicus 
Make this his latest farewell to their souls. 

[Trumpets sounded ; and the Coffin/' laid in the tomb. 
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons : [Kneeling.^ 
Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest, 
Secure from worldly chances and mishaps ! 
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, 
Here grow no damned grudges ; here no storms, 
No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. 
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons ! [Ri.mig.^ 
Enter Lavinia. 

Lav. In peace and honour live lord Titus long ; 
My noble lord and father, live in fame. 
Lo ! at this tomb my tributary tears 
I render, for my brethren's obsequies ; 
And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy 
Shed on the earth for thy return to Rome : 
! bless me here with thy victorious hand, 
Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud. 

Tit. Kind Rome, that liast thus lovingly reserv'd 
The cordial of mine age to glad my heart ! — 
Lavinia, live : outlive thy father's days. 
And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise ! 
Enter Marcus Andronicus, Saturninus, Bassianus. 
and others. 

Mar. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brother, 
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome ! 

Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus. 

Mar. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars. 
You that survive, and you that sleep in fame. 
Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, 
That in your country's service drew your swords ; 
But safer trium])h is this funeral pomp. 
That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness. 
And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. — 
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, 
Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been. 
Send thee by me. their tribune and their trust, 
This palliamcnt of white and spotless hue ; 



SCENE II. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



629 



And name thee in election for the empire, 
With these our late-deceased emperors sons. 
Be candidatus then, and put it on, 
And help to set a head on headless Rome. 

Tit. A better head her glorious body fits, 
Than his that shakes lor age and iecbleness : 
What ! should I don this robe, and trouble you ? 
Be chose' with acclamations' to-day ; 
To-morrow, yield up rule, resign my life, 
And set abroach^ new business for you all ? — 
Home, I have been thy soldier forty years, 
And led mv countrv's strength succcssfullv. 
And buried one-and- twenty valinnt sons, 
Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms. 
In right and service of their noble country. 
Give me a staff of honour for mine age, 
But not a sceptre to control the world : 
Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. 

Mar. Titus, thou shalt obtain the empery. 

Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell ? — 

Tit. Patience, prince Saturninus. 

Sat. Romans, do me right. — 

Patricians, draw your swords, and shealh them not 
Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor. — 
Andronicus, would thou wert shippd to hell, 
Rather than rob me of the people's hearts. 

Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good 
That noble-minded Titus means to thee ! 

Tit. Content thee, prince : I will restore to thee 
The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. 

Bos. Andronicus. I do not flatter tliee, 
But honour thee, and will do till I die : 
My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, 
I will most thankful be ; and thanks, to men 
Of noble minds, is honourable meed. 

Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes, here 
I ask your voices, and your suffrages : 
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus ? 

Trib. To gratify the good Andronicus, 
And gratulate his safe return to Rome. 
The people will accept whom he admits. 

Tit. Tribunes, I thank you ; and this suit I make. 
That you create your emperor's eldest son, 
Lord Saturnine, wiiose virtues will, 7 hope. 
Reflect on Rome, as Titan's rays on earth. 
And ripen justice in this common- weal : 
Then, if you will elect by my advice. 
Crown him, and say, — " Long live our emperor !" 

Mar. With voices and applause of every sort. 
Patricians, and plebeians, we create 
Lord Saturninus. Rome's great emperor. 
And say, — '• Long live our Emperor Saturnine !" 

{A long Flourish. Shouts. 

Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done 
To us in our election this day, 
I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts 
And will with deeds requite thy gentleness : 
And, for an onset, Titus, to advance 
Thy name and honourable family, 
Lavinia will I make my empress. 
Home's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, 
And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse. 
Tell me. Andronicus, doth this motion please thee? 

Tit. It doth, my worthy lord ; and in this match 
I hold me liiiihly honourd of your grace : 
And here, in sight of Komc, to Saturnine, 
King and commander of our common-weal, 
The wide worlds emperor, do I consecrate 
My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners ; 



Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord : 
Receive them, then, the tribute that I owe, 
Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. 

Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life ! 
How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts, 
Rome shall record ; and, when I do forget 
The least of these unspeakable deserts, 
Romans, forget your fealty to me. 

Tit. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor ; 

[To Tamora. 
To him, that for your honour and your state, 
Will use you nobly, and your followers. 

Sat. A goodly lady, trust me : of the hue [Aside.^ 
That I would choose, were I to ciioose anew. — 
\To her.] Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance : 
Though chance of war hath wrought this change of 

cheer. 
Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome : 
Princely shall be thy usage every way. 
Rest on my word, and let not discontent 
Daunt all your hopes : madam, he comforts you, 
Can make you greater than the queen of Goths. — 
Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this ? 

Lav. Not I, my lord ; sith true nobility 
Warrants these words in princely courtesy. 

Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. — Romans, let us go. 
Ransomless here we set our prisoners free : 
Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. 

Bas. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. 

[Seizing Lavinia. 

Tit. How, sir ! Are you in earnest, then, my lord ? 

Bis. Ay, noble Titus ; and resolv'd withal, 
To do myself this reason and this right. 

[The Emperor courts Tamora in dumb show. 

Mar. Suum cuique is our Roman justice : 
This prince injustice seizeth but his own. 

Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. 

Tit. Traitors, avaunt ! Where is the emperor's guard ? 
Treason, my lord ! Lavinia is surpris'd. 

Sat. Surpris'd ! By whom ? 

Bas. By him that justly may 

Bear his bethroth'd from all the world away. 

[Exeunt Marcus and Bassianus, with Lavinia. 

Mid. Brothers, help to convey her hence away. 
And with my sword I '11 keep this door safe. 

[Exeunt Lucius. Quintus. and. Martius. 

Tit. Follow, my lord, and I '11 soon bring her back. 

Mut. My lord, you pass not here. 

Tit. What, villain boy ! 

Barr'st me my way in Rome ? [Titus kills Mutius. 

Mut. H*lp, Lucius, help ! 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc. My lord, you are imjust ; and, more than so, 
In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. 

Tit. Nor thou, nor he, nor any sons of mine : 
My sons would never so dishonour me. 
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. 

Luc. Dead, if you will ; but not to be his wife, 
That is another's lawful promis'd love. [Exit. 

Sat. No, Titus, no ; tiie emperor needs her not, 
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock : 
I '11 trust by leisure him that mocks me once j 
Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, 
Confederates all thus to dishonour me. 
Was there none else in Rome to make a stale*, 
But Saturnine ? Full well, Andronicus, 
Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, 
That said'.st, I begg'd the empire at thy hands. 

Tit. monstrous ! what reproachful words are these ? 



' chosen : in f. e. * proclam.itions : in f. e. 3 abroad : in f. e. < Not in f. e. ^ A stalking horse. 



630 



TITUS ANDROKICUS. 



ACT I. 



Sat. But go thy ways ; go, give that changing piece 
To him that flourish'd for her with his sword. 
A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy ; 
One fit to bandy witli thy lawless sons, 
To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. 

Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart. 
Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Goths, 
That, like the stately Phccbe 'mongst her nymphs, 
Dost ovcrshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, 
If tliou be plcas'd with this my sudden choice, 
Behold. I choose thee, Tamora. for my bride, 
And will create thee empress of Rome. 
Speak, queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice ? 
And here I swear by all the Roman gods, — 
Sith prie.'^t and holy water are so near, 
And tapers burn so bright, and every thing 
In readiness for Hymeneus stand. — 
I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, 
Or climb my palace, till from forth this place 
I lead espous'd my bride along with me. 

Tarn. And here, in sight of heaven, to R.ome I swear, 
If Saturnine advance the queen of Goths, 
She will a handmaid be to his desires, 
A loving nurse, a mother to bis youth. 

Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. — Lords, accom- 
pany 
Your noble emperor, and his lovely bride. 
Sent by the heavens for prince Saturnine, 
Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered : 
There shall we consummate our spousal rites. 

[Exeunt Saturninus ami his Followers ; Tamora, 
and her so7is ; Aaron and Goths. 

Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride. 
Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, 
Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? 

Re-enter Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. 

Mar. O, Titus, sec, 0; sec what thou hast done ! 
In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. 

Tit. No, foolish tribune, no ; no son of mine. 
Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed 
That hath dishonour'd all our family : 
Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons ! 

Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes : 
Give Mutius burial with our brethren. 

Tit. Traitors, away ! he rests not in this tomb. 
This monument five hundred years liath stood. 
Which I have sumptuously re-edified : 
Here none biit soldiers, and Rome's servitors, 
Repose in fame ; none basely slain in brawls. 
Bury him where you can, he comes not here. 

Mar. My lord, this is impiety in you. 
My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him : 
He must be buried with his brethren. 

Quill. Mart. And shall, or him we will accompany. 

Tit. And shall ! What villain was it spoke that word ? 

Quill. He that would vouch 't in any place but here. 

Tit. W^hat ! would you bury him in my despite ? 

3Iar. No, noble Titus ; but entreat of thee 
To pardon Mutius, and to bury him. 

Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest. 
And. with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded : 
My iocs I do repute you every one ; 
So. trouble me no more, but get you gone. 

Mar. He is not' himself : let us withdraw awhile. 
Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. 

[Marcus and the Sons of Titus kneel. 
Brother, for in that name doth nature plead. 

Qvin. Father, and in tiiat name doth nature speak. 

Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. 

1 not with : in f. e. 2 folio : sullen ; a dump was originally a strain of music, or a poem. 



Quin. 
Mar. 



Mar. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul, — 
Luc. Dear father, soul and sub.-<tance of us all, — 
Mar. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter 
His noble nephew here in virtue's nest. 
That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. 
Thou art a lioman, be not barbarous : 
The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax, 
That slew himself, and wise Laertes' son 
Did graciously plead for his funerals. 
Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy, 
Be barr'd his entrance here. 

Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise. — 

The dismall'st day is this, that e'er I saw, 
To be dishonour'd by my sons in Home ! — 
Well, bury him, and bury me the next. 

[Mutius is put intg the Tomb. 
Luc. There lie thy bones^ sweet Mutius. with thy 
friends, 
Till we witli trophies do adorn thy tomb ! 

All. No man shed tears lor noble Mutius ; 
He lives in fame that died in virtue's cau.sc. 

Mar. My lord, — to step out of tliese dreary^ dumps, — 
How comes it that the subtle queen of Goths 
Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome ? 

Tit. I know not, Marcus, but I know it is ; 
Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell. 
Is she not. then, beholding to the man 
That brought her for this high good turn so far? 
Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.^ 
Flourish. Re-enter., at one sidc^ Saturninus, attended : 
Tamora, Demetrius, Chiron, and Aaron : at the 
other side. Bassianus. Lavinia. and others. 
Sat. So Bassianus, you have play'd your prize ? 
God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride. 

Bas. And you of yours, my lord. I say no more. 
Nor wish no less ; and so I take my leave. 

Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power, 
Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. 

Bas. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, 
My true-betrothed love, and now my wife ? 
But let the laws of Rome determine all ; 
Mean while, I am posscss'd of that is mine. 

Sat. 'T is good, sir : you are very short with us; 
But, if we live, we '11 be as sharp with you. 

Bas. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, 
Answer I must, and s^hall do witli my life : 
Only thus much I give your grace to know. 
By all the duties that I owe to Rome, 
This noble gentleman, lord Titus liere, 
Is in opinion, and in honour, wrong"d ; 
That in the rescue of Lavinia 
With his own hand did slay his youngest son, 
In zeal to you. and highly mov'd to wrath. 
To be eontroll d in tliat he frankly gave. 
Receive him, then, to favour. Saturnine, 
That hath express'd himself, in all his deeds, 
A father, and a friend, to thee, and Rome. 

Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to ]dead my deeds : 
'T is thou, and tho.sc, that have dishonour'd me. 
Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge. 
How I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine. 
Tarn. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora 
Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, 
Then hear me speak indifferently for all : 
And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. 

Sat. Wliat, madam ! be dishonour'd openly. 
And ba.sely ]iut it up Avithout revenge ? 

Tan). Not so, my lord : the gods of Rome forefend, 
I shovild be author to dishonour you ' 



I 



^ This line is not in the quartos. 



SCENE I. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



631 



But, on mine honour, dare I undertake 

For good lord Titus' innocence in all. 

Whose fury, not dissembled, speaks his griefs. 

Then, at my suit look graciously on him ; 

Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, 

Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. — 

My lord, be rul'd by me. be won at last; [A.sidc to Sat. 

Dissemble all your griefs and discontents : 

You are but newly planted in your throne ) 

Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, 

Upon a just survey, take Titus' part. 

And so supplant you for ingratitude, 

Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, 

Yield at entreats, and then let me alone. 

['11 find a day to massacre them all, 

And raze their faction, and tlieir family, 

The cruel father, and his traitorous sons, 

To whom I sued for my dear son's life ; 

And make them know what 't is to let a queen 

Kneel in the streets, and beg for grace in vain. — 

Come, come, sweet emperor, — come, Andronicus, — 

[Aloud. 
Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart 
That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. 

Sat. Rise, Titus, rise ; my empress hath prevail'd. 

Tit. I thank your majesty, and her. my lord. 
These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. 

7am. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, 
A Roman now adopted happily. 
And must advise the emperor for his good. 
This day all quarrels die, Andronicus ; 



And let it be mine honour, good my lord, 
That I have reconcil'd your friends and you. — 
For you, prince Bassianus, I have pass'd 
My word and promise to the emperor. 
That you will be more mild and tractable. — 
And fear not, lords, — and you, Lavinia. — 
By my advice, all humbled on your knees, 
You shall ask pardon of his majesty. 

Luc. We do : and vow to heaven, and to his highness, 
Tliat what we did was mildly, as wc might, [ They kncel.^] 
Tendering our sister's honour, and our own. 

Mar. That on mine honour here I do protest. 

Sat. Away, and talk not : trouble us no more. — 

Tarn. Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be friends. 
The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace : 
I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back. 

Sat. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here, 
And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, 
I do remit these young men's heinous faults. 

[ Tkcy stand up.^] 
Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, 
I found a friend ; and sure as death I swore, 
I would not part a bachelor from the priest. 
Come ; if the emperor's court can feast two brides, 
You arc my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. — 
This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. 

Tit. To-morrow, an it please your majesty, 
To hunt the panther and the hart witli nic, 
With horn and hound we '11 give your grace bonjour. 

Sat. Be it so. Titus, and gramercy too. 

[ Trumpets . Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE L— The Same. Before the Palace. 
Enter Aaron. 

Aar. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top. 
Safe out of fortune's shot ; and sits aloft, 
Secure of thunder's crack, or lightning flash, 
Advanc'd above pale envy's threatening reach. 
As when the golden sun salutes the morn. 
And having gilt the ocean with his beams, 
Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, 
And overlooks the highest-peering hills; 
So Tamora. — 

Upon her will doth earthly honour wait, 
And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. 
Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts, 
To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress ; 
And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long 
Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains, 
And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes, 
Than was Prometheus tied to Caucasus. 
Away with slavish weeds, and servile thoughts ! 
I will be bright, and sliine in pearl and gold, 
To wait upon this new-made empress. 
To wait, said T ? to wanton with this queen, 
Tiiis goddess, tliis Scmiramis. this nytnph, 
Tiiis syren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, 
And sec his shipwreck, and his commonweal's. 
Holla! what storm is this? 

Enter De.metrius and Chiron, braving. 

Dcm. Chiron, thy years want wit. thy wit wants edge 
And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd. 
And may, for aught thou know'st, alfected be. 

Chi. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all, 

1 5 Not in f. e. ' The usual London crjr, in time of tumult. 



I And so in this, to bear me down with braves. 
'Tis not the difference of a year, or two. 
Makes me less gracious, thee more fortunate : 
I am as able, and as fit, as thou, 
To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace; 
And that my sword upon thee shall approve, 
And plead my passions lor Lavinia's love. 

Aar. Clubs, clubs P these lovers will not keep tho 
peace. 

Dem. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd. 
Gave you a dancing rapier by your side, 
Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends? 
Go to ; have your lath glued within your sheath, 
Till you know better how to handle it. 

Chi. Mean while, sir, with the little skill I have, 
Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. 

I)e)n. Ay, boy; grow ye so brave? [J^^'-'-JJ draw. 

Aar. Why, how now, lords ! 

So near the emperor's palace dare you draw. 
And maintain such a quarrel openly? 
Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge : 
I would not for a million of gold, 
The cause were known to them it most concerns^ 
Nor would your noble mollicr for much more 
Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome. 
For shame ! put up. 

Dcm. Not I ; till I have sheath'd 

My rapier in liis bosom, and, withal. 
Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat, 
That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here. 

Chi. For that I am prepar'd and full rcsolv'd. 
Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy tongue. 
And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform. 



632 



TITUS ANDHONICUS. 



ACT II. 



Aar. Away, I say ! 
Now by the gods that, warlike Goths adore, 
This petty brabble will undo us all. — 
Why, lords. — and think you not how dangerous 
It is to jet' upon a prince's right ? 
What ! is Lavinia then become so loose. 
Or Bassianus so degenerate, 

That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd, 
Witlinut controlment, justice, or revenge ? 
Young lords, beware ! — an should the empress know 
This discord's ground, the music would not please. 

Chi. I care not, I, knew she and all the world : 
I love Lavinia more than all the world. 

Devi. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner 
choice : 
Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. 

Aar. Why, are ye mad? or know ye not. in Rome 
How furious and impatient they be. 
And cannot brook competitors in love ? 
I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths 
By this device. 

Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths 

Would I propose, to achieve her whom I love. 

Aar. To achieve her ! — How ? 

Dem. Why mak'st thou it so strange ? 

She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd ; 
She is a woman, therefore may be won ;- 
She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd. 
What, man ! more water glideth by tlie mill 
Than wots the miller of; and easy 'tis 
Of a cut loaf to steal a shive,^ we know : 
Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother, 
Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. 

Aar. Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. [Aside. 

Dem. Then, why should he despair, that knows to 
court it 
With words, fair looks, and liberality ? 
What ! hast thou not full often struck a doe. 
And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? 

Aar. Why then, it seems, some certain snatch or so 
Would serve 3"our turns. 

Chi. Ay, so the turn were serv'd. 

Dem. Aaron, thou hast hit it. 

Aar. Would you had hit it too : 

Then should not we be tir'd with this ado. 
Why, hark ye, hark ye, — and are you such fools. 
To square for this? Would it offend you, then. 
That both should speed ?* 

Chi. Faith, not me. 

Dem. Nor me, so I were one. 

Aar. For shame ! be friends, and join for that you jar. 
'Tis policy and stratagem must do 
That you aficct ; and so must you resolve, 
That what you cannot as you would achieve, 
You must, perforce, accomplish as you may. 
Take this of me: Lucreee was not more chaste 
Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. 
A speedier course than lingering languishment 
Must we pursue, and I have found the path. 
My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand : 
There will the lovely Roman ladies troop : 
The forest walks are wide and spacious. 
And many unfrequented plots there are. 
Fitted by kind for rape and villainy. 
Single you thither, then, this dainty doe. 
And strike her home by force, if not by words : 
This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. 



Come, come ; our empress, with her sacred wit, 
To villainy and vengeance consecrate. 
Will we acquaint with all that we intend ; 
And she shall file our engines witli advice, 
That will not sutler you to square yourselves, 
But to your wi.shcs' height advance you both. 
Tlie emperor's court is like the house of fame, 
The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and^ ears : 
The woods are ruthle.«s, dreadlcss,' deaf, and dull ; 
There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take your turns : 
There serve your lust, shadow'd from heaven's eye, 
And revel in Lavinia's treasury. 

Chi. Thy eovmsel. lad, smells of no cowardice. 

Dem. Sit fas aid uefas. till I find the stream 
To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits. 
Per Styga^ per manes vehor. [Exeunt. 

SCENE n. — A Forest near Rome. Horns, and cry 

of Hounds heard. 

Enter Titus Andronicus. with Hunter.';, fyc. Marcus, 

Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. 

Tit. The hunt is up. the morn is bright and gay,' 
The fields are fragrant, and the woods are wide.* 
Uncouple here, and let us make a bay, 
And wake tlie emperor and his loA'cly bride. 
And rouse the prince, and sing' a hunter's round,'" 
That all the court may echo with the sound." 
Sons, let it be your charge, and so will I,'" 
To attend the emperor's jier.son carefully: 
I have been troubled in jny sleep this night, 
But dawning day brouglit comfort and delight." 

[Horns wind :^* they sing " The hunt is up." 

Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Bassianus, Lavinia, 
Demetrius, Chiron, and Attendants. 

Tit. Many good morrows to your majesty : — 
Madam, to you as many and as good. — 
I promised your grace a hunter's peal. 

Sat. And you have rung it lustily, my lords. 
Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. 

Bas. Lavinia, how say you ? 

Lav. I say, no ; 

I have been broad" awake two hours and more. 

Sat. Come on, then : horse and chariots let us have, 
And to our sport. — Madam, now shall ye see 
Our Roman hunting. [To Tamora. 

3Iar. I have dogs, my lord, 

Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, 
And climb the highest promontory's top. 

Tit. And I have horse will follow where the game 
Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. 

Dem. Chiron, we hunt not. we, with horse nor hound ; 
But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HL— A desert Part of the Forest. 
Enter Aaron, with a hag of Gold. 
Aar. He, that had wit. would think that I had none, 
To bury so much gold under a tree, 
And never after to inherit it. 
Let him that thinks of me so abjectly. 
Know that this gold must coin a stratagem. 
Which, cunningly eifected, will beget 
A very excellent piece of villainy : 
And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest, 

[Hides the Gold. 
That have their alms out of the empress' chest. 
Enter Tamora. 
Tam. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad, 



^ Strut. In folio : set. 2 A similnr couplet is found in Henry VI., Tt. I., A. v., Sc. iii. ^ Slire. 
in quarto, 1611, and in folio. ' dreadful : in f. e. ' jrrey : in f. e. ^ green : in f. e. ' rins; : in f. e 
12 as it is o'lrs : in f. e. i^ new comfort hath inspired : in f. e. '* The rest of this stage direction is not in f. e. " Not in folio. 



* This line is not in the folio. ' of: 
'0 peal : in f. e. i' noise : in f. e. 



SCENE III. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



633 



When every thing cloth make a fileeful boast ? 

The birds chaunt melody on every bush : 

The snake lies coiled in the chccrlul sun; 

The green leaves quiver with tlic cooling wind, 

And make a checquerd shadow on the ground. 

Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, 

And, whilst the babbling echo moeks the hounds, 

Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns, 

As if a double hunt were heard at once, 

Let ns sit down, and mark their yelling noise: 

And — after conflict, such as was sup])os"d 

The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd. 

When with a happy storm they were surpris'd, 

And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave, — 

We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, 

Our pastimes done, po.-sess a golden slumber; 

While hounds, and horns, and sweet melodious birds. 

Be unto us, as is a nurse's song 

Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. 

Aar. Madam, though Venus govern your desires, 
Saturn is dominator over mine. 
What signifies my deadly-standing eye. 
My silence, and my cloudy melancholy ? 
My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls, 
Even as an adder, when she dotli unrol 
To do some fatal execution ? 
No, madam, these are no venereal signs : 
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand. 
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. 
Hark, Taiuora, the empress of my soul. 
Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee. 
This is the day of doom for Bassianus ; 
His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day: 
Thy sons make pillase of her chastity, 
And wash their liands in Bassianus' blood. 
Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee. 
And give the king this fatal-plotted scroll. — 
Now question me no more ; we are espied : 
Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, 
Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. 

Tarn. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life ! 

Aar. No more, great empress. Bassianus comes : 
Be cross with him : and I '11 go fetch thy sons 
To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. [Exit. 

Kilter Bassiani's and Lavima. 

Ba.'j. Whom have we here? Rome's royal empress. 
Unfurnish'd of her' well-beseeming troop? 
Or is it Dian, habited like her; 
Who hath abandoned her holy groves, 
To see the general hunting in this forest? 

Tarn. Saucy controller of my private steps ! 
Had I the power, that, some say. Dian had. 
Thy temples should be planted presently 
With horns, as was Acta^on's ; and the hounds 
Should dine^ upon thy new-transformed limbs, 
Unmannerly intruder as thou art ! 

Lav. Under your patience, gentle empress, 
'T is thought you have a goodly gift in horning; 
And to be doubted, that your Moor and you 
Are singled forth to try experiments. 
Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day ! 
'T is pity, they should take him for a sta'j. 

Bcs. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian 
Doth make your honour of his body's hue, 
Spotted, detested, and abominable. 
Why are you scquester'd from all your train, 
Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed, 
And wander'd hither to an obscure ]ilot, 
Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, 

• So the quarto, ICOO ; other old copies : our. ' drive : in f. e. ' 



If foul desire had not conducted you? 

Lav. And being intercepted in your sport, 
Great reason that my my noble lord be rated 
For sauciness ! — I pray you, let us hence. 
And let her 'joy her raven-coloured love : 
This valley fits tlic purpose passing well. 

IkL-i. The king, my brother, shall have note of this. 

Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long, 
Good kina ! to be so mightily abus'd. 

Tain. Why have I palience to endure all this? 
Enter Dkmetiuus and Chiron. 

Dein. How, now, dear sovereign, and our gracious 
mother ! 
Why doth your highness look so pale and wan ? 

Tarn. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? 
These two have "tic'd me hither to this place, 
A barren detested vale, you see, it is : 
The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, 
O'ercome with moss, and baleful misletoe. 
Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds. 
Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven, 
And, when they show'd me tliis abhorred pit. 
They told me, here, at dead time of the night. 
A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes. 
Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,^ 
Would make such fearful and confused cries. 
As any mortal barely liearing it, 
Should straight fall mad. or else die suddenly. 
No sooner had they told this hellish tale. 
But straight they told me, they would bind me here 
Unto the body of a dismal yew, 
And leave me to this miserable death : 
And then they call'd me, foul adulteress, 
Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms 
That ever ear did hear to such effect ; 
And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, 
This vengeance on me had they executed. 
Revenge it, as you love your mother's life. 
Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. 

Vem. This is a witness that I am thy son. 

[Stab.s Bassianus. 

Chi. And this for me, struck home to show my 
strength. [Stabbing him likewise. 

Lav. Ay, come, Semiramis ! — nay, barbarous Ta- 
mora ; 
For no name fits thy nature but thy own. 

Tarn. Give me thy poniard : you shall know, my boys. 
Your mother's hand shall right your motlier's wrong. 

Dem. Stay, madam; here is more belongs to her: 
First, thrash the corn, then after burn the straw. 
This minion stood upon her chastity, 
Upon her nuptial vow. her loyalty. 
And with that painted shape she braves your might: 
And shall she carry this unto her grave? 

Chi. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. 
Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, 
And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. 

Tarn. But when ye have the honey ye desire, 
Let not tliis wasp outlive us both to sling. 

Chi. I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure. — 
Come, mistress, now perforce, we will enjoy 
That nice preserved honesty of yours. 

Lav. O Tamora ! thou bear'st a woman's face, — 

Tarn. I will not hear her speak : away with her! 

Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. 

Dem. Listen, fair madam : let it be your glory 
To see her tears : but be your heart to them, 
As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. 

Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam ? 

Hedge-ho^s ; also, evil spirits. 



GU 



TITUS ANDEONICUS. 



ACT n. 



! do not learn her wrath ; she taught it thee. 

The milk, thou suck'dst from her, did turn to marble; 

Even at her teat thou hadst thy tyranny. 

Yet every mother breeds not sons alike : 

Do thou entreat her show a woman pity. [To Chiron. 

Chi. What ! wouldst thou have me prove myself 
a bastard ? 

Lav. 'T is true : the raven doth not hatch a lark : 
Yet have I heard, O, could I find it now ! 
The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure 
To have liis princely claws^ par'd all away. 
Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, 
The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: 
! be to me, though thy hard heart say no, 
Nothing so kind, but something pitiful. 

Tarn. T know not what it means. Away with her ! 

Lav. ! let me teach thee: for my father's sake, 
That gave thee life, when well he might have slain thee, 
Be not obdurate. Open thy deaf ears. 

Tatn. Hadst thou in person ne'er oflcnded mc, 
Even for his sake am I pitiless. — 
Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, 
To save your brother from the sacrifice ; 
But fierce Andronicus would not relent. 
Therefore, away, and use her as you will: 
The worse to her, the better lov'd of me. 

Lav. Tamora ! be eall'd a gentle queen. [Kneeling.' 
And with thine own hands kill me in this place; 
For 't is not life that I have begg'd so long: 
Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. [go. 

Tarn. What bcgg'st thou then ? fond' woman, let me 

Lav. 'T is present death I beg ; and one thing more, 
That womanhood denies my tongue to tell. 
! keep me from their worse than killing lust, 
And tumble me into some loathsome pit. 
Where never man's eye may behold my body : 
Do this, and be a charitable murderer. 

Tarn. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee : 
No : let them satisfy their lust on thee. 

Dent. Away ! for thou hast stay'd us here too long. 

Lav. No grace ? no womanhood ? Ah, beastly crea- 
ture, [Rising.* 
The blot and enemy to our general name ! 
Confusion fall — 

Chi. Nay, then, I '11 stop your mouth. — Bring thou 

her husband : [Dragging off Lavinia. 

This is the hole where Aaron bid u.s"liide him. [Exeunt. 

Tarn. Farewell, my sons : see, that you make her 
sure. 
Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, 
Till all the Andronici be made awav. 
Now will I hence to see my lovely Moor, 
And let my spleenful sons this trull deflour. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. 
Enter Aaron, with Quintus and Martius. 

Aar. Come on, my lords, the better foot before : 
Straight will I bring you to the lonesome pit, 
Where I cspy'd the panther fast asleep. 

Quia. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. 

Mart. And mine, I promise you : wer 't not for shame, 
Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. 

[Martius falls into the Pit. 

Qttin. What ! art thou fallen ? What subtle hole is this, 
Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briars, 
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood. 
As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowers ? 
A very fatal place it seems to me. — 
Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall ? 



Blart. [ Under the stage.^] 0, brother ! with the dis- 
mall'st object hurt. 
That ever eye with sight made heart lament. 

Aar. [Aside.] Now will I fetch the king to find 
them here; 
That he thereby may give a likely guess, 
How these were they that made away his brother. 

[Exit Aaron. 

Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out 
From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole ? 

Quin. I am surprised with an uncouth fear; 
A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints : 
My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. 

Mart. To prove thou hast a true-divining heart, 
Aaron and thou look dow-n into this den, 
And see a fearful sight of blood and death. 

Quin. Aaron is gone ; and my compassionate heart 
Will not permit mine eyes once to behold 
The thing whereat it trembles by surmise. 
! tell me how' it is ; for ne'er till now 
Was I a child, to fear I know not what. 

Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here, 
All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb, 
In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. 

Quin. If it be dark, how dost thou know 't is he? 

Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear 
A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, 
Which, like a taper in some monument. 
Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks. 
And shows the ragged entrails of the pit : 
So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus, 
When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood. 

brother ! help me wdth thy fainting hand, — 
If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath, — 
Out of this fell devouring receptacle. 

As hatefulvas Cocytus' misty mouth. 

Quin. R-each me thy hand that I may help thee out ; 
Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, 

1 may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb 
Of this deep pit, poor Bassianu.s' grave. 

I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. 

Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. 

Quin. Thy hand once more : I will not loose again, 
Till thou art here aloft, or I below. — 
Thou canst not come to me : I come to thee. [Falls in. 
Enter Saturninus and Aaron. 

Sat. Along with me : — I '11 see what hole is here, 
And what he is that now is leap'd into it. 
Say, wiio art thou, that lately did descend 
Into this gaping hollow of the earth ? 

Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus, 
Brought hither in a most unlucky hour. 
To find thy brother Bassianus dead. 

Sat. My brother dead ! I know, thou dost but jest : 
He and his lady both are at the lodge, 
Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; 
'T is not an hour since I left him there. 

Mart. We know not where you left him all alive. 
But, out alas ! here have we found him dead. 
Eiiter Tmsiora, with Attendants; Titus Andronicus, 
and Lucius. 

Tarn. Where is my lord, the king ? 

Sat. Here, Tamora ; though griev'd with killing grief. 

Tarn. Where is thy brother Bassianus? 

Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound : 
Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. 

Ta7n. Then, all too late I bring this fatal writ. 

[Giving a Letter. 
The complot of this timeless tragedy ; 



^ paws : in f. e. ' Not in f. e. s Foolish. * » Not in f. e. « who : in quarto, 1600. 



SCENE I. 



TITUS ANDHONICUS. 



635 



And wonder greatlj'. that man's face can fold 
In pleasing smiles sucli murderous tyranny. 

Sat. [Reads.] " An if we miss to meet him hand- 
somely, — 
Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 't is, we mean, — 
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him. 
Thou know'st our meaning : look for thy reward 
Among the nettles at the elder-tree, 
Which overshades the mouth of that same pit, 
Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. 
Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends." 
0. Tamora ! was ever heard the like ? 
This is the pit, and this the elder-tree. 
Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out, 
That should have murder'd Bassianus here. 

Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. 

[Shoiving it. 

Sat. Two of thy whelps, [To Titus] fell curs of 
bloody kind, 
Have here bereft my brother of his life. — 
Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison : 
There let them bide, until we have devis'd 
Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. 

Tam. What ! are they in this pit? wondrous thing ! 
How easily murder is discovered. 

Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee 
I beg this boon with tears not lightly shed ; 
That this fell fault of my accursed sons, 
Accursed, if the faulr. be prov'd in them, — 

Sat. If it be prov'd ! you see, it is apparent. — 
Who found this letter ? Tamora, was it you ? 

Tam. Andronicus himself did take it up. 

Tit. I did, my lord : yet let me be their bail; 
For by my father's reverend tomb I vow. 
They shall be ready at your highness' will 
To anwcr this suspicion with their lives. 

Sat. Thou shalt not bail them : see, thou follow me. 
Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers : 
Let them not speak a word, their guilt is plain : 
For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, 
That end upon them should be executed. 

Tam. Andronicus. I will entreat the king: 
Fear not thy sons, they shall do well enough. 



Tit. Come, Lucius, come 
them. 



stay not to talk with 
[Exeunt severally. 



SCENE v.— The Same. 

Enter Demetrius and Chiron, u'ith Lavinia, ravished; 

her Hands cut off., and her Tongu£ cut out. 

Dent. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, 

Who 't was cut out thy tongue, and ravish'd thee. 

Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so: 
And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe. 
Dem. See how with sisns and tokens she can scrowl.' 



Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. 

Dcm. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; 
And so let 's leave her to her silent walks. 

Chi. An 't were my case. I should go hang myself. 

Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. 
[Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron. 
Wind Horns. Enter Marcus, //-om hunting. 

Mar. Who 's this. — my niece, that flies away so fast? 
Cousin, a word ; where is your husband ? — 
If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake me ! 
If I do wake, some planet strike me down, 
That I may slumber in eternal sleep ! — 
Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands 
Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare 
Of her two branches ; those sweet ornaments, 
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in, 
And might not gain so great a happiness, 
As have thy love ? Why dost not speak to me ? — 
Alas ! a crimson river of warm blood, 
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind. 
Doth rise and fall between thy roseate lips. 
Coming and going with thy honey breath. 
But, sure, some Tereus hath defloured thee, 
And, lest thou shouldst detect him,' cut thy tongue. 
Ah ! now thou turn'st away thy face for shame ; 
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, — 
As from a conduit with three' issuing spouts, — 
Yet do thy cheeks look red, as Titan's face 
Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud. 
Shall I speak for thee ? shall I say, 't is so ? 
! that I knew thy heart : and knew the beast, 
That I might rail at him to ease my mind. 
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd. 
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. 
Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, 
And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind ; 
But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee : 
A craftier Tereus, cousin,* hast thou met, 
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off. 
That could have better sew'd than Philomel. 
O ! had the monster seen those lily hands 
Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute, 
And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, 
He would not then have touch'd them for his life ; 
Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony. 
Which that sweet tongue hath made in minstrelsy,* 
He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep. 
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. 
Come; let us go, and make thy father blind; 
For such a sight will blind a father's eye. 
One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads ; 
What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? 
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee : 
O, could our mourning ease thy misery ! [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— Rome. A Street. 
Enter Senators^ Tribinics, and Officers of Justice^ with 
Martus and Quintus, hound, jms.sing onto the Place 
of Execution ; Titus going before, pleading. 
Tit. Hear me, grave fathers ! noble tribunes, stay! 
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent 
In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept; 



For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed ; 
For all the frosty ni-jhts that I have watch'd ; 
And for these bitter tears, which now you see 
Filling the aged wrinkles in my checks; 
Be pitiful to my condemned sons. 
Whose souls arc not corrupted as 't is thought. 
For two and twenty sons I never wept, 
Because they died in honour's lofty bed : 



'scowl: in folio. ' thpin : in old copies. Rowe made the chanjje. 'their: in old copies; Ilanmer's correction. * Xot in folio; 
which adds "■svitlml" to the end of the line. ' These two words are not in f. e. 



636 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



ACT ni. 



For these, these, tribunes, in the dus^t I write 

[Throiving himself on the ground. 
My heart's deep anguish in my soul's sad tears. 
Let my tears standi the earth's dry appetite ; 
My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. 
[Exeunt Senators. Tribunes, Sfc, ivith the Prisoners. 

earth ! I will befriend thee with more rain, 
That shall distil from these two aneient urns'. 
Than youthful April shall with all his showers: 
In summer's drought I '11 drop upon thee still ; 
In winter with warm tears I '11 melt the snow. 
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, 

So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. 

Enter Lucius, vith his Sword drawn. 
O, reverend tribunes ! gentle, aged men ! 
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death ; 
And let me say, that never wept before, 
My tears are now prevailing orators. 

Luc. 0, noble father ! you lament in vain : 
The tribunes hear you not, no man is by. 
And you recount your sorrows to a stone. 

Tit. Ah, Lucius ! for thy brothers let me plead. — 
Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you. 

Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. 

Tit. Why, 't is no matter, man : if they did hear, 
They would not mark me ; or if they did mark, 
They would not pity me, yet plead I must, 
And bootless unto them.' 
Therefore, I tell my sorrows to the stones ; 
Who, though they cannot answer my distress, 
Yet in .<some sort they are better than the tribunes. 
For that they will not intercept my tale. [Rising. 

When I do weep, they humbly at my feet 
Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me; 
And were they but attired in grave weeds, 
Rome covild afford no tribune like to these. 
A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones ; 
A stone is silent, and offendeth not, 
And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. 
But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? 

Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death ; 
For wliich attempt the judges have pronounc'd 
My everlasting doom of banishment. 

Tit. hapjiy man ! they have befriended thee. 
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive, 
That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? 
Tigers mu.^t prey; and Rome affords no prey, 
But me and mine : how happy art thou, then, 
From these devourers to be banished ? 
But who comes with our brother Marcus here ? 
Enter Marcus and L.winia. 

Mar. Titus, prepare thy aged^ eyes to weep; 
Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break : 

1 bring consuming sorrow to thine age. 

Tit. Will it consume me ? let me see it, then. 

Mar. This was thy daughter. 

Tit. Why. Marcus, so she is. 

Lite. Ah me ! this object kills me. 

Tit. Faint-hearted boy. arise, and look upon her. — 
Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand 
Hath made thee handless in thy fathers sight? 
What fool hath added water to the sea, 
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? 
My grief was at the height before thou cam'st. 
And now. like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds. — 
Give me a sword, I '11 chop off my hands too, 
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain, 

I ruins : in old copies. Hanmer made the change. 



And they have nurs'd this woe in feeding life; 
In bootless prayer have they been held up, 
And they liave serv'd me to effectless use : 
Now, all the service I require of them 
Is, that the one will help to cut the other. — 
'T is well. Lavinia, that thou hast no hands. 
For hands to do Rome service are but vain. 

Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who haih martyr'd thee? 

Mar. ! that delightful engine of her thoughts,* 
That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence, 
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, 
Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung 
Rich varied notes, enchanting old and young. 

Luc. O ! say thou for her, who hath done this deed? 

Mar. O ! thus I found her straying in the park, 
Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer. 
That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound.'' 

Tit. It was my deer ; and he that wounded her 
Hath hurt me more, than had he kilfd me dead : 
For now I stand as one upon a rock, 
Environ'd with a wilderness of sea ; 
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, 
Expecting ever when some envious surge 
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. 
This way to death my wretched sons are gone, 
Here stands my other son, a banishd man. 
And here my brother, weeping at my woes: 
But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn, 
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. — 
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, 
It would have madded me: what shall I do 
Now I behold thy living body so? 
Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears, 
Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee: 
Thy husband he is dead ; and for his death. 
Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. 
Look, Marcus : ah ! son Lucius, look on her : 
When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears 
Stood on her checks, as doth the honey dew 
Upon a gather'd lily almost witherd. 

Mar. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her 
husband ; 
Perchance, because she knows them innocent. 

Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joj'ful, 
Because the law hath ta'cn revenge on them. — 
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ; 
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. — 
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips, 
Or make some sign how I may do thee ease. 
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius. 
And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, 
Looking all downwards, to behold our checks 
How they are stain'd, as' meadows yet not dry. 
With miry slime left on them by a flood ? 
And in the fountain shall we gaze so long. 
Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, 
And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears ? 
Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine ? 
Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows 
Pass the remainder of our hateful days ? 
What shall avc do ? let us, that have our tongues, 
Plot some device of farther misery. 
To make us wonderd at in time to come. 

Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears ; for at your grief, 
See, how my wretched sister fobs and weeps. 

Mar. Patience, dear niece. — Good Titus, dry thino 
eyes. 



^ noble : in quarto. IGll, and folio. * This phrase is also found 



s So the qnarto. 1600; the folio : 
Oh I if they did hear, 
Thev would nut pity me. 

in Venus and Adonis. * like : in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



TITUS ANDEONICUS. 



63T 



Tit. Ah. Marcus, Marcus ! brother, well I wot, 
Tliy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, 
For thou, poor man, has-t drown"d it with thine own. 

Luc. Ah, my Lavinia ! I will wipe thy cheeks. 

Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark ! I understand her signs. 
Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say 
Tliat to her brother wliich I said to thee : 
His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, 
Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. 
! what a sympathy of woe is this ; 
As far from help as limbo is from bliss. 
Enter Aaron. 

Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor 
Sends thee this word, — that, if thou love thy sons. 
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, 
Or any one of you, chop off your hand, 
And send it to the king : ho for the same, 
Will send thee hither both thy sons alive, 
And that shall be the ransom for their fault. 

Tit. 0, gracious emperor ! 0, gentle Aaron ! 
Did ever raven sing so like a lark 
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? 
With all my heart, I '11 send my hand to him. 
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it otT? 

Luc. Stay, father ! for that noble hand of thine, 
Tliat hath thrown down so many enemies, 
Sliall not be sent : my hand will serve the turn. 
My youth can better spare my blood than you. 
And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. 

Mar. Which of your liands hath not defended Rome, 
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, 
Writing destruction on the enemy's castle ?* 
! none of both but are of high desert. 
My hand hath been but idle : let it serve 
To ransom my two nephews from their death, 
Tlien, have I kept it to a worthy end. 

Aar. Nay, come agree, whose hand shall go along. 
For fear tliey die before their pardon come. 

Mar. My hand shall go. 

Luc. By heaven, it shall not go. 

Tit. Sirs, strive no more : such witlier'd herbs as these 
Are meet for plucking up. and therefore mine. 

Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son. 
Let me redeem my brotliers both from death. 

3Iar. And. for our father's sake, and mother's care, 
Now let me show a brother's love to tliee. 

Tit. Aaree between you ; I will spare my hand. 

Luc. Then I '11 go fetch an axe. 

Mar. But I will use it. [Exeinit Lucius and Marcus. 

Tit. Come hither, Aaron ; I '11 deceive them both : 
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. 

Aar. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest. [Aside. 
And never, whilst I live, deceive men so : — 
Bat I'll deceive you in another sort, 
And that you '11 say. ere half an hour pa.'js. • 

[He cut.s 0^ Titus's Hand with his Su'ord. 
Re-enter Lucius irit/i an Axe.^ and Marcus. 

Tit. Now. stay your strife : what shall be, is de- 
spatch'd. — 
Good Aaron, give liis majesty my hand : 
Tell him, it was a hand tliat warded him 
From thousand dangers. Bid him bury it: 
More hath it merited ; that let it have. 
As for my sons, say. I account of them 
As jewels ]iurehas'd at an easy price ; 
And yet dear too. because I bouulit mine own. 

Aar. I go. Andronicus ; and lor thy hand. 
Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. — 
[Asidc\ Their heads, I mean. — 0, how this villainy 

1 Fr casquetfl, a clo.se helmet. ' the words, •'with an Axe,'^ are 



Doth fat me with the very thought of it ! 

Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, 

Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [Exit. 

Tit. ! here I lift this one hand up to heaven. 
And bow tiiis feeble ruin to the earth : 
If any power pities wretched tears. 
To that I call. — What ! wilt thou kneel with me? 

[To Lavixia. 
Do then, dear heart : for heaven shall hear our prayers. 
Or with our sighs we '11 breathe the welkin dim. 
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds 
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. 

3Iar. ! brother, speak with possibilities, 
And do not break into these deep extremes. 

Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom ? 
Then, be my passions bottomless with them. 

3Iar. But yet let reason govern thy lament. 

Tit. If there were reason for these miseries, 
Tlien into limits could I bind my woes. 
When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow ? 
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, 
Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoln face? 
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ? 
I am the sea ; hark, how her sighs do blow ! 
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth : 
Then, must my sea be moved with her sighs ; 
Then, must my earth with her continual tears 
Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd. 
For why ? my bowels cannot hide her woes. 
But like a drunkard must I vomit them. 
Then, give me leave, for losers will have leave 
To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. 

Enter a Mes.sens;er, u-ith Two Heads and a Hand. 

3Iess. Worthy Andronicus. ill art thou repaid 
For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. 
Here are the heads of thy two noble sons ; 
And here 's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back : 
Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution inock'd, 
That woe is me to think upon thy woes, 
More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit. 

Mar. Now, let hot iEtna cool in Sicily, 
And be my heart an ever-burning hell ! 
These miseries are more than may be borne. 
To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, 
But sorrow flouted at is double death. 

Luc. All, that this sight should make so deep a wound, 
And yet detested life not shrink thereat ! 
That ever death should let life bear his name. 
Where life hath no more interest but to breathe ! 

[Lavinia ki.s.'tes him. 

3Iar. Alas, poor heart ! tiiat kiss is comfortless, 
As frozen water to a starved snake. 

Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end ? 

Mar. Now, fiirewcll, flattery : die, Andronicus. 
Thou dost not slumber : see, thy two sons' heads ; 
Thy warlike hand ; thy mangled daughter here; 
Thy other bani.sh'd son, with this dear .«ight 
Struck pale and bloodless: and thy brother, I, 
Even like a stony image, cold and numb. 
Ah ! now no more will I control my griefs : 
Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand 
Gnawing with tliy teeth ; and be this dismal sight 
The closing up of our mo.st wretched eyes ! 
Now is a time to storm ; why art thou still ? 

Tit. Ha. ha, ha ! 

Mar. Why dost thou laugh ? it fits not with this hour. 

Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed : 
Besides, tliis sorrow is an enemy, 
i And would usurp upon my watery eyes, 

not in f. e. 



638 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



ACT III. 



And make them blind with tributary tears ; 

Then, which way shall I find revenge's cave? 

For tlicse two heads do seem to speak to me, 

And threat me, I shall never come to bliss, 

Till all these mischiefs be return'd again. 

Even in their throats that have committed them. 

Come, let me see what task I have to do. — 

You heavy people, circle me about, 

That [ may turn me to each one of you, 

And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. — 

The vow is made. — Come, brother, take one head ; 

And in this hand the other will I bear : 

Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things' ; 

Rear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. 

As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight: 

Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay. 

Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there ; 

And, if you love me, as I think 't is true," 

Let 's kiss and part, for we have much to do. 

[Exeunt Titus. Marcus, and Lavinia. 
Luc. Farewell, Andronicus. my noble father ; 
The woeful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome. 
Farewell, proud Rome : till Lucius come again. 
He leaves^ his pledges dearer than his life. 
Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister; 
0, would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been ! 
But now nor Lucius, nor Lavinia lives, 
But in oblivion, and hateful griefs. 
If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs. 
And make proud Saturnine, and his empress, 
Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. 
Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, 
To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit. 

SCENE H.* — A Room in Titus's House. A Banquet 

set out. 
Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young Lucius, a 

Boy. 

Tit. So, so, now sit : and look, you cat no more 
Than will preserve just so much strength in us 
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. 
Marcus, unknit that sorrow- wreathen knot : 
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, 
And cannot passionate our tenfold grief 
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine 
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast ; 
And' when my heart, all mad with misery, 
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, 
Then, thus I thump it down. — 
Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs, 

[lb Lavinia. 
When thy poor heart beats with outrageovis beating, 
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. 
Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans: 
Or get some little knife between thy teeth. 
And just against thy heart make thou a hole, 
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall, 
May run into that sink, and soaking in. 
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. 

Mar. Fie, brother, fie ! teach her not thus to lay 
Such violent hands upon her tender life. 

Tit. How now ! has sorrow made thee dote already ? 
Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. 



What violent hands can she lay on her life ? 

Ah ! wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands ? 

To bid yEneas tell the tale twice o'er. 

How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable? 

! handle not the theme, to talk of hands. 
Lest we remember still, that we have none. 
Fie, fie ! how franticly I square my talk ! 
As if we should forget we had no hands. 

If Marcus did not name the word of hands. — 
Come, let 's fall to ; and, gentle girl, eat this. — 
Here is no drink. Hark, Marcus, what she says ; 

1 can interpret all her martyr'd signs : 

She says, she drinks no other drink but tears, 

Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her cheeks. — 

Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought ; 

In thy dumb action will I be as perfect. 

As begging hermits in their holy prayers : ^ 

Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, 

Nor wink, nor nod. nor kneel, nor make a sign. 

But I of these will wrest an alphabet, 

And by still praclice learn to know thy meaninfj-. 

Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep 
laments : 
Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. 

3Iar. Alas ! the tender boy, in passion mov'd, 
Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. 

Tit. Peace, tender sapling ; thou art made of tears, 
And tears will quickly melt thy life away. — 

[Marcus strikes the Dish u'ith a Knife. 
What dost thou strike at. Marcus, with thy knife? 

Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord — a fly. 

Tit. Out on thee, murderer ! thou kill'st my heart : 
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny : 
A deed of death, done on the innocent, 
Becomes not Titus' brother. Get thee gone ; 
I see, thou art not for my company. 

Mar. Alas ! my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. 

Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother, 
How would he hang his slender gilded wings. 
And buz lamenting doings in the air? 
Poor harmless fly ! 

That with his pretty buzzing melody. 
Came here to make us merry ; and thou hast kill'd liim. 

Mar. Pardon me, sir : it was a black ill-favour'd fly. 
Like to the empress' Moor; therefore, I kill'd him. 

Tit. 0, 0, O ! 
Then pardon me for I'cprehending thee, 
For thou hast done a charitable deed. 
Give me thy knife, I will insult on him : 
Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor 
Come hither purposely to poison me. — 
There 's for thyself, and that 's for Tamora. Ah. sirrah I — 
Yet I think we arc not brought so low. 
But that between us we can kill a fly, 
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. 

Mar. Alas, poor man ! grief lins so wrought on him. 
He takes false shadows for true substances. 

Tit. Come, take away. — Lavinia, go with me : 
I '11 to thy closet; and go read with thee 
Sad stories chanced in the times of old. — 
Come, boy, and go with me : thy sight is young, 
And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. 

[Exeunt. 



1 arms : in quartos. A misprint, says Dyce, for aims. s I think you do 
* This scene is only in the folio. ' Who : in folio. Rowe's correction. 



in f. e. ' loves : in old copies. Howe made the change. 



SCENE I. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



039 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— The Same. Before Titus's House. 

Enter Titus and Marcus. Then enter young Lucius, 
Lavinia running after him. 

Boy. Help, grantlsire, help ! my aunt Lavinia 
Follows me every where, I know not why. — 
Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes. — 
Alos ! sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. 

Mar. Stand by me, Lucius : do not fear thine aunt. 

Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. 

Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did. 

Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by the.se signs ? 

Tit. Fear her not, Lucius : somewhat do'lh .'^he mean. 
See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee: 
Somewhither would she have thee go with her. 
Ah, boy ! Cornelia never with more care 
Head to her sons, than she hath read to thee, 
Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator. 
Canst thou not guess wlierefore she plies thee thus ? 

Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess, 
Unless some fit, or frenzy do po.'sess her ; 
For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, 
Extremity of griefs would make men mad ; 
And I have read that Hecuba of Troy 
It an mad through sorrow : that made me to fear j 
Although, my lord, I know, my noble aunt 
Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did, 
And would not, but in fury, fright my youth ; 
^V''hich made me down to throw my books, and fly, 
Causeless, perhaps. — But pardon me, sweet aunt; 
And. madam, if my vinelc Marcus go, 
I will most willingly attend your ladyship. 

Mar. Lucius, I will. 

[Lavinia turns over the books which Lucius had 
let fall. 

Tit. How now, Lavinia ! — Marcus, what means this ? 
Some book there is that she de.'^ires to see. — 
Which is it, girl, of these? — Open them, boy. — 
But thou art deeper read, and better skilled; 
Come, and take choice of all my library. 
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens 
Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. — 
What book?' 
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus ? 

Mar. I think, she means, that tliere was more than one 
Confederate in the fact. — Ay, more there was ; 
Or else to heaven she heaves them to revenge. 

Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so ? 

Boy. Grandsire, 't is Ovid's Metamorphosis : 
My mother gave 't me. 

Mar. For love of her that 's gone. 

Perhaps, she cuU'd it from among the rest. 

Tit. Soft ! see how busily she turns the leaves ! 
Help her : what would she find ? — Lavinia, shall I read? 
This is the tragic tale of Philomel, 
And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape ; 
And rape. I fear, was root of thine annoy. 

Mar. See, brother, sec ! note, how she quotes the 
leaves. 

Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl, 
Ravish'd and wroiig'd, as Philomela was. 
Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? — 
See, see ! — 

Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt. 
(0, had we never, never hunted there !) 

> Not in the quartos. ' Not in f. e. ' Companion. « Not in f. e. 



Pattern'd by that the poet here describes, 
By nature made for murders, and for rapes. 

Mar. ! why should nature build so foul a den, 
Unless the gods delight in tragedies? 

Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but 
friend,*, 
What Roman lord it was durst do the deed : 
Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, 
That left the camp to sin in Luerece' bed? 

Mar. Sit down, sweet niece : — brother, sit down by 
me. — 
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, 
Inspire me. that I may this treason find ! — 
My lord, look here; — look here, Lavinia: 
This sandy plot is plain ; guide, if thou canst, 
This after rne, where I have writ my name 

[He writes his I^ame with his Staff, and guides it 
with Feet and Mouth. 
Without the help of any hand at all. 
Curs'd be the heart, that forc'd us to this shift ! — 
Write thou, good niece ; and here display, at last. 
What God will have discovered for revenge. 
Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, 
That we may know the traitors, and the truth ! 

[She takes the Staff in her mouth, and guides it 
leith her .stuinps. and w)-itcs. 

Tit. O ! do you read, my lord, what she hath writ? 
Stuprum — Chiron — Demetrius. 

Mar. What, what ! — the lustful sons of Tamora 
Performers of this heinous, bloody deed ? 

Tit. Magni dominator poli, 
Tarn lentils audis scelera ? tarn lentus vides ? 

Mar. O ! calm thee, gentle lord, although, I know, 
There is enough written upon tliis earth. 
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts. 
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. 
My lord, kneel down with me ; Lavinia, kneel. 
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hectors hope, 

[They kneel.' 
And swear with me, — as with the woful feere," 
And father, of that chaste dishonoured dame. 
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Luerece' rape, — 
That w^e will prosecute, by good advice, 
Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, 
And see their blood, or die with this reproach. 

[They rise.* 

Tit. 'T is sure enough, an you knew how to do it; 
But if you hurt these bear- whelps, then beware : 
The dam will wake, and if she wind you once, 
She's with the lion deeply still in league, 
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back; 
And when he sleeps will she do what she list. 
You 're a young huntsman : Marcus, let it alone ; 
And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass. 
And with a gad of steel will write these words, 
And lay it by. The angry northern wind 
Will blow these sands, like Sybil's leaves, abroad, 
And Avhere's your lesson then? — Boy. what say you? 

Boy. I say, my lord, that if I were a man. 
Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe 
For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome. 

Mar. Ay, that 's my boy ! thy father hath full oft 
For his ungrateful country done the like. 

BoTj. And, uncle, so M^ill L an if I live. 

Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury; 



64:0 



TITUS ANDEONICUS. 



ACT IT. 



Lucius, I '11 fit thee : and withal, my boy 

Shall carry from me to the empress' sons 

Presents, that 1 intend to send them both. 

Come, come : thou 'It do thy message, wilt thou not ? 

Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire. 

Tit. No, boy, not so; I'll teach another course. 
Lavinia, come. — Marcus, look to iny house : 
Lucius and I '11 go brave it at the court : 
Ay, marry, Mill we, sir ; and we '11 be waited on. 

[Exeunt Titus, Lavinia, and Boy. 

Mar. heavens ! can you hear a good man groan, 
And not relent, or not compassion him ? 
Marcus, attend him in his ecstacy, 
That hath more sears of sorrow in his heart, 
Than foe-men's marks upon his battcr'd shield ; 
But yet so just, that he will not revenge. — 
Revenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus ! [Exit. 

SCENE IL— The Same. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Aaron. Demetrius, and Chiron, at one Door ; 

at another door, young Lucius, and an Attendant, 

with a Bundle of Weapon.';, and Ver.fcs zvrit upon them. 

Chi. Demetrius, here 's the son of Lucius ; 
He hath some message to deliver us. 

Aar. Ay. some mad message from his mad grand- 
father. 

Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, 
I greet your honours from Andronicus : — 
[yl.s?V/('.] And pray the Roman gods, confound you both. 

J)e7n. Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What 's the news ? 

Boy. [A.'^ide.] That you are both decipher'd, that's 
the news,* 
For villains mark'd with rape. [To them.] May it please 

you. 
My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me 
The goodliest weapons of his armoury. 
To gralify your honourable youth, 
The hope of Rome ; for so he bade me say. 
And so I do, and with his gifts present 
Your lordships, that whenever you have need, 
^ ou may be armed and appointed well. 
And so I leave you both, [A.side.] like bloody villains. 

[Exeunt Boy and Attendant. 

Dem. What's here? A scroll, and written round 
Let 's .*ee ; [about. 

Integer vitce, acelcrisque purus, 
Non egct 3Iauri jaculis, nee arcii. 

Chi. ! 'T is a verse in Horace. I know it well : 
I read it in the grammar long ago. 

Aar. Ay, just ! — a verse in Horace • — right, you 
have it. 
[A.side.] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass ! 
Here 's no sound jest ! the old man hath found their guilt, 
And sends them^ weapons wrapp'd about with lines, 
That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick; 
But were our witty empress well a-foot, 
She would applaud Andronicus' conceit: 
But let her rest in her unrest awhile. — 
[To them.] And now, young lords, was 't not a happy star 
Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so, 
Captives, to be advanced to this height ? 
It (lid me good, before the palace gate, 
To brave the tribune in his brother's liearing. 

Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lord 
Basely insinuate, and send us gifts. 

Aar. Hath he not reason, lord Demetrius ? 
Did you not use his daughter very friendly ? 

Dem. I would, we had a thousand Roman dames 



At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. 

Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love. 

Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen. 

Chi. And tliat would she for twenty thousand more. 

Dem. Come, let us go, and pray to all the gods 
For our beloved mother in her ])ains. 

Aar. Pray to the devils; the gods have given us 
over. [Trujnpets .sound. 

Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thus? 

Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son. 

Dem. Soft ! who comes here ? 
Enter a Nurse, hiding a Black-a-moor Child in her Arms. 

Nur. Good morrow, lords. O ! tell nie. did you see 
Aaron the Moor. 

Aar. Well, more, or less, or ne'er a whit at all, 
Here Aaron is ; and what with Aaron now ? 

Nur. 0, gentle Aaron, we are all undone ! ^ 
Now help, or woe betide thee evermore. 

Aar. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep. 
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms ? 

Nur. ! that which I would hide from heaven's eye, 
Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace. — 
She is deliver'd, lords ; she is deliver'd. 

Aar. To whom ? 

Nur. I mean she 's brought to bed. 

Aar. " Well, God 

Give her good rest ! What hath he sent her ? 

Nur. A devil. 

Aar. Why, then she 's the devil's dam : a joyful i.^sue. 

VYwr. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful i.«.sue. 
Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad [Showin"' H.^ 
Amongst the fairest burdens* of our clime. 
The empress .«ends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, 
And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. 

Aar. Zounds ! ye whore, is black so base a hue ? — 
Sweet blowsc. you are a beauteous blossom, sure. 

Dem. Villain, what hast thou done ? 

Aar. That which thou canst not undo. 

Chi. Thou hast undone our mother. 

Aar. Villain, I have done thy mother.* 

Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone. 
Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice ! 
Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend ! 

Chi. It .shall not live. 

Aar. It shall not die. 

Nur. Aaron, it must : the mother wills it so. 

Aar. What ! must it, nurse ? then let no man but I, 
Do execution on my flesh and blood. 

Dem. I '11 broach the tadpole on my rapier's point. 
Nurse, give it me : iny sword shall soon despatch it. 

Aar. Sooner this sword shall plow thy bowels up. 
[Takes the Child from the Nurse, and draws. 
Stay, murderous villains ! will you kill your brother? 
Now, by the burning tapers of the sky, 
That shone so brightly when this boy was got, 
He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point, 
That touches this my first-born son and heir. 
I tell you. younglings, not Enceladus. 
With all his threatening band of Tyjihon's brood, 
Nor sreat Alcides, nor the god of war. 
Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. 
What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys ! 
Ye white-lim'd* walls ! ye alehouse painted signs ! 
Coal-black is better than another hue. 
In that it scorns to bear another hue ; 
For all the water in the ocean 
Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, 
Although she lave them hourly in the flood. 



1 This line is not in the folio. - the : 
copies. Steevens made the change. 



in quarto, 1611, and folio. ^ Xot in f. e. ■• breeders : in f. e. 



Not in folio. ' limb'd : in old 



SCENE III. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



641 



Tell the empress from me, I am a man [To the Nurse} 
To keep mine own ; excuse it how she can. 

Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus? 
Aar. My mistress is my mistress ; this, myself j 
The vigour, and the picture of my youth: 
This, before all the world, do I prefer ; 
This, maugre all the world, will I keep safe, 
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. 
Dem. By this our mother is for ever shamed. 
Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. 
Nur. The emperor in his rage will doom her death. 
Chi. I blush to tliink upon this ignomy. 
Aar. Why, there 's the privilege your beauty bears. 
Fie ! treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing 
The close enacts and counsels of the heart : 
Here s a young lad fram'd of another leer-. 
Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father, 
As who should say, "Old lad, I am thine own." 
He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed 
Of that self-blood that first gave life to you ; 
And, from that womb, where you imprison'd were, 
He is enfranchised and come to light : 
Nay, he is your brother by the surer side, 
Although my seal be stamped in liis face. 

Nur. Aaron, what shall I say unto the empress ? 
Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done, 
And we will all subsc.ibe to thy advice : 
Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. 

Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all consult. 
My son and I will have the wind of you : 
Keep there ; now talk at pleasure of your safety. 

[They sit at a distance. 
Dem. How many women saw this child of his ? 
Aar. Why, .so, brave lords : when we all join in league, 
I am a lamb ; but if j'ou brave the Moor, 
The chafed boar, the mountain lioness. 
The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. — 
But say again, how many saw the child ? 

Nur. Cornelia the midwife, and myself : 
And no one else, but the deliver'd empress. 

Aar. The empress, the midwife, and yourself: 
Two may keep counsel, when the third's away. 
Go to the empress; tell her, this I said. — 

[Stabbing her : she screams. 
Weke, weke ! — so cries a pig. prepared to the spit. 
Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron ? Wherefore didst 
Aar. lord ! sir, 't is a deed of policy, [thou this? 
Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours, 
A long-tongu'd babbling gossip? no, lords, no. 
And now be it known to you my full intent. 
Not far hence Muli lives,' my countryman; 
His wife but yesternight was brought to bed. 
His child is like to her, fair as you are: 
Go pack"* with him, and give the mother gold. 
And toll them both the circumstance of all; 
And how by this their child shall be advancd 
And be received for the emperor's heir, 
And substituted in the place of mine. 
To calm this tempest whirling in the court, 
And let the emperor dandle him for his own. 
Hark ye. lords; ye see, I have given her physic. 

[Pointing to the Nurse. 
And you must needs bestow her funeral : 
The fields are near, and you arc gallant grooms. 
This done, see that you make no long delays,' 
But send the midwife pre.^^ently to me: 
The midwife, and the nurse, well made away, 
Then, let the ladies tattle what they may. 



Chi. Aaron, I see, thou 'wilt not trust the air 
With secrets. 

Dem. For this care of Tamora, 

Herself and hers are highly bound to thee. 

[Exeunt Dem. and Chi. bearing off the Nurse. 

Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies ; 
There to dispose this treasure in mine arms. 
And secretly to greet the empress' friends. — 
Come on, thou thick-lipp'd slave ; I '11 bear you hence. 
For it is you that puts us to our shifts : 
I '11 make you thrive on berries and on roots. 
And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, 
And cabin in a cave; and bring you up 
To be a warrior, and command a camp. 

[Exit with the child. 

SCENE HI.— The Same. A public Place. 
Enter Titus, hearing Arrows^ with Letters on the ends 
of them ; with him Marcus, young Lucius, and other 
Gentlemen^ with Boivs. 

Tit. Come, Marcus, come. — Kinsmen, this is the 
way. — 
Sir boy, now let me see your archery : 
Look ye draw home enough, and 't is there straight. 
Terras Astrcea reliquit : 

Be you remember'd, Marcus, she 's gone, she 's fled. 
Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall 
Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets ; 
Happily you may catch' her in the sea, 
Yet there 's as little justice as at land. — 
No ; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it ; 
'T is you must dig with mattock, and with spade. 
And pierce the inmost centre of the earth : 
Then, when you come to Pluto's region, 
I pray you. deliver him this petition ; 
Tell him, it is for justice, and for aid. 
And that it comes from old Andronicus, 
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. — 
Ah, Rome ! — Well, well ; I made thee miserable. 
What time I threw the people's sufirages 
On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. — 
Go, get you gone ; and pray be careful all, 
And leave you not a man of war unscarch'd : 
This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence, 
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. 

3Iar. 0, Publius ! is not this a heavy case, 
To see thy noble uncle thus distract ? 

Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns, 
By day and night t' attend him carefully; 
And feed his humour kindly as we may, 
Till time beget some careful remedy. 

Mar. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. 
Join with the Goths ; and with revengeful war 
Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, 
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. 

Tit. Publius, how now ! how now, my masters ! What! 
Have you met with her ? 

Pub. No, my good lord ; but Pluto sends you word, 
If you will have revenge from hell, you shall. 
Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd, 
He thinks with Jove in Heaven, or somewhere else, 
So that perforce you must needs stay a time. 

Tit. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays. 
I '11 dive into the burning lake below, 
And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. — 
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we ; 
No big-bon'd men, fram"d of the Cyclops' size, 
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back ; 



* Not in f. e. » Skin, or eompUxion. 
• find : in quartos, 1611, and folio. 



' Not far, one Muliteus lives : in f. e. * Contrive, agree. » take no longer days : in f. e. 

41 



642 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



ACT IV. 



Yet wTung with wrongs, more tlian our backs can bear : 
And. sith no justice is in earth nor hell, 
We will solicit heaven, and move the gods 
To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs. 
Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus. 

[He gives them the Arrows. 
Ad Jovc7n, that 's for you : — here, ad Apollmem : — 
Ad 3Iartemj that 's for myself : — 
Here, boy, to Pallas : — here, to Mercury : 
To Saturn, Gains, not to Saturnine ; ' 

You were as good to shoot against the wind. — 
To it, boy : Marcus, loose when I bid. 
Of my word, I have written to cflect : 
There "s not a god left unsolicited. 

3Iar. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court : 
We will afflict the emperor in his pride. 

Tit. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] 0, 'well saidi^ 
Lucius ! 
Good boy, in Virgo's lap : give it Pallas. 

Mar. My lord, I ain^'d a mile beyond the moon : 
Your letter i.s with Jupiter by this. 

Tit. Ha ! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done ? 
See, see ! thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. 

Mar. This was the sport, my lord : when Publius shot, 
The bull, being gall'd. gave Aries such a knock 
That down fell both the ram's horns in the court; 
And who should find them but the empress' villain. 
She laugh'd. and told the Moor, he should not choose 
But give them to his master for a present. 

Tit. Why, there it goes ; God give his^ lordship joy. 

Enter the Clown., with a Basket and Tivo Pigeons. 
News ! news from heaven ! Marcus, the post is come. 
Sirrah, what tidings ? have you any letters ? 
Shall I have justice ? what says Jupiter ? 

Clo. Ho! the gibbet-maker? he says, that he hath 
taken them down again, for the man must not be 
hanged till the next week. 

Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee ? 

Clo. Alas, sir! I know not Jupiter: I never drank 
wilh him in all my life. 

Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? 

Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir : nothing else. 

Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven ? 

Clo. From heaven? alas, sir! I never came there. 
God forbid, I should be so bold to press to heaven in 
my young days. Why, I am going wilh my pigeons 
to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl be- 
twixt my uncle and one of tlie emperial's men. 

Mar. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be, to serve for 
your oration ; and let him deliver the pigeons to the 
emperor from you. 

Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the 
emperor with a grace ? 

Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all 
my life. 

Tit. Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado, 
But give your pigeons to the emperor ; 
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. 
Hold, hold ; mean while, here 's money for thy charges. 
Give me pen and ink. — 
Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication? 

Clo. Ay, sir. 

Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And when 
you come to liim, at the first approach you must kneel ; 
then kiss his foot ; then deliver up your pigeons, and 
reward. I '11 be at hand, sir ; see 



Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration. 
For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant. — 
And when thou hast given it to the emperor, 
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. 

Clo. God be with you, sir: I will. 

Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go. — Publius, follow me. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. Before the Palace. 
J?nfer Saturninus, Tamora, Demetrius, Chiron, Lords 
and others : Saturninus with the arrows in his hand. 



that had been shot. 
Sat. 



Was ever 



then look for your 
you do it bravely. 

Clo. I warrant you, sir ; let me alone. 

Tit. SiiTah, hast thou a knife ? Come, let me see it 

1 Well done. 2 your : in quarto, 1611, and folio. 3 as do the mightful gods : in f. 



Why, lords, what wrongs are these ? 
seen 
An emperor of Rome thus overborne, 
Troubled, confronted thus : and, for the extent 
Of equal justice, us"d in such contempt ? " 
My lords, you know, the mightful gods no less,^ 
(However these disturbers of our peace 
Buz in the ])eople's ears) there noutiht hath pass'd. 
But even with law, against the wilful sons 
Of old Andronicus. And what an if 
His sorrows have so ovcrwhelm'd his wits, 
Shall we be thus afflicted in his freaks. 
His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness ? 
And now he writes to heaven for his redress : 
See, here 's to Jove, and this to Mercury ; 
This to Apollo ; this to the god of war ; 
Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome ! 
What 's this but libelling against the state, 
And blazoning our injustice every where ? 
A goodly humour, is it not. my lords ? 
As who would say, in Rome no justice were. 
But if I live, his feigned eestaeies 
Shall be no shelter to these outrages; 
But he and his shall know, that justice lives 
In Saturninus' health: whom, if she sleep, 
He '11 so awake, as she in fury shall 
Cut off the proud'st conspirator1hat]ives.[TH/cc.v/M"A-icn^'' 

Tarn. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, 
Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, 
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, 
Th' effects of sorrow for his valiant sons. 
Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his heart; 
And rather comfort his distressed plight. 
Than prosecute the meanest, or the best. 
For these contempts. [Aside.] Why. thusit shall become 
High-witted Tamora to gloze with all : 
But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick, 
The life-blood on 't. If Aaron now be wise. 
Then is all safe, the anchor 's in the port. — 

Enter Cloum. 
How now, good fellow ! wouklst thou speak with us? 

Clo. Yea, forsooth, an your mistresship be imperial. 

Tarn. Einjiress I am, but yonder sits the emperor. 

Clo. 'Tis he. — God, and Saint Stephen, 
Give you good even. 
I have brought you a letter, 
And a couple of pigeons, for want of better. 

Saturninus reads the Letter. 

Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him presently. 

Clo. How much money must I have ? 

Tarn. Come, sirrah ; you must be hang'd. 

Clo. Hang'd ! By 'r lady, then, friend, 
I have brought my neck to a fair end. [Exit, guarded. 

Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs ! 
Shall I endure this monstrous villainy ? 
I know from whence this same device proceeds. 
May this be borne ? — as if his traitorous sons 

* Not in f. e. 



SCENE I. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



643 



Tliat, died by law for murder of our brotlier, 
Have by my means been bulcher'd wrongfully. — 
Go, drag the villain hither by the hnir : 
Nor age, nor honour, .shall have privilege. — 
For this proud mock, I '11 bo thy slaughter-man ; 
Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great, 
In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. 

Ejiter ^Emilius. 
What news with thee, iEmilius ? 

jEmil. Arm, my lords ! Rome never had more cause. 
The Goths have gathered head, and with a power 
Of high-resolved men, bent to the spoil, 
They hither march amain, under conduct 
Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus ; 
Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do 
As much as ever Coriolanus did. 

Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths ? 
These tidings nip me ; and I hang the head 
As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms. 
Ay, now begin our sorrows to appronch. 
'T is he the common people love so much : 
Myself hath very often heard them say, 
When I have walked like a private man. 
That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully. 
And wish'd that Lucius were their emperor. 

Tarn. Why should you fear? is not our city strong ? 

Sat. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius, 
And will revolt from me to siiccour him. . 

Tarn. King, be thy thoughts imperious, like thy name. 
Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in 's flame ? 
The eagle suffers little birds to sing, 
And is not careful what they mean thereby; 



Knowing that with the shadow of his wing. 
He can at pleasure stint their melody: 
Even so may'st thou the giddy men of Rome. 
Then cheer thy spirit ; for know, thou emperor, 
I will enchant the old Andronicus, 
With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous, 
Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep; 
When as the one is wounded with the bait, 
The other rotted with delicious food. 

Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us. 

Tarn. If Tamora entreat him, then he will; 
For I can smooth, and fill his aged ear 
With golden promises, that were his heart 
Almo.st impregnable, his old ears deaf, 
Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. — 
Go thou before ; be our embassador : [3'o ^MiLius. 
Say that the emperor requests a parley 
Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting, 
Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. 

Sat. 7l<]niilius, do this message honourably: 
And if he stand on hostage for his safety, 
Bid him demand what pledge will please him best. 

Mmil. Your bidding shall I do effectually. 

[Exit /Emilius. 

Tnm. Now will I to that old Andronicus, 
And temper him with all the art I have, 
To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. 
And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again, 
And bury all thy fear in my devices. 

Sat. Then go successfully, and plead 'fore him. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— Plains near Rome. 

Enter Lucius, and an Army of Goths, with Drum and 

Colours. 
Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful friends, 
I have received letters from great Rome, 
Wliieh signify what hate they bear their emperor. 
And how desirous of our sight they are. 
Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness. 
Imperious, and impatient of your wrongs ; 
And, wherein Rome liath done you any scath, 
Let him make treble satisfaction. 

1 Goth. Braveslip, .sprung from the great Andronicu.s, 
Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort ; 
Whose iiigh exploits, and honourable deeds, 
Ingrateful R,ome requites ^yith foul contempt, 

Be bold in us : we '11 follow where thou lead'st, 
Like stinging bees in hottest summer's da}', 
Led by their ma.ster to the llower'd fields, 
And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora. 

Goths. And. as he sailh, so say we all with him. 

Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all. 
But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth ? 
Enter a Goth, leading Aaros, with his Child in his Arms. 

2 Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd. 
To gaze upon a ruinous monastery ; 

And as I earnestly did fix mine eye 

Upon the wasted building, suddenly 

I heard a child cry underneath a wall. 

I made unto the noise ; wlien soon I heard 

The crying babe controll'd with this discourse : — 

" Peace, tawny slave ; half me, and half thy dam ! 



Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art. 

Had nature lent tlice but thy mother's look. 

Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor : 

Rut where the bull and cow are both milk-white. 

They never do beget a coal-black calf. 

Peace, villain, peace !" — even thus he rates the babe,— 

'• For I imi.st bear thee to a trusty Goth ; 

Who, when he knows tliou art the empress' babe, 

Will hold thee dearly lor thy mother's sake." 

Willi this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him, 

Surpris'd liiin suddenly, and brought him hither, 

To use as you think needful of the man. 

Luc. worthy Goth ! this is the incarnate devil, 
That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand : 
This is the pearl that pleas'd your empress' eye, 
And here 's the base fruit of his burning lust. — 
Say, wall-ey'd slave, whitlier wouldst thou convey 
Tiiis growing image of thy fiend-like face ? 
Why dost not speak ? What ! deaf? no, not a word ? 
A halter, soldiers ! hang him on this tree, 
And by his side his fruit of bastardy. 

Aar. Toucii not the boy: he is of royal blood. 

Luc. Too like the sire for ever being good. — 
First, hang the child, that he may see it sprawl ; 
A sight to vex the father's soul withal. 

Get me a ladder.' [A Ladder brought. 

Aar. Lucius, save the child ; 
And bear it from me to the empress. 
If thou do this, I '11 show thee wond'rous things, 
That highly may advantage thee to hear : 
If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, 
I '11 speak no more ; but vengeance rot you all ! 



' In old copies this line is given to Aarom. Theobald made the change. 



GU 



TITUS ANDEONICUS. 



ACT V. 



Lt(c. Say on : and if it please me wliich thon spcak'st, 
Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd. 

Aar. An if it please thee? why. assure thee. Lucius. 

[Speaking on the Ladder.' 
'T will vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak : 
For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres, 
Acts of black night, abominable deeds, 
Complots of mischief, treason, villainies 
Ruthful to hear, dispitcously" perform"d : 
And this shall all be buried in my death, 
Unless thou swear to me, my child shall live. 

Luc. Tell on thy mind : I say, thy child .shall live. 

Aar. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin. 

Luc. Whom should I swear by ? thou believ'st no god : 
That granted, how canst thou believe an oath ? 

Aar. What if I do not, as, indeed, I do no not : 
Yet, for I know thou art religious. 
And hast a thing within thee, called conscience. 
With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies, 
Which I have seen thee careful to observe, 
Therefore I urge thy oath : — for that, I know, 
An idiot holds his bauble for a god. 
And keeps the oath which by that god he swears. 
To that I 'II urge him. — Therefore, thou shalt vow 
By that same god, what god soe'cr it be, 
That thou ador'st and hast in reverence. 
To save my boy, to nourish, and bring him up, 
Or else I will discover nought to thee. 

Luc. Even by my god I swear to thee, I will. 

Aar. First, know tliou, I begot him on the empress. 

Luc. O most insatiate, luxurious woman ' 

Aar. Tut ! Lucius, this was but a deed of charity, 
To that which thou shalt hear of me anon. 
'T was her two sons that nuirder'd Bassianus : 
They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravished her, 
Cut her hands off. and trimm"d her as thou saw'st. 

Luc. 0. detestable villain ! call'st thou that trimming? 

Aar. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd ; 
and "t was 
Trim sport for them that had the doing of it. 

Lttc. O, barbarous, beastly villains, like thyself! 

Aar. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them. 
That codding spirit had they from their mother, 
As sure a card as ever won tlie set : 
That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me, 
As true a dog as ever fought at head. 
Well, let my deeds be witness of my worlh. 
I train"d thy brethren to that guileful hole. 
Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay ; 
I wrote the letter that thy lather found'. 
And hid the gold, witiiin the letter mentioned. 
Confederate with the queen, and her two sons ; 
And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, 
Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it ? 
I play"d the cheater for thy father's hand, 
And. wlicn I had it. drew^ myself apart. 
And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter. 
I pry"d me through the crevice of a wall. 
When for his hand, he had his two sons' heads j 
Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily. 
That both mine eyes were rainy like to his : 
And when I told the empress of this sport, 
She swooned almost at my pleasing tale, 
And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses. 

Goth. What ! canst thou say all this, and never blush? 

Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. 

Luc. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds ? 

Aar. Ay. that I had not done a thousand more. 
Even now I curse the day, (and yet, I thinlc. 



Few come within the compass of my curse) 
Wherein I did not some notorious ill : 
As kill a man, or else devise his death ; 
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it ; 
Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself; 
Set ileadly enmity bet^^■een two friends ; 
Make poor mcn"s cattle ofttimes break their necks ; 
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, 
And bid the owners quench them with their tears. 
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves, 
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors, 
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot ; 
And on tlieir skins, as on the bark of trees. 
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters, 
•' Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead." 
Tut ! I have done a thousand dreadful things, 
As willingly as one would kill a Hy : ^ 

And nothing grieves me heartily indeed. 
But that I cannot do ten thousand more. 

Lvc. Bring down the devil, for he must not die 
So sweet a death as hanging, presently. 

Aar. If there be devils, would I were a devil. 
To live and burn in everlasting fire. 
So I might have your company in hell. 
But to torment you with my bitter tongue ! 

La(c. Sirs, slop his mouth, and let him speak no more. 
Enter a Goth. 

Goth. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome, 
Desires to be admitted to your presence. 

Luc. Let him come near. 

Enter ^milius. 
Welcome, ^milius ! what 's the news from Rome ? 

JEmil. Lord Lucius, and you princes of the Goths, 
The Roman emperor greets you all by me : 
And, for he understands you are in arms. 
He craves a parley at your father's house. 
Willing you to demand your hostages. 
And they shall be immediately deliver'd. 

1 Goth. What says our general ? 

Luc. iEmilius, let the emperor give his pledges 
Unto my fat her and my uncle Marcus, 
And we will come. — March ! away ! \Exc%mt. 

SCENE II.— Rome. Before Titus's House. 

Enter Tamora. Demetrius, and Chiron, disguised^ as 

Revenge, Rapine, and Murder. 

Tarn. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment, 
I will encounter with Andronicus, 
And say, I am Revenge, sent from below, 
To join with him, and right his heinous wrongs. — 
Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps, 
To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge : 
Tell hnn, Revenge is come to join with him. 
And work confusion on his enemies. [They knock. 

Titus opew."; his study door above. 

Tit. Who doth molest my contemplation? 
Is it your trick to make me ope the door, 
That so my sad decrees may fly away, 
And all my study be to no efFect ? 
You are deceiv'd ; for what I mean to do, 
See here, in bloody lines I have set down, 

[Showing a Paper.* 
And what is written shall be executed. 

Tarn, our Titus, I am come to talk with thee. 

Tit. No ; not a word. How can I grace my talk. 
Wanting a hand to give it action ? 
Thou hast the odds of me ; therefore no more. 



Tarn. If thou 
with me, 



didst know me, thou wouldst talk 



' Not in f. e. a yet piteously : in f. e. ' The rest of this stage direction is not in f. e. * * Not in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



TITUS ANDEONICUS. 



645 



Tit. I am not mad ; I know thee well enoufih : 
Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson 

lines ; 
Witness these trenches made by grief and care ; 
Witness the tiring day, and heavy night ; 
Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well 
For our proud empress, mighty Tamora. 
Is not thy coming for my other hand? 

Turn. Know, thou sad man, I am not Tamora : 
She is thy enemy, and I thy friend. 
I am Revenge ; sent from th' infernal kingdom, 
To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind, 
By work! ngwreakful vengeance on thy foes. 
Come down, and welcome me to this world's light j 
Confer with me of murder and of death. 
There 's not a hollow cave, or lurking-place, 
No vast obscurity, or misty vale, 
Where bloody murder, or detested rape, 
Can couch for fear, but I will find them out ; 
And in their ears tell them my dreadful name. 
Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake. 

Tit. Art thou Revenge ? and art thou sent to me, 
To be a torment to mine enemies ? 

I'am. I am : therefore come down, and welcome me. 

Tit. Do me some service, ere I come to thee. 
Lo ! by thy side where Rape, and Murder, stand ; 
Now, give some 'surance that thou art Revenge : 
Stab them, or tear them on tliy chariot wheels, 
And then I '11 corne, and be thy waggoner, 
And whirl along with thee about the globes. 
Provide two proper palfries. black as jet. 
To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away. 
And find out murderers' in their guilty caves : 
And when thy car is loaden with their heads, 
I will dismount, and by the waggon wheel 
Trot like a servile footman all day long, 
Even from Hyperion's rising in the east. 
Until his very downfall in the sea : 
And day by day I '11 do this heavy task. 
So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. 

Tarn. These are my ministers, and come with me. 

Tit. Are they thy ministers? what arc they call'd ? 

7am. Rapine, and Murder ; therefore called so, 
'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men. 

Tit. Good lord ! how like the empress' sons they are ; 
And you. the empress : but we worldly men 
Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. 

sweet Revenge ! now do I come to thee ; 
And, if one arm's embracement will content thee, 

1 will embrace thee in it by and by. [Exit Titus above. 

Turn. This closing with him fits his lunacy. 
Whate'er I forge, to feed his brain-sick fits, 
Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches, 
For now he firmly takes mo for Revenge ; 
And being credulous in this mad thought, 
I '11 make him send for Lucius, his son. 
And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, 
I '11 find some cunning practice out of hand, 
To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, 
Or, at the least, make them his enemies. 
See ! here he comes, and I must ply° my theme. 
Enter Titus, below. 

Tit. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee. 
Welcome, dread fury, to my woeful hou.sr. — 
Rapine, and Murder, you are welcome too — 
How like the empress and her sons you arc ! 
Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor : — 
Could not all hell afford you such a devil ? 
For, well I wot, the empress never wags. 



But in her company there is a Moor; 
And would you represent our queen aright. 
It were convenient you had such a devil. 
But welcome as you are. What shall we do? 

Tarn. What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus ? 

iJem. Show me a murderer. I '11 deal with him. 

Chi. Sliow me a villain that hath done a rape. 
And I am sent to be reveng'd on him. 

T<im. Sbow me a thousand that have done thee wrong, 
And I will be revenged on them all. 

Tit. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome, 
And when thou find'st a man that 's like thyself. 
Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer. — 
Go thou with him ; and when it is thy hap 
To find another that is like to thee, 
Good liapinc. stab him : he is a ravisher. — 
Go thou with tliem ; and in the emperor's court 
There is a queen, attended by a Moor : 
Well may'st thou know her by thine owti proportion, 
For up and down she doth resemble thee. 
I pray thee, do on them some violent death ; 
They have been violent to me and mine. 

Tam. Well hast thou lesson'd us : this shall we do. 
But would it please thee, good Andronicus, 
To send for Lucius, thy thrice valiant son. 
Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, 
And bid him come and banquet at thy house. 
When he is here, even at thy solemn feast, 
I will bring in the empress and her sons. 
The emperor himself, and all thy toes, 
And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, 
And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. 
What says Andronicus to this device? 

Tit. Marcus, my brother ! — 't is sad Titus calls. 
Enter Marcus. 
Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius ; 
Tliou shalt inquire him out among the Goths : 
Bid him repair to me, and bring with him 
Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths ; 
Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are. 
Tell him, the emperor, and the empress too. 
Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them. 
This do thou for my love, and so let him, 
As he regards his aged fathers life. 

Mar. This will I do, and soon return again. [Exit. 

Tam. Now will I hence about thy business, 
And take my ministers along with me. 

Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me. 
Or else I '11 call my brother back again. 
And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. 

Tam. [A.side to thctn.] What say you, boys? will 
you abide with him. 
Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor, 
How I have govern'd our determin'd jest? 
Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair, 
And tarry with him, till I turn again. 

Tit. [Aside.] I know them all. though they sup- 
pose me mad : 
And will o'er-reach them in their own devices, 
A pair of cur.sed hell-hounds, and their dam. 

Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure ; leave us here. 

7am. Farewell, Andronicus : Revenge now goes 
To lay a complot to betray thy foes. [Exit. 

Tit. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell. 

Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd? 

Tit. Tut ! I have work enough for you to do. — 
Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine ! 
Enter Publius, and others. 

Pub. What's your will? 



> murder : in old copies. Bteevens made the change. ' pl^y : in folio. 



64:6 



TITUS AXDKONICUS. 



ACT V. 



Tit. Know you these two ? 

Pub. The empress' sons 
I take them; Cliiron, and Demetrius. 

lit. Fie, Publius. fie ! thou art too much deceiv'd; 
The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name : 
And therefore bind them, gentle Publius j 
Caius, and Valentine, lay hands on them. 
Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour, 
And now I find it : therefore, bind them sure, 
And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry.' 

[Exit Titus. — Publius, ^x. seize Chiron, and 
Demetrius. 

Chi. Villains, forbear ! we are the empress' sons. 

Pub. And therefore do we what we are commanded. 

Caius. Stop close their mouths ; let them not speak 
a word. 
Is he sure bound? look, that you bind them fast. 

Re-enter Titus Andronicus, tcith Lavinia ; she 
bearing a Bason, and he a Knife. 

Tit. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound. — 
Sirs, stop their mouths ; let them not speak to me. 
But let them hear Miiat fearful words I utter. — 
O villains ! Chiron and Demetrius, 
Here stands the spring wliom you have stain'd with mud ; 
This goodly .summer with jour winter rrii.x'd. 
You kill'd her husband, and for that vile fault 
Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death, 
My hand cut off, and made a merry jest : 
Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear 
Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, 
Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd. 
What would you say, if I should let you speak ? 
Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. 
Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you. 
This one hand yet is left to cut your throats. 
Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps dotli hold 
The bason, that receives your guilty blood. 
You know, your mother means to feast with me, 
And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad. 
Hark, villains ! I will grind your bones to dust, 
And with your blood and it, I '11 make a paste; 
And of the paste a coffin= I will rear. 
And make two pasties of your shameful heads ; 
And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam. 
Like to the earth, swallow her own^ increase. 
This is the feast that I have bid her to, 
And this the banquet she shall surfeit on ; 
For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter, 
And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd. 
And now prepare your throats. — Lavinia come, 

[He cuts their Throats,'^ and she catches the Blood. 
Receive the blood : and when that they are dead. 
Let me go grind their bones to powder small, 
And with this hateful liquor temper it ; 
And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd. — 
Come, come, be every one officious 
To make this banquet ; which I wish may prove 
More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. 
So, now bring them in, for I will play the cook. 
And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes. 

[Exeunt, bearing the dead Bodies. 

SCENE III.— The Same. A Pavilion, with Tables, &c. 

Enter Lucius, Marcus, and Goths; with Aaron, 

Prisoner. 

Luc. Uncle Marcus, since 't is my father's mind, 
That I repair to Rome, I am content. 

1 Goth. Andours, with thine, befall what fortune win. 



Luc. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor, 
This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil. 
Let him receive no sustenance ; fetter him, 
Till he be brought unto the empress' face, 
For testimony of her foul proceedings. 
And see the ambush of our friends be strong : 
I fear the emperor means no good to us. 

Aar. Some devil whi.sper curses in mine ear, 
And prompt me, that my tongue may utter forth 
The venomous malice of my swelling heart ! 

Luc. Away, inhuman dog ! unhallow'd slave ! — 
Sirs, help our luicle to convey him in. — 

[Exeunt Goths with Aaron. Trumpets sound. 
The trumpets show the emperor is at hand. 

Enter Saturninus and Ta?iora, with Tribunes, 
Senators, and others. 

Sat. What ! hath the firmament more suns^han one ? 

Lvc. What boots it thee to call thyself a sun ? 

3Iar. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the parle • 
These quarrels must be quietly debated. 
The feast is ready, which tlie careful Titus 
Hath ordain'd to an honourable end, 
For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome : 
Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your places. 

Sat. Marcus, we will. 

[Hautboys sound. The Company sit doivn at table. 
Enter Titus, dressed like a Cook, Lavinia, veiled.^ 

young Lucius, and others. Titus places the dishes 

on the table. 

Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord ; welcome, dread 
queen : 
Welcome, ye warlike Goths ; and welcome, Lucius ; 
And welcome, all. Although the cheer be poor, 
'Twill fill your stomachs : please you eat of it. 

Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus ? 

Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well, 
To entertain your highness, and your empress. 

Tarn. We are beholding to you, good Andronicus. 

Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, you were. 
My lord the emperor, resoh'e me this : 
Was it well done of rash Virginius, 
To slay his daughter with his own right hand, 
Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and deflour'd ? 

Sat. It was, Andronicus. 

Tit. Your reason, mighty lord ! 

Sat. Because the girl should not survive her shame, 
And by her presence still renew his sorrows. 

Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual; 
A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant, 
For me. most wretched, to perform the like. — 
Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee ; 

[He kills Lavinia. 
And with thy shame thy father's sorrow flee. 

Sat. What hast thou done ? unnatural and unkind ! 

Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made me blind. 
I am as woful as Virginius was, 
And have a thousand times more cause than he 
To do this outrage : — and it is now done." 

Sat. What ! was she ravish'd? tell who did the deed. 

Tit. Will 't please you eat ? will 't please your high- 
ness feed ? 

Tarn. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus ? 

Tit. Not I ; 'twas Chiron, and Demetrius ; 
They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue. 
And they, 't was they, that did her all this WTong. 

Sat. Go, fetch them hither to us presently. 

Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in that pie; 
Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, 



' This line is not in the folio. 
• This line is not in the folio. 



' The crust of a pie, -was often called a coffin. » Not in folio. * The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 



SCENE ni. 



TITUS ANDKONICUS. 



6i7 



Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 

'Tis true, 'tis true ; witness my knife's sharp point. 

[Killi7ig Tamora. 

Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed. 

[Killing Titus. 

Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed? 
There 's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. 

[Killing Saturninus. A great Tumult. The People 
in confusion disperse. Marcus, Lucius, and their 
Partisans, ascend the Steps before Titus's House. 

Mar. You sad-fac'd men, people and sons of Rome, 
By uproar sever'd. like a flight of fowl 
Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, 
! let me teach you how to knit again 
This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf, 
These broken limbs again into one body.' 
Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself, 
And she, who mighty kingdoms court' sy to, 
Like a forlorn and desperate cast-away, 
Do shameful execution on herself. 
But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, 
Grave witnesses of true experience. 
Cannot induce you to attend my words, 
Speak, Rome's dear friend ; as erst our ancestor, 
When with his solemn tongue he did discourse, 
To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear, 
The story of that baleful burning night. 
When subtle Greeks surpri.s'd king Priam's Troy. 
Tell us, what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears, 
Or who hath brought the fatal engine in, 
That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound. 
My heart is not compact of flint, nor steel, 
Nor can I utter all our bitter grief; 
But floods of tears will drown my oratory. 
And break my very utterance, even i' the time 
When it should move you to attend me most, 
Lending your kind commiseration. 
Here is a captain, let him tell the tale; 
Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak. 

Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you. 
That cursed Chiron and Demetrius 
Were they that murdered our emperor's brother; 
And they it was that ravished our sister. 
For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded, 
Our father's tears despis'd, and basely cozen'd 
Of that true hand, that fought Rome's quarrel out, 
And sent her enemies unto the grave. 
Lastlj^, myself unkindly banished, 
The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, 
To beg relief among Rome's enemies ; 
Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears, 
And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend : 
And I am the- turn'd-forth, be it known to you, 
That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood ; 
And from her bosom took the enemy's point, 
Slieafliing the steel in my adventurous body. 
Alas ! you know, I am no vaimter, I ; 
My scars can witness, dumb although they are, 
That my report is just, and full of truth. 
But, soft ! methinks, I do digress too much. 
Citing my worthless praise. ! pardon me; 
For when no friends are by men praise themselves. 

3Iar. Now is my turn to speak. Behold this child ; 
Of this was Tamora delivered ; 
The issue of an irreligious Moor, 
Chief architect and plotter of these woes. 
The villain is alive in Titus' house, 
And, as he is, to witness this is true. 



Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge 

These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience, 

Or more than any living man could bear. 

Now you have heard the truth, what say you, R.omans ? 

Have we done aught amiss ? Show us wherein, 

And from the place where you behold us now, 

The poor remainder of Andronici 

Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down, 

And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains. 

And make a mutual closure of our house. 

Speak. Romans, speak! and, if you say, we shall, 

Lo ! hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. 

jEmil. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, 
And bring our emperor gently in thy hand, 
Lucius our emperor ; for, well I know. 
The common voice doth cry, it shall be so. 

Mar. Lucius, all hail ! Rome's royal emperor. — 
Lucius, ^c. descend. 
Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house, [To an Attendant. 
And hither hale that mi.sbelieving Moor, 
To be adjudg'd some direful lingering death, 
As punishment for his most wicked life. — 
Lucius, all hail ! Rome's gracious governor. 

Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans : may I govern so. 
To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe ! 
But, gentle people, give me aim awhile. 
For nature puts me to a heavy style, — 
Stand all aloof; — but, uncle, draw you near, 
To shed obsequious tears upon this bier. — 
! take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips, 

[A'isses Titus. 
These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face, 
The last true duties of thy noble son ! 

Mar. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss, 
Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips : 
! were the sum of these that I should pay 
Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them. 

Luc. Come hither, boy: come, come, and learn of us 
To melt in showers. Thy grandsire lov'd thee well ; 
Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee. 
Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow; 
Many a matter liath he told to thee. 
Meet and agreeing with thine infancy : 
In that respect, then, like a loving child, 
Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring, 
Because kind nature doth require it so : 
Friends should associate friends in grief and woe. 
Bid him farewell ; commit him to the grave ; 
Do him that kindness, all that he can have.^ 

Boy. grandsire. grandsire ! even with all my heart 
Would I were dead, so you did live again. — 

lord ! I cannot speak to him for weeping; 
My tears will choke me. if I ope my mouth. 

Enter Atte7ickints, with Aaron. 

1 Rom. You sad Andronici, have done with woes : 
Give sentence on this execrable wretch, 
That hath been breeder of these dire events. 

Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him; 
There let him stand, and rave and cry for food : 
If any one relieves, or pities him. 
For the offence he dies. This is our doom : 
Some stay to see him fasten'd in the earth. 

Aar. ! why should wrath be mute, and fury dumb ? 

1 am no baby, 1, that with base prayers 
I should repent the evils I have done. 
Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did 
Would I perform, if I miglit have my will : 
If one good deed in all my life I did, 



1 The rest of this speech is usually given to a Roman lord. ' Not in the folio. ^ and take leave of him : in f. e. 



648 



TITUS ANDKONICUS. 



ACT V. 



I do repent it from my very soul. 

Lttc. Some loving friends convey the emperor hence, 
And give him burial in his father's grave. 
My father, and Lavinia, shall forthwith 
Be closed in our household's monument. 
As for that ravenous tiger, Tamora, 
No funeral rite, nor man in mournful weeds, 
No mournful bell shall wring her burial ; 



But throw her forth to beasts, and birds of prey. 

Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity ; 

And, being so, shall have like want of pity. 

See justice done on Aaron, that damn'd Moor, 

By whom our heavy haps had their beginning : 

Then, afterwards, to order well the state, 

That lilce events may ne'er it ruinate. [Exeunt. 



HOMEO AND JULIET. 



DEAMATIS PERSOIT^. 



EscALUs, Prince of Verona. 

Paris, a young Nobleman, Kinsman to the Prince. 

^ ' > Heads of two hostile Houses. 

Capulet, j 

Uncle to Capulet. 

Romeo, Son to Montague. 

Mercutio, Kinsman to the Prince, and Friend to 

Romeo. 
Benvolio, Nephew to Montague, and Friend to 

Romeo. 
Tybalt, Nephew to Lady Capulet. 
Friar Laurence, a Franciscan. 
Friar John, of the same Order. 



Bai.thasar, Servant to Romeo. 

,^ ' ' > Servants to Capulet. 

Gregory, j ^ 

Peter, Another Servant to Capulet. 

Abram, Servant to Montague. 

An Apothecary. 

Musicians. 

Chorus. Boy: Page to Paris; an Officer, 

Lady Montague, Wife to Montague. 
Lady Capulet, Wife to Capulet. 
Juliet, Daughter to Capulet. 
Nurse to Juliet. 



Citizens of Verona ) male and female Relations to both Houses ; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and 

Attendants. 

SCENE, during the greater Part of the Play, in Verona : once, in the fifth Act, at Mantua. 



PEOLOGUE. 



Chorus. 

Two households, both alike in dignity, 
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene. 

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, 
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes 
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life ; 



Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows 

Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife. 

The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, 
And the continuance of their parents' rage, 

Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, 
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage ) 

The which if you with patient ears attend, 

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— A public Place. 
'Enttr Sampson and Gregory, armed with Swords and 

Bucklers. 

Sam. Gregory, on my word, we '11 not carry coals.' 

Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. 

Sam. I mean, an we be in choler. we '11 draw, 

Gre. Ay, while you live, 2lraw your neck out of the 
collar. 

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. 

Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. 

Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. 

Gre. To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to 
stand f therefore, if thou art moved, thou ruu'st away. 

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand. 
I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. 

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest 
goes to the wall. 

Sam. 'T is true ; and therefore women, being the 
weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall : — therefore, 



I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust 
his maids to the wall. 

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us 
their men. 

Sam. 'T is all one, I will show myself a tyrant : 
when I have fought with the men, I will be crueP with 
the maids ; I will cut off their heads. 

Gre. The heads of the maids ? 

Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maiden- 
heads ; take it in what sense thou wilt. 

Gre. They must take it in* sense, that feel it. 

Sam.. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand ; 
and, 't is known, I am a pretty piece of flesh. 

Gre. 'T is well, thou art not fish ; if thou hadst, thou 
hadst been poor John.* Draw thy tool ; here come 
two" of the hou.se of the Montajjues. 

Enter Abram and Balthasar. 

Sam. My naked weapon is out : quarrel, I will back 
thee. 

Gre. How ! turn thy back, and run ? 



' This was regarded as a low, defprading office. * stand to it ; therefore (of my word) if thou be mov'd, thou 'It run away : in quarto, 
1597. s civil : in f. e. * Only in quarto, 1597. 5 Salted and dried fisk. • Only in the quarto, 1597. 



650 



EOMEO AXD JULIET. 



ACT I. 



Sam. Fear me not. 

Gre. No marry : I fear thee ! 

Sam. Let us take the law of our sides ; let them begin. 

Gre. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it 
as they list. 

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at 
them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.' 

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us. sir ? 

Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. 

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 

Sam. Is the law of our side, if I say — ay? 

Gre. No. 

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; 
but I bite my thumb, sir. 

G7-e. Do you quarrel, sir? 



Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir. 

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as 



good 



a man as you. 

Abr. No better. 

Sam. Well, sir. 

Enter Benvolio, at a Distance. 

Gre. Say — better : here comes one of my master's 
kinsmen. 

Sam. Yes, better, sir. 

Abr. You lie. 

Sam. Draw, if you be men. — Gregory, remember thy 
swashing^ blow. [They fight. 

Ben. Part, fools ! put up your swords ; you know 
not what you do. \ Beats doiim their swords with his. 
Enter Tybalt. 

Tyb. What ! art thou drawn among these heartless 
liinds ? [Draws.^ 

Turn thee, Benvolio; look upon thy death. 

Ben. I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, 
Or manage it to part these men with me. 

Tyb. What ! drawn,* and talk of peace ? I hate the 
word, 
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee. 
Have at thee, coward. [They fight. 

Enter several persons of both Houses, who join the Fray ; 



strike ! beat them 



then enter Citizens., with Clubs or Partisans. 
1 Cit. Clubs, bills', and parti.sans ! 
down ! 

Down with the Capulets ! down with the Montagues ! 
Enter Capulet, in his Gown ; and Lady Capulet. 
Cap. What noise is this ? — Give me my long s^word, ho ! 
La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch ! — Why call you for a 

sword ? 
Cap. My sword. I say ! — Old Montague is come, 
And flourishes his blade in spite of me. 

Enter Montague and Lady Montague. 
3Ion. Thou villain Capulet ! — Hold me not ; let me go. 
La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one* foot to seek a foe. 

Enter the Prince., U'ith his Train. 
Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, 
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel ! — 



Will they not hear ? — what ho ! you men, you beasts, 
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage 
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,' 
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands 
Throw your mis-temper'd weapons to the ground, 
And hear the sentence of your moved prince. — 
Three civil brawls,* bred of an angry' word. 
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, 

» "What jeerins;, what biting of thumbs to beget quarrels.''— De/cjter'i Dead Term. 1608, quoted by Malone. 2 To swash, is to make a 
noise with a sword against a buckler. =■ Not in f. e. ■» draw : in folio. * The weapon of the London 'prentices ; bills, were pikes with 
hooks attached below the points. « a ; in folio. ' This and the three preceding lines, are not in the quarto, 1.597. ^ broils : in folio. 
' airy : in f. e. i» This and the three preceding lines, are not in the quarto, 1.59'7. " the ransom of your fault : in quarto, 1.597. '= every 
man depart in peace : in quarto, 1597. '^ father's : in quarto, 1609, and folio, i* each man : in quarto, 1.597. is The rest of this speech is 
not in the quarto, 1597. 16 Pcep'd through : in quarto, 1597. i' thought drew me from company : in quarto, 1597. I8 noting : in quarto, 
1597. 19 'f hat most are busied when they 're most alone : in quarto, 1597. =" This line is not in quarto, 1597. 21 This and the next speech, 
axe not in the quarto, 1597. 



Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets; 

And made Verona's ancient citizens 

Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, 

To wield old partisans, in hands as old. 

Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate." 

If ever you disturb our streets again. 

Your lives sliall pay the forfeit of the peace:'' 

For this time all the rest depart away.'''' 

You, Capulet, shall go along with me ; 

And INIontague, come you this afternoon. 

To know our farther'^ pleasure in this case, 

To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. 

Once more, on pain of death, all men'* depart. 

[Exeunt the Prince, and Attendants ; Capulet, 
Lady Capulet, Tybalt, Citizens, and Servants. 

Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach ? — 
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began ? ^ 

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, 
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach." 
I drew to part them : in the instant came 
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd ; 
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears. 
He swung about his head, and cut the winds. 
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn. 
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, 
Came more and more, and fought nn part and part, 
Till tlie prince came, who parted eitlier part. 

La. Mon. ! where is P^otneo ? saw you him to-day ? 
Right glad I am he was not at this fray. 

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun 
Peer'd forth'* the golden windows of tlie east, 
A troubled" mind drave me to walk abroad; 
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore 
That westward rooteth from the city's side. 
So early walking did I see your son. 
Towards him I made ; but he was 'ware of me. 
And stole into the covert of the wood : 
I, measuring'* his aflTections by my own. 
Which then most sought where most might not be 

found," 
Being one too many hj my weary self,'''' 
Pursu'd my humour, not pur.suing his. 
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. 

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, 
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, 
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs : 
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun 
Should in the farthe.-^t east begin to draw 
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, 
Away from light steals home my heavy son. 
And private in his chamber pens himself; 
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out, 
And makes himself an artificial night. 
Black and portentous must this humour prove, 
Unless good counsel may the cause remove. 

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause ? 

Mon. I neither kn(5w it, nor can learn of him. 

Ben. Have you iinportun'd him by any means ?^' 

Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends; 
But he, his own afl'ections' counsellor. 
Is to himself — I will not say, how true — 
But to himself so secret and so close. 
So far from sounding and discovery. 
As is the bud bit with the envious worm, 



SCENE 11. 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 



651 



Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, 
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.^ 
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, 
We would as willingly give cure, as know. 
Enter Romeo, at a distance. 

Ben. See, where he comes : so please you, step aside; 
I '11 know his grievance, or be much denied. 

3Ion. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay, 
To hear true shrift. — Come, madam, let 's away. 

[Exeunt Montague and Lady. 

Ben. Good morrow, cousin. 

Rom. Is the day so young ? 

Ben. But new struck nine. 

Rom. Ah me ! sad hours" seem long. 

Wa.s that my father that went hence so fast ? 

Ben. It was. What sachicss lengthens Ptomeo's hours? 

Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them 
short. 

Ben. In love ? 

Rom. Out. 

Ben. or love? 

Rom. Out of her favour where I am in love. 

Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view. 
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! 

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, 
Should without eyes see pathways to his^ will ! 
Where shall we dine ? — me ! — What fray was here ? 
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 
Here 's much to do with hate, but more witli love : — 
Why then, brawling love ! loving hate ! 
any thing, of nothing first created* ! 
heavy lightne^^s ! serious vanity ! 
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!' 
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health ! 
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is ! — 
This love feel I, that feel no love in this. 
Dost thou not laugh ? 

Ben. No, coz ; I rather weep. 

Rom. Good heart, at what ? 

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. 

Rom.. Why, sttch. Benvolio, is love's transgression. — 
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast ; 
Which thou wilt propagate, to liave it press'd 
With more of thine : this love, tliat thou hast shown, 
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. 
Love is a smoke, made* with the fume of sighs ; 
Being pufT'd', a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes ; 
Being vex"d, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears : 
What is it else? a madness most discreet, 
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. 
Farewell, my coz. [Going. 

Ben. Soft, I will go along: 

An if you leave me so,* you do me wTong. 

Rom. Tut ! I have lost myself; I am not here : 
This is not Romeo ; he 's some other where. 

Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is 't that' you love. 

Rom. What ! shall I groan, and tell thee ? 

Ben. Groan ! why, no ; 

But sadly tell me, who. 

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will !'" 
A word ill urg'd to one that is so ill. — 
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 

Ben. I aim'd so near,*' when I suppo.s'd you lov'd. 

Rom. A right good mark-man ! — and she 's fair I love. 

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. 



Rom. Well, in that hit you miss : she '11 not be hit 
With Cupid's arrow. Slie hath Dian's wit ; 
And in strong proof of chastity well arin'd, 
From love's Vvcak childish bow she lives encharm'd.*'' 
She will not stay the sieiie of loving terms. 
Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes,'^ 
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold : 
! she is rich in beauty: only poor, 
That when she dies with beauty dies her store.'* 

Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live 
chaste ? 

Rom. She hath, and in tliat sparing makes huge waste ; 
For beauty, starv'd with her severity, 
Cuts beauty off from all posterity. 
She is too fair, too wise; too wisely fair, 
To merit bliss by making me despair : 
She liath forsworn to love, and in that vow 
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. 

Ben. Be rul'd by me; forget to think of her. 

Rom. O ! teach me how I should forget to think. 

Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes : 
Examine other beauties. 

Rom. 'T is the way 

To call hers, exquisite, in question more. 
Tiiese happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows. 
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair: 
He, that is stricken blind, cannot forget 
The precious treasure of liis eyesight lost. 
Siiow me a mistress that is passing fair; 
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note 
Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? 
Farewell : thou canst not teach me to forget. 

Ben. I '11 pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— A Street. 

Enter Capulkt. Paris, and Servant. 

Cap. But'* Montague is bound as well as I, 
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, 
For men so old as we to keep the peace. 

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both ; 
And pity 't is, you liv'd at odds so long. 
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit ? 

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before. 
My cliild is yet a stranger in the world. 
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years : 
Let two more summers anther in their pride. 
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. 

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made. 

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early married.'^ 
Earth up" hath swallowed all my hopes but she. 
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:'* 
But woo her. gentle Paris, get her heart. 
My will to her consent is but a part ; 
An she agree, within her scope of choice 
Lies my consent and fair according voice." 
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, 
Whereto I have invited many a guest, 
Such as I love ; and you, among the store, 
One more most welcome makes my number more. 
At my poor house look to behold this night 
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light: 
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel, 
When well-apparel'd April on the heel 
Of limping winter treads, even such delight 



' same : in old copies. Theobald made the change. 2 hopes : in quarto, 1597. ^ la^vs give pathways to our : in quarto, 1597. * create : 
in quarto, I. "397. 'best-seeming things :- in quarlo, 1597. Other quartos, and fir.=t folio: well-seeing forms. * rais'd : in quarto, 1. 507. 
' purg'd : in f. e. 6 hinder me : in quarto, 1597. ' whom she is you : in quarto, 1.597. '" So the quarto, 1597. Other old copies omit : bid. 
" right : in quarto. 1597. 1- unharmed : in f. e. 'Gainst Cupid's childi.«h bow .'■he lives uncharm'd : in quarto, 1597. '^ pjot jn quarto, 
1.597. '* The rest of this, and first speech of next scene, not in quarto, 1.597. '^ Not in folio. '^ made : in f. e. i' Not in f. e. '" This 
and the preceding line, are not in the quarto, 1597. i' This and previous line, are not in quarto, 1597. 



652 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 



ACT I. 



Among fresh female buds shall you this night 
Inherit at my house : hear all, all see, 
Ami like her most, whose merit most shall be : 
Which, on more view' of many, mine being one, 
May stand in number, though in reckoning none. 
Come, go with me. — Go, sirrah, trudge about 
Through fair Verona ; find those persons out, 
Whose names are written there, and to them say, 

[ Giving a Paper. 
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. 

[Exeunt Capulet and Paris. 

Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here ? 
It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with 
his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with 
his pencil, and the painter with his nets : but I am sent 
to find those persons, whose names are here writ, and 
can never find what names the writing person hath 
here writ. I must to the learned : — in good time. 
Enter Benvolio and Romeo. 

Ben. Tut, man ! one fire burns out another's burning, 

One pain is lessened by another's anguish ; 
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; 

One desperate grief cures with another's languish: 
Take thou some new infection to thy eye, 
And the rank poison of the old will die. 

Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that. 

Ben. For what, I pray thee ? 

Rom. For your broken shin. 

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad ? 

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is : 
Shut up in prison, kept without my food, 
Whipp'd, and tormented, and — Good-den, good fellow. 

Seru. God gi' good den. — I pray, sir, can you read ? 

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 

Serv. Perhaps you have Icarn'd it without book; but, 
I pray, can you read any thing you see ? 

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. 

Serv. Ye say honestly. Rest you merry. [Going. ^ 

Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. [Reads. 

" Signior Martino, and his wife, and daughters ; 
County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters ; the lady 
widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely 
nieces ; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine ; mine 
uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters ; my fair niece 
Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valcntio, and his cousin 
Tybalt ; Lucio, and the lively Helena." 
A fair assembly ; whither should they come ? 

Serv. Up. 

Rom. Whither ? to supper ? 

Serv. To our house. 

Rom. Whose house? 

Serv. My master's. 

Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that before. 

Serv. Now, I '11 tell you without asking. My master 
is the great rich Capulet : and if you be not of the house 
of Montagues, I pray, come and crush' a cup of wine. 
Rest you merry. [Exit. 

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's 
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lovest, 
With all the admired beauties of Verona : 
Go thither; and, with unattainted eye. 
Compare her face with some tliat I shall show, 
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. 

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye 

Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires ; 
And these, who, often drown'd, could never die, 

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars. 



One fairer than my love ! the all-seeing sun 
Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. 

Ben. Tut ! you saw her fair, none else being by, 
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye; 
But in those* crystal scales let there be weigh'd 
Your lady's love' against some other maid, 
That I will show you shining at this feast. 
And she shall scant show well, that now shows' best. 

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, 
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — A Room in Capulet's House. 

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 

La. Cap. Nurse, where 's my daughter? call her 

forth to me. 
Nvrse. Now, by my maiden-head at twelve year old, 
I bade her come. — What, lamb ! what, lady-bi*d ! — 
God forbid ! — where 's this girl ? — what, Juliet ! 
Enter Juliet. 
Jid. How now ! who calls ? 



Your mother. 



Madam, I am here : 



Nurse. 

Jul. 
What is your will ? 

La. Cap. This is the matter. — Nurse, give leave awhile, 
We must talk in secret. — Nurse, come back again : 
I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. 
Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. 

Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. 

La. Cap. She 's not fourteen. 

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, 

And yet to my teen' be it spoken I have but four. 
She is not fourteen. How long is it now 
To Lammas-tide ? 

La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days. 

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, 
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. 
Susan and .she, — God rest all Christian souls ! — 
Were of an age. — Well, Susan is with God ; 
She was too good for me. But, as I said, 
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen: 
That shall she, marry : I remember it well. 
'T is since the earthquake now eleven years : 
And she was wean'd, — I never shall forget it, — 
Of all the days of the year, upon that day ; 
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, 
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall: 
My lord and you were then at Mantua. — 
Nay. I do bear a brain : — but, as I said. 
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple 
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool. 
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug ! 
Shake, quoth the dove-house : 't was no need, I trow, 
To bid me trudge. 

And since that time it is eleven years ; 
For then she could stand alone* ; nay, by the rood. 
She could have run and waddled all about, 
For even the day before she broke her brow : 
And then my husband — God be with his soul ! 
'A was a merry man" — took up the child : 
" Yea," quoth he, '■ dost thou fall upon thy face? 
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit ; 
Wilt thou not, Jule ?" and, by my holy-dam. 
The pretty wretch left crying, and said — "Ay.'' 
To see, now, how a jest shall come about ! 
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, 
I never should forget it : ■' Wilt thou not, Jule?" quoth he; 
And, pretty fool, it stinted,'" and said — " Ay." 



1 Such amongst vie-w : in quarto, 1597. 2 Not in f. e. ' An expression often met with. * that : in old copies. 5 Dyce suggests : lady- 
love, s seems : in quartos, LMT-O. ' Sorrow. " high lone : in quarto, 1597. ' The rest of this, and half of the next line, not in 
quarto, 1597. lo Stopped. 



SCEKE IV. 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 



653 



La. Cap} Enough of this : I pray thee, hold thy 
peace. 

Nurse. Yes, madam. Yet I cannot choose but laugh, 
To think it should leave crying, and say — '' Ay ;" 
And yet. I warrant, it had upon its brow 
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone, 
A perilous knock ; and it cried bitterly. 
" Yea," quoth my husband. " laJl'st upon thy face? 
Thou wilt fall backward, when tliou coin'st to age- 
Wilt thou not, Jule?" it stinted, and said — " Ay." 

Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. 

Nurse. Peace ! I have done.' God mark thee to 
his grace, 
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd: 
An I might live to see thee married once, 
I have my wish. 

La.. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme 
I came to talk of. — Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
How stands your disposition to be married ? 

Jul. It is an honour that 1 dream not of. 

Nurse. An honour ! were not I thine only nurse, 
I would say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. 

La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now j younger 
than you, 
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem. 
Are made already mothers : by my count, 
I was your mother, mucii upon these years 
That you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief: — 
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. 

Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a man, 
As all the world — Why, he 's a man of wax. 

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. 

Nur.se. Nay, he 's a flower ; in faith, a A'^ery flower. 

La. Cap. What say you ? can you love the gentle- 
man ? 
This night you shall behold him at our feast :^ 
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face. 
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen. 
Examuie every married" linca)neiit. 
And see how one an other lends content : ' 
And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies, 
Find wi-itten in the margin of his eyes. 
This precious book of love, this unbound lover, 
To beautify him only lacks a cover : 
The fish lives in the sea ; and 't is much pride. 
For fair without the fair within to hide. 
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, 
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; 
So shall you share all that he doth possess 
By having him, making yourself no less. 

Nu7-se. No less? nay. bigger women grow by men. 

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love ? 

Jul. I '11 look to like, if looking liking move : 
But no more deep will I cndart* mine eye, 
Thau your consent gives strength to make it fly. 
Enter a Servant. 

Scrv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served 
up, you called, my young lady asked for, the Nurse 
cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. 
I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. 

La. Cap. We follow thee. — Juliet, the county stays. 

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE IV.— A Street. 
Enter VxOMKO, Mercutio, Benvolfo, ruith five or .nx 
3Iaskcrs, 2'oTch-Bcarers, and others,'^ preceded by a 
Brum. 

Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our 
excuse, 
Or shall we on without apology ? 

Ben. The date is ovit of such prolixity: 
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf, 
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, 
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper' ; 
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke 
After the prompter, for our entrance :' 
But, let them measure us by what they will, 
We'll measure them a measure, and begone. 

Rom. Give me a torch f I am not for this ambling : 
Being but heavy, I will bear the light. 

3'Ier. Nay, gentle Borneo, we must have you dance. 

Rom. Not I, believe me. You have dancing shoes. 
With nimble soles : I have a soul of lead. 
So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. 

Mer. You are a lover : borrow Cupid's wings,'* 
And soar with them above a common bound. 

Rom. I am too sore enpicreed with his shaft. 
To soar with his light feathers ; and so" bound, 
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe : 
Under love's heavy burden do I sink. 

Ben. And, to sink in it, should yovi burden love; 
Too great oppression for a tender thing. 

Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, 
Too rude, too boisterous ; and it pricks like thorn. 

Her. If love be rough Avith you, be rough with love; 
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. — 
Give me a case to put my visage in : 

[Putting on a Mask. 
A visor for a visor ! — what care I, 
What curious eye doth quote' ^ deformities? 
Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me. 

Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in. 
But every man betake him to his legs. 

Rom. A torch for me : let wantons, light of heart, 
Tickle the senseless rushes'' with their heels; 
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase, — 
I '11 be a candle-holder, and look on : 
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. 

Mer. Tut ! dun 's'* the mouse, the constable's own 
word. 
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire'* 
Of this save-reverence'* love, wherein thou stick' st 
Up to the ears. — Come, we burn day-light, ho ! 

Rom. Nay, that 's not so. 

Mer. I mean, sir, in delay 

We waste our lights in vain," like lamps by day. 
Take our good meaning, for our judgment hits 
Five times in that, ere once in our five wits. 

Rom. And we mean well in going to this mask, 
But 't is no wit to go. 

Mer. Why, may one ask? 

Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. 

Mer. And so did I. 

Rom. Well, what was yours ? 

fl[i'r. That dreamers often lie. 

Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. 



' This and the next speech, not in the quarto, l.'in?. - Well, go thy ways : in quarto, 1507. ' This and the following lines to .Titliet's 
speech, are not in the quarto, 1597. * several : in quarto, 1009, and folio. 5 engay« : in quarto, 1597. ^ The rest of this direction is not in 
f. e. ' Like a person set to scare crows. <* This and the previous line, are only in the quarto, 1597. '" H^ is just like a torch-bearer to 
masker-- ; he wears good cloathes, and is ranked in good company, but he doth nothing." — Deeker^s Weatwrird Hoe, 1607 ; quoted by .Steevens. 
'" This and the eleven lines '"oUowing, are not in the quarto, l.TO". " to : in folio. " OA,?«n»e. '^ The ordinary covering for floors. '♦ A 
phrase often met with ; it may mean, " dumb as a mouse." " "' Dun is in the mire,"' is a game which consists in seeing who can lift a 
heavy log of wood. — Giff'ord. l'' From salvd reverentid, an old apologetic form of expression. " by night : in quarto, 1597. 



664: 



KOMEO AND JULIET. 



ACT I. 



3Ier. ! tlicii; I see, queen Mab hath been with you. 
She is the fai lies' midwife ; and she comes 
In shape no bigger than an agate stone 
On the fore-finger of an aklerman,' 
Drawn with a team of little atomies 
Over^ men's noses as they lie asleep : 
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs ; 
The cover, of the Avings of grasshoppers ; 
The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams :^ 
Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film : 
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, 
Not half so big as a round little worm 
Pick'd from the lazy finger of a milkmaid.* 
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, 
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, 
Time out of mind the fairies' coach- makers.* 
And in this state slie gallops night by night" 
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love : 
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight: 
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees :' 
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream ; 
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, 
Because their breaths with swcet-mcats tainted are. 
Sometime she gallops o'er a counsellor's" nose, 
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit : 
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail. 
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, 
Then he dreams of another benefice. 
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,' 
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats. 
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades.'" 
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon 
Drums in his ear, at which he starts, and wakes : 
And, being thus frighted," swears a prayer or two, 
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab, 
That plats the manes of horses in the night ; 
And makes'^ the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, 
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.'' 
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs. 
That presses them, and learns them first to bear, 
Making them women of good carriage. 
This, is she— '-^ 

Rom. Peace, peace ! Mercutio, peace ! 

Thou talk'st of nothing. 

Mer. True. I talk of dreams, 

Which are the children of an idle brain, 
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; 
Which is as thin of substance as the air, 
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos 
Even now the frozen bosom of the north, 
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,'* 
Turning liis tide'° to the dew-dropping south. 

Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves ; 
Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 

Rom. I fear, too early ; for my mind misgives. 
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, 
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date 
With this night's revels : and expire the term 
Of a despised life, clcs'd in my breath. 
By some vile forfeit of untimely" death : 



But he, that hath the steerage of my course, 
Direct my sail."* — On, lusty gentlemen. 

£c)i. Strike, drum. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— A Hall in Capulet's House. 
Musicians waiting. Enter Servants. 

1 Serv. Where 's Potpan, that he helps not to take 
away ? he shift a trencher ! he scrape a trencher ! 

2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all'^ in one or 
two men's hands, and they unwashed too ; 't is a foul 
thing. 

1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court- 
cupboard,'" look to the plate. — Good thou, save me a 
piece of marchpane"' ; and, as thou lovest me, let the 
porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell. — Antony ! 
and Potpan ! 

2 Serv. Ay, boy ; ready. 

1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, 
and sought for, in the great chamber. 

2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too. — Cheerly, 
boys ] be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. 

[They retire. 
Enter^"^ Capulet, ^"c. with the Guests, and the 3Iaskers. 

Cap. Welcome, gentlemen ! ladies, that have their toes 
Unplagued with corns, will have a bout/*^ with you : — 
Ah, ha, my mistresses ! which of you all 
Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she, 
I '11 swear, hath corns. Am I come near you now ? 
You are welcome, gentlemen ! I haA-e seen the day, 
That I have worn a visor, and could tell [To Romeo, ifc.^* 
A whispering tale in a fair lady's et^r, 
Such as would please : — "t is gone, 't is gone, 't is gone. 
You are welcome, gentlemen ! — Come, musicians, play. 
A hall ! a hall ! give room, and foot it, girls.-* 

[3Iu.sic plays, and they dance. 
Mere light, ye knaves, and turn the tables up, 
And quench the fire, the room is grown loo hot. — 
Ah ! sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. 
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet, 
For yovi and I are past our dancing" days : 
How long is 't now, since last yourself and I 
V\''ere in a mask? 

2 Cap. By 'r lady, thirty years. 

1 Cap. What, man ! 't is not so nuich, 't is not so much : 
'T is since the nuptial of Lucentio, 

Come pentecost as quickly as it will, 

Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. 

2 Cap. 'T is more, 'tis more : his son is elder, sir; 
His son is tliirty. 

1 Cap. Willyou tell me that ?=' 

His son was but a ward two years ago. 

Rom. What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand 
Of yonder knight? [Pointing to Jl'liet.'" 

Serv. I know not. sir. 

Rom. O ! she doth teach the torches to burn bright. 
It seems she-' hangs upon the cheek of night 
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's car ; 
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear ! 
So shows a snowy dove^" trooping with crows. 
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 
The measure done, I '11 watch her place of stand, 



1 burgomaster : in quarto, 1597. 2 Athwart : in quarto, ].';07. ^ This and the two preceding lines, in the quarto, 1597. read : 



SCENE V. 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 



655 



And, touching hers, make blessed^ ray rude hand. 
Did my heart love till now ? forswear it, sight ! 
I never saw true beauty till this night. 

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague. 
Fetch me my rapier, boy. — [Exit Boij'^.\ What ! dares 

the slave 
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, 
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity ? 
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, 
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. 

1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman ? wherefore storm 

you so ? 
Tyh. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe ; 
A villain, that is hither come in spite, 
To scorn at our solemnity this night. 
1 Cap. Young Romeo is it ? 

Tyh. 'T is he, that villain Romeo. 

1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz,' let him alone, 
He bears him like a portly gentleman • 
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him, 
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth. 
I would not for the wealth of all this to■w^l, 
Here, in my house, do him disparagement; 
Therefore, be patient, take no note of him : 
It is my will ; the which if thou respect, 
Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns, 
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. 

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest. 
I '11 not endure him. 

1 Cap. He shall be endur'd : 

What, goodman boy* ! — I say, he shall ; — go to ; 
Go to : am I the master here, or you ? 
You '11 not endure him ! — God shall mend my soul — 
You '11 make a mutiny among my guests. 
You will set cock-a-hoop : you '11 be the man. 
Tyh. Why, uncle, 't is a shame. 
1 Cap. Go to, go to ; 

You are a saucy boy. — Is 't so, indeed ? — 
This trick may chance to scatli you ; — I know what. 
You must contrary me ! marry, 't is time' — 
Well said, my hearts ! — You arc a princox^; go : — 
Be quiet, or — More light, more light ! — for shame ! 
I '11 make you quiet : What ! — Cheerly, my hearts ! 

Tyb. Patience perforce with wiltul choler meeting. 
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. 
I will withdraAV, but this intrusion shall, 
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit. 

Rom If I profane with my uiiworthicst hand 

[ To Juliet. 
This holy shrine, tlie gentle fine' is this, — 
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand 

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. 
/;(/. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, 
Which mannerly devotion shows in this ; 
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,* 
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. 
Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? 
Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. 
Rom. ! then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; 

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. 
Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' 

sake. 
Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I lake. 



Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg'd. 

[Kissing her. 

Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. 

Rom. Sin from my lips ? 0, trespass sweetly urg'd ! 
Give me my sin again. 

Jul. You kiss by the book. [Kissing her again.'* 

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with 
you. [Juliet retires.'^" 

Rom. What is her mother ? 

Nurse. Marry, bachelor, 

Her mother is the lady of the house, 
And a good lady, and a wise, and Aartuous. 
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal ; 
I tell you — he that can lay hold of her 
Shall have the chinks. 

Rom. Is she a Capulet ? 

0, dear account ! my life is my foe's debt." 

Ben. Away, begone : the sport is at the best. 

Rom. Ay, so I fear ; the more is my unrest. "[(?oing'' 

1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone ; 
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. — 
Is it e'en so? Why then, I thank you all ; 
I thank you, honest gentlemen ; good night. — 
More torches here ! — Come on, then let 's to bed. 
Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late ; 
I '11 to my rest. [Exif.'* 

Jul. Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman ? 

[The Guests retire severally.^^ 

Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. 

Jul. What 's he, that now is going out of door ? 

Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petrnchio. 

Jul. What 's he, that follows here, that would not 
dance ? 

Nur.'^e. I know not. 

Jul. Go, ask his name. — If he be married, 
My grave is like to be my wedding-bed. 

Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague ; 

[Going and returning.^^ 
The only son of your great enemy. 

Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate ! 
Too early seen unknown, and known too late ! 
Prodigious birth of love it is to me, 
That I must love a loatlied enemy. [Exeimt all Gue.fts.^'' 

Nurse. What 's this ? what 's this ? 

Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now 

Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within^ Juliet ! 

Nurse. Anon^ anon. — 

Come, let 's away ; the strangers all are gone. [Exeimt. 

Enter Chorus.^* 
Now old desire doth in his death-bed he. 

And young affection gapes to be his heir : 
That fair, for which love groan'd for, and would die, 

Wi+h tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. 
Now Ilomco is belov'd. and loves again. 

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks ; 
But to his foe supposed he must complain. 

And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks : 
Being held a foe, he may not have access 

To breatlie such vows as lovers use to sv.-car ; 
And she- as much in love, her means much less 

To meet her new-beloved any where : 
But passion lends them power, time means to meet, 
Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit. 



2 Not in f. e. ^ The.se four lines!, are not in quarto, 1.597. * These three words, are not in quarto, 1.597. * This 
6 Coxromh. '' sin : in oIJ copies. Warburton made the chance. » which holy palmers touch : in quarto, 

1597. siONotinf. e. " thrall : in quarto, 1597. 12 These two lines are not in quarto, 1597. '3 Nv,t in f. e. ^* Exeunt ail, but JVLlET 

and Nurse : in f. e. " '-« 1' Not in f. e. is Not in quarto, 1597. 



^ happy : in quarto, 1.597. 
line is not in quarto, 1597. 



656 



KOMEO AND JULIET. 



ACT II. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — An open Place, adjoining Capulet's 

Garden. 

Enter Romeo. 

Rom. Can I go forward, when my heart is here? 
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. 

[Hc climbs the Wall, and leaps down within it. 
Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. 

Ben. Romeo ! my cousin Romeo ! Romeo ! 

3Ier. He is wise ;' 

And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed. 

Ben. He ran this way, and Icap'd this orchard wall. 
Call, good Mercutio. 

Mcr. Nay, I '11 conjure too. — 

Romeo, humours, madman, passion, lover! 
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh : 
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied ; 
Cry but — Ah me ! pronounce^ but — love and dove j 
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word. 
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, 
Young Adam^ Cupid, he that shot so true,* 
When king Cophctua lov'd the beggar-maid. — 
He heareth not,* he stirreth not, he moveth not ; 
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. — 
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, 
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip. 
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, 
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie. 
That in thy likeness thou appear to us. 

Ben. An if lie hear thee, thou wilt anger him. 

3Ier. This cannot anger him : 't would anger him 
To rai.?e a spirit in his mistress' circle 
Of some strange nature,^ letting it there stand 
Till she had laid it. and conjur'd it down ; 
That were some spite. My invocation 
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, 
I conjure only but to raise up him. 

Ben. Come, he hath hid liimself among these trees, 
To be consorted with the humorous' night : 
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. 

Mcr. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. 
Now will he sit under a medlar tree, 
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit, 
As maids call )nedlars when they laugh alone. — 
O Romeo ! that she were, O ! that she were 
An open ei ccetera. thou a poprin pear ! 
Romeo, good night : — I '11 to my truckle-bed ; 
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep. — 
Come, shall we go ? 

Ben. Go, then; for 'tis in vain 

To seek him here, that means )iot to be found. [Exeunt. 

SCENE n.— Capulet's Garden. 
Enter Romeo. 
Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. — 
[Juliet appears above, at a window. 
But, soft ! what light through yonder window breaks ? 
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. — 
Arise, fair sun. and kill the envious moon, 
Who is already .sick and pale with grief, 
That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she : 



Be not her maid, since she is emaous ; 

Her vestal livery is but white* and green, 

And none but fools do wear it ; cast it off. — 

It is my lady; ! it is my love : 

0, that she knew she were !' — . 

She speaks, yet she says nothing : what of that ? 

Her eye discourses, I will answer it. — 

I am too bold, 't is not to me she speaks : 

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven. 

Having some business, do entreat her eyes 

To twinkle in their spheres till they return. 

What if her eyes were there, they in her head? 

The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, 

As daylight doth a lamp: her eyes'" in heaven 

Would through the airy region stream so bright. 

That birds would sing, and think it were not night. 

See. how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! 

! that I were a glove upon that hand, 
That I might touch" that cheek. 

Jul. Ah me ! 

Rom. She speaks . 

0, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art 
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head. 
As is a winged messenger of heaven 
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes 
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, 
When he bestrides the lazy-passing'' clouds. 
And sails upon the bosom of the air. 

Jid. O Romeo, R,omeo ! wherefore art thou Romeo ? 
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name : 
Or, if thou wilt not, be, but sworn my love, 
And I '11 no longer be a Capulet. 

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? 

Jul. 'T is but thy name that is my enemy : 
Thou art thyself, although'^ a Montague. 
What 's Montague ? it is nor hand, nor foot. 
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part 
Belonging to a man. ! be some other name. 
What 's in a name ? that which we call a rose. 
By any other name" would smell as sweet ; 
So Romeo would, were he not lioineo call'd, 
Retain that dear'* perfection which he owes 
Without that title — Romeo, doff"" thy name; 
And for thy name, which is no part of thee, 
Take all myself?" 

Ro7n. I take thee at thy w-ord. 

[Starting forward.^^ 
Call me but love, and I '11 be new baptiz'd; 
Henceforth I never will be Romeo. 

Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in 
night. 
So stumblest on my counsel ? 

Rom. By a name 

1 know not how to tell thee who I am : 
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself. 
Because it is an enemy to thee : 

Had I it written, I would tear the word. 

Jul. My ears have yet not drvxnk a hundred words 
Of that tongue's utterance," yet I know the sound. 
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague ? 

Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee displease. 



• Dost thou hear? He, &c. : in quarto. 1597. 2 couply : in folio {Couple). = Abraham : in old copies. The allusion is supposed to he 
to the hallad of Kinff Cophetua and the Beggar-maid Dyce sa,y.s the word is " a corruption of a/jron,^'' or a'lhiirn. * trim : in quarto. 1.597. 
* He hears me not : in quarto, 1.597; the rest of this and the next line, wanting. •* fashion : in quarto, 1.597. ' Vapory, dewy. 8 sick : in 
f. e. ' This a'nd the previous line, are not in quarto, 1597. i" eye ; in later quartos and folio. n kiss : in quarto, 1597. 12 lazy-pacing : 
in f. e. , puffing : in folio. 13 though, not : in f. e. 1* word : in later quartos, and folio. 1^ the divine : in quarto, 1597. 1' part : in 
quarto, 1597. i' I have : in quarto, 1.597. le Not in f. e. '9 thy tongue's uttering : in later quartos, and folio. 



SCENE ir. 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 



657 



Jul. How eam'st thou hither, tell me ? and wherefore ? 
The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb, 
And the place death, considering who thou art, 
If any of my kinsmen find thee here. 

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'erperch these 
walls : 
For stony limits cannot hold love out : 
And what love can do, that dures love attempt; 
Therefore, thy kinsmen are no let' to me. 

Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. 

Rom. Alack ! there lies more peril in thine eye, 
Than twenty of their sword.s: look thou but sweet, 
And I am proof against their enmity. 

Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here. 

Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes; 
And but thou love me, let them find me here: 
My life were better ended by their hale. 
Than dcatli prorogued, wanting of Ihy love. 

Jul. By whose direction found"st thou out this place ? 

Rom. By love, tliat first did prompt me to inquire ; 
He lent me' counsel, and I lent him eyes. 
I am no pilot ; yet, wert thou as far 
As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, 
I would adventure for such merchandise. 

Jul. Thou know'st tlie mask of night is on my face ; 
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my check. 
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. 
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny 
Wliat I have spoke : but farewell compliment. 
Do.-it thou love me ? I know thou wilt say — Ay : 
And I will take thy word; yet, if thou swear'st, 
Thou may'st prove false : at lovers' perjuries, 
They say, Jove laughs. 0, gentle Romeo ! 
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully : 
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, 
I '11 frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay. 
So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the world. 
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, 
And therefore thou may'st think my haviour light; 
But trust me, gentleman, I '11 prove more true 
Than those that have more cunning^ to be strange. 
I should have been more strange, I must confess, 
But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was ware, 
INIy true love's passion: therefore, pardon me; 
And not impute this yielding to light love. 
Which the dark night hath so discovered. 

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear*. 
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops. — 

Jul. ! swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon. 
That monthly changes in her circled orb, 
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 

Rom. What shall I swear by? 

Ji'l- Do not swear at all ; 

Or. if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious" self, 
Which is the god of my idolatry, 
And I '11 believe thee. 

Rom. If my heart's dear love" — 

Jul. Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee, 
I have no joy of this contract to-night : 
It is too rash, too unadvis'd. too sudden ; 
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, 
Ere one can say it lightens. Sweet, good night,' 
Tliis bud of love, by summer's ripening breath. 
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. 
Good night, good night ! as sweet repose and rest 
Come to thy heart, as that within my breast ! 



Rom. ! wilt thou leave me so unsati.sfied ? 

Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? 

Rom. Th' exchange of thy love's fait hful vow for mine. 

Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it; 
And yet I would it were to give again. 

Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it ? for what purpose, 
love ? 

Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again; 
And yet I wish but for the thing I have. 
My bounty is as boundless as the sea. 
My love as deep ; the more I give to thee. 
The more I have, for both are infinite. [Nur.'ie calls within. 
I hear some noise within : dear love, adieu ! — 
Anon, good nurse ! — Sweet Montague, be true. 
Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit. 

Rom. O blessed, blessed night ! I am afeard, 
Being in night, all this is but a dream, 
Too flattering-sweet* to be substantial. 
Re-enter Juliet above. 

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, 
indeed. 
If that thy bent of love be honourable, 
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, 
By one that I '11 procure to come to thee, 
Wliere, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite ; 
And all my fortunes at thy foot I '11 lay. 
And follow thee my lord throughout the world'. 

Nurse. [Within.] Madam! 

Jul. I come, anon. — But if thou mean'st not well, 
I do beseech thee, — 

Nurse. [Within^ Madam! 

Jul. By and by; I come. — 

To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: 
To-morrow will I send. 

Rom. So thrive my soul, — 

Jul. A thousand times good night. [Exit. 

Rom. A thousand times the wor.se, to want thy 
light.— 
Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books; 
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. 

[ Going. 
Re-enter Juliet, above. 

Jul. Hist ! Romeo, hist ! — 0, for a falconer's voice, 
To lure this terceP" gentle back again ! 
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud ; 
Else would I tear the cave where echo lies, 
And make her airy voice" more hoarse than mine 
With repetition of my Romeo's name'*. 

Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name : 
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night. 
Like softest music to attending ears'^. 

Jul. Romeo ! 

Rom. My dear.'* 

Jul. At what o'clock to-raorrow 

Shall I send to thee ? ' 

Rom. By the hour of nine. 

.Jul. I will not fail : 't is twenty years till tlien. 
I have forgot why I did call thee back. 

Rom. Let me stand here, till thou remember it. 

Jul. I shall tbrget to have thee still stand there, 
Remembering how I love thy company. 

Rom. And I '11 still stay, to have thee still forget, 
Forgetting any other home but this. 

Jul. 'T is almost morning, I would have thee gone; 
And yet no farther than a wanton's bird, 
Who lets it hop a little from her hand, 



1 W7 fi" u ^^T*,' '" <1"'*f*"- '■''^''■. 3 coring : in later quartos, and folio. « yonder moon I vow : in folio, s clorious : in quarto, 

Ir,,. '">■ *'"* ^"/'^ ' '°''* • •■'". ''"""'• '^*''- ' '^'''^ ''"""'' l'"'*-*'' <""''^ ^" to the NURSK-S call. » true : in quarto, 1,197. ' The quarto 
1.).,. omits all to •■Love^g^oes,&c. >o .li«/«-Aa>rt. n i=tonirue: in later quartos, and folio ; they also omit (")" name." 13 This line is 
not in quarto, 1597. " So the undated quarto; that of 1597 : Madam ; first folio : •• ' '•■■■■ ^ ' 



42 



.My neice; second folio : sweet. 



658 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



ACT ir. 



Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, 
And with a silk thread plucks it back again, 
So loving-jealous of his liberty. 

Rom. I would, I were thy bird. 

Jul. Sweet, so would I : 

Yet I should kill thee with much cheri.^liing. 
Good night, good night: parting is such sweet sorrow, 
That I shall say good night, till it be morrow. [Exit. 

Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy 
breast ! — 
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest ! 
Hence will I to my ghostly father's' cell ; 
His help to crave, and my good hap to tell. [Exit. 

SCENE HI.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
Enter Friar Laurence, with a basket. 

Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowTiing 
night, 
Checquering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; 
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels 
From forth day's path and Titan's fiery^ wheels. 
Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye 
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, 
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours, 
"With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. 
The earth, that 's nature's mother, is her tomb' : 
What is her burying grave, that is her womb ; 
And from her womb children of divers kind 
We sucking on her natural bosom find : 
Many for many virtues excellent. 
None but for some, and yet all different. 
! miekle is the powerful grace that lies 
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities : 
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live 
But to the earth some special good doth give ; 
Nor aught so good, but strain'd from that fair use, 
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse ;* 
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied. 
And vice sometime 's by action dignified. 
Within the infant rind of tliis weak' flower 
Poison hath residence, and medicine power : 
For this, being smelt, with that act cheers each part ; 
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. 
Two such opposed kings^ encamp them still 
In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will ; 
And where the worser is predominant, 
Full soon the canker death eafs up tliat plant. 
Enter Romeo. 

Rom. Good morrow, father. 

Fri. Bcnedicite ! 

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me ? — 
Young son, it argues a di.stemper'd head, 
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed : 
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye 
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie ; 
But where unbusied' youth, with unstuff'd brain. 
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign. 
Therefore, thy earliness doth me assure. 
Thou art up-rous'd by some distemperature : 
Or if not so, then here I hit it right — 
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. 

Rom. That last is true ; the sweeter rest was mine. 

Fri. God pardon sin ! wert thou with Rosaline? 

Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father ? no ; 
I have forgot that name, and thai name's woe. 

Fri. That 's my good son : but where hast thou been, 
then? 



Rom. I '11 tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. 
I have been feasting with mine enemy ; 
Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me, 
That 's by me wounded : both our remedies 
Within thy help and holy physic lies : 
I bear no hatred, blessed man; for, lo ! 
My intercession likewi.se steads my foe. 

Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely" in thy drift ; 
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. 

Rom. Tlien plainly know, my heart's dear love is set 
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet : 
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; 
And all combin'd, save what thou must combine 
By holy marriage. When, and where, and how, 
We met. we woo'd. and made exchange of vow, 
I '11 tell thee as we pass ; but this I pray, 
That thou consent to marry us to-day. 

Fri. Holy Saint Francis ! what a change is here ! 
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear. 
So soon forsaken ? young men's love, then, lies 
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. 
Jesti Maria ! what a deal of brine 
Hath wash'd thy sallow checks for Rosaline ! 
How much salt water thrown away in waste 
To season love, that of it doth not taste ! 
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, 
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears ; 
Lo ! here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet. 
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, 
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline : 
And art thou chang'd ? pronounce this sentence, then — 
Women may fall, when there 's no strength in men. 

Rom. Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline. 

Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. 

Rom. And bad'st me bury love. 

Fri. Not in a grave, 

To lay one in, another out to have. 

Rom. I pray thee, chide not : she, whom' I love now, 
Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow : 
The other did not so. 

Fri. 



! she knew well. 
Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell. 
But come, young waverer, come, go with me, 
In one respect I '11 thy assistant be ; 
For this alliance may so happy prove, 
To turn your households' rancour to pure love. 
Rom. ! let us hence ; I stand on sudden haste. 
Fri. Wisely, and slow :'" ihey stumble that run fast. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— A Street. 
Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. 

Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be ?" — 
Came he not home to-niuht ? 

Ben. Not to his father's : I spoke with his man. 

Mer. Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that 
Rosaline, 
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. 

Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, 
Hath sent a letter to his father's house. 

Mer. A challenge, on my lite. 

Ben. Romeo will answer it. 

Mer. Any man that can write may answer a letter. 

Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how 
he dares, being dared.'" 

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo ! he is already dead ! stab- 

I friar's close : in later quartos, and folio. 2 burning : in later quartos, and folio. ^ This and the fire following lines, are not in quarto, 
1597. « Revolts to vice, and stumbles on abuse : in quarto, 1597. ^ small : in quarto, 1.'597. " foes : in later quartos, a.nd folio. '' un- 
truised : in f. c. b rest : in folio. 9 her I : in later quartos, and folio. i» The rest of the line, not in quarto, 1597. i' Why, what 's be- 
come of Romeo : in quarto, 1597. 12 if he be challenged : in quarto, 1597. 



SCENE IV. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



659 



bed with a white wench's black eye ; run thorough the 
ear with a love-song ; the very pin' of his heart cleft 
with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft ; and is he a man 
to encounter Tybalt ? 

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt ? 

Mer. More than prince of cats," I can tell you. ! 
he is a courageous captain of compliments. He fights 
as you sing prick-song', keeps time, distance, and pro- 
portion : rests me his minim rest, one, two. and the 
third in your bosom : the very butcher of a silk button, 
a duellist, a duellist ; a gentleman of the very first 
house, of the first and second cause. Ah, the immor- 
tal passado ! the punto riverso ! the hay ! — 

Ben. The what ? 

3Ier. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fan- 
tasticncs, these new tuners of accents ! — " By Jesu, a 
very good blade ! — a very tall man ! — a very good 



whore !" — Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grand- 
sire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange 
flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-mois*, who 
stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at 
ease on the old bench ? 0. their bonsj their bons ! 
Enter Romeo. 

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. 

Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. — flesh, 
flesli, how art thou fishified ! — Now is he for tlie num- 
bers that Petrarch flowed in : Laura, to his lady, was 
a kitchen- wench ; — marry, she had a better love to 
be-rhyme her : Dido, a dowdy ; Cleopatra, a gipsy ; 
Helen and Hero, hildings' and harlots ; Thisbe, a grey* 
eye or so, but not to the purpose. — Signior Romeo, bon 
jour ! there 's a French salutation to your French slop.' 
You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. 

Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit 



did 



live you 



be he, sir, I desire some confidence" 



Mer. The slip, sir. the slip;* can you not conceive? 

Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was 
great : and in such a case as mine, a man may strain 
courtesy. 

Mer. That 's as much as to say — such a case as yours 
constrains a man to bow in the hams. 

Rom. Meaning — to courtesy. 

Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.' 

Rom. A most courteous exposition. 

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. 

Rom. Pink for flower. 

Mer. Right. 

Rom. Why, then is my pump well flowered.'" 

Mer. Well said :" follow me this jest now, till thou 
hast worn out thy pump ; that, when the single sole of 
it is worn, the jest may remain, after tlie wearing, 
solely singular. 

Rom. single-soled jest ! solely singular for the sin- 
gleness. 

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio, for my wits 
fail.'= 

Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll 
cry a match. 

Mer. Nay, if our wits run the wild-goose chase, I 
have done ; for thou hast more of the wild-goose in 
one of thy wits, than, I am sure. I have in my whole 
five. Was I with you there for the goose? 

Rom. Tiiou wast never with me for any thing, when 
thou wast not there for the goose. 

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. 

' The peg by which the target was attached. ^ The cat, in the old story of Reynard the Fox, is called, Tybert. ' Music by note. * So 
the undated quarto ; the other old copies : pardon-jnees. ' A low person. 6 Often ui-ed for a fine, blue eye. ' Loose hree.rhes. * A coun- 
terfeit piece of money, wa.s often so called. ' This and the previous speech, are not in quarto, 1597. '" The shoe-ribbons were cut like 
flowers. II Sure wit : in later quartos, and folio. '^ faint : in later quartos, and folio. '^ Xnme of an apple. '* Kid skin. " a broad 
poose : in q lartos. 16 thyself: in quarto. l.')97. i' Later quartos, and folio, read : — Nurse. My fan, Peter? Mer. Good Peter, to hide her 
face ? For her fan 's the fairer face. '8 ji[ot in later quartos, and folio. '' conference : in quarto, 1597. 20 ^q^ j^ f_ e_ 21 This was a 
favorite tune, as Not in f. e. 



Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not. 

Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting ;" it is a most 
sharp sauce. 

Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet 
goose ? 

Mer. ! here 's a wit of cheverel,'* that stretches 
from an inch narrow to an ell broad. 

Rom. I stretch it out for that word — broad : which 
added to the goose, proves thee far and wide abroad — 
goose." 

Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for 
love? now art thou sociable. ^low art thou Romeo:" 
now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by 
nature : for this driveling love is like a great natural, 
that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a 
hole. 

Ben. Stop there, stop there. 

Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against 
the hair. 

Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. 

Mer. O ! thou art deceived. I would" have made it 
short ; for I was come to the whole depth of my tale, 
and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. 

Rom. Here 's goodly geer ! 

Enter Nurse and Peter. 

Mer. A sail, a sail ! 

Ben. Two, two : a shirt, and a smock. 

Nurse. Peter, pr'ythee give me my fan. 

Mer. Pr'ythee, do. good Peter, to hide her face ; for 
her fan 's the fairer of the two.'' 

Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. 

3'Ier. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. 

Nurse. Is it good den ? 

Mer. 'T is no less. I tell you ; for the bawdy hand of 
the dial is now upon the prick of noon. 

Nurse. Out upon you ! what a man are you. 

Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for'* 
himself to mar. 

Nur.'^e. By my troth, it is well said ; — for himself to 
mar, quoth 'a ? — Gentlemen, can any of you tell me 
where I may find the young Romeo ? 

Rom. I can tell you ; but young Romeo "w-ill be 
older when you have tound him, than he was when 
you sought him. I am the youngest of that name, for 
fault of a worse. 

Nur.-ie. You say well. 

Mer. Yea ! is the worst well ? very well took, i' faith ; 
wisely, wisely. 

Nurse. If you 
with you. 

Ben. She will invite him to some supper. 

3Ier. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd ! So ho ! 

Rom. What hast thou found ? 

Mer. No hare, sir ; unless a hare, sir. in a lenten 
pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. 
An old hare hoar, and an old hare hoar.lSinging.'" 

Is very good meat in lent : 
Bid a hare that is hoar, is too much for a score, 
When it hoars ere it be spent. — 
Romeo, will you come to your father's ? we '11 to dinner 
thither. 

Rom. I will follow you. 

3Ier. Farewell, ancient lady ; 

Farewell, lady, lady, lady."^ \Singing." 

[Exeunt Mehcutio and Bknvolio. 



660 



KOMEO AND JULIET. 



ACT II. 



Nurse. Marry, farewell ! — I pray you, sir, what saucy 
merchant' was this, that was so full of his ropery" V 

Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself 
talk ; and will speak more in a minute, than he will 
stand to in a month. 

Nurse. An 'a speak any thing against me, I '11 take 
him down, an 'a were lustier than he is, and twenty 
such Jacks ; and if I cannot, I '11 find those that shall. 
ScurA'y knave ! I am none of his flirt-gills : I am none 
of his skaiiis-mates. — And thou must stand by. too, and 
suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure ? 

Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure : if I had, 
my AA^eapon should qnickly have been out, I warrant 
you. [ dare draw as soon as another man, if I see 
occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. 

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every 
part about me quivers. — Scurvy knave ! — Pray you, sir, 
a word ; and as I told you, my young lady bade me 
inquire you out : what she bid me say, I will keep to 
myself; but first let me tell ye, if ye siiould lead her 
ill a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross 
kind of behaviour, as they say, for the gentlewoman 
is young ; and, therefore, if yon should deal double 



to 



with her, truly, it were an ill thing to be offered 
any gentlewoman, and very wicked^ dealing. 

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. 
I protest unto thee,* — 

Nurse. Good heart ! and, i' faith, I will tell her as 
much. Lord, lord ! she will be a joyful woman. 

Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nnrsc ? thou dost not 
mark me. 

Nurse. I will tell her, sir, — that you do protest ; 
which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. 

Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift 
This afternoon ; 

And there she shall at friar Lawrence' cell 
Be shriv'd, and married. Here is for thy pains.* 

Nurse. No, truly, sir ; not a penny. 

Rom. Go to : I say, you shall. [Giving her money. ^ 

Nurse. This afternoon, sir ? well, she shall be there. 

Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey-wall : 
Within this hour my man shall be with thee. 
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair; 
Which to the high top-galhint of my joy 
Mnst be my convoy in the secret night. 
Farewell ! — Be trusty, and I '11 'quite thy pains. 
Farewell ! — Commend me to thy mistress. 

Nurse. Now, God in heaven bless thee !' — Hark you, 
sir. 

Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse ? 

Nurse. Is your man secret ? Did you ne'er hear say, 
Two may keep counsel, putting one away ? 

Rom. I warrant thee : my man is true as steel. 

Niir.ie. Well, sir ; my mistress is the sweetest lady — 
Lord, lord ! — when 'twas a little prating thing, — ! — 
There 's a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain 
lay knife aboard ; but she, good soul, had as lieve see a 
toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, 
and tell her that Paris is the properer man ; but, I 'U 
warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any 
clout in the varsal world. Doth not rosemary and 
Romeo begin both with a letter ? 

Rom. Ay, nurse ; What of that ? both with an R 



1 This ■word was often used 



Nui-se. Ah, mocker ! that 's the dog's name. R is 
for thee? no.* I know it begins with some other letter ; 
and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and 
rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. 

Rom. Commend me to thy lady. [Exit. 

Nur.^e. Ay, a thousand times. — Peter ! 

Pet. Anon ? 

Nurse. Peter, take my fan. and go before. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— Capulet's Garden. 
Enter Juliet. 

Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send the nurse ; 
In half an hour she promis'd to return. 
Perchance, she cannot meet him : that 's not so. — 
! she is lame :' love's heralds should be thoughts," 
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams 
Driving black shadows over lowering hills : 
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, 
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. 
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill 
Of this day's journey ; and from nine till twelve 
Is three long hours. — yet she is not come. 
Had she affections, and warm youthful blood, 
She 'd be as swift in motion as a ball ; 
My words would bandy her to my sweet love, 
And his to me : but old folks, seem as dead ; 
Unwieldy, slow, heavy, and dull as lead. 

E?iter Nurse and Peter. 
O God ! she comes. — honey nurse ! what news ? 
Hast thou met with him ?" Send thy man away. 

Nur.se. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Peter. 

Jul. Now, good sweet nurse, — lord ! why look'st 
thou sad ? 
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; 
If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news 
By playing it to me with so sour a face. 

Nurse. I am weary, give me leave awhile. — 
Fie. how my bones ache ! What a jaunt have I had ! 

Jul. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy news : 
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak , — good, good nurse, 
speak. 

Nur.se. Jesu, what haste ! can you not stay awhile ? 
Do you not see, that I am out of breath ? 

Jul. HoAV art tliou out of breath, when thou hast breath 
To say to me — that thou art out of breath ? 
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay 
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. 
Is thy news good, or bad ? answer to that ; 
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance. 
Let me be satisfied, is 't good or bad ? 

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice ; you 
know not how to choose a man : Romeo ! no, not he; 
though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg 
excels all men's ; and tor a hand, and a foot, and a 
body, — though they be not to be talked on, yet they 
are past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, — 
but, I '11 warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. — Go thy 
ways, wench : serve God. What, have you dined at 
home ? 

Jul. No, no : but all this did I know before. 
What says he of our marriage ? what of that ? 

Nurse. Lord, how my head aches ! what a head 
have I : 



mean, roguery. ^ weak : in 1'. 



. contemptuous terra, as distinguished from "gentleman." ^ j-operipe : in quarto, 1597; both words 
* Tell her, I protest : in quarto, 1597. * The quarto, 1597, has in place of this speech : — 
Bid her get leave to-morrow morning 
To come to shrift at friar Lawrence's cell ; 
and omits all to, "And stay." *Notinf. e. ' The quarto, 1597, omits all to. " Commend me," iVc. 8 "R, is the dog's letter and hirreth in 
the sound." — Ben Jonsn/i's Eng. Grammiir. Old copies read : " R is for the" ; which Warburton changed to " thee." vSome mod. eds. 
read, with Tyrwhitt : " R is lor the dog." 9 lazy : in quarto, 1597. '" The quarto. 1.597, has in place of this and the next twelve lines : 

And run more swift, than hasty powder fir'd 
Doth hurry from the fearful cannon's mouth. 
'1 Tha quajrto, 1597, omits all to, " I am aweajy." 



SCENE I. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



661 



It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. 

My back ! o' t' other side. — 0, my back, my back ! — 

Beshrew your heart for sending me about, 

To catch my death with jaunting up and down. 

Jul. V faith. I am sorry that tliou art not well. 
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love ? 

Nurse. Your love say.s like an honest gentleman, 
And a courteous, and a kind, and a hand.some, 
And, I warrant, a virtuous. — Where is your mother ? 

Jul. Wliere is my mother? — why, she is within: 
Where should she be ? How oddly tliou reply'st ; 
" Your love say.s like an honest gentleman, — 
Where is your mother ?" 

Nurse. 0, God's lady dear ! 

Are you so hot ? Marry, come up, I trow ; 
Is this the poultice for my aching bones ? 
Henceforward do your messages yourself. 

Jul. Here 's such a coil — Come, what says Romeo ?' 

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day ? 

Jul. I have. 

Nurse. Then, hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell. 
There stays a husband to make you a wife ; 
Now conies the wanton blood up in your cheeks ; 
They '11 be in scarlet straightway' at my^ news. 
Hie you to cliurch ; I must another way, 
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love 
Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark : 
I am the drudge, and toil in your delight, 
But you shall bear the burden soon at night. 
Go ; I '11 to dinner; hie you to the cell. 

Jul. Hie to high fortune ! — Honest nurse, farewell. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.*— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. 
Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act, 
That after hours with sorrow chide us not ! 



Rom. Amen, amen ! but come what sorrow can, 
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy 
That one short minute gives me in her sight : 
Do thou but close our lianils with holy words, 
Then love-devouring death do what he dare; 
It is enough I may but call her mine. 

Fri. These violent delights have violent ends, 
And in their triumph die : like fire and powder, 
Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey 
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness. 
And in the taste confounds tlio appetite: 
Therefore, love moderately ; long love doth so; 
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. 

Enter Juliet. 
Here comes the lady. — ! so light a foot 
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint : 
A lover may bestride the gossamers 
That idle in the wanton summer air, 
And yet not fall ; so light is vanity. 

Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. 

Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. 

Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too much. 

Rom. Ah, Juliet! if the measure of thy joy 
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more 
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath 
This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue 
Unfold the imagin'd happiness, that both 
Receive in either by this dear encounter. 

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, 
Brags of his substance, not of ornament : 
They are but beggars that can count their worth ; 
But my true love is grown to such excess, 
I cannot sum the sum* of half my wealth. 

Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short 
work ; 
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone. 
Till holy church incorporate two in one. [Exeu7it. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— A Public Place. 

Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page^ and Servants. 

Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let 's retire : 
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad. 
And if we meet we shall not 'scape a brawl ; 
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.' 

Mcr. Thou art like one of those fellows that, when 
he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword 
upon the table, and says, " God send me no need of 
thee !" and, by tlic operation of the second cup, draws 
him on the drnwer, when, indeed, there is no need. 

Ben. Am I like such a fellow? 

Mcr. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack, in thy 
mood, as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be 
moody, and as soon moody to be moved. 

Ben. And what to ? 

Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have 
none shortly, for one would kill the otlier. Thou ! why 
thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, 
or a hair Ic^s, in liis beard, than thou hast. Thou wilt 
quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other 
reason, but because thou hast hazel eyes : what eye, 



but such an eye, would spy out such a quarrel ? Thy 
head is as full of quarrels, as an egg is full of meat ; 
and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg 
for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for 
cougliing in the street, because he hath wakened thy 
dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Did.'=t thou not 
fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet be- 
'fore Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes 
with old riband ? and yet thou wilt tutor me from 
quarrelling ! 

Ben An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art. nny 
man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour 
and a quarter.' 

Mcr. Th« fee-simple ? simple ! 

Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. 
Enter Tvbalt, and others. 

Mcr. By my heel, I care not. 

Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. — 
Gentlemen, good den ! a word with one of you. 

Mer. And but one word with one of us? Couple 
it with something ; make it a wofd and a blow. 

Tyb. You will find me apt enough to that, sir, if 
you will give me occasion. 



' In place of this question, the quarto, 1597, has : 

Nay stay, sweet nurse ; I do entreat thee, now, 
What says my love, my lord, my Romeo ? 
* straight : in f. e. ' .iny : in f. e. * This scene was entirely re-formed in the quarto. 1599. It may he found as it appears in the quarto. 
IW". in the notes to \Vrplnnck's edition. ' sum up some : in folio. Steevens made the change. * This and the previous line, are not in 
quarto, 1597. ' This and the next speech, are not in the quarto, 1597. 



662 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



ACT III. 



Mer. Could you not take some occasion without 
giving? 

Tyb. Mercutio. thou consort'st with Romeo. — 

Mer. Consort ! what ! dost thou make us minstrels ? 
an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear notljing but 
discords : here 's my fiddlestick ; here's that shall make 
you dance. 'Zounds, consort ! [Striking his hilt} 

Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men : 
Either withdraw unto some private place, 
And reason coldly of your grievances, 
Or else depart ; here all eyes gaze on us." 

Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them 
gaze : 
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. 
Enter Romeo. 

Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir. Here comes my 
man. 

Mer. But, I '11 be hang'd, sir. if he wear your livery: 
Marry, go before to field, he '11 be your follower ; 
Your worship, in that sense, may call him — man. 

Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear thee, can afford 
No better term than this — thou art a villain. 

Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee 
Doth much exceed the appertaining rage 
To such a greeting :' — villain am I none ; 
Therefore farewell : I see, thou know'st me not. 

Tyb. Roy, this shall not excuse the injuries 
That thou hast done me : therefore, turn and draw. 

Rom. I do protest, I never injur'd thee ; 
But love thee better than thou canst devise, 
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love : 
And so, good Capulet. — which name I tender 
As dearly as mine own. — be satistied. 

Mer. calm, dishonourable, vile submission ! 
A la stoccata carries it away. 

[Draws as Tyb.^lt is going. 
Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? 

Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me ? 

Mer. Good king of cats, nothing, but one of your 
nine lives; that 1 mean to make bold withal, and, as 
you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the 
eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher* 
by the ears ? make haste, lest mine be about your ears 
ere it be out. 

Tyb. I am for you.' [Drawing. 

Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. 

Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight. 

Rom. Draw, Benvolio ; 
Beat down their weapons. — Gentlemen, for shame, 
Forbear this outrage ! — Tybalt — Mercutio — 
The prince expressly hath forbid this bandying 
In Verona streets. — Hold, Tybalt ! — good Mercutio I 

[Exeunt Tybai-t and his Parti.'tans. 

Mer. I am hurt : — [Romko svpports Merc.^ 

A plague o' both the houses ! — I am sped : — 
Is he gone, and hath nothing ? 

Ben. What ! art thru hurt ? 

Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch j marry, 't is 
enough. — 
Where is my page ? — go, villain, fetch a surgeon. 

[Exit Page. 

Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. 

Mer. No, 't is not so deep as a well, nor so wide as 
a church' door ; but *t is enough, 't will serve : ask for 
me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I 
am peppered, I warrant, for this world: — a plague o' 
both your houses ! — 'Zounds ! a dog, a rat, a mouse, a 



cat, to scratch a man to death ! a braggart, a rogue, a 
villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic ! — Why, 
the devil, came you between us? I was hurt under 
your arm. 

Rom. I thought all for the best. 

Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, 
Or I shall faint. — A plague o' both your houses ! 
They have made worms' meat of me : 
I have it, and soundly too : — your houses ! 

[Exe^int Mercutio and Benvolio. 

Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally, 
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt 
[n my behalf; my reputation stain'd 
With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour 
Hath been my cousin. sweet Juliet ! 
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate, 
And in my temper soften'd valour's steel. 
Re-enter Benvolio. 

Be77. Romeo, Romeo! brave Mercutio 's dead; 
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, 
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. 

Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth 
depend ; 
This but begins the woe others must end. 
Re-enter Tybalt. 

Bni. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. 

Rom. Alive! in triumph!* and Mercutio slain ! 
Away to heaven, respective lenity. 
And fire-ey'd' fury be my conduct now ! — 
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, 
That late thou gav'st me ; for Mercutio's soul 
Is but a little way above our heads. 
Staying for thine to keep him company : 
Eitlier thou, or I, or both, must go with him. 

Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him 
here, 
Shalt with him hence. 

Rom. This .«hall determine that. 

[ They fight ; Tybalt falls. 

Ben. Romeo, away ! begone ! 
The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain : — 
Stand not amaz'd : — the prince will doom thee death, 
If thou art taken. — Hence ! — be gone ! — away ! 

Rom. O ! I am fortune's fool. 

Ben. Why do.st thou .stay ? [Exit BoviEo. 

Enter Citizens, tVc. 

1 Cit. Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio? 
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he ? 

Ben. There lies that Tybalt. 

1 Cit. You, sir : — go with me ; 

I charge thee in the prince's name, obey. 
Enter Prince, attended ; Montague, Capulet, their 
Wives, and others. 

Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray ? 

Ben. noble prince ! I can discover all 
The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl : 
There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, 
That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. 

La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin ! — my brother's child ! 
prince ! O cou.sin ! husband ! O, the blood is spill'd 
Of my dear kinsman ! — Prince, as thou art true, 
For blood of ours shed blood of Montague. 
cousin, cousin ! 

Prin. Who began this bloody fray ? 

Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did 
slay : 
Romeo, that spoke him fair, bade him bethink 



1 Not in f. e. 2 This and the next speech, are not in quarto, 1.'>97. ' the love I bear thee doth excuse tha apjiertaininp rase tc such a 
word : in quarto, 1597. * scabbard ; in quarto, l.WT. » The passafjes from this to the exit of Tybalt, are not in quarto, 1597. ^ Not in f. e. 
' barn : in quarto. 8 go the quarto, 1597 | other old copies : He gone in triumph. » and : in all old copies, but tha quarto, 1597. 



SCENE II. 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 



663 



How nice' the quarrel was ; and urg'd withal 

Your high displeasure : — all this, uttered 

With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, 

Could not take truce with the unruly spleen 

Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts 

With piercing steel at bold Mcrcutio's breast ; 

Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point. 

And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats 

Cold death aside, and witli the other sends 

It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity 

Retorts it home." Romeo he cries aloud, 

" Hold, friends ! friends, part !"' and, swifter than his 

tongue, 
His agile arm beats down their fatal points. 
And 'twixt them ruslies : underneath whose arm, 
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life 
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled ; 
But by and by comes back to Romeo, 
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, 
And to 't they go like lightning ; for ere I 
Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain, 
And as he fell did Romeo turn and fly. 
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. 

La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague : 
Affection makes him false, he speaks not true :' 
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, 
And all those twenty could but kill one life. 
I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give : 
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. 

Prill.* Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; 
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe ? 

3Ion. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mcrcutio's friend; 
His fault concludes but what the law should end, 
The life of Tybalt. 

Prin. And for that offence. 

Immediately we do exile him hence : 
I have an interest in your hate's proceeding. 
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a bleeding; 
But I '11 amerce you with so strong a fine, 
That you shall all repent the loss of mine. 
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses. 
Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses ; 
Therefore, use none : let Romeo hence in haste, 
Else, when he 's found, that hour is his last. 
Bear hence this body, and attend our will : 
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Capulet's House. 
Enter Juliet. 
Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 
Towards Phoebus' mansion* ; such a waggoner 
As Phaeton would whip you to the west, 
And bring in cloudy night immediately.'' — 
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, 
That enemies" eyes may wink, and Romeo 
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen ! — 
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites 
By their own beauties ; or if love be blind, 
It best agrees with night. — Come, civil night, 
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, 
And learn me how to lose a winning match, 
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods : 
Hood my unmann'd* blood, bating' in my cheeks, 
With thy black mantle ; till strange love, grown bold, 
Think true love acted simple modesty. 
Come night, come Romeo, come thou day in night ; 
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night 

1 Trifling. " This word is not in f. e. » This line is not in quarto, 1597. « This and the next speech, are not in quarto, 1.597. » So the 
quarto, 'l.')97 ; other old copies : dwellinj;. « The rest of the soliloquy, is not in quarto, LTO". ■> .Most f. c. : runaways. Dyce reads : roving. 
* ' Terms of falconry — to man a hawk, is to accustom her to the person who trains her; bating: is bpating the air with the wings, in striv- 
ing to get away, i" The old spelling of ay. " So the quarto, 1597, other old copies : dearest. '^ serpent's hate : in quarto, 1597. 



Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. — 

Come, gentle night ; come, loving, black-brow'd night, 

Give me my Romeo : and, when he shall die, 

Take him and cut him out in little stars. 

And he will make the face of heaven so fine, 

That all tlie world will be in love with night, 

And pay no worsliip to the garish sun. — 

0, I have bought the mansion of a love, 

But not posse.'^s'd it ; and though I am sold, 

Not yet enjoy'd. So tedious is this day. 

As is the night before some festival 

To an impatient child that hath new robes, 

And may not wear them. ! here comes my "nurse. 

Enter Nurse, tcith a Ladder of Cords. 
And she brings news ; and ev'ry tongue, that speaks 
But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence. — 
Now, nurse, what news ? What hast thou there ? the 

cords 
That Romeo bade thee fetch ? 

Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. [Throws them down. 

Jul. Ah me ! what news ? why dost thou wring thy 
hands? 

Nurse. Ah well-a-day ! he 's dead, he 's dead, he 's 
dead ! 
We are undone, lady, we are undone ! — • 
Alack the day ! — he 's gone, he 's kill'd, he 's dead ! 

Jul. Can heaven be so envious? 

Nurse. Romeo can, 

Though heaven cannot. — Ptomeo, Ptomeo ! — 
Who ever would have thought it ? — Romeo ! 

Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? 
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. 
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but /,'" 
And that bare vowel, /, shall poison more 
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice : 
I am not I, if there be such an I; 
Or those eyes shut, tliat make thee answer, I. 
If he be slain, say — I ; or if not — no : 
Brief sounds determine or my weal or woe. 

Nur.^e. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes, — 
God save the mark ! — here on his manly breast : 
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse ; 
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood. 
All in gore blood ; — I swounded at the sight. 

Jul. O break, my heart ! — poor bankrupt, break at 
once ! 
To prison, eyes ; ne'er look on liberty : 
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here. 
And thou, and Romeo, press one hea\'y bier ! 

Nurse. Tybalt, Tybalt ! the best friend I had : 
O courteous Tybalt, honest gentleman ! 
That ever I should live to see thee dead ! 

Jul. What storm is this that blows so contrary ? 
Is Romeo slaughter'd ? and is Tybalt dead ? 
My dear-lov'd" cousin, and my dearer lord? — 
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom; 
For who is living, if those two are gone? 

Nur.se. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished: 
Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished. 

Jul. God ! — did Romeo"s hand shed Tybalt's 
blood ? 

Nur.se. It did. it did ; alas the day ! it did. 

Jul. serpent heart,''' hid with a flowering face ! 
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? 
Beautiful tyrant ; fiend angelical ! 
Dove-feather'd raven ! wolvish-ravening lamb ! 
Despised substance of divinest show ! 



664: 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 



ACT III. 



Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st ; 
A damned' saint, an honourable villain ! — 
0, nature ! what hadst thou to do in hell, 
When thou didst poui'^ the spirit of a fiend 
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh ? — 
Was ever book containing such vile matter, 
So fairly bound? 0, that deceit should dwell 
In such a gorgeous palace ? 

Nurse. There 's no trust, 

No faith, no honesty in men ; all perjur'd. 
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. — 
Ah ! where 's my man ? give me some aqua vita : — 
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. 
Shame come to Romeo ! 

Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue, 

For such a wish ! he was not born to shame : 
Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit : 
For 't is a throne wliere honour may be crown'd 
Sole monarch of the universal earth. 
0, what a beast was I to chide at him ! 

Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your 
cousin ? 

Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband ? 
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, 
When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it ? — 
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin ? 
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband : 
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring ; 
Your tributary drops belong to woe, 
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain ; 
And Tybalt 's dead, that would have slain my husband : 
All this is comfort ; wherefore weep I then ? 
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, 
That murder'd me. I would forget it fain ; 
But, ! it presses to my memory, 
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds : 
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo — banished ! 
Tliat — banished, that one word — banished, 
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death 
Was woe enough, if it had ended there : 
Or, — if sour woe delights in fellowship, 
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, — 
Why follow'd not, when she said — Tybalt 's dead, 
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both. 
Which modern' lamentation might have mov'd? 
But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 
Romeo is banished ! — to speak that word, 
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, 
All slain, all dead : — Romeo is banished ! — 
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound. 
In that word's death: no words can that woe sound. — 
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse ? 

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse : 
Will you go to them ? I will bring you thither. 

Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears ? mine shall 
be spent. 
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. 
Take up those cords. — Poor ropes, you are beguil'd. 
Both you and I, for Romeo is exil'd : [Taking them vp.* 
He made you for a highway to my bed. 
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. 
Come, cords ; come, nurse : I '11 to my wedding bed ; 
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead ! 

Nurse. Hie to your chamber ; I '11 find Romeo 
To comfort you : — I wot well where he is. 
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night : 
I '11 to him ; he is hid at Laurence' cell. 



Jul. O, find him ! give this ring to my true knight, 
And bid him come to take his last farewell. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Friar L.4urence's Cell. 
Ejiter Friar Laurence and Romeo. 

Fri. Romeo, come forth ; come forth, thou fearful 
Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, [man : 

And thou art wedded to calamity. 

Rom. Father, what news ? w4iat is the prince's doom ? 
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, 
That I yet know not ? 

Fri. Too familiar 

Is my dear son with such sour company: 
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. 

Rom. What less than dooms-day is the prince's 
doom ? 

Fri. A gentler judgment parted from liis lips, 
Not body's death, but body's banishment. 

Rom. Ha ! banishment ? be merciful, say — death ; 
For exile hath more terror in his look. 
Much more than death : do not say — banishment. 

Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished : 
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. 

Ilom. There is no world without Verona walls. 
But purgatory, torture, hell itself. 
Hence bani.shed is banish'd from the world, 
And world's exile is deaths — then, banished 
Is death mis-term'd : calling death banishment, 
Thou cut'.st my head off with a golden axe. 
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me. 

Fri. deadly sin ! rude unthankfulness ! 
Thy fault our law calls death ; but the kind prince. 
Taking thy part, hath brush'd aside the law, 
And turn'd that black word death to banishment : 
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. 

Rom. 'T is torture, and not mercy : heaven is here. 
Where Juliet lives: and every cat, and dog. 
And little mouse, every unworthy thing, 
Live here in heaven, and may look on her ; 
But Romeo may not. — More validity. 
More honourable state, more courtship lives 
In carrion flies, than Romeo : they may seize 
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand. 
And steal immortal blessing from her lips ; 
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty. 
Still blush, as thinking their own kis.ses sin ; 
This may flies do, when I from this must fly, 
And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death ? 
But Romeo may not ; he is banished. 
Flies may do this, but I from this must fly : 
They are free men, but I am banished.' 
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, 
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean. 
But — banished — to kill me ; banished ? 
friar ! the damned used that word in hell ; 
Howling attends it : how hast thou the heart, 
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, 
A sin-absolver. and my friend profess'd. 
To mangle me with that word — banished? 

Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me bvit speak a word. 

Rom. O ! thou wilt speak again of banishment. 

Fri. I '11 give thee armour to keep off that word ; 
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy. 
To comfort thee, though thou art banished. 

Rom. Yet banished ? — Hang up philosophy : 
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, 
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom. 
It helps not, it prevails not. Talk no more. 



1 So the undated quarto ; other.s and folio : dim. 
and the previous line, are not in folio. 



2 So the undated quarto ; other old copies : bower. ' Common. * Not in f. o. * This 



SCENE IV. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



665 



Welcome, then. 



Fri. ! then I see that madmen have no ears. 

Rom. How should they, when that wise men have 
no eyes ? 

Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 

Rom. Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel. 
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, 
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, 
Doting like me, and like me banished. 
Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy 

hair, 
And fall upon the ground, as I do now. 
Taking the measure of an unmade grave. [Falling.^ 

Fri. Arise ; one knocks : good [toineo, hide thyself. 

[Knocking wilhin. 

Rom. Not I: unless the breath of heart-sick groans. 
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. [Knocking. 

Fri. Hark, how they knock ! — who 's there ? — 
Romeo, arise ; 
Thou wilt be taken. — Stay a while. — Stand up; 

[Knocking. 
Run to my study. — By and by. — God's will ! 
What wilfulness is this ! — I come, I come. [Knocking. 
Who knocks so hard ? whence come you ? what 's your 
will? 

Nurse. [Within.] Let me come in and you shall 
know my errand : 
I come from lady Juliet. 

Fri. 

Enter Nurse 

Nurse. holy friar ! ! tell me, holy friar, 
Where is my lady's lord? where 's Romeo? 

Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears made 
drunk. 

Nurse. ! he is even in my mistress' case ; 
Just in her case. 

Fri. woful sympathy ! 

Piteous predicament ! 

Nurse. Even so lies she, 

Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. — 
Stand up, stand up ; stand, an you be a man : 
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand ; 
Why^ should y'ou fall into so deep an ? [Romeo groans.'^ 

Rom. Nurse ! [Rising suddenly.^ 

Nurse. Ah sir ! ah sir ! — Death is the end of all. 

Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her? 
Doth she not think me an old murderer, 
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy 
With blood remov'd but little from her own ? 
Where is she ? and how doth she ? and what says 
My conceard lady to our cancell'd love? 

Nurse. 0, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps ; 
And now falls on her bed ; and then starts up, 
And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, 
And then down falls again. 

Rom. As if that name, 

Shot from the deadly level of a gun, 
Did murder her ; as that name's cursed hand 
Murder'd her kinsman. — ! tell me, friar, tell me, 
In what vile part of this anatomy 
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack 
The hateful mansion. [Drawing his Sword. 

Fri. Hold thy desperate hand ! 

Art thou a man? thy form cries out, thou art; 
Thy tears are womanish ; thy wild acts denote 
The unreasonable fury of a beast : 
Unseemly woman, in a seeming man ; 
Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both ! 
Thou hast amaz'd me : by my holy order. 



I thought thy disposition better temper'd. 

Hast thou slain Tybalt ? wilt thou slay thyself, 

And slay thy lady, too, that lives in thee, 

By doing daumed hate upon thyself?'' 

Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth ? 

Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet 

In thee at once, which thou at once wouldst lose. 

Fie, fie ! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit. 

Which, like an u.surer, abound'st in all. 

And uscst none in that true use indeed 

Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit. 

Thy noble shape is but a form of wax. 

Digressing from the valour of a man ; 

Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury. 

Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish; 

Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love. 

Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both. 

Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask. 

Is set afire by thine own ignorance, 

And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. 

What ! rouse thee, man : thy Juliet is alive. 

For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead ; 

There art thou happy : Tybalt would kill thee. 

But thou slew'.st Tybalt; there art thou happy too: 

The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend,* 

And turns it to exile ; there art thou happy ; 

A pack of blessings lights upon thy back ; 

Happiness courts thee in her best array : 

But, like a mis-behav'd and sullen wench. 

Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love. 

Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. 

Go, get thee to thy love, as was agreed. 

Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her ; 

But, look, thou stay not till the watch be set. 

For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ; 

Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time" 

To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, 

Beg pardon of tlie prince, and call thee back. 

With twenty hundred thousand times more joy 

Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. — 

Go before, nurse : commend me to thy lady ; 

And bid her hasten all the house to bed. 

Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto : 

Romeo is coming. 

Nurse. Lord ! I could have stay'd here all the night, 
To hear good counsel : 0, what learning is ! — 
My lord, I '11 tell my lady you will come. 

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. 

Nurse. Here is a ring she bid me give y^ou. sir. 
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [Exit Nurse. 

Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this ! 

Fri. Go hence. Good night; and here stands all 
Either be gone before the watch be set. [your state : — 
Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence. 
Sojourn in Mantua ; I '11 find out your man, 
And he shall signify from time to time 
Every good hap to you that chances here. 
Give me thy hand : 't is late ; farewell ; good night. 

Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, 
It were a grief so brief to part yv'ith thee : 
Farewell. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A Room in Capulet's House. 

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris. 
Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily. 
That we have had no time to move our daughter. 
Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, 
And so did I : — well, we were born to die. — 



> 2 2 Not in f. e. * This and the sixteen following lines, are not in quarto, 1597. 
' This and the next four lines, are not in quarto, 1597. 



^ This and the next line, are not in quarto, 1597 



eee 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 



ACT III. 



'T is very late, she '11 not come down to-night : 
I promise you, but for your company, 
I would have been a-bed an hour ago. 

Par. Tliese times of woe afford no time to woo. — 
Madam, good niglit- commend me to your daughter. 

L'l. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow ; 
To night she 's mewM up in her heavines-s. 

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender 
Of my child's love : I think. .416 will be rul'd 
In all respects by me ; nay more. I doubt it not. 
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed ; 
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love, 
And bid her, mark you me. on Wednesday next — 
But, soft ! what day is this ? 

Par. Monday, my lord. 

Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is too 
0' Thunsday let it be: — o' Thursday, tell her, [soon; 
She shall be married to this noble earl. — 
Will you be ready? do you like this haste? 
We '11 keep no great ado : — a friend, or two; — 
For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, 
It may be thought we held him carelessly, 
Being our kinsman, if we revel much. 
Therefore, we '11 have some half a dozen friends. 
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday ? 

Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow. 

Cap. Well, get you gone : o' Thursday be it then. — 
Go you to Juliet, ere you go to bed. 
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. — 
Farewell, my lord. — Light to my chamber, ho ! 
Afore me ! it is so very late, that we 
May call it early by and by. — Good night. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— Juliet's Chamber. 
Enter Romeo and Juliet. 

Jul. Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day : 
It was the nightingale, and not the lark, 
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; 
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. 
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, 
No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks 
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. 
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops : 
I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 

Jul. Yon light is not day-light ; I know it, I : 
It is some meteor that the sun exhales, 
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer. 
And light thee on thy way to Mantua : 
Therefore, stay yet ; thou need"st not to be gone. 

Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death ; 
I am content, so thou wilt have it .so. 
I '11 say, yon grey is not the morning's eye, 
'T is but the pale reflex of Cynthia's bow ;* 
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat 
The vanity heaven so high above our heads : 
I have more care to stay, than will to go : — 
Come, death, and welcome : Juliet wills it so. — 
How is 't, my soul ? let 's talk, it is not day. 

Jul. It is, it is ; hie hence, be gone, away ! 
It is the lark that sings so out, of tune. 
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps. 
Some say, the lark makes sweet division ; 
This doth not so, for she divideth us : 
Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes; 
O ! now I would they had chang'd voices too, 



Since arm from arm that voice doth us aifray. 
Hunting thee hence with hunts-up^" to the day. 

! now be gone: more light and light it grows. 
Rom. More light and light, more dark and dark 

our woes. 

Enter Nurse. 
Nurse. Madam ! 
Jul. Nurse. 

Nur.'ie. Your lady mother 's coming to your chamber: 
The day is broke ; be wary, look about. [Exit Nurse. 
Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. 
Ro7n. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I '11 descend. 

[De.scending. 
Jul. Art thou gone so ? love, lord ! ay, husband, 

1 must hear from thee every hour in the day, [friend ! 
For in a minute there are many days : 

! by this count I shall be much in years, 
Ere I again behold my Romeo. 

Rom. Farewell ! I will omit no opportunity 
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 

Jul. I think'st thou, we shall ever meet again? 

Rom. I doubt it not f and all these woes shall serve 
For sweet di.'-courses in our time to come. 

Jul. God ! I have an ill-divining soul : 
Mcthinks, I see thee, now thou art so low, 
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb : 
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'.st pale. 

Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you : 
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu ! adieu ! 

[Exit Romeo. 

Jul. fortune, fortune ! all men call thee fickle ;* 
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him 
That is renown'd for faith ? Be fickle, fortune ; 
For, then, I hope thou wilt not keep him long, 
But send him back. 

La. Cap. [Within.] Ho! daughter, are you up? 

Jul. Who is 't that calls ? is it my lady mother ? 
Is she not down so late, or up so early ? 
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither ? 
Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet ? 

Jul. Madam, I am not well. 

La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? 
What ! wilt thou' wash him from his grave with tears ? 
An if thou wouldst, thou couldst not make him live ; 
Therefore, have done. Some grief shows much of love ; 
But much of grief shows still some want of wit. 

Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. 

La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend 
Which you weep for. 

Jul. Feeling so the loss, 

1 cannot choose but ever weep the friend. 

La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for 
his death. 
As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. 

Jul. What villain, madam ? 

La. Cap. That same villain, Romeo. 

Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder. 
God pardon him ! I do, with all my heart ; 
And yet no man, like him, doth grieve my heart. 

La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer' lives. 

Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands. 
Would none but I might venge my cousin's death ! 

La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it. fear thou not : 
Then, weep no more. I '11 send to one in Mantua, — 
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, — 
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram' 



ihrow: in f. e. = The name of a tune to summon hunters. 'No doubt, no doubt: in quarto, 1507. * This and the next two 
speeches, are wanting in the quarto, 1.597. " I think, thou 'It : in quarto, 1597. The scene was much altered subsequently ^ Not in 
quartos. ' That should bestow on him so sure a draught : quarto, 1597. 



SCENE V. 



KOMEO AND JULIET. 



667 



That he shall soon keep Tybalt company; 
And then, I hope, thou wilt be t;atisfied. 

Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied 
With RomeO; till I behold him — dead — 
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd. — 
Madam, if you could find out but a man 
To bear a poison, I would temper it. 
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, 
Soon sleep in quiet. — ! how my heart abhors 
To hear him nam'd, — and cannot come to him, — 
To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt 
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him ! 

La. Cap. Find thou the means, and V\l find such a 
man. 
But now I '11 tell thee joyful tidings, girl. 

Jul. And joy comes well in such a needy time. 
What are they, I beseech your ladyship? 

La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; 
One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, 
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy. 
That thou expect'st not. nor I look'd not for. 

/(//. Madam, in happy time, what day is that ?' 

La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn. 
The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, 
The county Paris, at Saint Peter's church 
Shall happily make thee a joyful bride. 

Jul. Now, by Saint Peter's church, and Peter too, 
He shall not make me there a joyful bride. 
I wonder at this haste ; that I must wed 
Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. 
I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, 
[ will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, 
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, 
Rather than Paris. 

La. Cap. These are news indeed !* 

Here comes your father ; tell him so yourself. 
And see how he will take it at your hands. 
Enter Capjlet and Nurse. 

Cap. When the sun sets, the earth doth drizzle dew ; 
But for the sunset of my brother's son 
It rains downright. — 

How now ! a conduit, girl ? what ! still in tears ? 
Evermore showering ? In one little body 
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind : 
For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea. 
Do ebb and flow with tears ; the bark thy body is, 
Sailing in this salt flood ; the winds, thy sighs ; 
Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, 
Without a sudden calm, will overset 
Thy tempest-tossed body. — How now, wife ! 
Have you deliver'd to her our decree ? 

La. Cap. Ay, sir ; but she will none, she gives you 
thanks. 
I would, the fool were married to her grave. 

Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, wife. 
How ! will she none ? doth she not give us thanks ? 
Is she not proud ? doth she not count her bless'd. 
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought 
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom ? 

Jul. Not proud you have, but thankful that you have : 
Proud can I never be of what I hate ; 
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. 

Cap. How now, how now, chop-logic ! What is this ? 
Proud, — and, I thank you, — and, I thank you not ; — 
And yet not proud ? — Mistress minion, you,' 
Tliank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds. 
But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next 



To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church, 

Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. 

Out, you green-sickness carrion ! out, you baggage ! 

You tallow face ! 

La. Cap. Fie, fie ! what, are you mad ? 

Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees. 
Hear me with patience but to speak a word. 

Cap. Hang thee, young baggage ! disobedient WTCtch ! 
I tell thee what, — get thee to church o' Thursday, 
Or never after look me in the face. 
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me ; 
My fingers itch. — Wife, we scarce thought us bless'd 
That God had lent us but this only child ; 
But now I see this one is one too much, 
And that we have a curse in having her. 
Out on her, hilding !* 

Nurse. God in heaven bless her ! 

You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. 

Cap. And why. my lady wisdom ? hold your tongue, 
Good prudence : smattcr with your gossips ; go. 

Nur.se. I speak no treason. 

Cap. ! God ye good den.* 

Nurse. May not one speak ? 

Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool ! 

Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl. 
For here we need it not. 

La. Cap. You are too hot. 

Cap. God's bread ! it makes me mad.' 
Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play. 
Alone, in company, still my care hath been 
To have her match'd : and having now provided 
A gentleman of noble parentage, 
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,^ 
Stuff 'd (as they say) with honourable parts, 
Proportion'd as one's thought would* wish a man, — 
And then to have a wretched puling fool. 
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, 
To answer — " I '11 not wed," — " I cannot love," 
•• I am too young," — " I pray you, pardon me." — 
But, an you will not wed, I '11 pardon you ; 
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me : 
Look to't, think on 't, I do not use to jest. 
Thursday is near ; lay hand on heart, advise. 
An you be mine, I '11 give you to my friend ; 
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets. 
For, by my soul, I '11 ne'er acknowledge thee, 
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good. 
Trust to 't, bethink you ; I '11 not be forsworn. [Exit. 

Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds. 
That sees into the bottom of my grief ? — 
0, sweet my mother, cast me not away ! 
Delay this marriage for a month, a week ; 
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed 
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. 

La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I '11 not speak a word. 
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit. 

Jul. God !— O nurse ! how shall this be prevented ?' 
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven ; 
How shall that faith return again to earth. 
Unless that husband send it me from heaven 
By leaving earth ? — Comfort me, counsel me. — 
Alack ! that heaven should practise stratagems 
Upon so soft a subject as myself ! — 
What say'st thou ? hast thou not a word of joy ? 
Some comfort, nurse. 

Nurse. Faith, here 't is. Romeo 

Is banished, and all the world to nothing. 



• this : in quarto, 1597. 2 f. e. give this lire to Jur.iKT. ^ Xot in folio. * A low, disreputable person. ' God give you good even or 
dav. 6 God's bleiised mother, wife, it mads rae : in quarto, 1597. l allied : in folio. 8 heart could : in quarto, 1597. ' The quarto, 1597, 



has but one line in place of this speech. 



668 



KOMEO AND JULIET. 



ACT IV. 



That ho dares ne'er come back to challenge you ; 
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. 
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, 
I think it best you married with the county. 

! he 's a lovely gentleman : 

Romeo 's a dishclout to him : an eagle, madam. 
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye, 
As Paris hath. Beshrcw my very heart, 

1 think you are happy in this second match, 
For it excels your first : or if it did not, 
Your first is dead ; or 't were as good he were, 
As living here and you no use of him. 

Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart ? 
Nurse. And from my soul too ; 

Or else beshrew them both. 

Jul. Amen ! 



Nurse. What ? 

Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. 
Go in ; and tell my lady I am gone, 
Having displeas"d my lather, to Laurence' cell, 
To make confession, and to be absolv'd. 

Nurse. Marry, I will ; and this is wisely done. 

[Exit. 

Jul. Ancient damnation ! 0, most wicked fiend ! 
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn. 
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue 
Which she hath praised him with above compare 
So many thousand times ?- — Go, counsellor ; 
Thou and my bosom henceforth sliall be twain. — 
I '11 to the friar, to know his remedy ; 
If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
Enter Friar Laurence and Paris. 

Fri. On Thursday, sir ? the time is A^ery short. 

Par. My father Capulet will have it so ; 
And I am nothing slow to slack' his haste. 

Fri. You say, you do not know the lady's mind : 
Uneven is the course ; I like it not. 

Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, 
And, therefore, have I little talk'd of love ; 
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. 
Now. sir, her father counts it dangerous. 
That she doth give her sorrow so nmch way,^ 
And in his wisdom hastes our marriage. 
To stop the inundation of her tears ; 
Which, too much minded by herself alone, 
May be put from her by society. 
Now do you know the reason of this haste ? 

Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. 

[Aside. 
Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. 
Enter Juliet. 

Par. Happily met,^ my lady, and my wife. 

Jul. That may be. sir, when I may be a wife. 

Par. That may be, must be, love, on Thursday next. 

Jul. What must be shall be. 

Fri. That 's a certain text. 

Par. Come you to make confession to this father ? 

Jul. To answer that, I should confess to you. 

Par. Do not deny to him that you love me. 

Jul. I will confess to you that I love him. . 

Par. So will you, I am sure, that you love me. 

Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price. 
Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. 

Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears. 

Jul. The tears have got small victory by thatj 
For it was bad enough before their spite. 

Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that 
report. 

Jul. That is no slander, sir, which is a truth ; 
And what I spake, I spake it to my face. 

Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. 

Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own. — 
Are you at leisure, holy father, now, 
Or shall I come to you at evening mass ? 



Fri. My leisure serves mCj pensive daughter, now. — 
My lord, we must entreat the time alone. 

Par. God shield, I should disturb devotion ! — 
Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you : 
Till then, adieu ; and keep this holy kiss. [Exit Paris. 

Jul. ! shut the door ; and when thou hast done so, 
Come weep with me ; past hope, past cure,* past help ! 

Fri. O Juliet ! I already know thy grief; 
It strains me past the compass of my wits ;^ 
I hear thou must, and nothing must prorogue it, 
On Thursday next be married to this Count. 

Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, 
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it : 
If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help,* 
Do thou but call my resolution wise. 
And with this knife I'll help it presently. [Shotving it.'' 
God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands ; 
And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd,^ 
Shall be the label to another deed, 
Or my true heart v.ith treacherous revolt 
Turn to another, this shall slay them both. 
Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time. 
Give me some present counsel ; or, behold, 
'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife 
Shall play the umpire ; arbitrating that. 
Which the commission of thy years and art 
Could to no issue of true honour bring. 
Be not so long to speak ; I long to die, [Offers to strike.^ 
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. 

Fri. Hold, daughter ! I do spy a kind of hope, 
Which craves as desperate an execution 
As that is desperate which we would prevent. 
If, rather than to marry county Paris, 
Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, 
Then is it likely thou wilt undertake 
A thing like death to chide away this .shame. 
That cop'st with death himself to scape from it ; 
And, if thou dar'st, I '11 give thee remedy. 

Jul. ! bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, 
From off the battlements of yonder'" tower; 
Or walk in thievish ways ; or bid me lurk 
Where serpents are ; chain me with roaring bears :" 
Or hide me nightly in a charnel-house, 
O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, 
With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless skulls ; 



I slack to slow : in quarto, 1.597 = sway : in f. e. * Welcome, mv love : in quarto, 1597. ♦ care : in folio. » This line is not in quarto, 
1597. 6 This and the eight following lines, are not in quarto, 1597. '' Not in f. e. » The seals of deeds were attached by ribands or 
labels. ' Not in f. e. "> any : in folio 

II Or chain me to some steepy mountain's top, "Where roaring bears and savage lions are : in quarto, 1597. 



SCENE III. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



669 



Or bid me go into a new-made grave, 

And hide iiie with a dead man in his shroud ;' 

Things that to hear them told have made me tremble ; 

And I will do it without fear or doubt. 

To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love." 

Fri. Hold, then : go home, be merry, give consent 
To marry Paris. Wednesday is to-morrow; 
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone, 
Let not tliy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: 
Take thou this phial, being then in bed, 
And this distilled liquor drink thou off; 
When, presently, through all thy veins shall run 
A cold and drowsy humour ; for no pulse 
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease:' 
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livcst ; 
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade 
To paly"" ashes; thy eyes' windows fall. 
Like death when he shuts up the day of life ; 
Each part, dcpriv'd of supple government, 
Shall stiff and stark and cold, appear like death : 
And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death 
Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, 
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. 
Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes 
To rouse thee from thy bed. there art thou dead : 
Then, as the manner of our country is. 
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier, 
Be borne to burial in thy kindred's grave : 
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault, 
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. 
In the meantime, against thou shalt awake, 
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drill ; 
And hither shall he come, and he and I 
Will watch thy waking, and that very night 
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 
And this shall free thee from this present shame, 
If no unconstant toy, nor womanish fear. 
Abate thy valour in the acting it. 

Jul. Give me, give me ! ! tell me not of fear. 

Fri. Hold: get you gone: be strong and prosperous 
In this resolve. I '11 send a friar with speed 
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. 

/((/. Love, give me strength, and strength shall 

help afford. 

Farewell, dear father. [Exeunt. 

I 

SCENE II. — A Room in Capulet's House. 
Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet. Nvrse, and Servants. 

Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. — 

[Exit Servant. 
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. 

2 Scrv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I '11 try if 
they can lick their lingers. 

Cap. How canst thou try them so ? 

2 Srrv. Marry, sir, 't is an ill cook that cannot lick 
his own fingers : therefore he that cannot lick his 
fingers goes not with me. 

Cap. Go. begone. — [Exit Servant. 

We shall be much unfurni.^h'd for this time. — 
What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? 

Nurse. Ay, forsooth. 



Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on her: 
A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. 
Enter Juliet. 

Nurse. Sec, where she comes from shrift with merry 
look. 

Cap. How now, my headstrong ! where have you 
been gadding ? 

Jul. Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin 
Of disobedient* opposition 
To you, and your behests ; and am enjoin'd 
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, [Kneeling.'^ 
And beg your pardon. — Pardon, I beseech you: 
Henceforward I am ever ruld by you. 

Cap. Send for tlie County : go tell him of this. 
I '11 have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. 

/;//. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; 
And gave him what becoming^ love I might, 
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. 

Cap. Why, I am glad on 't ; this is well, — .stand up: 
This is as 't should be. — Let me see the County: 
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. — 
Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar, 
All our whole city is much bound to him. 

Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, 
To help me sort such needful ornaments 
As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? 

La. Cap. No. not till Thursday: there is time enough. 

Cap. Go, nurse, go with her. — We '11 to church to- 
morrow. [Exeunt Juliet and Nurse. 

La. Cap. We .shall be short in our provision : 
'T is now near night. 

Cap. Tush ! I will stir about, 

And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife. 
Go thou to Juliet ; help to deck up her : 
I '11 not to bed to-night ; — let me alone ; 
I '11 play the housewife for this once. — WTiat ho ! — 
They are all forth : well, I will walk myself 
To county Paris, to prepare him up 
Against to-morrow. My heart is won'drous light. 
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— Juliet's Chamber. 
Enter Juliet and Nurse. 
Jul. Ay, those attires are best ; — but, gentle nurse, 
I pray thee leave me to myself to-night ; 
For I have need of many ori.sons 
To move the heavens to smile upon my state, 

is cross and full of sin. 
Enter Lady Capulet. 
La. Cap. What, are you bu.'jy, ho? need you my help? 
Jal. No, madam ; we have cull'd such necessaries 
As are bchoveful for our state to-morrow : 
So please you. let me now be left alone, 
And let the nurse this night sit up with you : 
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, 
In this .so sudden business. 

La. Cap. Good night : 

Get thee to bed, and rest ; for thou hast need. 

[E.reunt I^ady Capulet and Nurse. 
Jul. Farewell !*— God knows when w^e shall meet 
again. 



Which, well thou know'st 



' Or lay me in a tomb with one new dead : in quarto, l-WT; th 
' To keep rnvself a faithful, nnst.iined wife. To my dear lord 
' A dull and heavy slumber, which shall seize, Karh vital sp 
quarto. 1597. ^ .So the undated quarto : others, and folio : many 
" In the quarto, 1.097. this speech is tluis jriven : 

Farewell. God knows when we shall meet again. 
Ah. I do take a fearful thinj; in hand — 
What if this potion should not work at all, 
Must I of force be married to the county? 
This shall forbid it. Knife, lie thou there. 
What if the ''riar should give me this drink 
To poison me, for fear I should disclo.se 
Our former marriage ? Ah. I wrong him much. 
He is a holy and religious man : 



e undated quarto has : shroud ; the folio : grave. 
, my dearest Romeo : in quarto, l.>97. 

irit ; for no pulse shall keep His n.itural proj^ress, b^kjiircease to 
■" ■ - Not in f. e^' 



5 forward, wilful : in quarto, 1.597. 



beat : in 
becomed : in f. e 



I will not entertain so bad a thought. 
What if I should be stifled in the tomb? 
Awake an hour before the appointed time? 
Ah I then T fear T shall be lunatick. 
And playing with my dead forefather's bones, 
Bash out mv frantic brains. IMethinks I see 
My cousin Tvbalt, weltering in his blood, 
Keeking for Romeo : stay, Tybalt, stay,— 
Romeo, I come, this do I drink to then. 



670 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 



ACT V. 



I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, 

That almost freezes up the heat of life : 

I '11 call them back again to comfort me. — 

Nurse ! — What should she do here ? 

My dismal scene I needs must act alone. — 

Come, phial. — 

What if this mixture do not work at all, 

Shall I be married, then, to-morrow morning ? — 

No, no ] — this shall forbid it : — lie thou there. — 

[Laying down a Dagger. 
What if it be a poison, which the friar 
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead. 
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, 
Because he married me before to Romeo ? 
I fear, it is ; and yet, methinks, it should not. 
For he hath still been tried a holy man : 
I will not entertain so bad a thought. — 
How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 
I wake before the time that Romeo 
Come to redeem me ? there 's a fearful point. 
Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault, 
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in. 
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes ? 
Or, if I live, is it not very like. 
The horrible conceit of death and night, 
Together with the terror of the place, — 
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, 
Where, for thc.';e many hundred years, the bones 
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd ; 
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth. 
Lies festering in his shroud ; where, as they say, 
At some hours in the night spirits resort : — 
Alack, alack ! is it not like, that I, 
So early waking, — what with loathsome smells, 
And .^hrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, 
Tliat living mortals, hearing them, run mad ] — 
! if I wake, shall I not be distraught. 
Environed with all these hideous fears, 
And madly play with my forefathers' joints, 
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? 
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, 
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains ? 
0. look ! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost 
Seeking out Romeo, that did sjiit his body 
Upon a rapier's point. — Stay, Tybalt, stay ! — 
Romeo ! Romeo ! Romeo ! — here 's drink — I drink to 
thee. [She throivs herself on the bed. 

SCENE IV.— Capulet's Hall. 
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
La. Cap. Hold ; take these keys, and fetch more 

spices, nurse. 
Kursc. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. 

Enter Capulkt. 
Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir ! the second cock hath 
crow'd, 
The curfew bell hath rung, 't is three o'clock. — 
Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica; 
Spare not for cost. 

Nur.'ie.^ Go, go, you cot-quean,* go. 

Get you to bed : 'faith, you '11 be sick to-morrow 
For this night's watching. 

Cap. No. not a whit. What ! I have watch'd ere now 
All night for lessiHf ^^^^^^^i ^^^^ ne'er been sick. 

La. Cap. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt^ in your 

But I will watch you from such watching now. [time; 

[Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. 



Cap. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood ! — Now. fellow, 
What 's there ? 

Enter Servants, with Spits, Logs, and Baskets. 

1 Scrv. Things for the cook, sir ; but I know not what. 
Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit 1 Scrv.] — Sir- 
rah, fetch drier logs : 

Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. 

2 Serv. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, 
And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit. 

Cap. 'Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha ! 
Thou shalt be logger-head. — Good faith ! 't is day : 
The County will be here with music straight, 

[Mnsic within. 
For so he said he would. — I hear him near. — 
Nurse ! — Wife ! — what, ho ! — what, nurse, I say ! 

Enter Nurse. 
Go. waken Juliet ; go, and trim iier up : ^ 
I '11 go and chat with Paris. — Hie, make haste. 
Make liaste ; the bridegroom he is come already. 
Make haste, I say. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Juliet's Chamber; Juliet on the Bed. 
Enter Nurse. 

Nurse. Mistress ! — what, mistress ! — Juliet ! — fast, 
I warrant : — 
Why, lamb ! — why, lady ! — fie. you slug-a-bed ! — 
Why, love. I say ! — madam ! sweet-heart ! — why, 

bride ! — 
What ! not a word ? — You take your pennyworths now : 
Sleep for a week ; for the next night, I warrant, 
The county Paris hath set up his rest, 
That you shall rest but little. — God forgive me, 
Marry and amen, how sound is she asleep ! 
I needs must wake her. — Madam, madam, madam ! 
Ay, let the County take you in your bed ; 
He '11 fright you up, i' faith. — Will it not be ? — 
What, drest ! and in your clothes ! and down again ! 
I must needs wake you. Lady ! lady, lady ! — 
Alas ! alas ! — Help ! help ! my lady 's dead ! — 
0. well-a-day, that ever I was born ! — 
Some aqua-vitse, ho ! — my lord ! my lady ! 
Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. What noise is here ? 

Nurse. lamentable day ! 

La. Cap. What is the matter ? 

Nurse. Look, look ! heavy day ! 

La. Cap. me ! me ! — my child, my only life, 
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee ! — 
Help, help ! — call help. 

Enter Capulet. 

Cap. For shame ! bring Juliet forth ; her lord is come. 

Nurse. Siie 's dead, dcccas'd : she 's dead : alack the 
day ! 

La. Cap. Alack the day! she's dead, she's dead, 
she 's dead. 

Cap. Ha !* let me see her. — Out, alas ! she 's cold ! 
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; 
Life and these lips have long been separated : 
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost 
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. 

Nurse. lamentable day ! 

La. Cap. woful time ! 

Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me 
wail. 
Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. 

Enter Friar Laurence and Paris, U'ith Musicians. 

Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church ? 



' Some mod. eds. : Lady Cap. 



2 A man who interferes in women's bu.siness. 3 A stoat. 
Stay, let me see, all pale and wan, 
Accursed time, unfortunate old man. 



* In quarto, 1597, this speech stands : 



SCENE V. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



671 



Cap. Ready to go, but never to return. — 
sou ! the night before thy wedding day 
Hath death lain with thy wife : there she lies, 
Flower as she was, deflowered by him. 
Death is my son-in-law, death is my heirj 
My daughter he hath wedded. I will die, 
And leave him all ; life, living', all is death's ! 

Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face,' 
And doth it give me such a sight as this ? 

La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day ! 
Most miserable hour, that e'er time saw 
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage ! 
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child. 
But one thing to rejoice and solace in. 
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight. ^ 

Nurse. woe, woful, woful, woful day ! 
Most lamentable day ! most woful day, 
Tiiat ever, ever, I did yet behold ! 
day ! day ! day ! hateful day ! 
Never was seen so black a day as this : 
woful day. woful day ! 

Par. Beguil'd, divorc'd, wrong'd, spited, slain ! 
Most detestable death, by thee beguild. 
By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown ! — 
love ! life ! — not life, but love in death ! 

Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd ! 
Uncomfortable time, why cam'st tliou now 
To murder, murder our solemnity? — 
child ! child ! — my soul, and not my child ! — 
Dead art thou ! — alack ! my child is dead ; 
And with my child my joys are buried. 

Fri. Peace, ho ! for shame ! confusion's cure* lives not 
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself 
Had part in this fair maid, now heaven hath all ; 
And all the better is it for the maid : 
Your part in her you could not keep from death, 
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. 
The most you sought was her promotion. 
For 't was your heaven she should be advanc'd ; 
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd 
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? 
O ! in this love you love your child so ill, 
That you run mad, seeing that she is well : 
She 's not well married that lives married long. 
But she 's best married that dies married young. 
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary 
On this fair corse : and, as the custom is. 
In alP her best array bear her to church ; 
For though fond nature bids us all lament, 
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. 

Cap. All things, that we ordained festival. 
Turn from their otflce to black fimcral : 
Oar instruments to melancholy bells : 
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast : 
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change; 
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse. 
And all things change them to the contrary. 

Fri. Sir, you go in, — and, madam, go with him ; — 



And go, sir Paris : — every one prepare 
To follow this fair corse unto her grave. 
The heavens do low'r upon you, for some ill • 
Move them no more, by crossing their high will. 
[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar.^ 

1 Mus. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be 
gone. 

Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah ! put up, put up ; 
for, well you know, this is a pitiful case. [Exit Nurse. 

1 Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. 
Enter Peter. 

Pet. Musicians, 0, musicians ! " Heart's ease,' 
Heart's ease :" O ! an you will have me live, play — 
'' Heart's ea.se." 

1 Mus. Why " Heart's ease ?" 

Pet. 0, musicians ! because my heart itself plays 
'■ My heart is full of woe* ;" ! play me some merry 
dump,' to comfort me. 

2 Mus. Not a dump we : 't is no time to play now. 
Pet. You will not, then? 

3Ius. No. 

Pet. I will, then, give it you soundly. 

1 Mus. What will you give us? 

Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleek'" : I -will 
give you the minstrel. 

1 3Ius. Then, will I give you the serving-creature. 

Pet. Then, will I lay the serving-creature's dagger 
on your pate. I will carry no crotchets : I '11 re you, 
I' 11 /« you. Do you note me? [Drawing his Dagger}^ 

1 Mus. An you re us, and fa us, you note us. 

2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out 
your wit. 

Pet. Then have at you with my wit. I will dry- 
beat you with my iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. 
— Answer me like men : 

When griping grief the heart doth woundj^'^ 

And doleful dumps the mind, oppress^ 
Then music, with her silver sound; 

Why, " silver sound ?" why, " music with her silver 
sound?'' What say you, Simon Catling? 

1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet 
sound. 

Pet. Thou pratest" ! — What say you, Hugh Rebeck ? 

2 Mus. I say " silver sound," because musicians 
sound for silver. 

Pet. Tliou pratest too ! — What say you, James 
Soundpost ? 

3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say. 

Pet. ! I cry you mercy ; you are the singer : I 
will say for you. It is " music with her silver sound," 
because musicians'^ have seldom gold for sounding : — 
Then music tcith her .nlver sound, 
With speedy help doth lend redress. 

[Exit. 

1 I\[us. What a pestilent knave is this same. 

2 3Ius. Hang him, Jack ! Come, we '11 in here ; 
tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt. 



• So all old copies. Steovens reads ; leaving. ~ The quarto, 1597, adds: 
And doth it now present .such prodinies ? 
Accurst, unhappy, miserable man 1 
Forlorn, forsaken, destitute, I am ; 
Born to the world to be a slave in it : 
3 The quarto, 1597, adds — with the prefix, All : 



Distrest, remediless, and unfortunate. 

heavens I nature ! wherefore did you make me 

To live so vile, so wretched as I shall ? 



And all our joy, and all our hope is dead ; ^^ 

Dead, lost, undone, abspnted, wholly lied. ^m 

* care : in old copies. Theobald made the change. * So the quarto, 1597 ; folio • And in. * The direction, in quarto, 1597, is : Thci/ all 
but the Nurse go forth, casting rosemary on /ler, and shuttinir Iki: curtains. ' 8 Names of popular tunes. All old copies, but undated 
folio, omit : of woe. ^ K strain, or z. poem ; also, a iZanrc. ^^ A. jeer. "Not in f. e. 1= From a poem, by R. Edwards, in the "Para- 
dise cf Dainty Devices." '^ pretty : in quarto, 1.597. i* such fellows as you : in quarto. 1597. 



672 



KOMEO AND JULIET. 



ACT V. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— Mantua. A Street. 
Enter Romeo. 

Rom. If I may trust the flattering: deatli' of sleep, 
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand." 
My bosom's lord sits lightly^ in his throne; 
And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit 
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. 
I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead ; 
(Strange dream ! that gives a dead man leave to think) 
And breath'd such life with kis.ses in iny lips, 
That I reviv'd, and was an emperor. 
Ah ine ! how sweet is love itself possess'd,* 
When but love's sliadows are so rich in joy ? 

Enter Balthasar. 
News from Verona ! — How now, Balthasar? 
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar' 
How doth my lady ? Is my father well ? 
How fares my' Juliet ? That [ ask again ; 
For nothing can be ill if she be well. 

Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill : 
Her body sleeps in Capulet's monument. 
And her immortal part with angels lives. 
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, 
And presently took post to tell it you. 

pardon me for bringing these ill news, 
Since you did leave it for my office, sir. 

Rom. Is it e'en so ? then, I defy' you, stars ! — 
Thou know'st my lodging : get me ink and paper, 
And hire post horses ; I will hence to-night. 

Bal. I do beseech you, sir, have patience : 
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import 
Some misadventure. 

Rom. Tush ! thou art deceiv'd: 

Leave me. and do the thing I bid thee do. 
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar ? 

Bal. No, my good lord. 

Rom. No matter ; get thee gone. 

And hire those horses : I '11 be with thee straight. 

[Exit Balthasar. 
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. 
Let 's see for means : — 0, mischief ! thou art swift* 
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men. 

1 do remember an apothecary, 

And hereabouts he dwells, which late I noted 

In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows. 

Culling of simples : meagre were his looks. 

Sharp misery had worn him to the bones : 

And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, 

An alligator stulFd, and other skins 

Of itl-.shap'd fishes ; and about his shelves 

A beggarly account of empty boxes, 

Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, 

Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses. 

Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show. 

Noting this penury, to my.self I said — 

An if a man did need a poison now. 



Whosesale is present death in Mantua, 
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him. 

! this same thought did but forerun my need, 
And this same needy man must sell it me. 

As I remember, this should be the house : 
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. — 
What, ho ! apothecary ! 

Enter Apothecary. 

Ap. Who calls so loud ? 

Rom. Come hither, man. — I see, that thou art poor; 
Hold, there is forty' ducats: let me have 
A dram of poison ; such soon-speeding geer 
As will disperse itself through all the veins, ^ 
That the life-weary taker may fall dead ; 
And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath 
As violently, as hasty powder fir'd 
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. 

Ap. Such mortal drugs I have ; but Mantua's law 
Is death to any he that utters them. 

Rom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness,'" 
And fear'.>-t to die ? famine is in thy cheeks, 
Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes,'* 
Contempt and beggary hang on thy back, 
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law : 
The world affords no law to make thee rich ; 
Then, be not poor, but break it, and take this. 

Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents. 

[Exit and returns.^^ 

Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. 

Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will. 
And drink it off: and. if you had the strength 
Of twenty men, it w"ould despatch you straight. 

Ro7n. There is thy gold; worse poison to 
souls. 
Doing more murders in this loathsome world, 
Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell : 

1 sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. 
Farewell ; buy food, and get thyself in fle.sh. — 
Come, cordial, and not poi.son, go with me 

To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
Enter Friar John. 

John. Holy Franciscan friar ! brother, ho ! 
Enter Friar Laurence. 

Lau. This same sliould be the voice of friar John. — 
Welcome from Mantua : what says Romeo? 
Or. if his mind be writ, give me his letter. 

John. Going to find a bare-foot brother out. 
One of our order, to associate me. 
Here in this city visiting the sick. 
And finding him, the searchers of the town. 
Suspecting that we both were in a house 
Where the infectious pestilence did reign, 
Seal'd up tiie doors, and would not let us forth ; 
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. 

Lau. Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo ? 



men's 



1 truth : in f. e. ; eye : in quarto, 1597. 2 good event to come : in quarto, 1597. ^ cheerful : in quarto, 1597. ♦ This an 
line, not in quarto. 1597. ' xhis line not in quarto, 1597. * doth my lady : in later quarfos, and folio. ' deny : in later q 
folio. '' The quarto, 1597, reads : 



d the next 
quartos, and 



'aij 

t|P As I do remember. 

Here dwells a pothecary, whom oft 1 noted 
As 1 pa.st by, whose needy shop is stuil't 
With beggarly accounts of empty boxes: 
And in the same an alligator hangs. 
Old ends of paclcthread, and cakes of roses, 
Are thinly strewed to malie up a show 



_' here "s twenty : in quarto, 1597 
12 Not in f. e. 



Him. as I noted, thus with myself I thought, 

An if a man should need a poison now, 

(Whose present sale is death in Mantua,) 

Here he might buy it. This thought of mine 

Did but forerun my need : and hereabout he dwells. 

Being holiday the beggar's shop is shut. 

What ho ! apothecary ! come forth, I say — 



'" poverty : in quarto, 1.597. n The quarto, 1597, has in place of this, and next line : 
Upon thy back hangs ragged misery, 
And starved famine dwelleth in thy cheeks 



SCENE III. 



EOMEO Ai^D JULIET. 



673 



John. I could not send it, — here it is again. — 

[Giving it} 
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, 
So fearful were they of infection. 

Lau. Unhappy fortune ! by my brotherhood, 
The letter was not nice,° but full of charge 
Of dear import: and the neglecting it 
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence ; 
Get me an iron crow.' and bring it straight 
Unto my cell. 

John. Brother, I '11 go and bring it. [Exit. 

Lau. Now must I to the monument alone. 
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake ; 
She will beshrew me much, that Romeo 
Hath had no notice of these accidents ] 
But I will write again to Mantua, 
And keep her at my cell (ill Romeo come : 
Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb ! [Exit. 

SCENE III.— A Churchyard; in it the Monument 
of the Capulets. 

Enter Paris, and his Page, bearing Flowers, and a Torch. 

Par. Give me thy torch, boy : hence, and stand 
Yet put it out, for 1 would not be seen. [aloof: — 

Under yond' yew-trees lay thee all along, 
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; 
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread. 
Being loose, unfirm with digging up of graves. 
But thou shalt hear it : whistle then to me, 
As signal that thou hear'st something approach. 
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee ; go. 

[Giving a basket.* 

Pas:e. I am almost afraid to stav* alone 
Here in the churchyard ; yet I will adventure. [Retires. 

Par. Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I 
woe ! thy canopy is dust and stones, [strew. 

Which with sweet water nightly I will dew, 
Or wanting that with tear.-i distill'd by moans: 
The obsequies, that I for thee will keep. 
Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep ! ' 

[The Boy whistles. 
The boy gives warning something doth approach. 
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, 
To cross my obsequies, and true love's rite ? 
What ! with a torch ? — mulfle me, night, a while. 

[Retires. 
Enter Romeo and Balthasar, with a Torch. 
Mattock, Ifc. 

Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching iron. 
Hold, take this letter: early in the morning 
See thou deliver it to my lord and father. 
Give me the light. Upon thy life I charge thee, 
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, 
And do not interrupt me in my course. 
Why I descend into this bed of death 
Is partly to behold my lady's face ; 
But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger 
A precious ring, a ring that I must use 
111 dear employment. Therefore hence, be gone : 
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
III what I farther shall intend to do. 
By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint, 

1 Not in f. e. ^ A triflins; matter. ' 
gives instead of these lines : 

8>veet tomb, that in thy circuit dost contain 



And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs. 
The time and my intents are savage, wild ;'' 
More fierce, and more inexorable far, 
Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea. 

Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 

Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. — Take thou 
that: [Giving his Purse. ^ 

Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow. 

Bal. For all this same, I'll hide me here about: 
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Exit.^ 

Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, 
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth, 
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open. 

[Breaking open the Monument. 
And. in despite. I '11 cram thee with more food ! 

Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague. 
That murder'd my love's cousin. — with which grief, "' 
It is supposed, the fair creature died, — 
And here is come to do some villainous shame 
To the dead bodies : I will apprehend him. — 

[Advancing. 
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague. 
Can vengeance be pursu'd farther than death ? 
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee : 
Obey, and go with me ; for thou must die. 

Rom. I must, indeed; and therefore came I hither. — 
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man : 
Fly hence and leave me : — think upon these gone ; 
Let them affright thee. — I beseech thee, youth. 
Put" not another sin upon my head, 
By urging me to fury^^ : — ! be gone. 
By heaven, I love thee better than myself, 
For I come hither arm'd against myself. 
Stay not, be gone ; — live, and hereafter say — '' 
A madman's mercy bade thee run away. 

Par. I do defy commiseration,'* 
And apprehend thee for a felon here. 

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me ? then, have at thee, 
boy. [Theij fight. 

Page. Lord ! they fight : I will go call the watch. 

[Exit Page. 

Par. ! I am slain. [FaUs.] — If thou be merciful, 
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies. 

Rom. In faith, I will. — Let me peruse this face : — 
Mercutio's kinsman, noble county Paris ! — 
What said my man when my betossed soul 
Did not attend him as we rode ? I think, 
He told me, Paris should have married Juliet : 
Said he not so ? or did I dream it so ? 
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,'' 
To think it was so ? — ! give me thy hand, [Taking it.'* 
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book ! 
I '11 bury thee in a triumphant grave. — 
A grave ? 0, no ! a lantern, slaughter'd youth, 
For here lies Juliet ; and her beauty makes 
This vault a feasting presence full of light. 
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. 

[Laying Paris in the Mmniment, 
How oft, when men are at the point of death, 
Have they been merry." which their keepers call 
A lightning before death : ! how may I 
Call this a lightning ? — 0, my love ! my wife ! 

a spade and mattoolc: in quarto, 1597. * Not in f. e. ' stand : in f. e. ' The quartO) 1597, 



'The next two 



The perfect model of eternity, 

Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain, 

''"" ' '^ quarto, lailT. ' Not in f. e. 



Accept this latest favour at my hanoS, 
That living honoured thee, and being dead, 
With funeral praises do adorn thy tomb. 

^ - -- ,-^ , 9 Hetires : in f. e. '"This and the ne.xt thne iines. are not in quarto, 1597. 

"Heap: in quarto, 1.597. ■' By shedding of thy blood : in quarto, 1597. '^ This and the next line, not in quarto, 1597. '* thy conjura- 
tions (entreaty) : in quarto, 1597. '» The quarto, 1.597. has in place of this and the si.x following lines : 

But 1 will satisfy thy last request, 
I'"or thou hast priz'd thy love above thy life. 
'* Not in f. e. i" Been blith and pleasant : in quarto, 1.597. 

43 



674 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



ACT V. 



Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath. 

Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : 

Thou art not conquer'd • beauty's ensign yet 

Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks, 

And death's pale flag is not advanced there. — * 

Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet ? 

O ! what more favour can I do to thee, 

Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain, 

To sunder his that was thine enemy ? 

Forgive me, cousin ! — Ah ! dear Juliet. 

Why art thou yet so fair ? I will believe 

That unsubstantial death is amorous ; 

And that the lean abhorred monster keeps 

Thee here in dark to be his paramour. 

For fear of that I still will stay with thee. 

And never from this palace of dim night 

Depart again : here, here will I remain 

With worms that are thy chambermaids ; ! here 

Will I set up my everlasting rest, 

And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 

From this world-wearied flesh. — Eyes, look your last: 

Arms, take your last embrace ; and lips, ! you. 

The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss 

A dateless bargain to engrossing death. — 

Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide ! 

Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 

The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark. 

Here's to my love ! — [Drinks.] 0, true apothecary ! 

Thy drugs are quick. — Thus with a kiss I die. 

[Dies near Juliet.^ 
Enter^ at the other End of the Churchyard, Friar Lau- 
rence, with a Lantern, Crow, and Spade ;' and Bal- 

THASAR following. 

Fri. Saint Francis be my speed ! how oft to-night 
Have my old feet stumbled at graves ? — Who "s there ?* 

Bal. Here 's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. 

Fri. Bliss be upon you ! Tell me, good my friend, 
What torch is yond', that vainly lends his light 
To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, 
It burnetii in the Capulets' monument. 

Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there 's my master, 
One that you love. 

Fri. Who is it ? 

Bal. Romeo. 

Fri. How long hath he been there ? 

Bal. Full half an hour. 

Fri. Go with me to the vault. 

Bal. I dare not, sir. 

My master knows not, but I am gone hence ; 
And fearfully did menace me with death, 
If I did stay to look on his intents. 

Fri. Stay, then, I '11 go alone. — Fear comes upon me ; 

! much I fear some ill unthrifty^ thing. 
Bal. As 1 did sleep under this yew-tree here, 

1 dreamt my master and another fought. 

And that my master slew him. [Exit.^ 

Fri. Romeo ! — [Advancing. 

Alack ! alack ! what blood is this, which stains 
The stony entrance of this sepulchre? — 
What mean these masterless and gory sWords 
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace ! 

[Entering the Monument. 
Romeo ! 0, pale ! — Who else ? what. Paris too ? 



And stcep'd in blood ? — Ah ! what an unkind hour 

Is guilty of this lamentable chance ! — ' 

The lady stirs. [Juliet wakes. 

Jul. 0. comfortable friar ! where is my lord ? 
I do remember well where I should be, 
And there I am. — Where is my Romeo ? [Noise within. 
Fri. I hear some noise. — Lady, come from that nest 
Of death, contagion, and vinnatural sleep. 
A greater power than we can contradict 
Hath thwarted our intents : come, come away. 
Thy hu.sband in thy besom there lies dead ] 
And Paris too: come. I '11 dispose of thee 
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns. 
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; 
Come, go, good Juliet. — [Noise again.] I dare no 
longer stay. [Exit. 

Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. — * 
What 's here ? a cup, clos'd in my true lore's hand ? 
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end. — ' 
churl ! drink all, and left no friendly drop, 
To help me after ? — I will kiss thy lips ;'" 
Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them, 
To make me die with a restorative. [Kisses him. 

Thy lips are warm ! 

1 Watch. [Within.] Lead, boy : — which way ? 
Jtd. Yea, noise ? — then I '11 be brief. — happy dag- 
ger ! [Snatching Romeo's Dagger. 
This is thy sheath; [Stabs herself ;] there rest,'', and 
let me die.'= [Dies. 
Enter Watch, with the Page of Paris. 
Page. Tliis is the place : there, where the torch doth 
burn. 

1 Watch. The ground is bloody, search about the 

churchyard. 
Go, some of you ; whoe'er you find, attach. [Exeunt some. 
Pitiful sight ! here lies the County slain : — 
And Juliet bleeding ; warm, and newly dead, 
Who here hath lain these two days buried. — 
Go, tell the Prince, — run to the Capulets. — 
Raise up the Montagues, some others search. — 

[Exeunt other Watchmen. 
We see the ground whereon these woes do lie ; 
But the true ground of all these piteous woes 
We cannot without circumstance descry. 

Enter .some of the Watch, with Balthasar. 

2 Watch. Here's Romeo's man; we found him in 

tlic churchyard. 
1 Watch. Hold him in safety, till the Prince come 

hither. 
Enter another W^atchman. with Friar Laurence. 

3 Watch. Here is a friar, tliat trembles. sighs,and weeps : 
We took this mattock and this spade from him. 

As he was coming from this churchyard side. 

1 Watch. A great suspicion : stay the friar too, 
Enter the Prince and Attemlants. 

Prince. What misadventure is so early up, 
That calls our person from our morning rest ? 

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and others. 

Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad ? 

La. Cap. ! the people in the street cry Romeo, 
Some Juliet, and some Paris ; and all run 
With open outcry toward our monument. 

Prince. What fear is this which startles in your cars ? 



1 This and the four previous lines, are not in quarto, 1.597. 2 Dies: in f. e. = The rest of this stage direction, is not in f. e. * Malone 
adds, from quarto, 1597, (which has the line after Balthasar's speech) : Who is it that so late consorts the dead ? ^ unlucky : in later 
quartos, and folio. ^ Not in f. e. '' In quarto, 1793 : 

what unlucky hour 
Is accessary to so foul a sin ? 
8 s 10 These lines and the rest of the speech, are not in quarto, 1597. " rust : in all but quarto, 1597. 12 in quarto, 1597 : 

Ay, noise ? then must I be resolute. 
O, happy dagger I thou shalt end my fear ; 
Rest in my bosom. Thus 1 come to thee. 



SCENE III. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



675 



1 Watch. Sovereign, here lies the county Paris slain ; 
And Romeo dead ; and Juliet, dead before, 
Warm and new kill'd. 

Pmice. Search, seek, and know how this foul murder 
comes. 

1 Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's 
man, 
With instruments upon them, fit to open 
These dead men's tombs. 

Cap. 0, heaven ! — 0, wife ! look how our daughter 
bleeds ! 
This dagger hath mista'en. — for, lo ! his house' 
Is empty on the back of Montague, 
And is mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom." 

La. Cap. mc ! this sight of death is as a bell. 
That warns my old age to a sepulchre. 

Enter Montague and othcr.s. 

Prince. Come, INIontague : for thou art early up. 
To see thy son and heir more early down. 

3Ion. Ala.s, my liege, my wife is dead to-night f 
Gi'ief of my son's exile has stopp'd her breath. 
What farther woe conspires against mine age? 

Prince. Look, and thou shalt see. 

il/on. O thou untaught ! what manners is in this. 
To press before thy father to a grave ? 

Prince. Seal up the mouth of outcry* for a while. 
Till we can clear these ambiguities, 
And know their spring, their head, their true descent • ' 
And then will I be general of your woes. 
And lead you even to death. Mean time forbear, 
And let mischance be slave to patience. — 
Bring forth the parties of suspicion. 

Fri. I am the greatest, able to do least, 
Yet most suspected, as the time and place 
Do make against me, of this direful murder ; 
And here I stand, both to impeach and purge 
Myself condemned, and myself excus'd. 

Prince. Then, say at once what thou dost know in this. 

Fri. I will be brief, for my short date of breath 
Is not so long as is a tedious tale. 
Roineo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet ; 
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful Mife : 
I married them ; and their stolen marriage-day 
Was Tybalt's dooms-day, wliose untimely death 
Ranish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city; 
For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd. 
You, to remove that siege of grief from her, 
Bctroth'd, and would have married her perforce, 
To county Paris : then, comes she to me. 
And, with wild looks, bid me devise some means 
To rid her from this second marriage. 
Or in my cell there would she kill herself. 
Then gave I her, (so tutor'd by my art) 
A sleeping potion ; which so took effect 
As I intended, for it wrought on her 
The form of death. Meantime, I writ to Romeo, 
That he should hither come, as this dire night, 
To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, 
Being the time the potion's force should cease : 
But he wliich bore my letter, friar John, 
Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight 



Return'd my letter back. Then, all alone, 
At the prefixed hour of her waking, 
Came I to take her from her kindred's vault, 
Meaning to keep her elo.sely at my cell. 
Till I conveniently could send to Romeo : 
But, when I came, (some minute ere the time 
Of her awakening) here untimely lay 
The noble Paris, and true Romeo, dead. 
She waked ; and I entreated her come forth. 
And bear this work of heaven with patience : 
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb, 
And she, too desperate, would not go with me, 
But (as it seems) did violence on herself. 
All this I know, and to the marriage 
Her nurse is privy ; and. if aught in this 
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life 
Be sacrificed some hour before the time, 
Unto the rigour of severest law. 

Prince. We still have known thee for a holy man. — 
Where 's Romeo's man ? what can he say in this ? 

Bal. I brought my master news of Juliet's death, 
And then in post he came from Mantua. 
To this same place, to this same monument. 
This letter he early bid me give his father; 
And threaten'd me with death, going in the vault. 
If I departed not, and left him there. 

Prince. Give me the letter, I will l(Tok on it. — 
Where is the county's page, that rais'd the watch? — 
Sirrah, what made yoiu* master in this place ? 

Page. He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave 
And bid me stand aloof, and so I did : 
Anon, comes one with liglit to ope the tomb, 
And, by and by, my master drew on him ; 
And then I ran away to call the watch. 

Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's words, 
Tlieir course of love, the tidings of her death ; 
And here he writes, that he did buy a poison 
Of a poor 'pothecary ; and therewithal 
Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. — 
Where be these enemies ? Capulet ! Montague !' 
See. what a scourge is laid upon your hate, 
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love ; 
And I, for winking at your discords too. 
Have lost a brace of kinsmen : — all are punish'd. 

Cap. 0, brother Montague ! give me thy hand : 
This is my daughter's jointure ; for no more 

[They .shake hand.';.'' 
Can I demand. 



Mon. 



But I can give thee more ; 



For I will raise her statue in pure gold, 
That, while Verona by that name is known. 
There shall no figure at such rate be set, 
As that of fair^ and faithful Juliet.' 

Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie ; 
Poor sacrifices of our enmity. 

Prince. A slooming'" peace this morning with it brings, 

The sun for sorrow will not show his head. 
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things ; 

Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished : 
For never was a storv of more woe, 



Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. 



[Exermt. 



1 Sheath. 2 And it is sheathed in our daughter's breast : in quarto, 1597. 3 xhe quarto, 1597, adds : And young Benvolio is deceased 
too. 4 outrage : in f. e. * In quarto, 1597 : 

And let us seek to find the authors out 
Of such a heinous and seld-seen mischance. 
' The quarto, 1597, has in place of this and the next four lines : Where are these enemies ? See what hate hath done .' ' Not in f. e. 
" true : in f. e. 'In quarto, 1597 : 

There shall no statue at such price be set. 
As that of Romeo and loved Juliet. 
^^ gloomy : in quarto, 1597. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



DRAMATIS PEESON^. 



TiMON, a noble Athenian. 

Lucius. ) 

LucuLLUS, > Three flattering Lords. 

Sempronius. ) 

Ventidius, one of Timon's false Friends. 

Apemantus, a churlish Philosopher. 

Alcibiades, an Athenian Captain. 

Flavius, Steward to Timon. 

Flaminius, ) 

LuciMus, > Servants to Timon. 

Servilius, ) 



Servants to Timon's Creditors. 



Caphis, 

Philotus, 

Titus, 

Lucius, 

hortensius, 

Servants of Varro, Ventidius, and Isidore : 

Timon's Creditors. 
Cupid and Maskers. Three Strangers. 
Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant. 
An old Athenian. A Page. A Fool. 



two of 



Phrynia, 

TiMANDRA 



,) 



Mistresses to Alcibiades. 



Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thieves, and Attendants. 
SCENE, Athens : and the Woods adjoining. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L— Athens. A Hall in Timon's House. 

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, at 

several Doors. 

Poet. Good day. sir. 

Pain. I am glad you 're well. 

Poet. I have not seen you long. How goes the 
world ? 

Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. 

Poet. Ay, that 's well known; 

But what particular rarity? what strange^ 
Which manifold record not matches? See, 
Magic of bounty ! all these spirits thy power 
Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant. 

Pain. I know them both : th' other 's a jeweller. 

Mer. ! 't is a worthy lord. 

Jew. Nay, that 's most fix'd. 

3Ier. A most incomparable man ; breath'd.' as it were, 
To an untirable and continuate goodness : 
He passes.^ 

Jew. I have a jewel here — [Showing it. ^ 

]\!er. ! pray, let 's see 't. For the lord Timon, sir ? 

Jt'W. If he will touch the estimate ; but, for that — 

Poet. " When we for recompense have prais'd the 
vile. 
It stains the glory in that happy verse 
Which aptly sings the good." 

Mer. 'T is a good form. 

Jen\ And rich : here is a water, look ye. 



Paiii. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedi- 
cation. 
To the great lord. 

Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. 

Our poesy is as a gum,* which issues* 
From whence 't is nourish'd : the fire i' the flint 
Shows not, till it be struck ; our gentle flame 



Provokes itself, and, like the cuiTent, flies 
Each bound it chafes. What have you there ? 

Pain. A picture, sir. — When comes your book forth ? 

Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. 
Let 's see your piece. 

Pain. 'T is a good piece. [Showing it.* 

Poet. So 't is : this comes ofl* well, and excellent. 

Pain. Indifferent. 

Poet. Admirable ! How this grace 

Speaks his own standing ; what a mental power 
This eye shoots forth ; how big imagination 
Moves in this lip; to the dumbness of the gesture 
One might interpret. 

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. 
Here is a touch : is 't good ? 

Poet. ' I '11 say of it, 

It tutors nature : artificial strife 
Lives in these touches, livelier than life. 

Enter certain Senators, who pass over the Stage. 

Pain. How this lord is follow'd ! 

Poet. The senators of Athens : — happy men ! 

Paiii. Look, more ! 

Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of 
visitors. 
I have in this rough work shap'd out a man. 
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug 
With amplest entertainment : my free drift 
Halts not particularly, hut moves itself 
In a wide sea of verse :' no levell'd malice 
Infects one comma in the course I hold. 
But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on, 
Leaving no tract behind. 

Pain. How shall I understand you ? 

Poet. I will unbolt to you. 

You see how all conditions, how all minds, 
(As well of glib and slippery creatures, as 



^ Inured by practice. -Excels. ' Not in f. e. * gown : in folio. Pope made the change. • oozes ; in f. e. 'Notinf.e. 'waxiinf.e. 



SCENE r. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



677 



Of grave and austere quality) tender down 
Their services to lord Timon : his large fortune, 
Upon liis good and gracious nature hanging, 
Subdues, and properties to his love and tendance. 
All sorts of hearts ; yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterer 
To Apeinantus, that few things loves better 
Than to abhor himself: even he drops down 
Tlie knee before him, and returns in peace 
Most rich in Timon's nod. 

Pain. I saw them speak together. 

Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill 
Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd : the base o' the mount 
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, 
That labour on the bosom of this sphere 
To propagate their states : amongst them all, 
Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, 
One do I personate of lord Timon's frame; 
Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her, 
W^hose present grace to present slaves and servants 
Translates his rivals. 

Pain. 'T is conceiv'd to scope. 

This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, 
With one man beckon'd from the rest below, 
Bowing his head against the steepy mount. 
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd 
In our condition. 

Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on. 

All those which were his fellows but of late, 
(Some better than his value) on the moment 
Follow his strides : his lobbies fill with tendance, 
Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear. 
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him 
Drink the free air. 

Pain. Ay, marry, what of these ? 

Poet. When Fortune, in her shift and change of mood. 
Spurns down her late belov'd, all his dependants, 
Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top, 
E'^en on their knees and hands, let him slip' down, 
Not one accompanying his declining foot. 

Pain. 'T is common : 
A thousand moral paintings I can show. 
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's 
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well, 
To show lord Timon that : mean eyes have seen 
The foot above the head. 

Trumpets sotmd. Enter Timon, attended; the Servant 
of Ventidius talking with him. 

Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you ? 

Veil. Serv. Ay, my good lord : five talents is his debt ; 
His means most short, his creditors most strait: 
Your honourable letter he desires 
To those have shut him up ; which failing, 
Periods his comfort. 

Tim. Noble Ventidius ! Well ; 

I am not of that feather, to shake off 
My friend when he most needs me. I do know him 
A gentleman that well deserves a help. 
Which he shall have. I '11 pay the debt, and free him. 

Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him. 

Tim. Commend me to him : I will send his ransom ; 
And, being enfranchis'd. bid him come to me. — 
'T is not enough to help the feeble up. 
But to sup])ort him after. — Fare you well. 

Fe?i. Serv. All hap_iiness to your honour ! [Exit. 

Enter an old Athenian. 

Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. 

Tim. Freely, good father. 

Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius. 

Tim. 1 have so : what of him ? 

' sit : in folio. Rowe made the change. 



Old Ath. Most noble Timon. call the man before thee. 

Tim. Attends he here, or no ? — Lucilius ! 
Enter Lucilius. 

i«c. Here, at your lordj^hip's .service. [creature, 

Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy 
By night frequents my house. I am a man 
That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift, 
And my estate deserves an heir, more rais'd 
Than one which holds a trencher. 

Tim. Well; what farther? 

Old Ath. One only daughter have I ; no kin else, 
On whom I may confer what I have got : 
The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, 
And I have bred her at my dearest cost 
In qualities of the best. This man of thine 
Attempts her love: I pr'ythee. noble lord, 
Join with me to forbid him her resort ; 
Myself have spoke in vain. 

Tim. The man is honest. 

Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon: 
His honesty rewards him in itself; 
It must not bear my daughter. 

Tim. Does she love him? 

Old Ath. She is young, and apt : 
Our own precedent passions do instruct us 
What levity 's in youth. ' 

Tim. [To Lucilius.] Love you the maid ? 

Luc. Ay, my good lord ; and she accepts of it. 

Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be missing, 
I call the gods to witness, I will choose 
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, 
And dispossess her all. 

Tim. How shall she be endow'd. 

If she be mated with an equal husband? 

Old Ath. Three talents on tlie present ; in future all. 

Tim. This gentleman of mine hath sei-v'd me long : 
To build his fortune I will strain a little, 
For 't is a bond in men. Give him thy daughter; 
What you bestow, in him I '11 counterpoise. 
And make him weigh with her. 

Old Ath. Most noble lord. 

Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. 

Tim. My hand to thee ; mine honour on my promise. 

Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship. Never may 
That state or fortune fall into my keeping. 
Which is not ow'd to you ! 

[Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian. 

Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship. 

Tim. I thank you ; you shall hear from me anon : 
Go not away. — What have you there, my friend ? 

Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech 
Your lordship to accept. 

Tim. Painting is welcome. 

The painting is almost the natural man ; 
For since dishonour traffics with man's nature. 
He is but outside : these pencil'd figures are 
Even such as they give out. I like your work. 
And you .shall find. I like it: wait attendance 
Till you hear farther from me. 

Pain. The gods preserve you ! 

Tim. Well fare you, gentleman : give me your hand ; 
We must needs dine together. — Sir, your jewel 
Hath sufTer'd under praise. 

Jew. What, my lord, dispraise ? 

Tim. A mere satiety of commendations. 
If I should pay you for 't as 't is extoU'd, 
It would unclew me quite. 

Jew. My lord, 't is rated 

As those which sell would give : but you well know, 



678 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



ACT I. 



Things of like A'alne, differing in the owners. 

Are prized by their masters. Believe 't, dear lord, 

You mend the jewel by the wearing it. 

Tim. Well mock'd. 

Mer. No, my good lord ; he speaks the common 
Which all men speak with him. [tongue, 

Tim. Look, who comes here. Will you be chid ? 
Enter Apemantus. 

Jew. We '11 bear, with your lordship. 

3Ier. He '11 spare none. 

Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus. 

Apem. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow ; 
when thou art Timon's dog. and these knaves honest. 

Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know' st 
them not. 

Apem. Are they not Athenians ? 

Tim. Yes. 

Apem. Then I repent not. 

Jew. You know me, Apemantus. 

Apem. Thou know'st, I do ; I call'd thee by thy name. 

Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. 

Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like 
Timon. 

Tim. Whither art going ? 

Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. 

Tim. That 's a deed thou 'It die for. 

Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. 

Tim. How likest thou this picture, Apemantus ? 

Apem. The best, for the innocence. 

Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it ? 

Apem. He wrought better that made the painter ; 
and yet he 's but a iilthy piece of work. 

Pain. Y' are a dog. 

Apem. Thy mother 's of my generation : what 's she, 
if I be a dog ? 

Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus ? 

Apem. No ; I eat not lords. 

Tiyn. An thou should'st, thou 'dst anger ladies. 

Apem. O ! they eat lords ; so they come by great 
bellies. 

Tim. That 's a lascivious apprehension. 

Apem. So thou apprehend'st it. Take it for thy labour. 

Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus ? 

Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not 
cost a man a doit. 

Tim. What dost thou think 't is worth ? 

Apem. Not worth my thinking. — How now, poet ! 

Poet. How now. philosopher ! 

Apem. Thou liest. 

Poet. Art not one ? 

Apem. Yes. 

Poet. Then, I lie not. 

Apem. Art not a poet ? 

Poet. Yes. 

Apem. Then, thou liest : look in thy last work, where 
thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow. 

Poet. That 's not feign'd ; he is so. 

Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee 
for thy labour : he that loves to be flattered is worthy 
o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord ! 

Tim What wouldst do then, Apemantus ? 

Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate a lord 
with my heart. 

Tim. What, thyself ? 

Apem. Ay. 

Tim. Wherefore ? 

Apem. That I had so hungry a wish- to be a lord. — 
Art not thou a merchant ? 

Mer. Ay, Apemantus. 

1 That I had no angry wit : in f. e. " Merit. 



Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not ! 

Mer. If trafiic do it, the gods do it. 

Apem. Traffic 's thy god ; and thy god confound thee ! 

Trumpets sound. Enter a Servant. 
Tim. What trumpet 's that ? 

Serv. 'T is Alcibiades, and 

Some twenty horse, all of companionship. 

Tim. Pray, entertain them : give them guide to us. — 

[Exeunt some Attendants. 
You must needs dine with me. — Go not you hence, 
Till I have thank'd you ; and when dinner 's done 
Show me this piece. — I am joyful of your sights. — 

Enter Alcibiades, with his Company. 
Most welcome, sir ! 

Apem. So, so, there. — ^ 

Aches contract and starve your supple joints ! — 
That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet 

knaves, 
And all this courtesy. The strain of man 's bred out 
Into baboon and monkey. 

Alcib. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed 
Most hungerly on your sight. 

Tim. Eight welcome, sir : 

Ere we depart, we '11 share a bounteous time 
In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. 

[Excu7it all hut Apemantus. 
Enter two Lords. 
1 Lord. What time o' day is 't, Apemantus ? 
Apem. Time to be honest. 

1 Lord. That time senses still. 

Apem. The more accursed thou, that still omit'st it. 

2 Lord. Thou art going to lord Timon's feast. 
Apem. Ay • to see meat fill knaves, and wine heat 

fools. 
2 Lord. Fare thee well ; fare thee well. 
Apem. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice. 
2 Lord. Why, Apemantus ? 

Apem. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean 
to give thee none. 

1 Lord. Hang thyself. 

Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding : make 
thy requests to thy friend. 

2 Lord. Away, unappeasable dog, or I 'II spurn thee 

hence. 
Apem. I will fly, like a dog, the heels of the ass. [Exit. 

1 Lord. He 's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in, 
And taste lord Timon's bounty ? he outgoes 

The very heart of kindness. 

2 Lord. He pours it out ; Plutus, the god of gold, 
Is but his steward : no meed' but he repays 
Sevenfold above itself : no gift to him. 

But breeds the giver a return exceeding 
All vise of quittance. 

1 Lord. The noblest mind he carries, 
That ever govern'd man. 

2 Lord. Long may he live in fortunes ! Shall we in" 
1 Lord. I '11 keep you company. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Room of State in Timon's 

House. 

Hautboys playing loud Mvsic. A great banquet served 
in ; Flavius and others attending : then, enter Timon, 
Alcibiades, Lucius, Lucullus, Sempronius, and 
other Athenian Senators, with Ventidius, whom 
Timon redeemed from prison^ and Attendants: then 
comes, dropping after nllj Apemantus, discontentedly ., 
like himself. 

Ven. Most honour'd Timon, it hath pleas'd the gods 
to remember 



SCENE II. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



679 



My father's age, and call him to long peace. 

He is gone happy, and hast left me rich : 

Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound 

To your free heart, I do return those talents. 

Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help 

1 deriv'd liberty. 

Tim. ! by no means. 

Honest Ventidius : you mistake my love. 
I gave it freely ever ; and there 's none 
Can truly say, he gives, if he receives. 
If our betters play at that game, we must not dare 
To imitate them : faults that are rich are fair. 
Ven. A noble spirit ! 
Tim. Nay, my lords, 

Ceremony was but devis'd at first. 
To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, 
Recanting goodness, sorry ere 't is shown ; 
But where there is true friendship, there needs none. 
Pray, sit : more welcome are ye to my fortunes. 
Than my fortunes to me. [They sit. 

1 Lord. My lord, we always have confessed it. 
Apem. Ho, ho ! confess'd it ? hang'd it, have you not? 
Tim. 0, Apcmantus! — you are welcome. 
Apem. No, you shall not make me welcome: 
I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. [there 

Tim. Fie ! thou 'rt a churl : you have got a humour 
Does not become a man : 't is much to blame. — 
They say, my lords, ira furor brevis est, 
But yond' man is ever' angry. 
Go, let him have a table by himself; 
For he does neither affect company, 
N(ir is he fit for 't, indeed. 

Apem. Let me stay at thine apperil," Timon : 
I come to observe : I give thee warning on 't. 

Tim. I take no heed of thee ; thou art an Athenian, 
therefore, welcome. I myself would have no power; 
pr'ythee, let my meat make thee silent. 

Apem. I scorn thy meat ; 't would choke me, for I 
should ne'er flatter thee. — you gods ! what a number 
of men cat Timon, and he sees them not ! It grieves 
me, to see so many dip their meat in one man's blood; 
and all the madness is, he cheers them up too. 
I wonder, men dare trust themselves with men : 
Methinks, they should invite them without knives, 
Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. 
There 's much example for 't ; the I'ellow, that sits next 
him now, parts bread with him, and pledges the breath 
of him in a divided draught, is the readiest man to kill 
him : it has been proved. If I were a huge man, I 
should fear to drink at meals, 

Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes : 

Great men should drink with harness on their throats. 

Tim. My lord, in heart; and let the health go round. 

2 Lord. Let it flow this way, my good lord. 

Apem. Flow this way? A brave fellow ! — he keeps 

his tides well. Tliose healths will make thee and thy 

state look ill, Timon. 

Here 's that, which is too weak to be a fire,^ 
Honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire : 
This and my food are equals, there 's no odds ; 
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. 
Apemantus' Grace. 
Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; 
I pray for no man, but myself. 
Grant I may never prove so fond, 
To trust man on his oath or bond : 
Or a harlot for her weeping ; 
Or a dog that seems a sleeping ; 



Or a keeper with my freedom ; 

Or my friends, if I should need 'em. 

Amen. So fall to 't : 

Rich men sin, and I eat root. 

[Eat.<; and drinks. 
Much good do 't thy good heart, Apemantus ! 

Tim. Captain Alcibiades, your heart 's in the field 
now. 

Alcib. My heart is ever at your service, my lord. 

Titn. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies, 
than a dinner of friends. 

Alcib. So they were bleeding new, my lord, there 's 
no meat like 'em : I could wish my best friend at such 
a feast. 

Apem. 'Would all those flatterers were thine enemies 
then, that tlicn thou mightst kill 'em, and bid me to 'em. 

1 Lord. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, 
that you would once use our hearts, whereby we might 
express some part of our zeals, we should think our- 
selves for ever perfect. 

Tim. O ! no doubt, my good friends ; but the gods 
themselves have provided that I shall have much help 
from you : how had you been my friends else ? why 
have you that charitable title from thousands, did you 
n< t chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of 
you to my.self. than you can with modesty speak in 
your own behalf; and thus far I confirm you. 0, you 
gods ! think I, what need we have any friends, if we 
should ne'er have need of 'em? they were tlie most 
needless creatures living, should we ne'er have use for 
'em ; and would most resemble sweet instruments hung 
up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves" 
Why, I have often wished myself poorer, that I might 
come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits; and 
what better or properer can wc call our own, than the 
riches of our friends ? ! what a precious comfort 
't is, to have so many, like brothers, commanding one 
another's fortunes. joy, e'en made away ere 't can 
be born ! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks : 
to forget their faults, I drink to you. 

Apem. Thou weep'st to make them drink, Timon. 

2 Lord. Joy had the like conception in our eyes, 
And at that instant, like a babe, sprung up. 

Apem. Ho, ho ! I laugh to think that babe a bastard. 

3 Lord. T promise you, my lord, you mov'd me much. 
Apem. Much ! [Tucket .sounded. 
Tim. What means that trump ? — How now ! 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Plea.se you, my lord, there arc certain ladies 
most desirous of admittance. 

Tim. Ladies ! What are their wills ? 

Serv. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, 
which bears that oflice to signify their pleasures. 

Tim. I pray, let them be admitted. 
Enter Cupid. 

Cup. Hail to thee, worthy Timon ; and to all 
That of his bounties ta.ste ! — The five best senses 
Acknowledge thee their patron ; and come freely 
To gratulate thy ])lcnteous bosom. The ear. 
Taste, touch, smell.'' pleas'd from thy table rise; 
They only now come but to feast thine eyes. 

Tim. They 're welcome all. Let them have kind 
admittance : 
Music, make their welcome. [Exit Ctpid. 

1 Lord. You see, my lord, how amply y arc belov'd. 
Music. Re-enter Cupid, with a masque of Ladies as 

Amazons, with Lntes in their Hands, dancing, and 

playing. 



' very : in folio, 
the change. 



Rowe made the change. - Peril. '■' sinner : in f. e. * There taste, touch, all pleas'd : in folio. Warburton made 



680 



TIMOjS^ of ATHENS. 



ACT I. 



Apem. Hey day ! what a sweep of vanity comes this 
way ! 
They dance : they are mad women. 
Like madness is the glory of this life, 
As this pomp shows to a little oil, and root. 
We make ourselves fools, to di.'^port ourselves; 
And spend our flatteries, to drink those men, 
Upon whose age we void it up again, 
With poisonous spite, and envy. 
Who lives, that ' s not depraved, or depraves ? 
Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves 
Of their friends' gift ? 

I should fear, those, that dance before me now, 
Would one day stamp upon me : 't has been done. 
Men shut their doors against the' setting sun. 
The Lords rise from Tabic, with much adoring of Timon ; 

and, to show their lovcs^ each singles out an Amazon, 

and all dance, Men with Women, a lofty Strain or 

two to the Hautboys, and cease. 

Tim. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair 
ladies, 
Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, 
Which was not half so beautiful and kind : 
You have added worth unto 't, and^ lustre, 
And entertain'd me with mine own device ; 
J am to thank you for it. 

1 Lady. My lord, you take us ever at the best. 

Apem. "Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would not 
hold taking, I doubt me. 

Tim. Ladies, there is an idle banquet 
Attends you : please you to dispose yourselves. 

All Lad. Most thankfully, my lord. 

[Exeunt Cupid and Ladies. 

Tim. Flavius ! 

Flav. My lord. 

Tim. The little casket bring me hither. 

Flav. Yes, my lord. [Aside.] More jewels yet ! 
There is no crossing him in his humour; 
Else I should tell him, — well. — i' faith, I should. 
When all 's spent lie 'd be crossed then : and he could, 
'T is pity bounty had not eyes behind, 
That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. 

[Exit, and returns with the Casket. 

1 Lord. Where be our men ? 
Serv. Here, my lord, in readiness. 

2 Lord. Our hcrses ! 

Tim. 0, my friends ! 

I have one word to say to you. Look you, my good lord, 
I must entreat you, honour me so much. 
As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it, 
Kind my lord. 

1 Lord. I am so far already in your gifts. — 
All. So are we all. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate 
newly alighted, and come to visit you. 

Tim. They are fairly welcome. 

Flav. I beseech your honour. 

Vouchsafe me a word : it docs concern you near. 

Tim. Near? why then another time 1 '11 hear thee : 
I pr'ythee, let 's be provided to show them entertainment. 

Flav. I scarce know how. [Aside. 

Enter another Servant. 

2 Serv. May it please your honour, lord Lucius, 
Out of his free love, hath presented to you 

Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. 

Tim. I shall accept them fairly: let the presents 
Enter a third Servant. 
Be worthily entertain'd. — How now ! what news ? 

^ a : in f. e, 2 Second folio inserts ; lively, ' Bows, 



3 Serv. Please you, my lord, that honourable gen- 
tleman, lord Lucullus, entreats your company to-mor- 
row to hunt with him ; and has sent your honour two 
brace of greyhounds. 

Tim. I '11 hunt with him ; and let them be receiv'd. 
Not without fair reward. 

Flav. [Aside.] What will this come to ? 

He commands us to provide, and give great gifts. 
And all out of an empty coffer : 
Nor will he know his purse; or yield me this, 
To show him what a beggar his heart is, 
Being of no power to make his wishes good. 
His promises fly .so beyond his state. 
That what he speaks is all in debt ; he owes 
For every word : he is so kind, that he noAv 
Pays interest for 't ; his land 's put to their books. 
Well, would I were gently put out of oflice, 
Before I were forc'd out ! 
Happier is he that has no friend to feed 
Than such as do even enemies exceed. 
I bleed inwardly for my lord. [Exit. 

Tim. You do yourselves 

Much wrong : you bate too much of your own merits. 
Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. 

2 Lord. With more than common thanks I will 

receive it. 

3 Lord. O ! he 's the very soul of bounty. 
Tiin. And now [ remember, my lord, you gave 

Good words the other day of a bay courser 
I rode on : it is yours, because you lik'd it. 

2 Lord. O ! I beseech you, pardon me ! my lord, in 
that. 

Tim. You may take my word, my lord : I know no 
man 
Can justly praise, hut what he does affect : 
I weigh my friend's aflection with mine own ; 
I '11 tell you true. I '11 call to you. 

All Lords. O ! none so welcome. 

Tim. I take all, and your several visitations, 
So kind to heart, 't is not enough to give : 
Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends, 
And ne'er be weary. — Alcibiades, 
Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich : 
It comes in charity to thee : for all thy living 
Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast 
Lie in a pitch'd field. 

Alcib. Ay, defil'd land, my lord. 

1 Lord. We are so virtuously bound. — 

Tim. And so 

Am I to you. 

2 Lord. So infinitely endear'd, — 
Tim. All to you. — Lights ! more lights ! 

1 Lord. The best of happiness. 

Honour, and fortunes, keep with you, lord Timon. 

Tim. Ready for his friends. 

[Exeunt Alcibiades. Lords, Ifc. 

Apem. What a coil 's here ! 

Serving of becks, and jutting out of bums ! 
I doubt whether their legs' be worth the sums 
That are given for 'em. Friendship 's full of dregs : 
Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs. 
Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies. 

Tim. Now, Apemantus. if thou wert not sullen, 
I'd be good to thee. 

Apem. No, I '11 nothing ; for if I should be brib'd 
too, there would be none left to rail upon thee, and 
then thou wouldst sin the faster. Thou giv'st so long. 
Timon, I fear me, thou wilt give away thyself in paper 
shortly : what need these feasts, pomps, and vain glories ? 



SCENE II. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



681 



Tim. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I ! Thou shalt not then ; I '11 lock thy heaven from thee, 
am sworn not to give regard to you. Farewell ; and 0, that men's ears should be 



come with better music. [Exit. 

Apem. So ; — thou wilt not hear me now ; — 



To counsel deaf, but not to flattery 



[Exit. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — The Same. A Room in a Senator's 

House. 

Enter a Senator, with Papers in his Hand. 

Sen. And late, five thousand to Varro ; and to Isidore 
He owes nine thousand, besides my former .sum, 
Which makes it five-and-twenty — Still in motion 
Of raging waste? It cannot hold ; it will not. 
If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog. 
And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold : 
If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more 
Better than he, why, gi-ue my horse to Timon ; 
Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight 
A stable o' horses. No porter at his gate ; 
But rather one that smiles, and still invites 
All that pass by. It cannot hold ; no reason 
Can sound his state in safety. C aphis, ho ! 
C aphis, I say ! 

Enter Caphis. 
• Caph. Here, sir : what is yovir pleasure ? 

Sen . Get on your cloak, and haste you to lord Timon : 
Importune him for my moneys ; be not ccas'd 
With slight denial ; nor then silenc'd, when — 
" Comniend me to your master" — and the cap 
Plays in the right hand, thus : — but tell him, sirrah, 
My uses cry to me. I must serve my turn 
Out of mine own : his days and times are past, 
And my reliances on his fracted dates 
Have smit my credit. I love, and honour him. 
But mu.«t not break my back to heal his finger. 
Immediate are my needs ; and my relief 
Must not be to.^s'd and turn'd to me in words, 
But find supply immediate. Get you gone : 
Put on a most importunate aspect, 
A visage of demand ; for, I do fear. 
When every feather sticks in his own wing, 
Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, 
Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. 

Caph. I go, sir. 

Sen. Ay, go, sir. — Take the bonds along with you, 
And have the dates in compt.' 

Caph. I will, sir. 

Sen. Go. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Hall in Timon's House. 
Enter Flavius, with many Bills in his Hand. 

Flavius. No care, no stop : so senseless of expense, 
That he will neither know how to luaintain it. 
Nor cease his flow of riot ; takes no account 
How things go from him ; no reserve ; no care* 
Of what is to continue. Never mind 
Was surely so unwise^, to be so kind. 
What shall be done ? He will not hear, till feel. 
I must be round* w'ith him, now he comes from hunting. 
Fie, fie. fie, fie ! 
Enter Caphis, and the Servants of Isidork and Varro. 

Caph. Good even, Varro. What ! 

You come for money ? 



Var. Serv. Is 't not your business too ? 

Caph. It is. — And yours too, Isidore? 

hid. Serv. It is so. 

Caph. Would we were all discharg'd ! 

Var. Serv. I fear it. 

Caph. Here comes the lord. 
Enter Timon, Alcibiades, and Lords, (5'c\, as from 
hunting. 

Tim. So soon as dinner 's done, w^e '11 forth again, 
My Alcibiades. — With me ! what is your will ? 

Caph. My lord, here is a note of certain dues. 

Tim. Dues ! Whence are you ? 

Caph. Of Athens here, my lord. 

Tim. Go to my steward. 

Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off 
To the succession of new days this month : 
My master is awak'd by great occasion 
To call upon his own, and humbly prays you, 
That with your other noble parts you '11 suit, 
In giving him his right. 

Tim. Mine honest friend, 

I pr'ythee, but repair to me next morning. 

Caph. Nay, my good lord. — 

Tim. Contain thyself, good friend. 

Var. Serv. One Varro's servant, good my lord, — 

Tsid. Serv. From Isidore : 

He humbly prays your speedy payment, — 

Caph. If you did know, my lord, my master's 
wants, — 

Var. Serv. 'T was due on forfeiture, my lord, six 
weeks, 
And past, — 

hid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my lord ; 
And I am sent expressly to your lordship. 

Tim. Give me breath. — 
I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on ; 

[Exc^int Alcibiades and Lords. 
I '11 wait upon you instantly. — Come hither : pray you, 

[To Elavil's. 
How goes the world, that I am thus cncountcr'd 
With clamorous demands of debt, broken' bonds, 
And the detention of long-since-due debts, 
Against my honour ? 

Flav. Please you, gentlemen, 

The time is unagreeable to this business : 
Your importunacy cease till after dinner, 
That I may make his lordship vmderstand 
Wherefore you are not paid. 

Tim. Do so, my friends. 

See them well entertain'd. [Exit Timon. 

Flav. Pray, draw near. [Exit Flavius. 

Enter Apemantvs and a Fool. 

Caph. Stay, stay ; here comes the fool with Ape- 
mantus : let's have some sport with 'em. 

Var. Serv. Hang him, he'll abuse us. 

hid. Serv. A plague upon him, dog ! 

Var. Serv. How dost, fool ? 

Apem. Dost dialogue with thy shadow? 



> Come : in folio. Theobald made the change. » nor resumes no care, &c. : in f. e. 
' The rest of this stage direction, is not in f. e. « Malone changes to " date-broken." 



' Was to be so unwise : in f. e. * Plain. 



682 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



ACT II. 



Var. Serv. I speak not to thee. 

Apem. No; 'tis lotliyself. — Come away. [Tothe Fool. 

Isid. Serv. [7b Vau. Serv.] There's the fool hangs 
on your back already. 

Apem. No, thou stand'st single ; thou 'rt not on him yet. 

Caph. Where '.s the fool now? 

Apem. He last asked the question. — Poor rogues, 
and usurers' men ; bawds between gold and want. 

AU Serv. What are we, ApemanLus? 

Apem. Asses. 

A/l Serv. Why? 

Apem. That you ask me what you are, and do not 
know yourselves. — Speak to 'em, fool. 

Fool. How do you, gentlemen ? 

All Serv. Gramercies, good fool. How does your 
mistress ? 

Fool. She 's e'en setting on water to scald such 
chickens as you are. Would, we could see you at 
Corinth ! 

Apem. Good : gramercy. 

Enter Page. 

Fool. Look you. here comes my mistress' page. 

Page. [To (he Fool.] Why, how now. captain ! what 
do you in this wise company ? — How dost thou, Ape- 
mantus ? 

Apem. Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I 
miglit answer thee profitably. 

Page. Pr'ythee, Apemantus, road me the superscrip- 
tion of these letters : I know not which is which. 

Apem. Canst not read? 

Page. No. 

Apem. There will little learning die, then, that day 
thou art hanged. This is to lord Timon ; this to Alci- 
biades. Go : thou wast born a bastard, and thou 'It 
die a bawd. 

Page. Thou wa.*t whelped a dog ; and thou shalt 
famish, a dog's death. Answer not; I am gone. 

[Exit Page. 

Apem. Even so thou out-run'st grace. Fool. I will 
go with you to lord Timon's. 

Fool. Will you leave me there ? 

Apem. If Timon stay at home. — You three serve 
three usurers ? 

All Serv. I would they served us. 

Apem. So wovild I, — as good a trick as ever hang- 
man served thief. 

Fool. Are you three usurers' men ? 

All Serv. Ay, fool. 

Fool. I think, no usurer but has a fool to his ser- 
vant : my mistress is one, and I am her fool. When 
men come to borrow of your masters, they approach 
sadly, and go away merrily ; but they enter my mis- 
tress' house merrily, and go away sadly. The reason 
of this? 

Var. Serv. I could render one. 

Apem. Do it, then, that we may account thee a 
whoremaster, and a knave : which notwithstanding, 
thou shalt be no less esteemed. 

Var. Serv. What is a whoremaster, fool ? 

Fool. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 
'T is a spirit : sometime, it appears like a lord ; some- 
time like a lawyer ; sometime like a philosopher, with 
two stones more than his artificial one. He is very 
often like a knight ; and generally in all shapes, that 
man goes up and down in from fourscore to thirteen, 
this spirit walks in. 

Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fool. 

Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man : as much 
foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. 

I cock : in f. e. 



Apem. That answer might have become Apemantus. 

All Serv. Aside, aside : here comes lord Timon. 
Re-enter Timon and Flavius. 

Apem. Come, with me, fool ; come. 

Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and 
woman ; sometime, the philosopher. 

[Exeunt Apemantus, and Fool after him. 

Flav. Pray you, walk near : I '11 speak with you anon. 

[Exeunt Serv. 

Tim. You make me marvel. Wherefore, ere this time. 
Had you not fully laid my state before me, 
That I might so have rated my expense 
As I had leave of means ? 

Flav. You would not hear me : 

At many leisures I propos'd. ^ 

Tim. Goto: 

Perchance, some single vantages you took, i 
When my indisposition put you back ; 
And that unaptness made you minister. 
Thus to excuse yourself. 

Flav. 0, my good lord ! 

At many times I brought in my accounts, 
Laid them before you : you would throw them off, 
And say, you found them in mine honesty. 
When for some trifling present you have bid me 
Return so much, I have shook my head, and wept; 
Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you 
To hold your hand more close : I did endure 
Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have 
Prompted you, in the ebb of your estate, 
And your great flow of debts. My loved lord, 
Though you hear now, yet now 's a time too late, 
The greatest of your ha-*ing lacks a half 
To pay your present debts. 

Tim. Let all my land be sold. 

Flav. 'T is all engag'd, some forfeited and gone ; 
And what remains will hardly stop the mouth 
Of present dues. The future comes apace ; 
What shall defend the interim ? and at length 
How goes our reckoning ? 

Tim. To Lacedaemon did my land extend. 

Flav. 0, my good lord ! the world is but a word ; 
Were it all yours to give it in a breath. 
How quickly were it gone ? 

Tim. You tell me true. 

Flav. If you suspect my husbandry, or falsehood, 
Call me before th' exaetest auditors. 
And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me. 
When all our offices have been opprcss'd 
With riotous feeders ; wiien our vaults have wept 
With drunken spilth of wine ; when every room 
Hath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd with minstrelsy, 
I have retir'd me to a wasteful nook,' 
And set mine eyes at flow. 

Tim. Pr'ythee, no more. 

Flav. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord ! 
How many prodigal bits have slaves, and peasants. 
This night englutted ! Who is not Timon's ? 
What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord 

Timon's, 
Great Timon's, noble, worthy, royal Timon's ? 
Ah ! when the means are gone that buy this praise, 
The breath is gone whereof this praise is made : 
Feast- won, fast-lost ; one cloud of winter showers. 
These flies are couch'd. 

Tim. Come, sermon me no farther. 

No villainous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; 
Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. 
Why dost thou weep ? Canst thou the conscience lack. 



SCENE I. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



683 



To think I sliall lack friends? Secure tliy heart. 
If I would broach tlie vessels of luy love, 
And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, 
Men, and men's fortunes, could I frankly use, 
As I can bid thee speak. 

Fhv. Assurance bless your thoughts ! 

Tim. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are 
crown'd. 
That I account them blessings : for by these 
Shall I try friends. You shall perceive how you 
Mistake my fortunes : I am wealthy in my friends. 
Within there ! — Flaminius ! Servilius ! 

Enter Flaminius, Servilius, and other Servants. 

Serv. My lord, my lord, — 

Tim. I will despatch you severally. — You, to lord 
Lucius; — to lord Lucullus you; I hunted with his 
honour to-day ; — you, to Sempronius. Commend me 
to their loves ; and, I am proud, say, that my occa- 
sions have found time to use them toward a supply of 
money: let the request be fifty talents. 

Flam. As you have said, my lord. 

Flav. Lord Lucius, and Lucullus ? humph ! 

Tim. Go you, sir, [7b another Serv.] to the senators. 
(Of whom, even to the state's best iiealth, I have 
Dcserv'd this hearing) bid 'em send o' the instant 
A thousand talents to me. 

Flav. I have been bold, 

(For that I knew it the most general way) 
To them to use your signet, and your name ; 
But they do .shake their heads, and I am here 
No richer in return. 

Tim. Is 't true ? can 't be ? 

Flav. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, 



That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot 

Do what they would ; are sorry — you are honourable, — 

But yet they could have wish'd — they know not — 

Something hath been amiss — a noble nature 

May catch a wrench — would all were well — 't is pity. — 

And so, intending other serious matters, 

After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions, 

Vt'^ith certain half-caps, and cold-moving nods, 

They froze me into silence. 

Tim. You gods, reward them ! — 

Pr'ythee, man, look cheerly ; these old fellows 
Have their ingratitude in them hereditary : 
Their blood is cak'd, 't is cold, it seldom flows ; 
'T is lack of kindly warmth they are not kind, 
And nature, as it grows again toward earth, 
Is fashion'd for the journey, dull, and heavy. — 
Go to Ventidius,— [7b a Serv.] 'Pr'ythee, [To Fla- 

vius,] be not sad ; 
Thou art true, and honest : ingeniously' I speak, 
No blame belongs to thee. — [To Serv.] Ventidius lately 
Buried his father ; by whose death, he 's stepp'd 
Into a great estate : when he was poor, 
Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends, 
I clear'd him with five talents : greet him from me ; 
Bid him suppose some good necessity 
Touches his friend, which craves to be rememberd 
With those five talents : — that had, [To Flav.] give it 

these fellows 
To whom 't is instant due. Ne'er speak, or think. 
That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. 
Flav. I would, I could not think it ; that thought is 

bounty's foe : 
Being free itself, it thinks all others so. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I. — The Same. A Room in Luccllus's 
House. 

Flaminius waiting. Enter a Servant to him. 

Serv. I have told my lord of you ; he is coming 
down to you. 

Flam. I thank you, sir. 

Enter Lucullus. 

Serv. Here 's my lord. 

Lucid. [Aside.] One of lord Timon's men ? a gift, I 
warrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a silver 
basin and ewer to-night. — Flaminius, honest Flaminius, 
you are very respectively welcome, sir. — Fill me some 
wine. — [Exit Servant.] And how does that honourable, 
complete, free-hearted gentleman of Athens, thy very 
bountiful good lord and master ? 

Flam. His health is well, sir. 

Luad. I am right glad that his health is well, sir. 
And what hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty 
Flaminius ? 

Flam. 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir, which, 
in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your honour to 
su])ply ; who, having great and instant occasion to use 
fifty talents, hath sent to your lordship to furnish him, 
nothing doubting your present assistance therein. 

Lucul. La. la, la, la. — nothing doubting, says he ? 
alas, good lord ! a noble gentleman 't is, if he would not 
keep so good a house. INIany a time and often I have 
dined with him, and told him on 't ; and come again to 
supper to him of purpose to have him spend less, and 



yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning by 
my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is 
his : I have told him on 't, but I could ne'er get him 
from it. 

Re-enter Servant with Wine. 

Serv. Please your lordship, here is the wine. 

Lucul. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. 
Here 's to thee. 

Flam. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. 

Lucul. I have observed thee always for a towardly 
prompt spirit, — give thee thy due, — and one that knows 
what belongs to reason ; and canst use the time well, 
if the time use thee well : good parts in thee. — Get you 
gone, sirrah. — [7b the Servant, who exit.] — Draw 
nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord 's a bountiful gen- 
tleman ; but thou art wise, and thou knowest well 
enough, although thou comest to me, that this is no 
time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship, 
without security. Here 's three solidarcs for thee : good 
boy, wink at me, and say, thou «aw'st me not. Fare 
thee well. [Giving money.' 

Flam. Is 't possible, the world should I'D much differ, 
And we alive that liv'd ? Fly. damned baseness. 
To him that worships thee. [Throicing the money away. 

Lucul. Ha ! now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy 
master. [Exit Lucullus. 

Flam. May these add to the number that may scald 
thee ! 
Let molten coin be thy damnation, 
Thou disease of a friend, and not himself ! 



> Ingenuously. ' Not in f. e. 



684 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



ACT ni. 



Has friendship such a faint and milky heart, 
It turns in less than two nights ? O you gods ! 
I feel my master's passion. This slave 
Unto his humour has my lord's meat in him : 
Why should it thrive, and turn to nutriment, 
When he is turn'd to poison ? 

! may diseases only work u^wn 't, 

And, when he 's sick to death, let not that part of nature. 

Which my lord paid for, be of any power 

To expel sickness, but prolong his hour ! [Exit. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Public Place. 
Enter Lucius, with three Strangers. 
Luc. Who ? the lord Timon ? he is my very good 
friend, and an honourable gentleman. 

1 Stran. We know him for no less, though we are 
but strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, 
my lord, and which I hear from common rumours : 
now lord Timon's happy hours are done and past, and 
his estate shrinks from him. 

Luc. Fie ! no, do not believe it ; he cannot want for 
money. 

2 Stran. But believe you this, my lord, that not 
long ago one of his men was witli the lord Lucullus, 
to borrow so many talents; nay, urged extremely for 't. 
and showed what necessity belonged to 't, and yet was 
denied. 

Lvc. How ? 

2 Stran. I tell you, denied, my lord. 

Luc. What a strange case was that ! now, before 
the gods, I am ashamed on 't. Denied that honourable 
man? there was very little honour showed in 't. For 
my own part, I must needs confess, I have received 
some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, 
jewels, and such like trifles, nothing comparing to his; 
yet, had he mistook him, and sent to me, I should 
ne'er have denied his occasion so many talents. 
Enter Seuvilius. 

Ser. See, by good hap. yonder 's my lord ; I have 
sweat to see his honour. — My honoured lord, — 

[To Lucius. 

Luc. Servilius ! you are kindly met. sir. Fare thee 
well ; commend me to thy honourable- virtuous lord, 
my very exquisite friend. 

Ser. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent — 

Luc. Ha ! what has he sent ? I am so much endear- 
ed to that lord, he 's ever sending : how shall I thank 
him, thinkest thou ? And what has he sent now ? 

Ser. He has only sent his present occasion now, my 
lord ; requesting your lordship to supply his instant 
use with five hundred talents.' 

Luc. I know, his lordship is but merry with me : 
He cannot want five hundred talents. 

Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. 
If his occasion were not virtuous, 

1 should not urge it half so faithfully. 

Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius ? 

Ser. Upon my soul, 't is true, sir, 

Luc. What a wicked beast was I, to disfurnish my- 
self against such a good time, when I might have 
shown myself honourable ! how unluckily it happened, 
that I should purchase the day before for a little part, 
and undo a great deal of honour ! — Servilius, now 
before the gods, I am not able to do ; the more beast I, 
I say. — I was sending to use lord Timon myself, these 
gentlemen can witness ; but I would not, for the 
wealth of Athens, I had done it now. Commend me 
bountifully to his good lordship ; and I hope, his h<>n- 
our will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no 



power to be kind : — and tell him this from me, I count 
it one of my greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot 
pleasure such an honourable gentleman. Good Ser- 
vilius, will you befriend me so far, as to use mine own 
words to him ? 

Ser. Yes, sir, I shall. 

Luc. I '11 look you out a good turn, Servilius. — 

[Exit Servilius. 
True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed ; 
And he that's once denied will hardly speed. 

[Exit Lucius. 

1 Stran. Do you observe this, Hostilius ? 

2 Stran. Ay. too well. 
1 Stran. Why this 

Is the world's soul; and just of the same piece 
Is every flatterer's port." Who can call him 
His friend, that dips in the same dish ? for, in 
My knowing, Timon has been this lord's father, 
And kept his credit with his purse. 
Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money 
Has paid his men their wages : he ne'er drinks, 
But Timon's silver treads upon his lip ; 
And yet. (0, see the monstrousncss of man, 
When he looks out in an ungrateful shape !) 
He does deny him, in respect of his, 
What charitable men afford to beggars. 

3 Stran. Religion groans at it. 

1 Stran. For mine own part, 

I never tasted Timon in my life. 
Nor came any of his bounties over me. 
To mark me for his friend ; yet, I protest, 
For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue, 
And honourable carriage, 
Had his neoes.^ity made use of me, 
1 would have put my wealth into donation. 
And the best half should have retvu-n'd to him, 
So much I love his heart. But I perceive, 
Men must learn now with pity to dispense : 
For policy sits above conscience. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — The Same. — A Room in Sempronius's 

House. 
Enter Sempronius, and a Servant of Timon's. 

Sem. Must he needs trouble me in 't, humph ! 
'bove all others ? 
He might have tried Lord Lucius, or Lucullus^ 
And now Ventidius is wealthy too. 
Whom he redeem'd from prison : all these 
Owe their estates unto him. 

Serv. My lord. 

They have all been touch'd, and found base metal ; 
For they have all denied him. 

Sem. How ! have they denied him ? 

Have Ventidius and Lucullus denied him. 
And does he send to me? Three? humph ! 
It shows but little love or judgment in him : 
Must I be his last refuge ? His friends, like physicians. 
Thrice^ give him over: must I take the cure upon me? 
He has much disgrac'd me in 't : I am angry at him. 
That might have known my place. I see no sense for 't, 
But his occasions might have woo'd me first ; 
For, in my conscience, I was the first man 
That e'er received gift from him : 
And does he think so backwardly of me now, 
That I '11 requite it last ? No : so it may prove 
An argument of laughter to the rest. 
And amongst lords I be thought a fool. 
I had rather than the worth of thrice the sum, 
He had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake; 



I with so many talents : in f. e. = spirit : in f. e ; changed from " sport," of the folio. ^ Thrive : in folio. Johnson made the change. 



SCENE IV. 



TIMON OF ATHEN'S. 



685 



I 'd such a courage to do him good. But now return, 
And with their faint reply this answer join ; 
Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. [Exit. 
Scrv. Excellent! Your lordship 's a goodly villain. 
The devil knew not what he did, when he made man 
politic: he crossed himself by't; and I cannot think, 
but, in the end, the villainies of man will set him clear. 
How fairly this lord strives to appear foul ? takes vir- 
tuous copies to be wicked ; like those that, under hot 
ardent zeal, would set whole realms on fire. Of such 
a nature is his politic love. 
This was my lord's best hope ; now all are fled. 
Save only the gods. Now his friends are dead, 
Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards 
Many a bovuiteous year, must be employ'd 
Now to guard sure their master : 
And this is all a liberal course allows ; 
Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. A Hall in Timon's House. 

Enter two Servant.'? of Varro, and the Servant of 
Lucius, meeting Titus, Hortensius, and other Ser- 
vants to TiMON's Creditors^ loaiting his coming out. 

Var. Serv. Well met ; good-morrow, Titus and Hor- 

tensius. 
Tit. The like to you, kind Varro. 
Hor. Lucius ? 

What, do we meet together ? 



Lkc. Serv. 



Ay ; and I think, 



One business does command us all, for mine 
Ls money. 

Tit. So is theirs, and ours. 

Enter Philotus. 

Luc. Serv. And, sir, 

Philotus too ! 

Phi. Good day at once. 

Lite. Serv. Welcome, good brother. 

What do you think the hour ? 

Phi. Labouring for nine. 

Luc. Serv. So much ? 

Phi. Is not my lord seen yet ? 

Luc. Serv. Not yet. 

Phi. I wonder on 't : he was wont to shine at seven. 

Luc. Serv. Ay, but the days are waxed shorter with 
him : 
You must consider, that a prodigal course 
Is like the sun's ; but not, like his. recoverable. 
I fear 'tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse ; 
That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet 
Find little. 

Phi. I am of your fear for that. 

Tit. I '11 show you how t' observe a strange event. 
Your lord sends now for money. 

Hor. Most true, he does. 

Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, 
For which I wait for money. 

Hor. It is against my heart. 

Luc. Serv. Mark, how strange it shows, 

Timon in this should pay more than he owes : 
And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels. 
And send for money for 'em. 

Hor. I 'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness : 
I know, my lord hath syent of Timon's wealth. 
And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. 

1 Var. Scrv. Yes, mine 's three thousand crowns ; 
what 's yours ? 

Luc. Serv. Five thousand mine. 

1 Var. Serv. 'T is much deep : and it should seem by 
the sum, 

1 A bill was also a ■weapon. 



Your master's confidence was above mine ; 
Else, surely, his had equall'd. 

Enter Fl.^minius. 

Tit. One of lord Timon's men. 

Ltic. Scrv.- Flaminius ! Sir, a word. Pray, is my 
lord ready to come forth ? 

Flam. No. indeed, he is not. 

Tit. Wc attend his lorship : pray, signify so much. 

Flam. I need not tell him that ; he knows, you are 
too diligent. [Exit Flaminius. 

Enter Flavius in a Cloak, muffled. 

Luc. Serv. Ha ! is not that his Steward muffled so ? 
He goes away in a cloud : call him, call him. 

Tit. Do you hear, sir ? 

1 Var. Serv. By your leave, sir, — 

Flav. What do you ask of me, my friend ? 

Tit. We wait for certain money here, sir. 

Flav. Ay, 

If money were as certain as your waiting, 
'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not 
Your sums and bills, when your false masters <ate 
Of my lord's meat ? Then, they could smile, and fawn 
Upon his debts, and take down the interest 
Into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves but 

wrong. 
To stir me up ; let me pass quietly : 
Believe 't, my lord and I have made an end: 
I have no more to reckon, he to spend. 

Luc. Serv. Ay, but this answer will not serve. 

Flav. If 't will not serve, 

'T is not so base as you : for you ser\'e knaves. [Exit. 

1 Var. 'Serv. How ! what does his cashier'd worship 
mutter ? 

2 Var. Serv. No matter what : he 's poor, and that 's 
revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that 
has no house to put his head in ? such may rail against 
great buildings. 

Enter Servilius. 

Tit. O ! here 's Servilius ; now we shall know some 
answer. 

Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair 
some other hour, I should derive much from 't ; for, 
take 't of my soul, my lord leans wondrously to dis- 
content. His comfortable temper has forsook him : 
he 's much out of health, and keeps his chamber. 

Luc. Scrv. Many do keep their-chambers, are not sick : 
And if he be so far beyond his health, 
Methinks, he should the sooner pay his debts, 
And make a clear way to the gods. 

Ser. Good gods ! 

Tit. We cannot take this for an answer, sir. 

Flam. [ ]Vi;hin.] Servilius, help ! — my lord ! my lord ! 

Enter Timon, in a rage ; Flaminius, following. 

Tim. What ! are my doors oppos'd against my passage ? 
Have I been ever free, and mvist my house 
Be my retentive enemy, my gaol ? 
The place which I have feasted, does it now, 
Like all mankind, show me an iron heart? 

Luc. Serv. Put in now, Titus. 

I'it. My lord, here is my bill. 

Lvc. Srrv. Here 's mine. 

Hor. Serv. And mine, my lord. 

Poth Var. Serv. And ours, my lord. 

Phi. All our bills. 

Tim. Knock me down with 'em ; cleave me to the 
girdle.* 

Luc. Serv. Alas ! my lord, — 

Tim. Cut my heart in sums. 

Tit. Mine, fifty talents. 



686 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



ACT ni. 



Tim. Tell out my blood. 
^uc. Serv. Five thousand crowns, my lord. 
Tim. Five thousand drops pays that. — 
What yours ? — and yours ? 

1 Var. Serv. My lord, — 

2 Var. Serv. My lord. — 
Tim. Tear me, take me; and the gods fall upon 

you ! [Exit. 

Hor. Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their 
caps at their money: these debts may well be called 
desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. [Exeunt. 

Re-enter Ti.mon and Flavii's. 

Tim. They have e'en put my breath from me, the 
slaves : 
Creditors ? — devils ! 

Flav. My dear lord, — 

Tim. What if it should be so ? 

Flav. My lord,— 

Tim. I '11 have it so. — My steward ! 

Flav. Here, my lord. 

Tim. So filly? Go, bid all my friends again, 
Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius' ; all : 
I "11 once more feast the rascals. 

Flav. my lord ! 

You only speak from your distracted soul : 
There is not so much left to furnish out 
A moderate table. 

Tim. Be 't not in thy care : go, 

I charge thee ; invite them all : let in the tide 
Of knaves once more ; my cook and I '11 provide. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— The Same. The Senate-House. 
The Senate sitting. Enter Alcibiades, attended. 

1 Sen. My lord, you have my voice to 't : the fault 's 
bloody; 't is ncces.<iary he should die. 
Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. 

2 Sen. Mo.st true; the law shall bruise him. 
Alcib. Honour, health, and compassion to the 

senate ! 

1 Sen. Now, captain? 

Alcib. I am an humble suitor to your virtues; 
For pity is tVie virtue of the law, 
And none but tyrants use it ciuelly. 
It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy 
Upon a friend of mine ; who, in hot blood, 
Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth 
To those that without heed do plunge into 't. 
He is a man, setting his fault aside. 
Of comely virtues : 

Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice ; 
(An honour in him which buys out his fault) 
But, with a noble fury, and fair spirit. 
Seeing his reputation touch'd to death^ 
He did oppose his foe : 
And with such sober and unnoted passion 
He did reprove' his anger, ere 't was spent, 
As if he had but mov'd^ an aruument. 

1 Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox. 
Striving to make an ugly deed look fair : 
Your words have took such pains, as if they labour'd 
To bring manslaughter into form, and set quarrelling 
Upon the head of valour ; which, indeed. 
Is valour misbegot, and came into the world 
When sects and factions were newly born. 
He 's truly valiant, that can wisely suffer 
The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs 
His outsides ; to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, 

1 First folio inserts : Ullorxa. ^ behave : in f. e. ^ prov'd : in f. e. * I 5ay : in second folio. ^ him : in first folio. * if there were 
no foes, that were enough : in f. e. ' Brought. 



And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, 
To bring it into danger. 
If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill. 
What folly 't is to hazard life for ill ? 
Alcih. My lord. — 

1 Sen. You cannot make gross sins look clear : 
To revenge is no valour, but to bear. 

Alcib. My lords, then under favour, pardon me, 
If I speak like a captain. 
Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, 
And not endure all threats? sleep upon 't. 
And let the foes quietly cut their throats. 
Without repugnancy? if there be 
Such valour in the bearing, what make we 
Abroad ? why then, women are more valiant. 
That stay at home, if bearing carry it, " 
And the a.ss more captain than the lion ; the fellow, 
Loaden with irons, wiser than the judge. 
If wisdom be in sutfering. 0, my lords ! 
As you are great, be pitifully good : 
Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? 
To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust; 
But in defence, by mercy, 't is most just. 
To be in anger, is impiety; 
But who is man, that is not angry ? 
Weigh but the crime with this. 

2 Sen. You breathe in vain. 
Alcib. In vain ? his service done 

At Lacedsemon, and Byzantium, 
Were a sufficient briber for his life. 

Sen. What 's that ? 

Alcib. Why. say* my lords, he has done fair service, 
And slain in fight many of your enemies. 
How full of valour did he bear himself 
In the last conflict, and made plenteous wo\inds? 

2 Sen. He has made too much plenty with 'em,' 
He 's a sworn rioter : he has a sin, that often 
Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner. 
Were there no foes, that were itself enough* 
To overcome him : in that beastly fury 
He has been known to commit outrages. 
And cheri.sh factions. 'T is inferr'd' to us. 
His days are foul, and his drink dangerous. 

1 Sen. He dies. 

Alcib. Hard fate ! he might have died in war. 
My lords, if not for any parts in him, 
Though his right arm might purchase his own time, 
And be in debt to none, yet, more to move you, 
Take my deserts to his, and join them both : 
And for, I know, your reverend ages love 
Security, I '11 pawn my victories, all 
My honour to you. upon his good returns. 
If by this crime he owes the law his life, 
Why, let the war receiv 't in valiant gore ; 
For law is strict, and war is nothing more. 

1 Sen. We are for law : he dies ; urge it no more. 
On height of our displeasure. Friend, or brother, 
He forfeits his own blood that spills another. 

Alcib. Must it be so ? it must not be. My lords. 
I do beseech you, know me. 

2 Sen. How ! 
Alcib. Call me to your remembrances. 

3 Sen. What ! 
Alcib. I cannot think, but your age has forgot me ; 

It could not else be, I should prove so base. 
To sue, and be denied such common grace. 
My wounds ache at you. 

1 Sen. Do you dare ol^r anger? 



SCKNE VI. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



687 



'T is in few words, but specious in effect : 
We banish thee for ever. 

Alcib. Banish me ! 

Banish your dotage, banish usury, 
That makes the senate ugly. 

1 Sen. If, after two days' shine Athens contain thee, 
Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our 

spirit. 
He shall be executed presently. {Exeunt Senators. 

Alcib. Now the gods keep you old enough ; that you 
may live 
Only in bone, that none may look on you. 
[ am worse than mad : I have kept back their foes, 
While they have told their money, and let out 
Their coin upon large interest; I myself. 
Rich onlv in large hurts: — all tho,«e, for this? 
Is this the balsam that the usuring senate 
Pours into captains' wounds ? Banishment ! 
It comes not ill ; I hate not to be banish'd : 
It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, 
That I may strike at Athens. I '11 cheer up 
My discontented troops, and lay' for hearts. 
'T is honour with most lands to be at odds ; 
Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. \Exit. 

SCENE VI. — A Banquet-hall in Timon's House. 

Music. Tables set out : Servants attending. Enter 
divers Lords^ at several Doors. 

1 Lord. The good time of day to you, sir. 

2 Lord. I also wish it to you. I think, this honour- 
able lord did but try us this other day. 

1 Lord. Upon that were my thoughts tiring,- when 
we encountered. I hope, it is not so low with him, as 
he made it seem in the trial of his several friends. 

2 Lord. It should not be, by the persuasion of his 
new feasting. 

1 Lord. I should think so. He hath sent me an 
earne?^^t inviting, which many my near occasions did 
urge me to put off; but he hath conjured me beyond 
them, and I must needs appear. 

2 Lord. In like manner was I in debt to my impor- 
tunate business, but he would not hear my excuse. I 
am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my pro- 
vision was out. 

1 Lord. I am sick of that grief too, as I understand 
how all things go. 

2 Lord. Every man here 's so. What would he 
ha ve borrowed of you ? 

1 Lord. A thousand pieces. 

2 Lord. A thousand pieces ! 
1 Lord. What of you ? 

3 Lord. He sent to me, sir. — Here he comes. 

Enter Timon, and Attendants. 
Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen both : — And how 
fare you ? 

1 Lord. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lord- 
ship. 

2 Lord The swallow follows not summer more wil- 
lingly, than we your lordship. 

Tim. [Aside.] Nor more willingly leaves winter; 
such summer-birds are men. [To them.] Gentlemen, 
our dinner will not recompense this long stay : feast 
your cars with the music awhile, if they will fare so 
harshly o' the trumpet's sound ; we shall to 't presently. 

1 Lord. I hope, it remains not unkindly with your 
lordship, that I retiirned you an empty messenger. 

Tim. ! sir, let it not trouble you. 

2 Lord. My noble lord, — 



Tim. Ah ! my good friend, what cheer ? 

[The Banquet brought in. 

2 Lord. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of 
shame that, when your lordship this other day sent to 
me, I was so unfortunate a beggar. 

Tim. Think not on 't, sir. 

2 Lord. If you had seat but two hours before, — 

Tim. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. 
— Come, bring in all together. [To the Servants.^ 

2 Lord. All covered dishes ! 

1 Lord. Royal cheer. I warrant you. 

3 Lord. Doubt not that, if money, and the season 
can yield it. 

1 Lord. How do you ? What 's the news ? 
3 Lord. Alcibiadcs is banished : hear you of it ? 
1 ^* 2 Lord. Alcibiades banished ! 
3 Lord. 'T is so ; be sure of it. 

1 Lord How? how? 

2 Lord. I pray you, upon what ? 

Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near? 

3 Lord. I '11 tell you more anon. Here 's a noble 
feast toward. 

2 Lord. This is the old man still. 

3 Lord. Will 't hold? will 't hold? 

2 Lord. It does ; but time will show. 

3 Lord. I do conceive. 

Tim. Each man to his stool, with that spur as he 
would to the lip of his mistress : your diet shall be in 
all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let the 
meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place : sit, 
sit. The gods require our thanks. 

" You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with 
thankfulness. For your own gifts make yourselves 
praised, but reserve still to give, lest your deities be 
despised. Lend to each man enough, that one need 
not lend to another ; for, were your godheads to bor- 
row of men, men would forsake the gods. Make the 
meat be beloved, more than the man that gives it. 
Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of vil- 
lains : if there sit twelve women at the table, let a 
dozen of them be — as they are. — The rest of your 
foes,* gods ! the senators of Athens, together with 
tlie common tag' of people, — what is amiss in them, 
you gods make suitable for destruction. For these, 
my present friends, — as they are to me nothing, so in 
nothing bless them, and to nothing are they welcome." 
Uncover, dogs, and lap. 

[The Dishes uncovered are full of warm water. 

Some speak. What does his lordship mean? 

Some other. I know not. 

Tim.. May you a better feast never behold, 
You knot of mouth-friends ! smoke, and luke-warm 

water 
Is your perfection. This is Timon's last; 
Who stuck and spangled you with flatteries, 
Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces 

[Throwing water in their faces. 
Your recking villainy. Live loathVl and long. 
Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, 
Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears ; 
You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flics. 
Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks ! 
Of man, and beast, i\^e infinite malady 
Crust you quite o'er ! — What ! dost thou go? 
Soft, take tliy physic first — thou too. — and thou : — 

[Jlirou's the Dishes at them, and drives them out. 
Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. — 
What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast, 



1 Lay out. 2 j'n ifre on. is to fasten on, like a bird of prey on its victim. Z. Jackson reads: stirring. 
' lag : in f. e. Altered from leg, in folio. 



^ Not in f. 6. * fees : in f. e. 



688 



TIMOX OF ATHENS. 



ACT IV. 



Whereat a villain 's not a welcome guest. 
Burn, house ! sink, Athens ! henceforth hated he 
Of Timon, man, and all humanity ! [Exit. 

Re-enter the Lords, with other Lords and Senators. 

1 Lord. How now, my lords ! 

2 Lord. Know you the quality of lord Timon's fury? 

3 Lord. Push ! did you see my caji? 

4 Lord. I have lost my gown. 

3 Lord. He 's but a mad lord, and nought but hu- 
mour sways him. He gave me a jewel the other day^ 



and now he has beat it out of my hat : — did you see 
my jewel ? 

4 Lord. Did you see my cap ? 

2 Lord. Here 't is. 

4 Lord. Here lies my gown. 

1 Lord. Let 's make no stay. 

2 Lord. Lord Timon 's mad. 

3 Lord. I feel 't upon my bones. 
4. Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, next day 

stones. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV 



SCENE L— Without the Walls of Athens. 
Enter Timon. 
Tim. Let me look back upon thee, thou wall. 
That girdlest in those wolves ! Dive in the earth, 
And fence not Athens ! Matrons, turn incontinent ; 
Obedience fail in children ! slaves, and fools, 
Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, 
And minister in their steads ! to general filths 
Convert o' the inslant green virginity ! 
Do 't in your parents' eyes. Bankrupts, hold fast ; 
Rather than render back, out with your knives, 
And cut your trusters' throats ' bound servants, steal ! 
Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, 
And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed ; 
Thy mistress is o' the brothel ! son of sixteen. 
Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire, 
With it beat out his brains ! piety, and fear, 
Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, 
Domestic awe, night-rest, and iieiglibourhood, 
Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, 
Degrees, observances, eu.'^toms, and law.s, 
Decline to your confounding contraries. 
And let confusion live ! — Plagues, incident to men, 
Your potent and infectious fevers lieap 
On Athens, ripe for stroke ! thou cold sciatica. 
Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt 
As lamely as their manners ! lust and liberty 
Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, 
That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, 
And drown themselves in riot ! itches, blains, 
Sow all the Athenian bosoms, and their crop 
Be general leprosy ! breath infect breath. 
That their society, as their friendsliip, may 
Be merely poison ! Nothing I '11 bear from thee, 
But nakedness, thou detestable town. 

[Casting away his Clothes.^ 
Take thou that too, with multiplying bans. 
Timon will to the woods ; where he shall find 
Th' unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. 
The gods confound (hear me, you good gods all) 
The Athenians, both within and out that wall ! 
And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow 
To the whole race of manlcind, high, and low ! 
Amen. [Exit. 

SCENE n.— Athens. A Room in Timon's House. 



Enter Flavius, with tioo or three Servants. 



1 



Serv. Hear you, master steward ! where 's our 
master? 
Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining? 

Flav. Alack! my fellows, what should I say to you? 
Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, 



I am as poor as you. 

1 Serv. Such a house broke ! 
So noble a master fallen ' All gone, and not 
One friend to take his fortune by the arm, 
And go along with him ! 

2 Serv. As we do turn our backs 
From our companion, thrown into his grave, 

So his familiars to his buried fortunes 
Slink all away; leave their false vows with him, 
Like empty purses pick'd ; and his poor self, 
A dedicated beggar to the air. 
With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, 
Walks, like contem])t, alone. — More of our fellows. 
Enter other Servants. 
Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. 

3 Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Timons livery. 
That see I by our faces : we are fellows still, 
Serving alike in sorrow. Leak'd is our bark ; 
And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck. 
Hearing the surges threat : we must all part 
Into this sea of air. 

Flav. Good fellows all, 

The latest of my wealth I '11 share amongst you. 
Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake. 
Let 's yet be fellows ; let 's shake our heads, and say, 
As 't Mere a knell unto our master's fortunes, 
" We have seen better days." Let each take some; 

[Giving them money. 
Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more : 
Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. 

[They embrace, and part several ways 
0. the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us ! 
Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt. 
Since riches point to misery and contempt ? 
Who 'd be so moek'd with glory as'^ to live 
But in a dream of friendship ? and revive*' 
To have his pomp, and all state comprehends,* 
But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? 
Poor honest lord ! brought low by his own heart; 
L^ndone by goodness. Strange, unusual blood, •'^ 
When man's worst sin is, he does too much good ! 
Who, then, dares to be half so kind again ? 
For bounty, that makes gods, docs still mar men. 
My dearest lord, — bless'd, to be most accurs'd, 
Rich, only to be wretched, — thy great fortunes 
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord ! 
He 's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat 
Of monstrous friends : 
Nor hath he with him to supply his life, 
Or tliat which can command it. 
I '11 follow, and inquire him out : 
I '11 ever serve his mind with my best will ; 
Whilst I have gold I '11 be his steward still. [Exit. 



1 Not in f. e. ^ or : in f. e. ' The worths, " and revive," are not in f. e. * all ■what state compounds : in f. e. * Disposition. 



SCENE III. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



m 



SCENE III.— The Woods. 
Enter Timon, with a Spade. 

Tim. 0, ble.«sed breeding sun ! draw from the earth 
Rotten humidity ; below thy sister's orb 
Infect the air. Twinn'd brothers of one womb, 
Wiiose procreation, residence, and birth, 
Scarce is dividant, touch them witli several fortunes, 
The greater scorns the leaser : not nature, 
(To whom all sores lay siege) can bear great fortune, 
But by contempt of nature. 
Raise me this beggar, and decline' that lord ; 
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, 
The beggar native honour. 
It is the pasture lards the rother's^ sides, 
The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, 
In purity of manhood stand upright. 
And say, '-This man 's a flatterer ?" If one be. 
So are they all ; for every grise' of fortune 
Is smooth'd by that below : the learned pate 
Ducks to the golden fool. All is oblique ; 
There 's nothing level in our cursed natures, 
But direct villainy. Therefore, be abhorr'd 
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men ! 
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains : 
Destruction fang mankind ! — Earth, yield me roots ! 

[Digging. 
Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate 
With thy most operant poison — What is here ? 

[Finding gold.* 
Gold ? yellow, glittering, precious gold ? No, gods, 
I am no idoP votarist. Roots, you clear heavens ! 
Thus much of this will make black, white ; foul, fair; 
Wrong, right; base, noble; old, young; coward, valiant. 
Ha ! you gods, why this ? What this ? You gods ! 

why, this 
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides. 
Pluck stout* men's pillows from below their heads'. 
This yellow slave 

Will knit and break religions ; bless th' aecurs'd; 
Make the hoar leprosy ador'd ; place thieves. 
And give them title, knee, and approbation, 
With senators on the bench : this is it, 
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again : 
She, whom the spital-house, and ulcerous sores 
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices 
To the April day again. Come, damned earth, 
Tliou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds 
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee 
Do thy right nature. — [3Iarcli afar off.] — Ha ! a 

drum ? — Thou 'rt quick. 
But yet I '11 bury thee : thou 'It go, strong thief. 
When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand. — 
Nay. stay thou out for earnest. [Rr.^crving .some gold. 
Enter Alcibiabes, with Drum and Fife., in warlike 



manner J and Phrynia and Timandra. 

What art thou thei*e ? 



The canker gnaw thy 



Alcib. 
Speak. 

Tim. A beast, as thou art. 
heart, 
For showing me again the eyes of man ! 

Alcib. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee 
That art thyself a man ? 

Tim. I am mi.fanthropo.f. and hate mankind. 
For thy part. I do wish thou wert a dog, 
That I might love thee something. 

Alcib. I know thee well ; 

But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. 



Tim. I know thee 
thee, 
I not desire to know. 
With — '' 



too ; and more, than tjj&tf j^lgjcgfi 
-bid -isA ai ij 



Follow thy drum : 



jfi a'tbai^H 



man's blood paint the ground, gules, igu^g^: g.j^.jy- 

Religious canons, civil laws are cruel : d--uoidl hi'dT 

Then what should war be? Tliis fell w^\^j^/)((,{^iy;j5^ 

Hath in her more destruction than thy sv^^j,jj j.,;,_ j,|j| 

For all her cherubin look. jolqtv.ib a^oilV/ 

Phry. Thy lips rot off l^^-^f j, jj -j^i^jx 

Tim. I will not kiss thq^;, then,,, th,e, r^gff^f)^ HtjjH 

To thine own lips aga-iij:,,,,; .. ;,.•,,:.;...)- ,, ,.?. .][ o^niat biik 

Alcib. How came the noble Timon ml>isifi\i'ftl>SP,t?jT 

Tim. As the moon does, by wantingj^lrt^rji^^fgirS^j^Y/' 

But then, renew, I could not, like the i^pjwr^ til»i;. no?I 

There were no suns to borrow of. j,-,; ^ s^Tjia IIi;d3 

Alcib. Noble Timon, 

What friendship may I do thee ? v.,/tfioo o^ijgI o'JoM 
, Tim. Noi^ WHy^muoiaoD 

Maintain my opinion. „,3,i, ,j,^ji ^-.^^^^ 

Alcib. What is it, Timo^jJ* j^,,;-,,,, 

Tiju. Promise me friendsliip, but j|j^^^fl9%„- jjf^ 
thou wilt not promise, the gods plag\^3jtlje^"(^br^^ipu 
art a man ! if thou dost perform, cqiijji^gfi^.jtJi^e, for 
thou art a man! -in" .m>«nT V> .tA^ 

Alcib. I have heard in some sortjg^jt^i^i^ffjiififtrjjes. 
Tim. Thou saw'st them, when JfrJi^^ iF^JMi'^^nT 
Alcib. I see them now; then ^^•»%^,^^ss^t•Vil^«i• bnA 
Tim. As thine is now, held witj^^^^^^ce ^(,^£1(^*67 
Timan. Is this th' Athenian mi^^i, -'jy^ifiJ^^JWlfJ^ 
Volc'd so regardfully ? .^ ,gi4boii. gnoiJ? otnl 

liman. Yes. ..rf ; ... ,i,iibnoo iuot ot igait iV I 

Tim. Be a whore still ! they349^%;ihp^ flPfavt^i^A W^k 

'^"*'® • riuflij ,9io(lw ni j^aoii*. oH 

Give them diseases, leaving Wfi|^^e&,^l|^i^^fjs^„o.^ j^j 

Make use of thy salt hours ; seasgyi^T5f]^v/j^ ,j jj,jj^ 

For tubs, and baths ; bring down rose-clj^f^^youth 

To the tub^^'a^t, and the die^.n bnjs : (ijlitno-j stitrp afl 

Ahib. Pardon him, sweet^o^jniWllifSir^QLi^jr^Wl;^ 

Are drown'd and lost in his q^\^i\^^^.-rjTri(.,f[ ^ jijj ji^jj^q 

I have had but little gold of late, brA\'§iJjii9-^i,-]o -/m A 

Thewant'whereofdoth daiJ,yj(mHl>^/i-cY,(^j'f -i „.,j\t\ 

In my penurious band : I Ji^y^'\ifta|yl jT^d^^fnc/^v^^jf.^a 

How cursed Athens, minrlle.-^.Sv^';,t|ijyoWW{ljft,io:) .mVT 

Forgetting thy great deed^j.y^hcftfOfiialA^fofft^g^loif nl 

Bat tt>r thy sword and forl^ijie, .fc!-fl?l|-Hl?Wi«tJ}^>^^,Tr7r,i, f^,,;^ 

Tim. I pr'ythce, beat tliyf^ui^j^j^^tJvS^ ffet^ ^mniT 

Alcib. I am thy friend,; ^|ifj|.jTJ^,x,tJ!?R,j^^fti }Cj))yyv,,,-^ 

Tim. How dost iho^,^l^^!;^^f\j i-)^\i^\. i.\ip^^f(^^p 

trouble? ftv/t,^) :ll-j:<mii{ aavsil-^d jon bn/ 

I had rather be alone. ,{;i-,j ^,[f „,j^j . ^^.^ y^ ^^^-.^^ ^.^.^^^ 

^^"^- ■AYfeyn&fi^it^^^ W^^mU .mid -10 



oiii inoi't p.Homg 



Here is some gold for i\i^ff 

Tim. Keep ^\,il^^,^Tiipi^,^t\t 

Alcib. When I hnv^sl^ jj^miifl^ ^'^i%i)S(ft]i ^Uf^Pi^rrA 
Tim. Warr'st tliou.'gfitnst/Al^im^? t(\,-q 3,003 oviioQ 
Atcib. Ay Timon, ^n^ ]mim^y>im-i'rrii')R iuoy Ir.dT 
Tim. The gods confftvlpMb¥«fit%lAini(Ui5d^9i«l>V9?tji{T 

And thee after, when thou hast conquered : 

Alcib. Why me, .Iyi^iJj?,l5l ban .p.-mlia nnn.h irov .-q 

Thou wast born tqj9onfi^/}F„}gy#p^}atry„„„,^^v V, .m\^1 
Put up thy gold : go on,— here '^^t,-sng«l)ftftirf 
Be as a planetary glMil<?siW%p„^f>yAu(!v/ p-.olf. .mVT 
Will o'er some higli-vic'd city hang 1vi!?^iB9}^i?»oy 
In the sick air : le^iMt^^y iffftWloSffi^tPJ^flii i« '^h\^ 
Pity not honour'd age for his white-l^j^^f [[.yff 



1 deny 't : in f. e. ^ A Jiorned beast, fcrother. an folio. Singer made the change. ^ Df^ri}(y,A ^Tut in3f.-je„_ ^jfleh ■ i^ f^ ^j .*,.ffSftft%' 
' Sometimes done to the dying, to shorten their death agonies. » fub : in folio. Warburton made the cliaiige". ' 



44 



.i-» 



; iLj;si ivjii.rr.H ■■ 



690 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



ACT IV. 



He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron ; 

Tt is her habit only that is honest, 

Herself s a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek 

Make soft thy trenchant sword ; for those milk-paps, 

That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, 

Are not within the leaf of pity writ, 

But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe, 

Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy : 

Think it a bastard, whom the oracle 

Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut. 

And mince it sans remorse; swear against abjects;* 

Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes, 

Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, 

Nor sight of priests, in holy vestments bleeding. 

Shall pierce a jot. There 's gold to pay thy soldiers : 

[Throwing it.^ 
Make large confusion ; and thy fury spent, 
Confounded be thyself ! Speak not ; be gone. 

Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I 'Jl take the gold thou 
giv'st me, 
Not all thy counsel. 

Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse 
upon thee ! 

Phr. if Timan. Give us some gold, good Timon : 
hast thou more ? 

Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, 
And to make whores abhorr'd^. Hold up, you sluts, 
Your aprons mountant : you are not oathable, — 
Although I know, you '11 swear, terribly swear, 
Into strong shudders, and to heavenly agues. 
The immortal gods that hear you, — spare your oaths, 
I '11 trust to your conditions : be whores still ; 
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, 
Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; 
Let your close fire predominate his smoke. 
And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains, six 

months. 
Be quite contrary : and thatch your poor thin roofs 
With burdens of the dead ; — some that were hang'd. 
No matter : — wear them, betray with them : whore still ; 
Pai^it till a horse may mire upon your face : 
A pox of wrinkles ! 

Phry. ^ Timan. Well, more gold. — What then? — 
Believe 't, that we '11 do any thing for gold. 

Tim. Consumptions sow 
In hollow bones of man ; strike their sharp shins. 
And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, 
That he may never more false title plead, 
Nor sound his quillets shrilly : hoar the flamcn, 
That scolds against the quality of flesh. 
And not believes himself : down with the nose, 
Down with it flat ; take the bridge quite away 
Of him. that his particular to foresee. 
Smells from the general weal : make curl'd-pate 

ruffians bald : 
And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war 
Derive some pain from you. Plague all. 
That your activity may defeat and quell 
The source of all erection. — There 's more gold : 

[Throwing it.* 
Do you damn others, and let this damn you. 
And ditches grave you all ! 

Phr. Sf Timan. More counsel with more money, 
bounteous Timon. 

Tim. More whore, more mischief first : I have given 



you earnest. 
Alcih. Strike up the drum towards Athens ! 
well, Timon : 



Fare- 



If I thrive well, I '11 visit thee again. 

Tim. If I hope well, I '11 never see thee more. 

Alcib. I never did thee harm. 

Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. 

Alcib. Call'st thou that harm ? 

Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee away, 
And take thy beagles with thee. 

Alcib. We but offend him. — 

Strike ! 

[Brum beats. Exeunt Alcibiades, Phrynia, 
and TiMANDRA. 

Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness. 
Should yet be hungry ! — Common mother, thou, 

[Digging. 
Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, 
Teems, and feeds all ; whose self-same mettle, 
Wliereof thy proud child, arrogant man. is puff'd, 
Engenders the black toad, and adder blue, 
The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm, 
With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven 
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine ; 
Yield him, who all the human sons doth hate, 
From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root ! 
Ensear thy fertile and conceptions womb : 
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man ! 
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears ; 
Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face 
Hath to the marbled mansion all above 
Never presented ! — O ! a root : — dear thanks ! 
Dry up thy meadows^, vines, and plough-torn leas ; 
Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish drafts. 
And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, 

That from it all consideration slips . 

Enter Apemantus. 
More man ? Plague ! plague ! 

Apem. I was directed hither : men report. 
Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. 

Tim. 'T is, then, because thou dost not keep a dog 
Whom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee .' 

Apem. This is in thee a nature but infected ; 
A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung 
From change of fortune.^ Why this spade ? this place ? 
This slave-like habit, and these looks of care ? 
Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft, 
Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot 
That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods. 
By putting on the cunning of a carper. 
Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive 
By that which has undone thee : hinge thy knee, 
And let his very breath, whom thou 'It observe. 
Blow off thy cap ; praise his most vicious strain. 
And call it excellent. Thovi wast told thus ; 
Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters that bade welcome. 
To knaves, and all approachcrs ; 't is most just, 
That thou turn rascal : hadst thou wealth again. 
Rascals should have 't. Do not assume my likeness. 

Tim. Were I like thee, I 'd throw away myself. 

Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thy- 
self ; 
A madman so long, now a fool. What ! think'st 
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, 
Will put thy shirt on warm ? Will these moist'' trees, 
That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels, 
And skip when thou point'st out ? Will the cold brook. 
Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste. 
To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit ? call the creatures, — 
Whose naked natures live in all the spite 
Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks. 



"I objects; in f. e. 2 Not in f. e. 
' Hanmer reads : moss'd. 



3 a bawd : in f. e. * Not in f. e. ' marrows : in f. e. ' future : in folio. Rowe made the change. 



SCENE III. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



691 



To the conflicting elements expos'd, 
Answer mere nature, — bid them flatter thee ; 

! tJiou shalt find — 

Tim. A fool of thee. Depart. 

Apem. I love thee better now than e'er I did. 

Tim. I hate thee worse. 

Apem. Why ? 

Tim. Thou flatter'st misery. 

Apem. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff. 

Tim. Why dost thou seek me out ? 

Apem. To vex thee. 

Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's. 
Dost please thyself m 't? 

Apem. Ay. 

Tim. What ! a knave too ? 

Apem. If thou didst put this sour cold habit on 
To castigate thy pride, 't were well ; but thou 
Dost it enforcedly : thou 'dst courtier be again, 
Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery 
Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before : 
Tiie one is filling still, never complete : 
The other, at high wish, best state, contentless, 
Hath a distracted and most wretched being, 
Worse than the worst content. 
Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable. 

Tim. Not by his breath, that is more miserable. 
Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm 
With favour never clasp'd, but bred a dog. 
Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath, proceeded 
The sweet degrees that this brief world affords 
To such as may the passive dugs^ of it 
Freely command, thou wouldst have plung'd thyself 
[n general riot ; melted down thy youth 
In different beds of lu.st : and never learn'd 
The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd 
The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, 
Who had the world as my confectionary ; 
The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men 
At duty, more than I could frame employment ; 
That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves 
Do on the oak. have with one winter's brush 
Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare 
For every storm that blows : — I, to bear this, 
That never knew but better, is some burden : 
Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time 
Hath made thee hard in 't. Why shouldst thou hate men? 
They never flatter'd thee : what hast thou given ? 
If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, 
Must be thy subject ; who, in spite, put stuff 
To some she beggar, and compounded thee 
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence ! be gone ! — 
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, 
Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer. 

Apem. Art thou proud yet ? 

Tim. Ay, that I am not thee, 

Apem. 
No prodigal. 

Tim. I, that I am one now : 

Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee. 

1 'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. — 
That the whole life of Athens were in this ! 

Thus would I eat it. \FMting a root. 

Apem. Here ; I will mend thy feast. 

{Offering something. 
Tim. First mend my' company, take away thyself. 
Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of 

thine. 
Tim. 'T is not well mended so, it is but botch'd ; 
If not, I would it were. 

» drugs : in f e. ^ thy : in folio. Rowe made the change. 



Apem. What wouldst thou have to Athens ? 
Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, 
Tell them there I have gold : look, so I have. 
Apem. Here is no use for gold. 



Tim. 



The best, and truest ; 



I. that I was 



my 



For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. 

Apem. Where ly'st o' nights, Timon ? 

Tim. Under that 's above me. 

Where fecd'st thou o' days, Apemantus? 

Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, 
where I eat it. 

Tim. Would poison were obedient, and knew 
mind ! 

Apem. Where wouldst thou send it ? 

Tim. To sauce thy dishes. 

Apem. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, 
but the extremity of both ends. When thou wast in 
thy gilt, and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too 
much curiosity ; in thy rags thou knowcst none, but 
art despised for the contrary. There 's a medlar for 
thee ; eat it. 

Tiin. On what I hate I feed not. 

Apem. Dost hate a medlar? 

Tim. Ay, though it look like thee. 

Apem. An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou 
shouldst have loved thyself better now. What man 
didst thou ever know unthrift, that was beloved after 
his means ? 

Tim. Who. without those means thou talkest of, 
didst thou ever know beloved ? 

Apem. Myself. 

Tim. I understand thee : thou hadst some means to 
keep a dog. 

Apem. What things in the world canst thou nearest 
compare to thy flatterers? 

Tim. Women nearest ; but men, men are the things 
themselves. What wouldst thou do with the world, 
Apemantus, if it lay in thy power ? 

Apem. Give it the beasts, to be lid of the men. 

Tim. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confu- 
sion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts ? 

Apem. Ay, Timon. 

Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee 
to attain to. If thou wert the lion, the fox would 
beguile thee: if thou wert the lamb, the fox would 
eat thee : if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect 
thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accused by the 
ass : if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment 
thee, and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the 
wolf: if thou wert the wolf, Ihy greediness would 
afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for 
thy dinner : wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath 
would confound thee, and make thine own self the con- 
quest of thy fury: wert thou a bear, thou wouldst be 
killed by the horse : wert thou a horse, thou wouldst 
be seized by the leopard : wert thou a leopard, thou 
wert germane to the lion, and the spots of thy kindred 
were jurors on thy life : all tliy safety were rcmotion. 
and thy defence, absence. Wliat beast couklst thou 
be, that were not subject to a beast ? and what a beast 
art thou already, that seest not thy loss in transfor- 
mation. 

Apem. If thou couldst please me with speaking to 
me. thou mightst have hit upou it here : the common- 
wealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. 

Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art 
out of the city ? 

Apem. Yonder comes a poet, and a painter. The 
plague of company light upon thee ! I w^ill fear to 



692 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



ACT rv. 



catch it. and give way. Wlien I know not what else 
to do, I '11 pee thee again. 

Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, thou 
shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog, 
than Apcmantus. 

Apem. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. 

Tim. Would thou went clean enough to spit upon. 

Apcm. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to curse. 

Tim. All villains, that do stand by thee, are pure. 

Apem. There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st. 

Tim. If I name thee. — 
I 'd beat thee, but I should infect my hands. 

Apcm. I would, my tongue could rot them off. 

Tim. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog ! 
Choler does kill me, that thou art alive; 
I swoon to see thee. 

Apem. Would thou wouldst burst ! 

Tim . Away. 

Tliou tedious rogue ! I am sorry, I shall lose 
A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him. 

Apem. Beast ! 

Tim. Slave ! 

Apem. Toad ! 

Tim. Rogue, rogue, rogue ! 

[Apemantus retreats backward, as going. 
I am sick of this false world, and will love nought 
P»ut even the mere necessities upon 't. 
Tlien, Timon, presently prepare thy grave : 
Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat 
Thy grave-stone daily; make thine epitaph, 
That death in me at others' lives may laugh. 
0, thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 

[Looking on the gold. 
'Twixt natural son and sire!' tliou briaht defiler 
Of Hynieu's ptrrest bed ! thou valiant Mars ! 
Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd. and delicate wooer, 
Wliose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow 
That lies on Dian's lap ! thou visible god, 
That sold'^r'st close impossibilities, 
And mak'st them kiss ! that speak'st with every tongue, 
To every purpose ! thou touch' of hearts ! 
Think, thy slave man rebels : and by thy virtue 
Set them into confounding odds, that beasts 
May liave the world in empire ! 

Apem. Would 'twere so; 

But not till I am dead. — I '11 say, thou 'st gold : 
Thou will be throng'd to shortly. 

Tim. Throng'd to? 

Apem. Ay. 

Tim. Thy back, I pr'ythee. 

Apem. Live, and love thy misery ! 

Tim. Long live so, and .so die ! — T am quit — 

[Exit Apemantus. 
More things like men ? — Eat, Timon, and abhor them. 
Enter Banditti. 

1 Band. Where should he have this gold ? It is 
some poor fragment, some slender ort of his remainder. 
The mere want of gold, and the falling from him' of 
his friends, drove him into this melancholy. 

2 Blind. It is noised, he hath a mass of treasure. 

3 Band. Let us make the assay upon him : if he care 
not for't, he will supply us ea.^ily; if he covetously 
reserve it. how shall 's get it ? 

2 Band. True, for he bears it not about him ; 't is hid. 

1 Band. Is not this he ? 
All. Where? 

2 Band. 'T is his description. 

3 Band. He; I know him. 
All. Save thee, Timon. 



1 sun and fire : in folio. = Touchstone. ' This word is not in f, e. * Hanraer reads: men. 



Tim. Now. thieves ? 

All. Soldiers, not thieves. 

Tim. Both two ; and women's sons. 

All. We are not thieves, but men that much do want. 

Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat.* 
Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; 
Within this mile break forth a hundred springs ; 
The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips ; 
The bounteous hoiisewife, nature, on each bush 
Lays her full mess before you. Want ! why want? 

1 Band. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, 
As beasts, and birds, and fishes. 

Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and 
fi.shes ; 
You must eat men. Yet thanks I mu.st yon^con. 
That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not 
In holier shapes ; for there is boundless theft 
In limited professions. Rascal thieves. 
Here 's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' the grape. 

[Throwing gold.^ 
Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, 
And so 'scape hanging: tru.st not the physician; 
His antidotes are poison, and he slays 
More than you rob : take wealth and lives together; 
Do villainy, do, since you protest to do 't, 
Like workmen: I '11 example you with thievery : 
The sun 's a thief, and with his great attraction 
Robs the vast sea : the moon 's an arrant thief, 
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun : 
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
The moon into salt tears : the earth 's a thief, 
That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen 
From general excrement : each thing 's a thief. 
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power 
Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves ; away ! 
Rob one another. There 's more gold : cut throats ; 

[Throwing it.'^ 
All that you meet are thieves. To Athens, go : 
Break open shops ; nothing can you steal, 
But thieves do lo.'se it. Steal no' less for this 
I give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er ! Amen. 

[Timon retires to his Cave. 

3 Band. He has almost charmed me from my profes- 
sion, by persuading me to it. 

1 Barui. 'T is in the malice of mankind, that lie thus 
advises us ; not to have us thrive in our mystery. 

2 Band. I '11 believe him as an enemy, and give over 
my trade. 

1 Band. Let us first see peace in Athens : there is 
no time so miserable, but a man may be true. 

[Exeunt Banditti. 
Enter Flavius. 

Flav. you gods ! 
Is yond' despis'd and ruinous man my lord? 
Full of decay and failing? monument, 
And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd ! 
What an alteration of honour has desperate want made ! 
What viler thing upon the earth, than friends 
Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends ? 
How rarely does it meet with this time's guise. 
When man was wisli'd to love his enemies : 
Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo 
Those that would iiiischief me, than those that do ! 
He has caught me in his eye : I will present 
My honest grief unto him ; and. as my lord. 
Still serve- him with my life. — My dearest master ! 
Timon comes forward from his Cave. 

Tim. Away! what art thou ? 

Flav. Have you forgot me, sir? 

s 6 Not in f. e. ' not : in f. e. 



SCEKE I. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



693 



Tim. Why dost ask that ? I have forgot all men ; 
Then, if thou graut'st' thou 'rt a man, I have forgot thee. 

Flav. An honest poor servant of yours. 

Tim. Then. I know thee not : 
I never had honest man about me, I ; 
All I kept were knaves to serve in meat to villains. 

Flav. The gods are witness, 
Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief 
For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you. 

Tijn. What ! dost thou weep ? — Come nearer : — 
then, I love thee, 
Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st 
Flinty mankind ; whose eyes do never give, 
But thorough lust, and laughter. Pity's sleeping: 
Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with 
weeping ! 

Flav. I beg of you to know me. good my lord, 
T' accept my grief, and, whilst this poor wealth lasts, 
To entertain me as your steward still. 

Tim. Had I a steward 
So true, so just, and now so comfortable ? 
It almost turns my dangerous nature mild. 
Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man 
Was born of woman. — 
Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, 
You perpetual-sober gods ! I do proclaim 
One honest man, — mistake me not. — but one j 
No more, I pray, — and he 's a steward. — 
How fain would I have hated all mankind. 
And thou redeem'st thyself: bvit all, save thee, 
[ fell with curses. 

Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise ; 
For by oppressing and betraying me, 
Thou mightst have sooner got another service, 
For many so arrive at second masters, 



Upon their first lord's heck. But tell me true, 
(For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure) 
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous. 
Is "t not a usuring kindness as rich men deal gifts, 
Expecting in return twenty for one ? 

Fiav. No, my most worthy master ; in whose breast 
Doubt and suspect, alas ! are plae'd too late. 
You should have fear'd false times, when you did feast : 
Suspect still comes when an estate is least. 
That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love. 
Duty and zeal to your unmatehed mind. 
Care of your food and living : and, believe it, 
My most honour"d lord. 
For any benefit that points to me. 
Either in hope, or present, I 'd exchange 
For this one wish, — that you had power and wealth 
To requite me by making rich yourself. 

Tim. Look thee, 't is so. — Thou singly honest man, 
Here, take : — the gods out of my misery [Giving gold.- 
Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich, and happy ; 
But thus condition'd : — thou shalt build from men ; 
Hate all, curs-e all ; show charity to none. 
But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone. 
Ere thou relieve the beggar : give to dogs 
What thou deny'st to men ; let prisons swallow 'em. 
Debts wither 'em to nothing. Be men like blasted woods, 
And may diseases lick up their false bloods ! 
And so, farewell, and thrive. 

Flav. ! let me stay. 

And comfort you, my master. 

Tim. If thou hat'st 

Curses, stay not : fly, whilst thou 'rt ble.'-s'd and free. 
Ne'er see thou man. and let me ne'er see thee. 

[Exit Flavius; and Timon into his Cave.' 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— The Same. Before Timon's Cave. 
Enter Poet and Painter. 

Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far 
n'here he abides. 

Poet. What 's to be thought of him ? Does the 
rumour hold for true, that he is so full of gold ? 

Pain. Certain : Alcibiades reports it ; Phrynia and 
Timandra had gold of him : he likewise enriched poor 
straggling soldiers with great quantity. 'T is said, he 
gave unto his steward a mighty sum. 

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a try 
for his friends. 

Pain. Nothing else ; you shall see him a palm in 
Athens again, and flourish with the highest. There- 
fore, 't is not amiss we tender our loves Lo him in this 
supposed distress of his : it will show honestly in us, 
and is very likely to load our purses* with what we' 
travail for, if it be a just and true report that goes of 
his having. 

Poet. What have you now to present unto him ? 

Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation ) only, 
I will promise him an excellent piece. 

Poet. I must serve him so too ; tell him of an intent 
that 's coming toward him. 

Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very air 
o' the time : it opens the eyes of exiieetation : perform- 
ance is ever the duller for his act ; and, but in the 
plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying 



is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and 
fashionable : performance is a kind of will, or testa- 
ment,-which argues a great sickness in his judgment 
that makes it. 

Enter Timon, behind, from his Cave. 

Tim. Excellent workman ! Thou canst not paint a 
man so bad as is thyself. 

Poet. I am thinking, what I shall say I have pro- 
vided for him. It must be a personating of himself: 
a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a dis- 
covery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and 
opulency. 

Tiin. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine 
own work ? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other 
men ? Do so ; I have gold for thee. 

Poet. Nay, let 's seek him : 
Then do we sin agcainst our own estate, 
When we may profit meet, and come too late. 

Pain. True ; 
When the day serves, before black-cover'd night. 
Find what thou want'st by free and olFer'd light. 
Come. 

Tim. I '11 meet you at the turn. What a god 's gold, 
That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple. 
Than where swine feed ! 

'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st the foam; 
Settlest admired reverence in a slave : 
To thee be worship : and thy saints for aye 
Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey ! 



' grunt'st : in folio. Southern made the change. ^ jjot in f. e. ' Exeunt severally: in f. e ♦ purposes : in f. e. * they : in f. e. 



694 



TIMOX OF ATHENS. 



ACT V. 



Fit I meet them. [Advancing. 

Poet. Hail, "worthy Timon ! 

Pain. Our late noble master. 

Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men ? 

Poet. Sir, 
Having often of your open bounty tasted, 
Hearing you were retir'd, your friend's fall'n off, 
Whose thankle.«s natures — 0, abhorred spirits ! 
Not all the whips of heaven are large enough — 
What ! to you, 

Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence 
To their whole being ? I am rapt, and cannot cover 
The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude 
With any size of words. 

Tim. Let it go naked, men may see 't the better : 
You, that are honest, by being what you are, 
Make them best seen, and known. 

Pain. He, and myself, 

Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts, 
And sweetly felt it. 

Tim. Ay, you are honest men. 

Pain. We are hither ccme to offer you our service. 

Tim. Most honest men ! Why, how shall I requite you? 
Can you eat roots, and drink cold water ? no. 

Both. What can we do, we '11 do, to do you service. 

Tim. You are honest men. You have heard that I 
have gold ; 
I am sure you have : speak truth ; you are honest men. 

Pain. So it is said, my noble lord : but therefore 
Came not my friend, nor I. 

Tim. Good honest men ! — Thou draw'st a counterfeit 
Best in all Athens : thou art, indeed, the best ; 
Thou counterfeit'st most lively. 

Pain. So, so, my lord. 

Tim. Even so. sir, as I say. — And for thy fiction. 
Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth, 
That thou art even natural in thine art. — 
But, for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, 
I must needs say, you have a little fault : 
Marry, 't is not monstrous in you ; neither wish I, 
You take much pains to mend. 

Both. Beseech your honour, 

To make it known to us. 

Tim. You '11 take it ill. 

Both. Most thankfully, my lord 



Tim. 
Both. 



Doubt it not, worthy lord. 



Will you, indeed ? 



Tim. There 's never a one of you but trusts a knave, 
That mightily deceives you. 

Both. Do we, my lord ? 

Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, 
Know his grof^s patchery. love him, feed him. 
Keep in your bosom ; yet remain assur'd, 
That he 's a made-up villain. 

Pain. I know none such, my lord. 

Poet. Nor I. 

Tim. Look you. I love you well ; I '11 give you gold. 
Rid me these villains from your companies : 
Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draught. 
Confound them by some course, and come to me 
I '11 give you gold enough. 

Both. Name them, my lord ; let 's know them. 

Tim. You that way, and you this ; but two is' com- 
Each man apart, all single and alone, [pany : — 

Yet an arch-villain keeps him company, 

two villains shall not be, 

[To the Painter. 
Come not near him. — If thou wouldst not reside 

[To the Poet. 

1 in : in f. e. ^ jfot in folio. Added by Malone. 



If, where thou art, 



But where one villain is, then him abandon. — 

Hence ! pack ! there 's gold ; ye came for gold, ye slaves : 

You have done' work for me. there 's payment : hence ! 

You are an alchymist, make gold of that. 

Out, rascal dogs ! [Exit, beating them out. 

SCENE II.— The Same. 
Enter Flavius, arid two Senators. 
Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with Timon; 
For he is set so only to himself. 
That nothing but himself, which looks like man, 
Is friendly with him. 

1 Sen. Bring us to his cave : 
It is our part, and promise to the Athenians, 
To speak with Timon. 

2 Sen. At all times alike 

Men are not still the same. 'T was time, and griefs, 
That fram'd him thus : time, with his fairer hand 
Offering the fortunes of his former days. 
The former man may make him. Bring us to him. 
And chance it as it may. 

Flav. Here is his cave. — 

Peace and content be here ! Lord Timon ! Timon ! 
Look out. and speak to friends. Th' Athenians, 
By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee : 
Speak to them, noble Timon. 

Enter Timon. 

Tim. Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn ! — Speak, and 
be hang'd : 
For each true word, a blister ; and each false 
Be as a cauterizing to the root o' the tongue. 
Consuming it with speaking ! 

1 Sen. Worthy Timon, — 
Tim. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. 

2 Sen. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. 
Tim. I thank them ; and would send them back the 

plague, 
Could I but catch it for them. 

1 Sen. O ! forget 
What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. 
The senators, with one consent of love. 
Entreat thee back to Athens ; who have thought 
On special dignities, which vacant lie 

For Ihy best use and wearing. 

2 Sen. They confess 
Toward thee forgetfulness, too general, gross ; 
Which now the public body, which doth seldom 
Play the recanter, feeling in itself 

A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal 
Of its own fall, restraining aid to Timon ; 
And send forth us, to make their sorrowed render, 
Together with a recompense, more fruitful 
Than their offence can weigh down by the dram ; 
Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth, 
As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs, 
And write in thee the figures of their love. 
Ever to read them thine. 

Tim. You witch me in it : 

Surprise me to the very brink of tears : 
Lend me a fool's heart, and a woman's eyes. 
And I '11 beweep these comforts, worthy senators. 

1 Sen. Therefore, so please thee to return with us, 
And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take 
The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, 
Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name 
Live with authority: — so, soon we shall drive back 
Of Alcibiades th' approaches wild ; 
Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up 
His country's peace. 



SCENE V. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



695 



2 Sen. And shakes his threat'ning sword 

Against the walls of Athens. 



1 Sen. 



Therefore, Timon, — 



Tim. Well, sir, I will ; therefore, I will, sir ; thus, — 
If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, 
Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, 
That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens, 
And take our goodly aged men by the beards, 
Giving our holy virgins to the stain 
Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war. 
Then, let him know, — and tell him, Timon speaks it, 
In pity of our aged, and our youth, 
I cannot choose but tell him, — that I care not. 
And let him take 't at worst ; for their knives care not. 
While you have throats to answer : for myself, 
There 's not a whittle in th' unruly camp. 
But I do prize it at my love, before 
The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you 
To the protection of the prosperous gods. 
As thieves to keepers. 

Flav. Stay not : all 's in vain. 

Tim. Why, I was writing of my epitaph, 
It will be seen to-morrow. My long sickness 
Of health, and living, now begins to mend, 
And nothing brings me all things. Go; live still : 
Be Alcibiades your plague, you his. 
And last so long enough ! 

1 Sen. We speak in vain. 

Tim. But yet I love my country ; and am not 
One that rejoices in the common wreck, 
As common bruit doth put it. 

1 Sen. That 's well spoke. 

Tim. Commend me to my loving countrymen, — 

1 Sen. These words become your lips as they pass 

through them. 

2 Sen. And enter in our ears, like great triumphers 
In their applauding gates. 

Tim. Commend me to them ; 

And tell them, that to ea.se them of their griefs, 
Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, 
Their pangs of love, and other incident throes 
That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain 
In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them. 
I '11 teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. 

2 Sen. I like this well ; he will return again. 

Tim. I have a tree, which grows here in my close, 
That mine own use invites me to cut down, 
And shortly must I fell it : tell my friends. 
Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree. 
From high to low throughout, that whoso please 
To stop affliction, let him take his haste, 
Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, 
And hang himself. — I pray you, do my greeting. 

Flav. Trouble him no farther; thus you still shall 
find him. 

Tim. Come not to me again; but say to Athens, 
Timon hath made his everlasting mansion 
Upon the beached verge of the salt flood ; 
Whom once a day with his emboshed' froth 
The turbulent surge shall cover : thither come, 
And let my grave-stone be your oracle. — 
Lips, let sour words go by, and language end : 
What is ami.ss, plague and infection mend : 
Graves only be men's works, and death their gain. 
Sun, hide thy beams : Timon hath done his reign. 

[Exit Tmos. 

1 Sen. His discontents are unremovably coupled to 
nature. 

2 Sen. Our hope in him is dead. Let us return. 



And strain what other means is left unto us 
In our dear^ peril. 

1 Sen. It requires swift foot. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Walls of Athens. 
Enter two Senators, and a Messenger. 

1 Sen. Thou hast painfully discover'd : are his files 
As full as they report? 

Me.ss. I have spoke the least ; 

Besides, his expedition promises 
Present approach. 

2 Sen. We stand much hazard, if they bring not 

Timon. 

Mess. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend. 
Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd. 
Yet our old love made a particular force, 
And made us speak like friends : this man was riding 
From Alcibiades to Timon's cave. 
With letters of entreaty, which imported 
Hi.s fellowship i' the cause against your city, 
In part for his sake mov'd. 

Enter Senators from Timon. 

1 Sen. Here come our brothers. 

3 Sen. No talk of Timon ; nothing of him expect. — 
The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful .'icouring 
Doth choke the air with dust. In, and prepare ; 
Ours is the fall, I fear, our foes the snare. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Woods. Timon's Cave, and a 
Tomb-stone seen. 

Enter a Soldier^ seeking Timon. 
Sold. By all description this should be the place. 
Who 's here ? speak, ho ! — No answer ? — What is this ? 
Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span : 
Some beast rcar'd^ this ; there does not live a man. 
Dead, sure, and this his grave. — What 's on this tomb 
I cannot read ; the character I '11 take with wax : 
Our captain hath in every figure skill ; 
An ag'd interpreter, though young in days. 
Before proud Athens he 's set down by this, 
Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. [Exit. 

SCENE v.— Before the Walls of Athens. 
Trumpets sound. Enter Alcibiades, and Forces. 
Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious town 
Our terrible approach. [A Parley sminded. 

Enter Senators, on the Walls. 
Till now you have gone on, and fill'd the time 
With all licentious mea.sure, making your wills 
The scope of justice: till now myself, and such 
As slept within the shadow of your power. 
Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and breath'd 
Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush, 
When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong, 
Cries of itself. " No more :" now breathless wrong 
Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease ; 
And pursy insolence shall break his wind 
With fear, and horrid flight. 

1 Sen. Noble, and young, 
When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit. 
Ere thou hadst power, or we had cause of fear, 
We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm, 

To wipe out our ingratitude with loves 
Above their quantity. 

2 Sen. So did we woo 
Transformed Timon to our city's love, 

By humble message, and by promis'd means : 
We were not all unkind, nor all deserve 
The common stroke of war. 



' emboss'd : in f. e. ' Dirt. ' read : in folio. Theobald made the change. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



ACT V. 



1 Sen. These walls of ours 

Were not erected by their hands, from whom 
YsMa have receiv'd your grief : nor are they such, 
That these great towers, trophies, and schools should 

fall 
For private faults in them. 

^'•>2 Sen. Nor are they living, 

Who were the motives that you first went out : 
Shame, that they wanted cunning' in excess 
Hath broke tiieir liearts. March, noble lord, 
Into our city with thy banners spread : 
By decimation, and a tithed death 
(If thy reveng-es hunger for that food 
Which nature loatlis) take thou the destin'd tenth ; 
And by the hazard of the spotted die 
Let die the spotted. 

1 Sen. All have not offended ; 
For those that were, is 't not severe' to take, 
On those that are, revenge ? crimes, like lands, 
Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, 
Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage : 
Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin, 
Which in tlie blu.ster of thy wrath must fall 
With those that have offended. Like a shepherd, 
Approach the fold, and cull th' infected forth. 
But kill not all together. 

2 Sen. What thou wilt, 
Thou rather shalt enforce it viith. thy smile. 
Than hew to 't with thy sword. 

1 Sen. Set but thy foot 
Against our rampir'd gates, and they shall ope. 
So thovi wilt send thy gentle heart before, 

To say, thou 'It enter friendly. 

2 Sen. Throw thy glove, 
Or any token of thine honour else, 

That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress. 
And not as our confu.sion, all thy powers 
Shall make their harbour in our town, till we 
Have seal'd thy full desire. 



Alcib. Then, there 's my glove. 

Descend, and open your uncharged ports. 
Those enemies of Timon's, and mine own. 
Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof, 
Fall, and no more ; and, — to atone^ your fears 
With my more noble meaning, — not a man 
Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream 
Of regular justice in your city's bounds. 
But shall be remedied by* your public laws 
At heaviest answer. 

Both. 'T is most nobly spoken. 

Alcib. Descend, and keep your words. 

[The Senators descend^ and open the Gates. 
Enter a Soldier. 
Sold. My noble general, Timon is dead, 
Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea ; 
And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which 
With wax I brought away, whose soft impression 
Interprets for my poor ignorance. 

Alcib. [Reads.] '■■ Here lies a wretched corse, of 

wretched soul bereft : 
Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked 

caitiffs left ! 
Here lie I Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate : 
Pass by, and curse thy fill ; but pass, and stay not here 

thy gait." 
These well express in thee thy later spirits : 
Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, 
Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets, which 
From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit 
Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye 
On thy low grave on faults forgiven. Dead 
Is noble Timon; of whose memory 
Hereafter more. — Bring me into your city, 
And I will use the olive with my sword : 
Make war breed peace ; make peace stint war ; make 

each 
Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. — 



Let our drums strike. 



[Exeunt. 



» Wisdom. - it is not square : in f. e. ' At one, reconcile. ♦ to : in f. e. Dyce reads : render'd to. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Julius CiESAR. 

OcTAVius Ctesar, ) Triumvirs, after the Death 

Marcus Antonius, > x- t i- n 

n, ^ T ' I 01 Julius Usesar. 

M. ^Emil. Lepidus, ) 

Cicero, Publius, Popilius Lena; Senators. 

Marcus Brutus, 

Cassius, 



Conspirators against Julius 
Caesar. 



Casca, 
Trebonius, 
Ligarius, 
Decius Brutus, 
Metellus Cimber, 

CiNNA, 

Flavius and Marullus, Tribunes. 

SCENE, during a great part of the Play, at Rome : afterwards at Sardis ; and near Philippi. 



Artemidorus. a Sophist of Cnidos. 

A Soothsayer. 

CiNNA, a Poet. Another Poet. 

Lucilius, TiTiNius, Messala. young Cato, 

VoLUMNius; Friends to Brutus and Cas!*ius. 
Varro, Clitus, Claudius. Strato, Lucius. Dar- 

DANius ; Servants to Brutus. 
PiNDARUs, Servant to Cassius. 



Calphurnia, Wife to Caesar, 
Portia, Wife to Brutus. 

Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, &c. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L— Rome. A Street. 
Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a body of Citizens. 
Flav. Hence ! home, you idle creatures, get you 
home. 
Is this a holiday ? What ! know you not, 
Being mechanical, you ought not walk 
Upon a labouring day without the sign 
Of your profession ? — Speak, what trade art thou ? 

1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. 

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule ? 
What dost thou with thy best apparel on ? — 
You. sir ; what trade are you ? 

2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am 
but, as you would say, a cobbler. 

3Iar. But what trade art thou ? Answer me directly. 

2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a 
safe conscience ; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad 
soles. 

Flav. Wliat trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, 
what trade ? 

2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me : 
yet. if you be out. sir, I can mend you. 

Mar. What mean'st thou by that ? Mend me, thou 
saucy fellow ? 

2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. 

Flnv. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? 

2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl ; 
I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's 
matters, but with all. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to 
old shoes ; when they are in great danger, I re-cover 
them. As proper men as ever trod upon neats-leather 
have gone upon my handywork. 

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? 
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets ? 

2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get my- 
self into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holi- 
day, to see Csesar, and to rejoice in his triumph. 



Mar. Wherefore rejoice ? What conquest brings he 
home ? 
What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels ? 
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things ! 
! you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft 
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, 
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
The live-long day. with patient expectation. 
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome : 
And when you saw his chariot but appear. 
Have you not made an universal shout. 
That Tyber trembled underneath her banks, 
To hear the replication of your sounds 
Made in her concave sliores ? 
And do you now put on your best attire ? 
And do you now cull out a holiday ? 
And do you now strew flowers in his way. 
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ? 
Be gone ! 

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
That needs must light on this ingratitude. 

Flav. Go, go, good countrymen ; and for this fault 
Assemble all the poor men of your sort : 
Draw them to Tyber banks, and weep your tears 
Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. [Exeunt Citizens. 
See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd ; 
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
Go you down that way towards the Capitol ; 
This way will I. Disrobe the images. 
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. 

Mar. May we do so? 
You know, it is the feast of Lupercal. 

Flav. It is no matter ; let no images 



698 



JULIUS C^SAE. 



ACT I. 



L 



Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I '11 about, 

And drive away the vulgar from the streets : 

So do you too, where you perceive them thick. 

These growing feathers pluck'd from Csesar's wing, 

Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, 

Who else would soar above the view of men, 

And keep u5 all in servile fearl'ulness. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Public Place. 
Enter, in Procession, with Trumpets and other Music, 

C^sAR ; Antony. /or the course ; Calphurnia, Por- 
tia, Decius, Cicero. Brutus, Cassius, and Casca; 

a Soothsayer, and a crowd following them. 

CcBs. Calphurnia. — 

Casca. Peace, ho ! Cscsar speaks. [Music ceases. 

CcBS. Calphurnia, — 

Cal. Here, my lord. 

Cces. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, 
When he doth run his course. — Antonius. 

Ant. CsBsar, my lord. 

C(zs. Forget not^ in your speed, Antonius. 
To touch Calphurnia ; for our elders say. 
The barren, touched in this holy chase, 
Shake off their steril curse. 

Ant. I shall remember; 

When Caesar says, '• Do this," it is perform'd. 

Cc£s. Set on ; and leave no ceremony out. [Music. 

Sooth. Caesar ! 

Cos. Ha! who calls? 

Casca. Bid every noise be still. — Peace yet again ! 

[Music ceases. 

Cos. Who is it in the press that calls on me ? 
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, 
Cry, Caesar ! Speak : Caesar is turn'd to hear. 

Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 

Cces. What man is that? 

Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March. 

CcBs. Set him before me ; let me see his face. 

Cas. Fellow, come from the throng : look upon 
Caesar. 

Cces. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once 
again. 

Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 

CcBs. He is a dreamer; let us leave him. — Pa.«s. 

[Sennet. Exeunt all but Bru. and Cas. 

Cas. W^ill you go to see the order of the course ? 

Bru. Not I. 

Cas. I pray you, do. 

Bru. I am not gamesome : I do lack some part 
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ; 
I '11 leave you. 

Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late ; 
I have not from your eyes that gentleness, 
And show of love, as I was wont to have : 
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
Over your friend that loves you. 

Bru. Cassius, 

Be not deceiv'd : if I have veil'd my look, 
I turn the trouble of my countenance 
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am 
Of late with passions of some difference, 
Conceptions only proper to myself. 
Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours ) 
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd, 
(Among which number, Cassius, be you one) 
Nor construe any farther my neglect, 
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, 
Forgets the shows of love to other men. 

1 laughter : in folio. Pope made the change. 



Cas. Then Brutus, I have much mistook your passion j 
By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried 
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 
Tell me. good Brutus, can you see your face ? 

Bru. No, Cassius ; for the eye sees not itself, 
But by reflection, by some other things. 

Cas. 'T is just ; 
And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
That you have no such mirrors, as will turn 
Your hidden worthiness into your eye. 
That you might see your shadow. I have heard, 
Where many of the best respect in Rome. 
(Except immortal Casar) speaking of Brutus. 
And groaning underneath this age's yoke. 
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. 

Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, 
That you would have me seek into myself 
For that which is not in me ? 

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear : 
And, since you know you cannot see yourself 
So well as by reflection, I your glass. 
Will modestly discover to yourself 
That of yourself, which you yet know not of. 
And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus : 
Were I a common laugher,' or did use 
To stale with ordinary oaths my love 
To every new protester ; if you know 
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, 
And after scandal them ; or if you know 
That I profess myself in banqueting. 
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. 

[Flourish, and Shout. 

Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear, the 
people 
Choose Caesar for their king. 

Cas. Ay, do you fear it ? 

Then, must I think you would not have it so. 

Bru. I would not, Cassius ; yet I love him well. 
But wherefore do you hold me here so long ? 
What is it that you would impart to me ? 
If it be aught toward the general good. 
Set honour in one eye, and death i' the other, 
And I will look on both indifferently ; 
For, let the gods so speed me, as I love 
The name of honour more than I fear death. 

Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
As well as I do know your outward favour. 
Well, honour is the subject of my story. — 
I cannot tell what you and other men 
Think of this life ; but for my single self 
I had as lief not be, as live to be 
In awe of .such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as Caesar, so were you ; 
We both have fed as well, and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold as well as he : 
For once, upon a raw and gusty day. 
The troubled Tyber chafing with her shores, 
Caesar said to me, '■ Dar'st thou, Cassius, now 
Leap in with me into this angry flood, 
And swim to yonder point?" — Upon the word, 
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in. 
And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did. 
The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it 
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside, 
And stemming it, with hearts of controversy; 
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, 
Caesar cried, •' Help me, Cassius, or I sink." 
I, as j^neas, our great ancestor, 
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 



SCENE n. 



JULIUS C^SAK. 



699 



The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tyber 

Did I the tired Caesar. And this man 

Is now become a god ; and C assius is 

A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 

If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 

He had a fever when he was in Spain, 

And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 

How he did shake : 't is true, this god did shake : 

His coward lips did from their colour fly ; 

And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 

Did lose his lustre. I did hear him groan ; 

Ay. and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 

Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 

Alas ! it cried, " Give me some drink, Titinius," 

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 

A man of such a feeble temper should 

So get the start of the majestic world. 

And bear the palm alone. [Shout. Flourish. 

Bnt. Another general shout ! 

I do believe that these applauses are 
For some new honours that are heap'd on Ceesar. 

Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, 
Like a Colossus ; and we petty men 
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 
To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
Men at some time are masters of their fates : 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
Brutus, and Cse.sar: what should be in that Caesar? 
Why should that name be sounded more than yours? 
Write them together, yours is as fair a name : 
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them, 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. 
Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 
Tliat he is grown so great ? Age, thou art sham'd : 
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods. 
When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
But it was fam'd with more tlian with one man ? 
When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome, 
That her wide walls' encompass'd but one man ? 
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, 
When there is in it but one only man. 

! you and I have heard our fathers say, 

There was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd 
Th' eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, 
As easily as a king. 

Bnt. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ; 
What you would work me to, I have some aim; 
How I have thought of this, and of these times, 

1 shall recount hereafter : for this present, 

I would not, so with love I might entreat you. 

Be any farther mov'd. What you have said, 

I will consider ; what you have to say, 

I will with patience hear, and find a time 

Both meet to hear, and answer, such high things. 

Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this : 

Brutus had rather be a villager. 

Than to repute himself a son of Rome 

Under such' hard conditions, as this time 

Is like to lay upon us. 

Cas. I am glad, that my weak words 

Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. 

Bru. The games are done, and Caesar is returning. 
Re-enter Cssar, and his Train. 

Cas. As they pass by pluck Casca by the sleeve; 
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 
W^hat hath proceeded worthy note to-day. 

> valks : in f. e. ' these : in f. e. 



Bru. I will do so. — But, look you. Cassias; 
The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, 
And all the rest look like a chidden train. 
Calphurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero 
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes, 
As we have seen him in the Capitol, 
Being cross'd in conference by some senators. 

Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. 

Cas. Antonius ! 

Ant. Caesar. 

CcBs. Let me have men about me that are fat ; 
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights. 
Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. 

Ant. Fear him not, Caesar, he 's not dangerous : 
He is a noble Roman, and well given. 

Cces. 'Would he were fatter; but I fear him not: 
Yet if my name were liable to fear, 
I do not know the man I should avoid 
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much ; 
He is a great ob.server, and he looks 
Quite through the deeds of men : he loves no plays. 
As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music : 
Seldom he smiles, and .smiles in such a sort. 
As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit 
That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. 
Such men as he be never at heart's ease, 
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, 
And therefore are they very dangerous. 
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd. 
Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar. 
Come on my right hand, for tliis ear is deaf, 
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 

[Exeunt CjESar and his Train. Casca stays behind. 

Casca. You pull'd me by the cloak : would you 
speak with me ? 

Bru. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanc'd to-day, 
That Caesar looks so sad. 

Casca. Why you were with him, were you not? 

Bru. I should not, then, ask Casca what hath chanc'd. 

Casca. Why. there was a crown offered him : and, 
being offered him, he put it by with the back of his 
hand, thus ; and then the people fell a shouting. 

Bru. What was the second noise for ? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Cas. They shouted thrice : what was the last cry for ? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Bru. Was the crown offer'd him thrice ? 

Casca. Ay, marry, was 't, and he put it by thrice, 
every time gentler than other ; and at every putting 
by mine honest neighbours shouted. 

Cas. Who ofler'd him the crown ? 

Casca. Why, Antony. 

Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 

Casca. I can as well be hanged, as tell the manner 
of it : it was mere foolery, I did not mark it. I saw 
Mark Antony offer him a crown : — yet 't was not a 
crown neither, 't was one of these coronets ; — and, as I 
told you, he put it by once ; but, for all that, to my 
thinking; he would fain have had it. Then he offered 
it to him again ; then he put it by again, but, to my 
thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off" it. 
And then he offered it the third time : he put it the 
third time by ; and still as he refused it, the rabble- 
men shouted, and clapped their chapped hands, and 
threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered such a 
deal of stinking breath, because Caesar refused the 
crown, that it had almost choked Caesar ; for he 
swooned, and fell down at it. And for mine own part 



700 



JULIUS C^SAK. 



ACT I. 



I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips, and re- 
ceiving the bad air. 

Cos. But, soft, I pray you. What ! did Caesar swoon ? 

Casca. He fell down in tlie market-place, and foamed 
at mouth, and was speechless. 

Bru. 'Tis very like lie hath the falling-sickness. 

Cos. No, Cffsar hath it not ; but you, and I, 
And honest Casca, wc have the falling-sickness. 

Casca. I know not what you mean by that ; but, I 
am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did 
not clap him, and hiss him, according as he pleased, 
and displeased them, as they use to do the players in 
the theatre, I am no true man. 

Bru. What said he, when he came unto himself? 

Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he per- 
ceived the common herd was glad he refused the crown, 
he plucked me ope his doublet, and offered them his 
throat to cut. — An I had been a man of any occupa- 
tion, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would 
I might go to hell among the rogues : — and so he fell. 
When he came to himself again, he said, if he had 
done or said any thing amiss, he desired their worships 
to think it was his infirmity. Three or four wenches, 
where I stood, cried, " Alas, good soul !" — and forgave 
him with all their hearts. But there 's no heed to be 
taken of them: if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, 
they would have done no less. 

Bru. And after that he came thus sad away ? 

Casca. Ay. 

Cas. Did Cicero say any thing ? 

Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. 

Cas. To what effect ? 

Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you i' 
the face again : but those tliat understood him smiled 
at one another, and shook their heads ; but, for mine 
own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more 
news, too : Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off 
Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well : there 
was more foolery yet, if I could remember it. 

Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca? 

Casca. No, I am promised forth. 

Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow? 

Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and 
your dinner worth the eating. 

Cas. Good; I will expect you. 

Casca. Do so. Farewell, both. [Exit Casca. 

Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be. 
He was quick mettled when he went to school. 

Cas. So is he now, in execution 
Of any bold or noble enterprise. 
However he puts on this tardy form. 
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, 
Which gives men stomach to digest his words 
With better appetite. 

Bru. And so it is. For this time 1 will leave you : 
To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, 
I will come home to you ; or, if you will, 
Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 

Cas. I will do so : — till then, think of the world. 

[Exit Brutus. 
Well, Brutus, thou art noble : yet, I see, 
Thy honourable mettle may be wrought 
From that it is dispos'd : therefoi-e, 't is meet 
That noble minds keep ever with their likes ; 
For who so firm that cannot be seduc'd ? 
Ca;sar doth bear me hard, but he loves Brutus: 
If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, 
He should not humour me. I will this night, 
In several hands, in at his windows throw, 

' glaz'd : in folio. Steevens made the change. 



As if they came from several citizens. 

Writings, all tending to the great opinion 

That Rome holds of his name : wherein obscurely 

Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at : 

And, after this, let Cajsar seat him sure. 

For we will shake him. or worse days endure. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— The Same. A Street. 

Thunder and Lightning. Enter, from oppcnte sidesj 

Casca, unth his Sword drawn, and Cicero. 

Cic. Good even, Casca. Brought you Ca?sar home "• 
Why are you breathless, and why stare you so ? 

Casca. Are not you mov'd. when all the sway of earth 
Shakes like a thing unfirm? O, Cicero ! 
I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds 
Have riv'd the knotty oaks ; and I have seen 
The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam, 
To be exalted with the threatening clouds; 
But never till to-night, never till now, 
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. 
Either there is a civil strife in heaven. 
Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, 
Incenses them to send destruction. 

Cic. Why, saw you any thing more wonderful ? 

Casca. A common slave (you know him well by sight) 
Held up his left hand, which did flame, and burn 
Like twenty torches join'd ; and yet his hand, 
Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. 
Besides, (I have not since put up my sword) 
Against the Capitol I met a lion. 
Who glar'd' upon me, and went surly by, 
Without annoying me : and there were drawn 
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, 
Transformed with their fear, who swore they saw 
Men, all in fire, walk up and down the streets. 
And yesterday the bird of night did sit, 
Even at noon-day, upon the market-place. 
Hooting, and shrieking. When these prodigies 
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say. 
" These are their seasons, — they are natural ;" 
For, I believe, they are portentous things 
Unto the climate that they point upon. 

Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time : 
But men may construe things after their fashion. 
Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. 
Comes Cfcsar to the Capitol to-morrow ? 

Casca. He doth; for he did bid Antonius 
Send word to you, he would be there to-morrow. 

Cic. Good night then, Casca : this disturbed sky 
Is not to waik in. 

Casca. Farewell, Cicero. [Exit Cicero. 

Enter Cassius. 

Cas. Who's there ? 

Casca. A Roman. 

Cas. Casca, by your voice. 

Casca. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this ? 

Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men. 

Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so ? 

Cas. Those that have known the earth so full of faults. 
For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, 
Submitting me unto the perilous night ; 
And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see. 
Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone : 
And, when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open 
The breast of heaven, I did present myself 
Even in the aim and very flash of it. 

Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt the 
heavens ? 
It is the part of men to fear and tremble. 



SCENE I. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



701 



When the most mighty gods by tokens send 
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. 

Cas. You are dull, Casca; and those sparks of life, 
That should be in a Roman, you do want. 
Or else you use not. You look palo, and gaze, 
And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder. 
To see the strange impatience of the heavens ) 
But if you would consider the true cause, 
Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, 
Why birds, and beasts, from quality and kind j 
Why old men, fools, and children calculate ; 
Why all these things change from their ordinance, 
Their natures, and pre-formed faculties, 
To monstrous quality ; why, you shall find, 
That heaven hath infus'd them with these spirits, 
To make them instruments of fear, and warning. 
Unto some monstrous state. 
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man 
Most like this dreadful night ; 
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars 
As doth the lion in the Capitol : 
A man no mightier than thyself, or me. 
In personal action ; yet prodigious grown. 
And fearful, as these strange irruptions are. 

Casca. 'T is Caesar that you mean ; is it not, Cassius ? 

Cas. Let it be who it is : for Romans now 
Have thewes and limbs like to their ancestors. 
But, woe the while ! our fathers' minds are dead, 
And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits j 
Our yoke and suiferance show us womanish. 

Casca. Indeed, they say, the senators to-morrow 
Mean to establish Crcsar as a king : 
And he shall wear his crown by sea, and land. 
In every place, save here in Italy. 

Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger, then ; 
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius. 
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; 
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: 
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass. 
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron. 
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit ; 
But life, being weary of these worldly bars. 
Never lacks power to dismiss itself. 
If I know this, know all the world besides, 
That ]iart of tyranny, that I do bear, 
I can shake off at pleasure. [Thunder still. 

Casca. So can I : 

So every bondman in his own hand bears 
The power to cancel his captivity. 

Cos. And why should Ca;sar be a tyrant, then? 
Poor man ! I know, he would not be a wolf. 
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep : 
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. 
Those that with haste will make a mighty fire, 
Bciiin it with weak straws : what trash is Rome, 
What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves 
For the bnse matter to illuminate 
So vile a thing as Caesar? — But, grief! 



Where hast thou led me ? I, perhaps, speak this 
Before a willing bondman : then I know 
My answer must be made ; but 1 am arm'd. 
And dangers are to me indifferent. 

Casca. You speak to Casca ; and to such a man, 
That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand: 
Be factious for redress of all these griefs. 
And I will set this foot of mine as far. 
As who goes farthest. 

Cas. There 's a bargain made. 

Now know you, Casca. I have mov'd already 
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans, 
To undergo with me an enterprise 
Of honourable, dangerous consequence ; 
And 1 do know, by this, they stay for me 
In Pompey's porch : for now, this fearful night, 
There is no stir, or walking in tlie streets, 
And the complexion of the element 
In favour 's' like the work we have in hand, 
Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. 
Enter Cinna. 

Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste. 

Cas. 'T is Cinna, I do know him by his gait : 
He is a friend. — Cinna, where haste you so? 

Cin. To find out you. Who's that? Metellus Cimber? 

Cas. No, it is Casca ; one incorporate 
To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna ? 

Cin. I am glad on 't. What a fearful night is this ! 
There 's two or three of us have seen strange sights. 

Cas. Am I not stay'd for? Tell me. 

Cin. Yes, you are. 

O, Cassius ! if you could but win the noble Brutus 
To our party — 

Cas. Be you content. Good Cinna, take this paper, 
And look you lay it in the prajtor's chair. 
Where Brutus may but find it ; and throw this 
In at his window; set this up with wax 
Upon old Brutus' statue : all this done. 
Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. 
Is Docius Brutus, and Trebonius, there ? 

Cin. All but Metellus Cimber, and he's gone 
To seek you .at your house. Well, I will hie. 
And so bestow these papers as you bade me. 
Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. 

[Exit Cjnna. 
Come, Casca, you and I will yet, ere day. 
See Brutus at his house : three parts of him 
Is ours already : and the man entire, 
Upon the next encounter, yields him ours. 

Casca. ! he .sits high in all the people's hearts ; 
And tliat which would appear offence in us. 
His countenance, like richest alchymy. 
Will cliange to virtue, and to worthiness. 

Cas. Him, and liis worth, and our great need of him, 
You have right well conceited. 
For it is after midnight; and, ere day. 
We will awake him, and be sure of him. [Exeunt. 



Let us go, 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— The Same. Brutus's Orchard. 
Enter Bautus. 
Bra. What, Lucius ! ho ! — 
I cannot, by the progress of the stars. 
Give guess how near to day. — Lucius, I say ! — 

' Is favour's : in folio 



I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. — 
When, LuciuB, when? Awake, I say : what, Lucius ! 
Enter Luciis, 

Luc. Call'd you, my lord? 

Bra. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius : 
When it ia lighted, come and call me here. 



702 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



ACT II. 



Lxic. I will, my lord. [Exit. 

Bru. It must be by his death ; and, for my part, 
I know no personal cause to spurn at him. 
But for the general. He would be crown'd : 
How that might change his nature, there 's the question. 
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder. 
And that craves wary walking. Crown him ? — that ; 
And then, I grant, we put a sting in liim, 
That at his will he may do danger with. 
Th' abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
Pbemorse from power ; and, to speak truth of CiEsar, 
I have not known when his affections sway'd 
More than his reason. But 't is a common proof, 
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder. 
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face ; 
But when he once attains the upmost round, 
He then unto the ladder turns his back. 
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
By which he did ascend. So Caesar may : 
Then, lest he may, prevent : and, since the quarrel 
Will bear no colour for the thing he is, 
Fa.shion it thus ; that what he is, augmented, 
Would run to these, and these extremities ; 
And therefore think him as a serpent's egs, 
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous. 
And kill him in the shell. 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Lvc. The taper burneth in your closet, sir. 
Searching the window for a flint, I found 
This paper, thus seal'd up ; and, I am sure, 
It did not lie there when I went to bed. 

\Givin<:r him the paper. 

Bru. Get you to bed again ; it is not day. 
[s not to-morrow, boy, the ides' of March ? 

Luc. I know not, sir. 

Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. 

Lvc. I wall, sir. [Exit. 

Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air. 
Give so much light that I may read by them. 

[Opens the paper, and read.';. 
" Brutus, thou sleep'st : awake, and see thyself. 
Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress ! 
Brutus, thou sleep'st : awake !" — 
Such instigations have been often dropp'd 
Where I have took them up. 
" Shall Rome. &c." Thus must I piece it out ; 
Shall Rome stand under one man's awe ? What ! Rome? 
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 
*' Speak, strike, redress !" — Am I entreated 
To speak, and strike ? Rome ! I make thee promise. 
If the redress will follow, thou receiv'st 
Ihy full petition at the hand of Brutus ! 
Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen* days. 

[Knocking ivithin. 

Bru. 'T is good. Go to the gate : somebody knocks. 

[Exit Lucius, 
Since Cassius first did whet me against Csesar, 
I have not slept. 

Between the acting of a dreadful thing, 
And the first motion, all the interim is 
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : 
The Genius, and the mortal instruments, 
Are then in council ; and the state of a' man. 
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
The nature of an insurrection. 

Re-enter Lucius. 



Luc. Sir, 't is your brother Cassius at the door, 
Who doth desire to see you. 

Bru. Is he alone ? 

Luc. No, sir, there are more with him. 

Bru. Do you know them ? 

Luc. No, sir ; their hats are pluck'd about their ears, 
And half their faces buried in their cloaks, 
That by no means I may discover them 
By any mark of favour. 

Bru. Let them enter. [Exit Lucius. 

They are the faction. O conspiracy ! 
Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night. 
When evils are most free ? O ! then, by day 
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
To mask thy monstrous visage ? Seek none^ conspiracy ; 
Hide it in smiles, and affability : 
For if thou path* thy native semblance on, 
Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
To hide thee from prevention. 

Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metellus 
CiMBER, and Trebonius. 

Cas. I think we are too bold upon your rest : 
Good morrow, Brutus ; do we trouble you ? 

Bru. I have been up this hour ; awake, all night. 
Know I these men that come along with you ? 

CcLs. Yes, every man of them : and no man here, 
But honours you : and every one doth wish, 
You had but that opinion of yourself. 
Wliich every noble Roman bears of you. 
This is Trebonius. , 

Bru. He is welcome hither. 

Cas. This Decius Brutus. 

Bru. He is welcome too. 

Cas. This Casca; this Cinna; 
And this Metellus Cimber. 

Bru. They are all welcome. 

What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
Betwixt your eyes and night ? 

Cas. Shall I entreat a word? [They whisper. 

Dec. Here lies the east : doth not the day break here ? 

Casca. No. 

Cin. ! pardon, sir, it doth ; and yond' grey lines, 
That fret the clouds, are messengers of day. 

Casca. You shall confess that you are both deceiv'd. 
Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises ; 
Which is a great way growing on the south. 
Weighing the youthful season of the year. 
Some two months hence, up higher toward the north 
He first presents his fire ; and the high east 
Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. 

Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by one.' 

[He takes their hands. 

Cas. And let us swear our resolution. 

Bru. No. not an oath : if not the face of men, 
The surterance of our souls, the time's abuse. 
If these be motives weak, break off betimes, 
And every man hence to his idle bed : 
So let high-sighted tyranny range on, 
Till each man drop by lottery. But if these. 
As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 
To kindle cowards, and to steel with valour 
The melting spirits of women ; then, countrymen. 
What need we any spur, but our own cause, 
To prick us to redress ? what other bond. 
Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word. 
And will not palter ? and what other oath, 
Than honesty to honesty engag'd, 
That this shall be. or we will fall for it ? 



1 first : in folio. Theobald made the change, 
so used by Dryden. ' Not in f. e. 



2 fifteen : in old copies. Theobald made the change. ' Some mod. eds. omit : a. * Walk; 



SCENE I. 



JULIUS C^SAE. 



703 



Cin. 
Met. 



Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous, 

Old feeble carrions, and such suffering souls 

That welcome wrongs : unto bad causes swear 

Such creatures as men doubt ; but do not stain 

The even virtue of our enterprise. 

Nor th' insuppressive mettle of our spirits, 

To think that, or our cause, or our performance, 

Did need an oath, when every drop of blood, 

That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, 

Is guilty of a several bastardy, 

If he do break the smallest particle 

Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. 

Cas. But what of Cicero ? Shall we sound him ? 
I think he will stand very strong with us. 

Casca. Let us not leave him out. 

Cin. No, by no means. 

Met. O ! let us have him ; for his silver hairs 
Will purchase us a good opinion. 
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds : 
It shall be said, his judgment rul'd our hands ; 
Our youths, and wildness, shall no whit appear, 
But all be buried in his gravity. 

Bru. O ! name him not ; let us not break with him, 
For he will never follow any thing 
That other men begin. 

Ca.<^. Then, leave him out. 

Ca.sca. Indeed he is not fit. 

Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd, but only Csesar ? 

Ca.'i. Decius, well urg'd. — I think it is not meet, 
Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Ctesar, 
Should outlive Caesar : we shall find of him 
A shrewd contriver ; and, you know, his means. 
If he improve them, may well stretch so far 
As to annoy us all ; which to prevent. 
Let Antony and Casar fall together. 

Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius, 
To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs. 
Like wrath in death, and envy' afterwards • 
For Antony is but a limb of Caesar. 
Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. 
We all .'Stand up against the spirit of Cspsar, 
And in the spirit of men there is no blood : 
O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit, 
And not dismember Cicsar ! But, alas I 
Cfesar must bleed for it. And, gentle friends, 
Let 's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully ; 
Let 's crave him as a dish fit for the gods. 
Not liew him as a carcass fit for hounds : 
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, 
Stir up their servants to an act of rage, 
And after seem to chide 'em. This shall mark* 
Our jiurpose necessary, and not envious ; 
Which .«o ap])earing to the common eyes. 
We shall be eall'd purgers, not murderers. 
And for Mark Antony, think not of him, 
For he can do no more than Caesar's arm, 
When Ca>sar's head is off". 

Ca.<!. Yet I fear him : 
For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar 

Bni. Alas ! good Cassius, do not think of him. 
If he love Caesar, all that he can do 
Is to himself; take thought, and die for Caesar: 
And that were nuich he should ; for he is given 
To sports. 1o wildness, and much company. 

Trch. There is no fear in him ; let him not die, 
For he will live, and laush atthis heTca.(ter.[Cloc£ strikes. 

Bru. Peace ! count the clock. 

Cos. The clock hath stricken three. 

Treb. 'T is time to part. 

1 Used as often, in the sense of hatred. ' make : in f. e. ' honey-heavy dew : in f. e. 



Cas. But it is doubtful yet, 

Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no 3 
For he is superstitious grown of late. 
Quite from the main opinion he held once 
Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies. 
It may be, these apparent prodigies. 
The unaccustom'd terror of this night, 
And the persuasion of his augurers. 
May hold him from the Capitol to-day. 

Dec. Never fear that : if he be so resolv'd, 
I can o'ersway him ; for he loves to hear, 
That unicorns may be betrayed with trees. 
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes. 
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers ; 
But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers, 
He says, he does, being then most flattered. 
Let me work ; 

For I can give his humour the true bent. 
And I will bring him to the Capitol. 

Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. 

Bn(. By the eighth hour : is that the uttermost ? 



Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 
Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, 



Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey : 
I wonder, none of you have tliought of him. 

Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along by him : 
He loves me well, and I have given him reasons ; 
Send him but hither, and I '11 fashion him. 

Cas. The morning comes upon 's : we '11 leave you, 
Brutus. — 
And, friends, disperse yourselves ; but all remember 
What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans. 

Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily. 
Let not our looks put on our purposes • 
But bear it as our Roman actors do, 
With untir'd spirits, and formal constancy : 
And so, good-morrow to you every one. 

[Exeunt all but Brutus. 
Boy ! Lucius ! — Fast asleep. It is no matter ; 
Enjoy the heavy honey-dew^ of slumber : 
Tiiou hast no figures, nor no fantasies. 
Which busy care draws in the brains of men ; 
Therefore, thou sleep'st so sound. 
Enter Portia. 

For. Brutus, my lord ! 

Bru. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now? 
It is not for your health thus to commit 
Your weak condition to the raw cold morning. 

For. Nor for yours neither.You have ungently, Brutus, 
Stole from my bed : and yesternight, at supper, 
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about. 
Musing and sighing, with your arms across- 
And when I ask'd you what the matter was. 
You stard upon me with ungentle looks. 
I urg'd you farther : then, you scratched your head, 
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot : 
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not ; 
But, with an angry wafture of your hand, 
Gave sign for me to leave you. So I did. 
Fearing to strengthen that impatience. 
Which seem'd too much enkindled ; and, withal, 
Hoping it was but an effect of humour, 
Which sometime hath his hour with every man. 
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep : 
And. could it work .so mucii upon your shape, 
As it hath much prcvail'd on your condition, 
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, 
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. 

Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. 



704 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



ACT II. 



Pot. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, 
He would embrace the means to come by it. 

Bru. Why, so I do. — Good Portia, go to bed. 

For. Is Brutus sick, and is it physical 
To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours 
Of the dank morning ? What ! is Brutus sick, 
And will he steal out of his wholesome bed. 
To dare the vile contagion of the night. 
And tem})t the rheumy and unpurged air 
To add unto his sicknc.'^^s ? No, my Brutus : 
You have .some .sick oftence within your mind, 
Which, by the rigiit and virtue of my place, 
I ought to know of: and upon my knees [Kneeling} 
I charm you, by my once commended beauty, 
By all your vows of love, and that great vow 
Which did incorporate and make us one, 
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, 
Why you are heavy, and what men to-night 
Have had resort to you : for here have been 
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
Even from darkness. 

Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. [Raising her.'' 

For I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. 
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
Is it excepted, I should know no secrets 
That appertain to you ? Am I yourself 
But, as it were, in sort, or limitation; 
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed. 
And talk to you sometimes ? Dwell I but in the suburbs 
Of your good pleasure ? If it be no more, 
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 

Bru. You are my trvie and honourable wife ; 
As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops 
That visit my sad heart. 

Fur. If this were true, then should I know this secret. 
I grant, I am a woman : but, withal, 
A woman that lord Brutus took to wife: 
I grant, I am a woman : but, withal. 
A woman well-reputed. Gate's daughter. 
Think you, I am no stronger than my sex, 
Being so father'd, and so husbanded ? 
Tell }ne your counsels, I will not disclose them. 
I have made strong proof of my constancy, 
Giving myself a voluntary wound 
Here, in the thigli : can I bear that with patience, 
And not my husband's secrets ? 

Bru. ye gods ! 

Render me worthy of this noble wife. [Knocking ivithin. 
Hark, hark ! one knocks. Portia, go in a while ; 
And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
The secrets of my heart. 
All my engagements 1 will construe to thee, 
All the charactery of my sad brows. 
Leave me with haste. [Exit Portia. 

Enter Lucius and Liharius. 

Lucius, who is 't that knocks ? 

Luc. Here is a sick man, that would speak with you. 

Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Mete] his spake of. — 
Boy, stand aside. — Caius Ligarius ! how ? 

Lig. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. 

Bru. ! what a time have you cliose out, brave Caius, 
To wear a kerchief Would you were not sick ! 

Lig. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand 
Any exploit worthy the name of honour. 

Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, 
Had you a healthful e^r to hear of it. 

Lig. By all the gods that Romans bov/ before, 
I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome ! 

[Throwing away his bandage.' 

» 2 ' Not in r. e. 



Brave son, deriv'd from honourable loins, 
Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur'd up 
My mortified spirit. Now bid me run. 
And I will strive with things impossible ; 
Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? 

Bru. A piece of work that will make sick men whole. 

Lig. But are not some whole that we must make sick ? 

Bru. That must we also. What it is, my Caius, 
I shall unfold to thee, as we are going. 



Set on your foot, 



To whom it must be done. 

Lig. 
And with a heart new-fir'd I follow you. 
To do I know not what ; but it sufficeth. 
That Brutus leads me on. 

Bru. Follow me, then. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The Same. A Room in CjEsar's Palace. 

Thunder and Lightning. Enter CjEsar, in his Night- 
gown. 

Cos. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace to- 
night : 
Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, 
■' Help, ho ! They murder Caesar !" — Who 's within? 
Enter a Servant. 

Scrv. My lord. 

Cces. Go bid flie priests do present sacrifice, 
And bring me their opinions of success. 

Scrv. I will, my lord. [Exit. 

Enter Calphurnia. 

Cal. What mean you, Cassar? Think you to walk 
forth ? 
You shall not stir out of your house to-day. 

CcBs. Csesar shall forth : the things that threaten'd me, 
Ne'er look'd but on my back ; when they shall see 
The face of Cje.^ar, they are vanished. 

Cal. Cajsar, I never stood on ceremonies, 
Yet now they fright me. There is one Avithin, 
Besides the things that we have heard and seen, 
Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. 
A lioness hath whelped in the streets ; 
And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead; 
Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds 
In ranks, and .'■quadrons, and right form of war, 
Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol : 
The noise of battle hurtled in the air ; 
Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan; 
And ghosts did shriek, and squeal about the streets. 
Ca>s;ir ! tliese things are beyond all use, 
And I do fear them. 

Cces. What can be avoided. 

Whose end is purpo.s'd by the mighty gods? 
Yet Csesar shall go forth ; for these predictions 
Are to the world in general, as to Csesar. 

Cal. When beggars die there are no comets seen ; 
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. 

Ca:s. Cowards die many times before their deaths. 
The valiant never taste of death but once. 
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard. 
It seems to me most strange that men should fear, 
Seeing that death, a necessary end. 
Will come, when it will come. 

Re-enter a Servant. 

What say the augurers ? 

Scrv. They would not have you to stir forth to-day. 
Plucking the entrails of an offering forth. 
They could not find a heart within the beast. 

Cces. The gods do this in shame of cowardice : 
Csesar should be a beast without a heart. 
If he should stay at home to-day for fear. 



SCENE rv. 



JULIUS C^SAK. 



705 



No, Csesar shall not : danger knows full well, 
That Caesar is more dangerous than he. 
We are' two lions litter'd in one day. 
And I the elder and more terrible ; 
And CEesar shall go forth. 

Cal. Alas ! my lord, 

Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence. 
Do not go forth to-day : call it my fear 
That keeps you in the house, and not your own. 
We '11 send Mark Antony to the senate-liouse. 
And he shall say, you are not well to-day : 
Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. [Kneeling.^ 

Cas. Mark Antony shall say, I am not well ; 
And, for thy humour, I will .«tay at home. [Raising her} 

Enter Decius. 
Here 's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. 

Dec. Caesar, all hail ! Good morrow, worthy Csesar : 
T come to fetch you to the senate-house. 

Cms. And you are come in very happy time 
To bear my greeting to the senators, 
And tell them that I will not come to-day. 
Cannot is false ; and that I dare not, falser : 
I will not come to-day. Tell them so, Decius. 

Cal. Say, he is sick. 

Cces. Shall Csesar send a lie ? 

Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far, 
To be afeard to tell grey-beards the truth ? 
Decius, go tell them, Caesar will not come. 

Dec. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause. 
Lest I be laugh'd at w^hen I tell them so. 

Cas. The cause is in my will ; I will not come : 
That is enough to satisfy the senate ; 
But, for your private satisfaction. 
Because I love you, I will let you know. 
Calphurnia here, my wife, stays me at home : 
She dream'd to-night she saw my statue. 
Which, like a fountain with a hundred spouts, 
Did run pure blood ; and many lusty Romans 
Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it. 
And these does she apply for warnings, and portents 
Of evils imminent ; and on her knee 
Hath begg'd, that I will stay at home to-day. 

Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted : 
It was a vision, fair and fortunate. 
Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, 
In which so many smiling Romans bath'd. 
Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck 
Reviving blood ; and that great men shall press 
For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance. 
This by Calf.4iurnia's dream is signified. 

Cces. And this way have you well expounded it. 

Dec. I have, when you have heard what I can 
say : 
And know it now. The senate have concluded 
To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar : 
If you shall send them word you will not come, 
Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock 
Apt to be rendered, for some one to say, 
" Break up the senate till another time, 
When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams." 
If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper, 
" Lo ! Csesar is afraid ?" 
Pardon me, Caesar ; for my dear, dear love 
To your proceeding bids me tell you this, 
And reason to my love is liable. 

Cos. How foolish do your fears seem now, Cal- 
phurnia ! 
I am ashamed I did yield to them. — 
Give me my robe, for I will go : — 



Enter Publius. Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca, 

Trebonius, and Cinna. 
And look where Publius is come to fetch me. 

Pub. Good morrow, Csesar. 

Cces. Welcome, Publius. — 

What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too ? — 
Good-morrow, Casca. — Caius Ligarius, 
Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy, 
As that same ague which hath made you lean. — 
What is 't o'clock ? 

Bru. Csesar, 't is stricken eight. 

Cces. I thank you for your pains and courtesy. 
Enter Antony. 
See ! Antony, that revels long o' nights, 
Is notwithstanding up. — Good morrow, Antony. 

Ant. So to most noble Caesar. 

Cces. Bid them prepare within : 

I am to blame to be thus waited for. — 
Now, Cinna : — Now, Metellus : — What, Trebonius ! 
I have an hour's talk in store for you. 
Remember that you call on me to-day : 
Be near me, that I may remember you. 

Treh. Caesar, I will : — and so near will I be, {Aside. 
That your best friends shall wish I had been farther. 

Cces. Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me, 
And we, like friends, will straightway go together. 

Bru. That every like is not the same. Caesar! [y4strfe.* 
The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon. {Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. A Street near the Capitol. 
Enter Artemidorus, reading a Paper. 
Art. '• Caesar, beware of Brutus ; take heed of 
Cassius ; come not near Casca ; have an eye to Cinna ; 
trust not Trebonius ; mark well Metellus Cimber ; 
Decius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast wronged 
Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these 
men, and it is bent against Ceesar. If thou be'st not 
immortal, look about you : security gives way to con- 
spiracy. The mighty gods defend thee ! Thy lover, 

" Artemidorus." 
Here will I stand till Caesar pass along. 
And as a suitor will I give him this, 
My heart laments that virtue cannot live 
Out of the teeth of emulation. 
If thou read this, Ca;sar ! thou may'st live ; 
If not, the fates with traitors do contrive. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. Another Part of the same 
Street, before the House of Brutus. 
Enter Portia and Lucius. 
Por. I pr'ythee, boy, run to the senate-house : 
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone. 
Why dost thou stay ? 

Luc. To know my errand, madam. 

Por. I would have had thee there, and here again, 
Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. — 

constancy ! be strong upon my side : 

Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue ! 

1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might. 
How hard it is for women to keep counsel ! 
Art thou here yet? 

Luc. Madam, what should I do ? 

Run to the Capitol, and nothing else, 
And so return to you, and nothing el.se ? 

Por. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well, 
For he went sickly forth : and take good note, 
What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. 
Hark, boy ! what noise is that ? 

Luc. I hear none, madam. 



were : in f. e.- Changed by Theobald from " heare" : in folio, a ' 4 Not in f. e. 

45 



706 



JULIUS C^SAK. 



ACT in. 



Come hither, fellow. 



Por. Pr'ythee, listen well : 

I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, 
And the wind brings it from the Capitol. 

Liic. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. 

Enter the Soothsayer. 

Por. 
Which way hast thou been ? 

Sooth. At mine own house, good lady 

Por. What is't o'clock? 

Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady 

Por. Is CsBsar yet gone to the Capitol ? 

Sooth. Madam, not yet : I go to take my stand. 
To see him pass on to the Capitol. 

Por. Thou hast some suit to Csesar, hast thou not ? 

Sooth. That I have, lady : if it will please Ccesar 
To be so good to Cajsar. as to hear me, 
I shall beseech him to befriend himself. 



Por. Why, know'st thou any harm 's intended towards 
him ? 

Sooth. None that I know will be, much that I fear 
may chance. 
Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow : 
The throng that follows Csesar at the heels. 
Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, 
Will crowd a feeble man almost to death : 
I '11 get me to a place more void, and there 
Speak to great Casar as he comes along. [Exit. 

Por. I must go in. — Ah me ! how weak a thing 
The heart of woman is. O Brutus ! 
The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise ! 
Sure, the boy heard me : — Brutus hath a suit, 
That Caesar will not grant. — ! I grow faint. — 
Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord f 
Say, I am merry : come to me again. 
And bring me word what he doth say to thee. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



Casca.^ Are we all ready? 

Cas. What is now amiss, 

That Caesar and his senate must redress? 

Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant" 
Caesar, 
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
An humble heart. — [Kneeling. 

Cas. I must prevent thee, Cimber. 

These crouchings,* and these lowly courtesies, 
Might fire the blood of ordinary men. 
And turn pre-ordinance, and first decree. 
Into the law' of children. Be not fond, 
To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood. 
That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
With that which melteth fools ; I mean, sweet words, 
Low-crouched^ curtesies, and base spaniel fawaiing. 
Thy brother by decree is banished : 
If thou dost bend, and pray, and fawn for him, 
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
Know, Caesar doth not wrong; nor without cause 
Will he be satisfied. 

Met. Is there no voice, more worthy than my own, 
To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear, 
For the repealing of my banish'd brother ? 

Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar j 
Desiring thee, that Publius Cimber may 
Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 

Cas. What, Brutus ! 

Cas. Pardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon : 

As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, 
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 

Cos. I could be well mov'd, if I were as you ; 
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me ; 
But I am constant as the northern star, 
Of whose true, fix'd, and resting quality. 
There is no fellow in the firmament. 
The skies are painted yni\v unnumber'd sparks, 
They are all fire, and every one doth shine ; 
But there 's but one in all doth hold his place. 
So, in the world : 't is furnish'd well with men, 
And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive ; 
Yet in the number I do know but one 
That unassailable holds on his rank, 
Unshak'd of motion : and, that I am he. 
Let me a little show it, even in this. 
That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd, 

1 What touches us ourself, &c. : in f. e. s Ready. 3 CcEsar : in f. e. * couchings : in f. e. » lane : in folio. • Low-crooked : in f. e. 



SCENE I.— The Same. The Capitol : the Senate 
sitting. 

A crowd of People in the Street leading to the Capi- 
tol ; among them Artemidorus, and the Soothsayer. 
Flourish. Enter C^sar, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, 
Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cinna, Antony, 
Lepidus, Popilius, Publius, and others. 
Cms. The ides of March are come. 
Sooth. Ay, Caesar : but not gone. 
Art. Hail, Caesar ! Read this schedule. 
Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read. 
At your best leisure, this his humble suit. 

Art. 0, Caesar ! read mine first : for mine 's a suit 
That touches Caesar nearer. Read it. great Caesar. 
Cces. That touches us ? ourself shall be last serv'd.^ 
Art. Delay not, Caesar ; read it instantly. 
CcBs. What ! is the fellow mad ? 
Pub. Sirrah, give place. 

Cas. What ! Urge you your petitions in the street ? 
Come to the Capitol. 

CjEsar enters the Capitol, the rest following. All the 
Senators rise. 
Pop. I wish, your enterprise to-day may thrive. 
Cas. What enterprise, Popilius ? 
Pop. Fare you well. [Advances to Cjesar. 

Bru. What said Popilius Lena ? 
Cas. He wish'd, to-day our enterprise might tlirive. 
I fear, our purpose is discovered. 

Bru. Look, how he makes to Caesar : mark him. 
Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. — 
Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, 
Cassius or Ca3sar never shall turn back. 
For I will slay myself. 

Bru. Cassius, be constant : 

Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ; 
For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. 
Cas. Trebonius knows his time ; for, look you, 
Brutus, 
He draws Mark Antony out of the way. 

[Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. Cesar 
and the Senators take their Seats. 
Dec. ^Tiere is Metellus Cimber? Let him go, 
And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. 

Bru. He is address'd^; press near, and second him. 
Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. 



SCENE I. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



Y07 



And constant do remain to keep him so. 

Cin. Caesar ! — 

Cces. Hence ! Wilt thou lift up Olympus ? 

Dec. Great Caesar, — 

Cces. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel ? 

Ca-fca. Speak, hands, for me. 

[Casca stabs CiESAR in the Neck. Caesar catches 
hold of his Arm. He is then stabbed by several 
other Conspirators, and last by Marcus Brutus. 

Cces. Et tu, Brute ? — Then fall, Cajsar. 
{Dies. The Senators and People retire in confusion. 

Cin. Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyranny is dead ! — 
Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 

Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry out, 
'•Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement !" 

Bru. People, and senators ! be not affrighted. 
Fly not; stand still : — ambition's debt is paid. 

Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. 

Dec. And Cassius too. 

Bru. Where 's Publius ? 

Cin. Here, quite confovmded with this mutiny. 

Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's 
Should chance — 

Bru. Talk not of standing. — Publius, good cheer : 
There is no harm intended to your person, 
Nor to no Pioman else ; so tell them, Publius. 

Cas. And leave us, Publius ; lest that the people, 
Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. 

Bru. Do so: — and let no man abide this deed, 
But we, the doers. 

Re-enter Trebonius. 

Cas. Where 's Antony ? 

Tre. Fled to his house amaz'd. 

Men, wives, and children, stare, cry out, and run, 
As it were doomsday. 

Bru. Fates, we will know your pleasures. — 

That we shall die, we know ; 't is but the time, 
And drawing days out, that men stand upon. 

Casca. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life, 
Cuts off so many years of fearing death. 

Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit : 
So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridged 
His time of fearing death. — Stoop, Romans, stoop, 
And let vis bathe our hands in Caesar's blood 
Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords ; 
Then walk we forth, even to the market-place, 
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads. 
Let 's all cry, Peace ! Freedom ! and Liberty ! 

Cas. Stoop then, and wash. — How many ages hence, 
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over, 
\\i states unborn, and accents yet unknown ? 

Bru. How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport. 
That now on Pompey's basis lies along. 
No worthier than the dust ? 

Cas. So oft as that shall be, 

So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
The men that gave their country liberty. 

Dec. What ! shall we forth ? 

Cas. Ay, every man away : 

Brutus shall lead ; and we will grace his heels 
With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. 
Enter a Servant. 

Bru. Soft ! who comes here? A friend of Antony's. 

Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel ; 

[Kneeliyig.^ 
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down. 
And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say. 
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest ; 
Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving : 

1 s 3 t 6 Not in f. e. 



Say, I love Brutus, and I honour him ; 

Say, I fear'd Casar, honour'd him, and lov'd him. 

If Brutus will vouchsafe, that Antony 

May safely come to him, and be resolv'd 

How Caesar hath deserv'd to lie in death, 

Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead 

So well as Brutus living ; but will follow 

The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus, 

Thorough the hazards of this untrod state, 

With all true faith. So says my master Antony. [Rising.' 

Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman : 
I never thought him worse. 
Tell him, so please him come unto this place, 
He shall be satisfied ; and, by my honour. 
Depart untouch'd. 

Serv. I '11 fetch him presently. [Exit Servant. 

Bru. I know, that we shall have him well to friend. 
Cas. I wish, we may ; but yet have I a mind, 
That fears him much, and my misgiving still 
Falls shrewdly to the purpose. 

Enter Antony. 
Bru. But here comes Antony. — ^Welcome, Mark 

Antony. 
Ant. mighty Caesar ! dost thou lie so low ? 

[K7ieeling over the Body.' 
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils. 
Shrunk to this little measure ? Fare thee well. — 
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, [Rising.* 

Who else must be let blood, who else is rank : 
If I myself, there is no hour so fit 
As Caesar's death hour; nor no instrument 
Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich 
With the most noble blood of all this world. 
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, 
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke. 
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, 
I shall not find myself so apt to die ; 
No place will please me so, no mean of death, 
As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, 
The choice and master spirits of this age. 

Bru. Antony ! beg not your death of us. 
Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, 
As, by our hands, and this our present act. 
You see we do ; yet see you but our hands, 
And this the bleeding business they have done. 
Our hearts you see not : they arc pitiful ; 
And pity to the general wrong of Rome 
(As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity) 
Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part. 
To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony : 
Our arms, in strength of welcome, and our hearts. 
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in 
With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. 

Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's. 
In the disposing of new dignities. 

Bru. Only be patient, till we have appeas'd 
The multitude, beside themselves with fear. 
And then we will deliver you the cause. 
Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him. 
Have thus proceeded. 

Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom. 

Let each man render me his bloody hand : 

[One after the other.* 
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you: — 
Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand : — 
Now, Decius Brutus, yours ; — now yours, Metellus ; — < 
Yours, Cinna ; — and, my valiant Casca, yours ; — 
Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius. 
Gentlemen all, — alas ! what shall I say ? 



T08 



JULIUS CiESAE. 



ACT m. 



My credit now stands on such slippery ground. 
That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, 
Either a coward, or a flatterer. — 
That 1 did love thee, Ccesar ! 0, 'tis true: 

[Turning to the Body, and bending over it} 
If, then, thy spirit look upon us now, 
Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death, 
To see thy Antony making his peace, 
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes. 
Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse ? 
Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, 
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood. 
It would become me better, than to close 
In terms of friendship with thine enemies. 
Pardon me, Julius ! Here wast thou bay'd, brave 

hart; 
Here didst thou fall ; and here thy hunters stand, 
Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy death. 

world ! thou wast the forest to this hart ; 
And this, indeed, world ! the heart of thee. — 
How like a deer, stricken by many princes, 
Dost thou here lie ? 

Cas. Mark Antony ! 

Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius: 

The enemies of Caesar shall say this; 
Then, in a friend it is cold modesty. 

Cas. I blame you not for praising Csesar so, 
But what compact mean you to have with us? 
Will you be prick'd in number of our friends, 
Or shall we on, and not depend on you ? 

Ant. Therefore I took your hands ; but was, indeed, 
Sway'd from the point by looking down on Caesar. 
Friends am I witli you all, and love you all. 
Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons. 
Why, and wherein, Ccesar was dangerous. 

Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle. 
Our reasons are so full of good regard. 
That were you, Antony, the son of CiBsar, 
You should be satisfied. 

Ant. That 's all I seek : 

And am moreover suitor, that I may 
Produce his body to the market-place ; 
And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, 
Speak in the order of his funeral. 

Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. 

Cas. Brutus, a word with you". — 

You know not what you do : do not consent, {Apart. 
That Antony speak in his funeral. 
Know you how miich the people may be mov'd 
By that which he will utter ? 

Bru. By your pardon ; 

1 will myself into the pulpit first, 

And show the reason of our Ctcsar's death : 
What Antony shall speak, I will protest 
He speaks by leave and by permission ; 
And that we are contented, Cajsar shall 
Have all due rites, and lawful ceremonies. 
It shall advantage more, than do us wrong. 

Cas. I know not what may fall : I like it not. 

Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Ceesar's body. 
You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, 
But speak all good you can devise of Caesar; 
And say, you do 't by our permission. 
Else shall you not have any hand at all 
About his funeral : and you shall speak 
In the same pulpit whereto I am going, 
After my speech is ended. 

Ant. Be it so ; 

I do desire no more. 

1 Not in f. e. 



Bru. Prepare the body, then, and follow us. 

[Exeunt all but Antony. 

Ant. ! pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, 
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers. 
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man. 
That ever lived in the tide of times. 
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood ! 
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, 
(Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, 
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue) 
A curse shall light upon the loins of men; 
Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife, 
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy : 
Blood and destruction shall be so in use. 
And dreadful objects so familiar, ^ 

That mothers shall but smile, when they behold 
Their infants quaiier'd with the hands of war, 
All pity chok'd with cu.stom of fell deeds ; 
And Cffisar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 
With Ate by his side, come hot from hell. 
Shall in these confines, with a monarches voice, « 
Cry " Havock !" and let slip the dogs of war. 
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth 
With carrion men, groaning for burial. 

Enter a Servant. 
You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not ? 

Serv. I do, Mark Antony. 

Ant. Ca3sar did write for him to come to Rome. 

Serv. He did receive his letters, and is coming. 

And bid me say to you by word of mouth, 

Csesar ! [Seeing the Body. 

Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. 
Passion, I see, is catching ; for mine eyes. 
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine. 
Began to water. Is thy master coming ? 

Serv, He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome. 

Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what hath 
chanc'd. 
Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet : 
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay a while ; 
Thou shall not back, till I have borne this corse 
Into the market-place : there shall I try, 
In my oration, how the people take 
The cruel issue of these bloody men ; 
According to the which, thou shalt discourse 
To young Octavius of the state of things. 
Lend me your hand. [Exeunt, with CjEsar's Body. 

SCENE II.— The Same. The Forum. 
Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a throng of Citizens. 

Cit. We will be satisfied : let lis be satisfied. 

Bru.Then follow me, and give me audience, friends. — 
Cassius, go you into the other street, 
And part the numbers. — 

Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here; 
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him; 
And public reasons shall be rendered 
Of Caesar's death. 

1 Cit. I will hear Brutus speak. 

2 Cit. I will hear Cassius; and compare their reasons, 
When severally we hear them rendered. 

[Exit Cassius, icith some of the Citizens. 
Brutus goes into the Rostrum. 

3 Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended. Silence ! 
Bru. Be patient till the last. 

Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my 
cause, and be silent that you may hear : believe me for 
mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that 



SCEISrE II. 



JULIUS C^SAE. 



709 



you may believe : censure me in your wisdom, and 
awake your senses that you may the better judge. If 
there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of 
Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Ccpsar was 
no less than his. If, then, that friend demand, why 
Brutus rose against- Csesar ? this is my answer, — not 
that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Ptome more. 
Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, 
than that Caesar were dead, to live all free men ? As 
Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate. 
I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honour him ; but, 
as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for 
his love ; joy for his fortune ; honour for his valour ; 
and death for his ambition. Who is here so base, that 
would be a bondman? If any, speak ; for him have I 
offended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a 
Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. 
Who is here so vile, that will not love his country ? 
If any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause for a 
reply. 

All. None, Brutus, none. 

Bru. Then, none have I offended. I have done no 
more to Caesar, than you shall do to Brutus. The 
question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his 
glory not extemxated, wherein he was worthy, nor his 
offences enforced, for which he suffered death. 

Enter Antony and others^ with CjEsar's Body. 
Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony : who, 
though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the 
benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth ; as 
which of you shall not? With this I depart ; that, as 
I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the 
same dagger for myself, when it shall please my coun- 
try to need my death. 

All. Live, Brutus ! live ! live ! 

1 Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his house. 

2 Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 

3 Cit. Let him be Caesar. 

4 Cit. Caesar's better parts 
Shall now be crown'd in Brutus. 

1 Cit. We '11 bring him to his house with shouts and 

clamours. 
Bru. My countr>'men, — 

2 Cit. Peace ! silence ! Brutus speaks. 
1 Cit. Peace, ho ! 

Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone ; 
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony : 
Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech 
Tending to Caesar's glories, which Mark Antony, 
By our permission, is allow'd to make. 
I do entreat you, not a man depart, 



Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. 



[Exit. 



1 Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 

3 Cit. Let him go up into the public chair: 
We'll hear him. — Noble Antony, go up. 

Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to you, 

4 Cit. What does he say of Brutus ? 

3 Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake. 
He finds himself beholding to us all. 

4 Cit. 'T were best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 

1 Cit. This Caesar was a tyrant. 

3 Cit. Nay, that 's certain : 

We are blcss'd, that Rome is rid of him. 

2 Cit. Peace ! let us hear what Antony can say. 
Ant. You gentle Romans. — 

Cit. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 

Ant. Friends, Romans, countr^-men, lend me your 
ears: 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
The evil that men do lives after them, 



The good is oft interred with their bones : 

So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 

Hath told you. Caesar was ambitious : 

If it M^ere so. it was a grievous fault. 

And grievously hath Csesar answer'd it. 

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, 

(For Brutus is an honourable man. 

So are they all, all honourable men) 

Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 

But Brutus says, he was ambitious : 

And Brutus is an honourable man. 

He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 

Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? 

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept; 

Ambition .'^hould be made of sterner stuff: 

Yet Brutus says, ho was ambitious; 

And Brutus is an honourable man. 

You all did see, that on the Lupercal 

T thrice presented him a kingly crown, 

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And, sure, he is an honourable man. 

1 speak not to disprove what Brutus .spoke, 

But here I am to speak what I do know. 

You all did love him once, not without cause : 

What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him ? 

judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, 
And men have lost their reason. — Bear with me ; 
My heart is in the coffin there with Cresar, 
And I must pause till it come back to me. 

1 Cit. Methinks, there is much reason in his sayings 

2 Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
Caesar has had great wrong. 

3 Cit. Has he. masters? 

1 fear, there will a worse come in his place. 

4 Cit. Mark'd ye his words ? He would not take the 

crown : 
Therefore, 't is certain, he was not ambitious. 

1 Cit. If it be found so. some will dear abide it. 

2 Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with 

weeping. 

3 Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome than 

Antony. 

4 Cit. Now mark him ; he begins again to speak. 
Ant. But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 

Have stood against the world : now, lies he tlicre. 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 

masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius "WTong, 
Who, you all know, are honourable men. 

I will not do them ^vrong : I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 

Than I will wTong such honourable men. 

But here 's a parchment with the seal of Caesar ; 

I found it in his closet, 't is his will : 

Let but the commons hear this testament, 

(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read) 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds. 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. 

And, dying, mention it within their wills, 

Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy. 

Unto their issue. 

4 Cit. We '11 hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony. 

All. The will, the will ! we will hear Caesar's will. 

Ant. Have patience, gentle friends; I must not 
read it : 



710 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



ACT ni. 



It is not meet you know how Csesar lov'd you. 
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men. 
And, being men, hearing the will of Csesar, 
It will inflame you, it will make you mad. 
'T is good you know not that you are his heirs; 
For if you should, ! what would come of it ? 

4 Cit. R,ead the will ! we '11 hear it, Antony ; 
You shall read us the will: Caesar's will ! 

Ant. Will you be patient? Will you stay a while? 
I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it. 
I fear, I wrong the honourable men, 
Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar : I do fear it. 

4 Cit. They were traitors : honourable men ! 

AH. The will ! the testament ! 

2 Cit. They were villains, murderers. The will ! 
read the will. 

Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will ? 
Then, make a ring about the corpse of Csesar, 
And let me show you him that made the will. 
Shall I descend ? and will you give me leave ? 

All. Come down. 

2 Cit. Descend. 

3 Cit. You shall have leave. 

4 Cit. A ring ! stand round. 
1 Cit. Stand 



[He comes down. 



from the hearse ; stand from the 



body. 



2 Cit. Room for Antony ; — most noble Antony ! 

Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 

All. Stand back ! room ! bear back ! 

Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
The first time ever Csesar put it on ; 
'T was on a summer's evening, in his tent, 
That day he overcame the Nervii. 
Look ! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through: 
See, what a rent the envious Casca made : 
Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; 
And as he pluck'd liis cursed steel away, 
Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it, 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him ! 
This was the most unkindest cut of all ; 
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms. 
Quite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty heart; 
And in his mantle muffling up his face. 
Even at the base of Pompey's statue. 
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 
0, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
Then I, and you, and all of us fell do^\^^, 
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 
! now you weep : and, I perceive, you feel 
The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 
Kind souls ! what ! weep yuu, when you but behold 
Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, 
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 

1 Cit. piteous spectacle ! 

2 Cit. noble Caesar ! 

3 Cit. O woful day ! 

4 Cit. traitors ! villains ! 
1 Cit. most bloody sight ! 

All. We will be revenged. Revenge ! about, — seek, 
—burn, — fire, — kill. — slay ! — let not a traitor live. 
A7U. Stay, countrymen. [37ici/ are rushing out.^ 

1 Cit. Peace there ! hear the noble Antony. 

2 Cit. We 'II hear him, we '11 follow him, we '11 die 

with him. 

» Not in f. e. 2 go second folio : writ : in first folio. 



Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir 
you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
They that have done this deed are honourable : 
What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not, 
That made them do it; they are wise and honourable, 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 
I am no orator, as Brutus is. 
But, as you know me all. a plain blunt man. 
That love my friend : and tha^ they know full well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him. 
For I have neither wit,^ nor words, nor worth. 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
I tell you that, which you yourselves do know. 
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb 

mouths, 
And bid them speak for me : but were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 

All. We '11 mutiny. 

1 Cit. We '11 burn the house of Brutus. 

3 Cit. Away then ! come, seek the conspirators. 

Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen ; yet hear me speak. 

All. Peace, ho ! Hear Antony: most noble Antony. 

A7it. Why, friends, you go to do you know not what. 
Wherein hath Caesar thus deserv'd your loves ? 
Alas ! you know not : — I must tell you, then. 
You have forgot the M'ill I told you of. 

All. Most true ; — the will : — let 's stay, and hear the 
will. 

A^it. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. 
To every Roman citizen he gives. 
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 

2 Cit. Most noble Caesar ! — we '11 revenge his death. 

3 Cit. royal Caesar ! 
A7it. Hear me with patience. 
All. Peace, ho ! 

Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 
His private arbours, and new-planted orchards. 
On this side Tyber : he hath left them you, 
And to your heirs for ever ; common pleasures, 
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
Here was a Caesar: when comes .such another? 

1 Cit. Never, never ! — Come, away, away ! 
We '11 burn his body in the holy place. 

And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
Take vip the body. 

2 Cit. Go, fetch fire. 

3 Cit. Pluck down benches. 

4 Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, any thing. 

[Exeunt Citizens., with the Body. 

Ant. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot. 

Take thou what course thou wilt. — How now, fellow ! 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. 

Ant. Where is he ? 

Serv. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house. 

Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him. 
He comes upon a wish : Fortune is merry, 
And in this mood will give us any thing. 

Serv. I heard them say, Brutus and Cassius 
Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. 

Ant. Belike, they had some notice of the people. 
How I had mov'd them. Bring me to Octavius. [Exeunt. 



SCENE II. 



JULIUS CiESAE. 



Til 



SCENE III.— The Same. A Street. 
Enter Cinna, the Poet. 

Cin. I dreamt to-night, that I did feast with Csesar, 
And things unlikely' charge my fantasy. 
I have no will to wander forth of doors. 
Yet something leads me forth. 

Enter Citizens. 

1 Cit. What is your name ? 

2 Cit. Whither are you going? 

3 Cit. Where do you dwell ? 

4 Cit. Are you a married man, or a bachelor? 

2 Cit. Answer every man directly. 

1 Cit. Ay; and briefly. 
4 Cit. Ay, and wisely. 

3 Cit. Ay, and truly; you were best. 

Cin. What is my name? Whither am I going? 
Where do I dwell ? Am I a married man, or a bache- 
lor ? Then, to answer every man directly, and briefly, 
wisely, and truly, wisely I say, I am a bachelor. 

2 Cit. That 's as much as to say, they are fools that 



marry : — you '11 bear rae a bang for that, I fear. Pro- 
ceed : directly. 

Cin. Directly, I am going to Caesar's funeral. 

1 Cit. As a friend, or an enemy? 
Cin. As a friend. 

2 Cit. That matter is answered directly. 
4 Cit. For your dwelling. — briefly. 
Cin. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. 

3 Cit. Your name, sir, truly. 
Cin. Truly, my name is Cinna. 

1 Cit. Tear him to pieces : he 's a conspirator. 
Cin. I am Cinna, the poet ; I am Cinna, the poet. 

4 Cit. Tear him for his bad verses ; tear him for his 
bad verses. 

Cin. I am not Cinna the conspirator. 

2 Cit. It is no matter: his name 's Cimia: pluck but 
his name out of his heart, and turn him going. 

3 Cit. Tear him, tear him ! Come : brands, ho ! fire- 
brands ! To Brutus, to Cassius ; burn all. Some to 
Decius' house, and some to Casca's ; some to Ligarius. 
Away ! go ! [Exeunt.^ forcing out Cinna. 



ACT IV 



SCENE I. — The Same. A Room in Antony's House. 

Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus, seated at a Table. 

Ant. These many, then, shall die ; their names are 
prick'd. 

Oct. Your brother, too, must die : consent you, Le- 
pidus ? 

Lcp. I do consent. 

Oct. Prick him down, Antony. 

Lep. Upon condition Publius shall not live. 
Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony. 

Ant. He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn him. 
But, Lepidus, go you to Csesar's house ; 
Fetch the will hither, and we will determine 
How to cut off" some charge in legacies. 

Lep. What, shall I find you here ? 

Oct. Or here, or at the Capitol. [Exit Lepidus. 

Ant. This is a slight unmeritable man. 
Meet to be sent on errands : is it fit. 
The threefold world divided, he should stand 
One of the three to share it ? 

Oct. So you thought him; 

And took his voice who should be prick'd to die 
In our black sentence and proscription. 

Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than you : 
And though we lay these honours on this man, 
To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads, 
He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold, 
To groan and sweat under the business. 
Either led or driven, as we point the way ; 
And having brought our treasure where we will. 
Then take we down his load, and turn him off", 
Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears, 
And graze on commons. 

Oct. You may do your will ; 

But he 's a tried and valiant soldier. 

Ant. So is my horse, Octavius ; and for that 
I do appoint him store of provender ; 
It is a creature that I teach to fight, 
To wind, to stop, to run directly on. 
His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit : 

1 unlnckily : in f. e. * The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 
means strctch'd. 



And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so ; 

He mu.st be taught, and traiu'd, and bid go forth. 

A barren-spirited fellow ; one that feeds 

On objects, arts, and imitations, 

Which, out of u^e and staled by other men, 

Begin his fashion ; do not talk of him. 

But as a property. And now, Octavius, 

Listen great things. Brutus and Cassius, 

Are levying powers : we must straight make head ; 

Therefore, let our alliance be combin'd. 

Our best friends made, and our best means stretch'd 

out f 
And let us presently go sit in council. 
How covert matters may be best disclos'd, 
And open perils surest answered. 

Oct. Let us do so, for we are at the stake, 
And bayed about with many enemies ; 
And some, that smile, have in their hearts, I fear. 
Millions of mischiefs. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Before Brutus' Tent, in the Camp near 

Sardis. 

Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and Soldiers: 
TiTiNius and Pindarus 7neet them. 

Bru. Stand, ho ! 

Luc. Give the word, ho ! and stand. 

Bru. What now, Lucilius ? is Cassius near ? 

Luc. He is at hand : and Pindarus is come 
To do you salutation from his master. 

[Pindarus gives a Letter to Brutus. 

Bru. He greets me well. — Your master, Pindarus, 
In his own change, or by ill oflicers. 
Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
Things done, undone ; but, if he be at hand, 
I shall be satisfied. 

Pin. I do not doubt. 

But that my noble master will a^ppear 
Such as he is, full of regard and honour. 

Bru. He is not doubted. — A word, Lucilius : 
How he receiv'd you let me be resolv'd. 

Luc. With courtesy and with respect enough ; 

i 
So the folio, 1632 ; first folio gives the lino : Our best friends made, our 



712 



JULIUS CiESAK. 



ACT IV. 



But not with such familiar instances, 

Nor with such free and friendly conference, 

As he hath used of old. 

Bru. Thou hast describ'd 

A hot friend cooling. Ever note, Lucilius, 
When love begins to sicken and decay, 
It useth an enforced ceremony. 
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith ; 
But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, 
Make gallant show and promise of their mettle, 
But when they should endure the bloody spur, 
They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades, 
Sink in the trial. Comes his army on ? 

Luc. They mean this night in Sardis to be quar- 
ter'd : 
The greater part, the horse in general, 
Are come with Cassius. [March within. 

Bru. Hark ! he is arriv'd. — 

March gently on to meet him. 

E7iter Cassius and Soldiers. 

Cas. Stand, ho ! 

Bru. Stand, ho ! Speak the word along. 

Within. Stand. 

Within. Stand. 

Within. Stand. [One after the other, and fainter} 

Cas. Most noble brother, you have done me wrong. 

Bru. Judge me, you gods ! Wrong I mine enemies ? 
And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother ? 

Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wTongs ; 
And when you do them 

Bru. Cassius. be content ; 

Speak your griefs softly : I do know you well. 
Before the eyes of both our armies here, 
Which should perceive nothing but love from us, 
Let us not wrangle : bid them move away ; 
Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, 
And I will give you audience. 

Cas. Pindarus, 

Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
A little from this ground. 

Bru. Lucilius, do you the like ; and let no man 
Come to our tent, till we have done our conference. 
Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IIL— Within the Tent of Brutus. 

Lucius and Titinius at some distance from it. 

Enter Brutus and Cassius. 

Cas. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this : 
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Bella 
For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
Wherein my letters, praying on his side. 
Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 

Bru. You -wTong'd yourself to WTite in such a case. 

Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet 
That every nice^ offence should bear his comment. 

Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm ; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold 
To undeservers. 

Cas. I an itching palm ? 

You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
Or by the gods this speech were else your last. 

Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption, 
And chastisement does therefore hide his head. 

Cas. Chastisement ! 

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember. 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, 
And not for justice ? What ! shall one of us, 

» Not in f. e. » Trifling. 3 noblo : in f. e. 



That struck the foremost man of all this world, 
But for supporting robbers, shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes. 
And sell the mighty space of our large honours, 
For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? 
I had rather be a dog. and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman. 

Cas. Brutus, bay not me, 

I '11 not endure it : you forget yourself, 
To hedge me in. I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Bru. Go to ; you are not, Cassius. 

Cas. 1 am. 

Bru. 1 say, you are not. 

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself : 
Have mind upon your health ; tempt me no farther. 

Bru. Away, slight man ! 

Cas. Is 't possible ? 

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 

Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? 
Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares ? 

Cas. ye gods ! ye gods ! Must I endure all this ? 

Bru. All this ? ay. more. Fret, till your proud 
heart break ; 
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? 
Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humour ? By the gods, 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen. 
Though it do split you ; for from this day forth, 
I '11 use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 
When you are waspish. 

Cas. Is it come to this ? 

Bru. You say, you are a better soldier : 
Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
And it shall please me well. For mine own part, 
I shall be glad to learn of abler' men. 

Cas. You wrong me every way ; you T\Tong me, 
Brutus ; 
I said, an older soldier, not a better : 
Did I say, better ? 

Bru. If you did, I care not. 

Cas. When Caesar liv'd, he durst not thus have 
mov'd me. 

Bru. Peace, peace ! you durst not so have tempted him 

Cas. I durst not ? 

Bru. No. 

Cas. What ! durst not tempt him ? 

Bru. For your life you durst not 

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love ; 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your tlireats, 
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty, 
That they pass by me as the idle wind. 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; 
For I can raise no money by vile moans : 
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart. 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash, 
By any indirection. I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions. 
Which you denied me : was that done like Cassius ? 
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so? 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends. 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts 



SCENE m. 



JULIUS C^SAK. 



713 



I denied you not. 



Dash him to pieces ! 

Cas. 

Bru. You did. 

C(xs. I did not : he was but a fool, 

That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath riv'd my 

heart : 
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 

Cas. You love me not. 

Bru. I do not like your faults. 

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they did appear 
As huge as high Olympus. 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aweary of the world : 
Hated by one he loves ; brav'd by his brother ; 
Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults obscrv'd. 
Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote, 
To cast into my teeth. ! I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes. — There is my dagger, 
And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
I. that denied thee gold will give my heart. 
Strike, as thou didst at Csesar; for, I know. 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him 

better 
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. 

Bru. Sheath your dagger. 

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope : 
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
Cassius ! you are yoked with a lamb. 
That carries anger as the flint bears fire. 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
And straight is cold again. 

Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd 

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him ? 

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too. 

Cas. Do you confess so mvich ? Give me your hand. 

Bru. And my heart, too. 

Cas. Brutus !— 

Bru. What 's the matter ? 

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me. 
When that rash humour, which my mother gave me. 
Makes me forgetful ? 

Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and, from henceforth. 

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
He '11 think your mother chides, and leave you so. 

[Noise within. 

Poet. [ Within^ Let me go in to sec the generals. 
There is some grudge between them ; 't is not meet 
They be alone. 

Luc. [Within.^ You shall not come to them. 

Poet. [Within.] Nothing but death shall stay me. 
Enter Pod. 

Cas. How now ! What 's the matter ? 

Poet. For shame, you generals ! Wliat do you mean ? 
Love, and be friends, as two such men sliould be. 
For I have seen more years, I am sure, than yc. 

Cas. Ha, ha ! how vilely doth this cynic rhyme. 

Bru. Get you hence, sirrah : saucy fellow, hence. 

Cas. Bear with him, Brutus : 't is his fashion. 

Bru. I '11 know his humour, when lie knows his time. 
What should the wars do witli these jigging fools ? 
Companion,' hence. 

Cas. Away, away ! be gone. [Exit Poet. 

' Fellow. 



Enter Lucilius and Titinius. 

Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders 
Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. 

Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala with 
you, 
Immediately to us. [Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius. 

Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine. 

Cas. I did not think you could have been so angry. 

Bru. Cassius ! I am sick of many griefs. 

Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, 
If you give place to accidental evils. 

Bru. No man bears sorrow better. — Portia is dead. 

Cas. Ha! Portia? 

Bru. She is dead. 

Cas. How scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you so ? — 
0, insupportable and touching loss ! — 
Upon what sickness ? 

Bru. Impatient of my absence. 

And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
Have made themselves so strong ; — for with her death 
That tidings came. — With this she fell distract. 
And. her attendants absent, swallow'd fire. 

Cas. And died so ? 

Bru. Even so. 

Cas. 0, ye immortal gods ! 

Enter Lucius, with Wine and Tapers. 

Bru. Speak no more of her. — Give me a bowl of wine : 
In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks. 

Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. — 
Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup ; 
I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. [Brinks. 

Re-enter Titinius, ivith Messala. 

Bru. Come in, Titinius. — Welcome, good Messala. — 
Now sit we close about this taper here, 
And call in question our necessities. 

Cas. Portia, art thou gone ? 

Bru. No more, I pray you. — 

Messala, I have here received letters. 
That young Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
Come down upon us with a mighty power, 
Bending their expedition toward Philippi. 

Mcs. Myself have letters of the self-same tenour. 

Bru. With what addition ? 

3Ies. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry, 
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, 
Have put to death an hundred senators. 

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree : 
Mine speak of seventy senators, that died 
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 

Cas. Cicero one ? 

Mcs. Cicero is dead. 
And by that order of prescription. — 
Had you your letters from your wife, my lord ? 

Bru. No, Messala. 

Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her ? 

Bru. Nothing, Messala. 

Mes. ~ That, methinks, is strange. 

Bru. Why ask you ? Hear you aught of her in yours ? 

Mcs. No, my lord. 

Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. 

Mcs. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : 
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. 

Bru. Why, farewell, Portia.— We must die, Messala : 
With meditating that she must die once, 
I have the patience to endure it now. 

Mcs. Even so great men great losses should endure. 

Cas. I have as much of this in art as you, 
But yet my nature could not bear it so. 

Bru. Well, to our work alive. — ^What do you think 



T14 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



ACT ly. 



Of marching to Philippi presently ? 

Cas. I do not think it good. 

Bru. Your reason ? 

Cas. This it is. 

'T is better, that the enemy seek us : 
So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, 
Doing himself offence ; whilst we, lying still, 
Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 

Bni. Good reasons must, of force, give place to better. 
The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground, 
Do stand but in a forc'd affection, 
For they have grudg'd us contribution : 
The enemy, marching along by them, 
By them shall make a fuller number up, 
Come on refresli'd, new-hearted^, and encourag'd j 
From which advantage shall we cut him off, 
If at Philippi we do face him there, 
These people at our back. 

Cas. Hear me, good brother. 

Bru. Under your pardon. — You must note beside. 
That we have tried the utmost of our friends. 
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe : 
The enemy increase th every day ; 
We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 
Omitted, all tlie voyage of their life 
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries. 
On such a full sea are we now afloat, 
And we must take the current when it serves. 
Or lose our ventures. 

Cas. Then, with your will, go on : 

We will along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi. 

Bru. The deep of night has crept upon our talk, 
And nature must obey necessity. 
Which we will niggard with a little rest. 
There is no more to say ? 

Cas. No more. — Good night : 

Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. 

Bru. Lucius, my gown. [Exit Lucius.] — Farewell, 
good Messala : — 
Good night, Titiniiis. — Noble, noble Cassius, 
Good night, and good repose. 

Cas. ! my dear brother, 

This was an ill beginning of the night. 
Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 
Let it not, Brutus. 

Bru. Every thing is well. 

Cas. Good night, my lord. 

Brti: Good night, good brother. 

Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus. 

Bru. Farewell, every one. 

[Exeunt Cas. Tit. and Mes. 
Re-enter Lucius, tvith the Goum. 
Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument ? 

Luc. Here in the tent. 

Bru. What ! thou speak'st drowsily ? 

Poor knave, I blame thee not ; thou art o'er-watch'd. 
Call Claudius, and some other of my men; 
[ '11 have them sleep on cushions in my tent. 

Luc. Varro. and Claudius ! 

Enter Varro and Claudius, 

Var. Calls my lord ? 

Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent, and sleep : 
It may be. I shall raise you by and by 
On business to my brother Cassius. 

Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your 
pleasure. 

Bru. I will not have it so ; lie do-wii, good sirs : 

1 new-added : ic f. e. Dyoe reads : new-aided, a Not in f. e. 



It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me. 

Look, Lucius, here 's the book I sought for so ; 

I put it in the pocket of my gown. [Servants lie down. 

Luc. I was sure, your lordship did not give it me. 

Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. 
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile. 
And touch thy in.strument a strain or two ? 

Luc. Ay, my lord, an 't please you. 

Bru. It does, my boy, 

I trouble thee too much, but thou art wdlling. 

Lvc. It is my duty, .sir. 

Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might: 
I know, young bloods look for a time of rest. 

Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. 

Bru. It was well done, and thou shalt sleep again; 
I will not hold thee long ; if I do live, 
I will be good -to thee. [Music, and a Song. 

This is a sleepy tune. — murderous slumber ! 

[Lucius falls asleep.^ 
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, 
Tliat plays thee music ? — Gentle knave, good night ; 
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. 
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument : 
I '11 take it from thee ; and, good boy, good night. — 
Let me see, let me see : is not the leaf turn'd dowp, 
Where I left reading ? Here it is, I think. 

[He sits down to read. 
Enter the Ghost of C^sar. 
How ill this taper burns. — Ha ! who comes here? 
I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes 
That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
It comes upon me. — Art thou any thing? 
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil. 
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare ? 
Speak to me, what thou art. 

Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 

Bru. Why com'st thou? 

Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi. 

Bru. Well; then I shall see thee again ? 

Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. 

[Ghost vanishes. 

Bru. Wliy, I will see thee at Philippi then. — 
Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest : 
111 spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. — 
Boy ! Lucius ! — Varro ! Claudius ! Sirs, awake ! — 
Claudius ! 

Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. 

Bru. He thinks, he still is at his instrument. — 
Lucius, awake ! 

Luc. Mv lord. 

Bru. 

out? 

Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. 

Bru. Yes, that thou didst. Didst thou see any 
thing ? 

Luc. Nothing, my lord. 

Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. — Sirrah, Claudius ! 
Fellow thou : awake ! 

Var. My lord. 

Clau. My lord. 

Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep ? 

Var. Clau. Did we, my lord ? 

Bru. Ay : saw you any thing ? 

Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing. 

Clau. Nor I, my lord. 

Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Cassius : 
Bid him set on his powers betimes before, 
And we will follow. 

Var. Clau. It shall be done, my lord. [Exeunt. 



Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst 



SCENE I. 



JULIUS C^SAK. 



715 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— The Plains of Philippi. 
Enter Octavius, Antony, and their Army. 

Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered. 
You said, the enemy would not come down, 
But keep the hills and upper regions ; 
It proves not so : their battles are at hand ; 
They mean to warn* us at Philippi here, 
Answering before we do demand of them. 

Ant. Tut ! I am in their bosoms, and I know 
Wherefore they do it : they could be content 
To visit other places ; and come down 
With fearful bravery, thinking by this face 
To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage • 
But 't is not so. 

Enter a Messenger. 

3Icss. Prepare you, generals ; 

The enemy comes on in gallant show : 
Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, 
And something to be done immediately. 

Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on. 
Upon the left hand of tlie even field. 

Oct. Upon the right hand I ; keep thou the left. 

Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent ? 

Oct. I do not cross yoi; ; but I will do so. [3Iarch. 

Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their Army ; 
LuciLius, TiTiNius, Messala, and others. 

Bru. They stand, and would have parley. 

Cas. Stand fast, Titinius ; we mu.st out and talk. 

Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle ? 

Ant. No, Ciiesar, we will answer on their charge. 
]\lake forth : the generals would have some words. 

Oct. Stir not until the signal. 

Bru. Words before blows : is it so, countrymen? 

Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. 

Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes, Oc- 
taA'ius. 

Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good 
words : 
Witness the hole you made in Cscsar's heart. 
Crying. " Long live ! hail, Csesar !" 

Cas.' Antony, 

The posture of your blows is j^et unknown ; 
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees. 
And leave tliem honeyless. 

Ant. Not stingless. too. 

Bru. ! yes, and soundless too ; 
For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, 
And very wisely threat before you sting. 

A at. Villains ! you did not so when your "vile daggers 
Hack'd one another in the sides of Cecsar : 
You sliow'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like hounds. 
And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Cspsar's feet ) 
While damned Casca, like a cur, behind 
Struck Csesar on the neck. 0, you flatterers ! 

Cas. Flatterers ! — Now, Brutus, thank yourself: 
This tongue had not offended so to-day, 
If Cassius might have rul'd. 

Oct. Come, come, the cause : if arguing make us 
sweat, 
The proof of it will turn to redder drops. 
Look ; I draw sword against conspirators ; — 
When think you that the sword goes up again? — 
Never, till Csesar's three and thirty wounds- 



Be well aveng'd ; or till another Csesar 
Have added slaughter to the word of traitor.' 

Bru. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands, 
Unless thou bring'st them with thee. 

Oct. So I hope : 

I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. 

Bru. ! if thou wert the noblest of thy strain, 
Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable. 

Cas. A peevish .schoolboy, worthless of such honour, 
Join'd with a masker and a reveller. 

A7it. Old Cassius still. 

Oct. Come, Antony ,• away ! — 

Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth. 
If you dare fight to-day, come to the field ; 
If not, when you have stomachs. 

[Exeunt Octavius, Antont, and their Army. 

Cas. Why now, blow wind, swell billow, and swim 
bark ! 
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. 

Bru. Ho, Lucilius ! hark, a word with you. 

Lite. My lord. [Brutus and Lucilius talk apart. 

Cas. Messala ! 

Mes. What says the general ? 

Cas. Messala, 

This is my birth-day ; as this very day 
Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala : 
Be Ihou my witness, that against my will, 
As Pompey was. am I compell'd to set 
Upon one battle all our liberties. 
You know, that I held Epicurus strong, 
And his opinion : now, I change my mind, 
And partly credit things that do presage. 
Coming from Sardis, on our forward^ ensign 
Two mighty eagles fell ; and there they perch'd, 
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands ; 
Who to Philippi here consorted us : 
This morning are they fled away, and gone, 
And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites. 
Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us. 
As we were sickly prey : their shadows seem 
A canopy most fatal, under wliich 
Our army lies ready to give up the ghost. 

3Ies. Believe not so. 

Cas. I but believe it partly, 

For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv'd 
To meet all perils very constantly. 

Bru. Even so, Lucilius. [Lucilius .-ttajids hack.'' 

Cas. Now, most noble Brutus, 

The gods to-day stand friendly ! that we may, 
LoA'crs in peace, lead on our days to age : 
But since the affairs of men rest still incertain, 
Let 's reason with the worst that may befal. 
If we do lose this battle, then is this 
The very last tftne we shall speak together : 
What are you then determined to do ? 

Bru. Even by the rule of that philosophy. 
By whicli I did blame Cato for the death 
Wliich he did give himself. I know not how. 
But I do find it cowardly and vile. 
For fear of what might fall, so to prevent 
The term' of life, — arming myself A^ith patience. 
To stay the providence of those' high pow-ers. 
That govern us below. 

Cas. Then, if we lose this battle. 



* Summon. 
0. * former ; 



' So old copies. Theobald changed, to three and twenty, to correspond with the classic historians. ^ eword of traitors : in 
in f. e. * Not in f. e. • time : in f. e. ' some : in f. e. 



716 



JULIUS C^SAE. 



ACT V. 



You are contented to be led in triumph 
Thorough the streets of Rome ? 

Bru. No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman, 
That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome ; 
He bears too great a mind : but this same day 
Must end that work the ides of March began, 
And whether we shall meet again, I know not. 
Therefore, our everlasting farewell take : — 
For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius. 
If we do meet again, why we shall smile ; 
If not, why then, this parting was well made. 

Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus. 
If we do meet again, we '11 smile indeed • 
If not, 't is true, this parting was well made. 

Bru. Why then, lead on. — 0, that a man might know 
The end of this day's business, ere it come ! 
But it sufficeth, that the day will end. 
And then the end is known. — Come, ho ! aWay ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. The Field of Battle. 
Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala. 
Bru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills 
Unto the legions on the other side. [Loud Alarum. 

Let them set on at once ; for I perceive 
But cold demeanour in Octavius' wing, 
And sudden push gives them the overthrow. 
Ride, ride, Messala : let them all come down. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. Another Part of the Field. 

Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius. 

Cas. 0. look, Titinius, look ! the villains fly. 
Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy : 
This ensign here of mine was turning back ; 
I slew the coward, and did take it from him. 

Tit. Cassius ! Brutus gave the word too early; 
Who having some advantage on Octavius, 
Took it too eagerly ; his soldiers fell to spoil, 
Whilst we by Antony are all enclos'd. 
Enter Pindarus. 

Pin. Fly farther off, my lord, fly farther off; 
Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord : 
Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off". 

Cas. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius ; 
Are those my tents where I perceive the fire ? 

Tit. They are, my lord. 

Cas. Titinius, if thou lov'st me, 

Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him, 
Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops, 
And here again ; that I may rest assur'd, 
Whether youd' troops are friend or enemy. 

Tit. I will be here again, even with a thought. [Exit. 

Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill : 
My sight was ever thick ; regard Titinius, 
And tell me what thou not'st about the field. — 

[Exit Pindarus. 
This day I breathed first ; time is come round, 
And where I did begin, there shall I end : 
My life is run his compass. — Sirrah, what news ? 

Fin. [Above^ O my lord ! 

Cas. What news ? 

Pin. Titinius is enclosed round about 
With horsemen, that make to him on the spur ; — 
Yet he spurs on : — now they are almost on him. 
Now, Titinius ! — now some 'light : — ! he 'lights too : — 
He 's ta'en : and, hark ! [Shout] they shout for joy. 

Cas. Come down ; behold no more.. — 

0, coward that I am, to live so long. 
To see my best friend ta'en before my face ! 



Enter Pindarus. 
Come hither, sirrah. 
In Parthia did I take thee prisoner ; 
And then I swore thee, saving of thy life. 
That whatsoever I did bid thee do. 
Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath : 
Now be a freeman ; and with this good sword. 
That ran through Csesar's bowels, search this bosom. 
Stand not to answer : here, take thou the hilts ; 
And when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now. 
Guide thou the sword. — Csesar. thou art reveng'd. 
Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies. 

Pin. So, I am free ; yet would not so have been, 
Durst I have done my will. Cassius ! 
Far from this countrv Pindarus shall run, 
Where never Roman shall take note of hiiH. [Exit. 
Re-enter Titinius, with Messala. 

Mes. It is but change, Titinius ; for Octavius 
Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power, 
As Cassius' legions are by Antony. 

Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius. 

Mes. Where did you leave him ? 

Tit. All disconsolate, 

With Pindarus, his bondman, on this hill. 

Mes. Is not that he, that lies upon the ground ? 

Tit. He lies not like the living. — my heart ! 

Mes. Is not that he ? 



Tit. 



No, this was he, Messala. 



But Cassius is no more. — setting sun ! 

As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night, 

So in his red blood Cassius' day is set : 

The sun of Rome is set. Our day is gone ; 

Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done. 

Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. 

Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. 
hateful error ! melancholy's child. 
Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men 
The things that are not ? error ! soon conceiv'd, 
Thou never com'st unto a happy birth, 
But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee. 

Tit. What, Pindarus ! Where art thou, Pindarus ? 

Mes. Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet 
The noble Brutus, thrusting this report 
Into his ears : I may say, thrusting it ; 
For piercing steel, and darts envenomed, 
Shall be as vrelcome to the ears of Brutus, 
As tidings of this sight. 

Tit. Hie you, Messala, 

And I will seek for Pindarus the while. [Exit Messala. 
Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius ? 
Did I not meet thy friends ? and did not they 
Put on my brows this wreath of victory. 
And bid me give it thee ? Didst not thou hear their 

shouts ? 
Alas ! thou hast misconstrued every thing. 
But hold thee ; take this garland on thy brow : 
Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I 
Will do his bidding. — Brutus, come apace, 
And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. — 
By your leave, gods : — This is a Roman's part : 
Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart. [Dies. 
Alarum. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, young Cato, 
Strato, Volumnius, and Lucilius. 

Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie ? 

Mes. Lo ! yonder ; and Titinius mourning it. 

Bru. Titinius' face is upward. 

Cato. He is slain. 

Bru. Julius Csesar ! thou art mighty yet : 
Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
In our own proper entrails. [Low Alarums. 



SCENE V. 



JULIUS C^SAK. 



Y17 



Cato. Brave Titiiiius ! 

Look, whe'r he have not crown'd dead Cassius ! 

Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as these? — 
The last of all the Romans, fare thee well ! 
It is impossible that ever Rome 
Should breed thy fellow. — Friends, T owe more tears 
To this dead man, than you shall see me pay. — 
I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. — 
Come, therefore, and to Thassos send his body : 
His funerals shall not be in our camp, 
Lest it discomfort us. — Lucilius, come ; — 
And come, young Cato ; let us to the field. — 
Labeo, and Flavins, set our battles on ! — 
'T is three o'clock ; and, Romans, yet ere night 
We shall try fortune in a second fight. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Field. 
Alarum. Enter, fighting, Soldiers of both Armies ; then 
Brutus, Cato, Lucilius, and others. 
Bru. Yet, countrymen, ! yet hold up your heads. 
Cato. What bastard doth not ? Who will go with me ? 
I will proclaim my name about the field. — 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend. 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! [Charges the Enemy. 

Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I ; 
Brutus, my country's friend : know me for Brutus. 
[Exit, charging the Enemy. Cato is overpowered, 
and falls. 
Luc. 0, young and noble Cato ! art thou down? 
Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius, 
And may'st be honour'd being Cato's son. 
1 Sold. Yield, or thou diest. 
Luc. Only I yield to die : 

There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight. 

[Ojfering money. 
Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death. 

1 Sold. We must not. — A noble prisoner ! 

2 Sold. Room, ho ! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en. 

1 Sold. I '11 tell the news : — Here comes the gene- 
ral. — 

Enter Antony. 
Bnitus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 

Aiit. Where is he ? 

Luc. Safe, Antony ; Brutus is safe enough. 
I dare assure thee, that no enemy 
Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus : 
The gods defend him from so great a shame ! 
When you do find him, or alive, or dead, 
He will be found like Brutus, like himself. 

Ant. This is not Brutus, friend ; but, I assure you, 
A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe, 
Give him all kindness : I had rather have 
Such men my friends, than enemies. Go on, 
And see whe'r Brutus be alive, or dead ; 
And bring us word unto Octavius' tent, 
How every thing is chanc'd. [Exettnt. 

SCENE v.— Another Part of the Field. 
Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and 

VOLUMNIUS. 

Brri. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock. 

Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light ; but, my lord. 
He came not back : he is or ta'en, or slain. 

Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus ; slaying is the word; 
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. — 

[ lVhisperi77g. 

Cli. What ! I, my lord ? No, not for all the world. 

Bru. Peace then : no words. 

I Not in f. e. 



Cli. I '11 rather kill myself. 

Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius ! [Whispers him. 

Bar. Shall I do such a deed ? 

Cli. 0, Dardanius ! 

Bar. 0, Clitus ! 

Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee ? 

Bar. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates. 

Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, 
That it runs over even at his eyes. 

Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius : list a word. 

Vol. What says my lord ? 

Bru. Why, this, Volumnius. 

The ghost of Ctesar hath appear'd to me 
Two several times by night : at Sardis once j 
And, this last night, here in Philippi' fields. 
I know my hour is come. 

Vol. Not so, my lord. 

Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 
Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes ; 
Our enemies have beat us to the pit : [Low Alarums. 
It is more worthy to leap in ourselves, 
Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, 
Thou know'st that we two went to school together ; 
Even for that our love of old, I pray thee. 
Hold thou my sword-hilts whilst I run on it. 

Vol. That 's not an office for a friend, my lord. 

[Alarum still. 

Cli. Fly, fly, my lord ! there is no tarrying here. 

Bru. Farewell to you •. — and you ; — and you, Volum- 
nius. — [Shaking hands severally.^ 
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep ; 
Farewell to thee too, Strato. — Countrymen, 
My heart doth joy, that yet in all my life 
I found no man, but he was true to me. 
I shall have glory by this losing day. 
More than Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 
So, fare you well at once ; for Brutus' tongue 
Hath almost ended his life's history. 
Night hangs upon mine eyes ; my bones would rest, 
That have but labour'd to attain this hour. 

[Alarum. Cry within; Fly, fly, fly ! 

Cli. Fly, my lord, fly ! 

Bru. Hence : I will follow. 

[Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius. and Volumnius. 
I pr'ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord. 
Thou art a fellow of a good re-spect ; 
Thy life hath had some snatch of honour in it : 
Hold, then, my sword, and turn away thy face, 
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato ? 

Stra. Give me your hand first : fare you well, my lord. 

Bru. Farewell, good Strato. — Ccesar, now be still: 
I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. 

[He runs on his Sword, and dies. 
Alarurn. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony, Mes- 
SALA, Lucilius, and their Army. 

Oct. What man is that ? 

Mes. My master's man. — Strato, where is thy master? 

Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala: 
The conquerors can but make a fire of him ; 
For Brutus only overcame himself, 
And no man else hath honour by his death. 

Luc. So Brutus should be found. — I thank thee, 
Brutus, 
That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true. 

Oct. All that serv'd Brutus I will entertain them. 
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me ? 

Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. 

Oct. Do so, good Messala. 



718 



JULIUS CJSSAK. 



ACT V. 



Mes. How died my master, Strato ? 

Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it. 

Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee, 
That did the latest ser\dce to my master. 

Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all 
All the conspirators, save only he, 
Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; 
He, only, in a generous' honest thought 
Of= common good to all, made one of them, 

1 general : in f. e. 2 And : ia f. e 



His life was gentle ; and the elements 
So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up 
And say to all the world, " This was a man !^' 
Oct. According to his virtue let us use him 
With all respect, and rites of burial. ' 

Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie 

Most like a soldier, order'd honourably. ' 

So, call the field to rest ; and let 's away, 

To part the glories of this happy day. ' [Exeunt. 



MACBETH. 



DRAMATIS PKESON^. 



Duncan, King of Scotland. 
Malcolm, ) 



his Sons. 



[ Generals of his Army. 



Thanes of Scotland. 



Son to Macduff. 

An EnglLsh Doctor. A 

A Soldier. A Porter. 



Scotch Doctor. 
An Old Man. 



DoNALBAIN, 

Macbeth, 
Banquo, 
Macduff, 
Lenox, 

ROSSE, 

Menteth, 

Angus, 

Cathness, 

Fleance, Son to Banquo. 

Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants, and Messengers, 

The Ghost of Banquo, and other Apparitions. 

SCENE, in the end of the fourth Act, in England ; through the rest of the Play, in Scotland. 



SiwARD, Earl of Northumberland, General of the 

English Forces. 
Young SiwARD, his Son-. 
Seyton, an Officer attending Macbeth. 



Lady Macbeth. 

Lady Macduff. 

Gentlewoman attending Lady Macbeth. 

Hecate, and Witches. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L— An open Place. 
Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches. 

1 Witch. When shall we three meet again. 
In thunder, lightning, or in rain? 

2 JVitch. When the hurlyburly 's* done, 
When the battle 's lost and won. 

3 Witch. That will be ere the set of sun. 

1 Witch. Where the place? 

2 Witch. Upon the heath : 

3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. 
1 Witch. I come, Graymalkin ! 

All. Paddock'-" calls : — Anon. — 
Fair is foul, and foul is fair : 
Hover through the fog and filthy air. [Witches vanish. 

SCENE II.— A Camp near Fores. 
Sennet within. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Do- 

nalbain, Lenox, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding 

Soldier. 

Bun. What bloody man is that ? He can report, 
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt 
The newest state. 

Mai. This is the sergeant, 

Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 
'Gainst my captivity. — Hail, brave friend ! 
Say to the king thy knowledge of the broil, 
As thou didst leave it. 

Sold. Doubtful it stood ; 

As two spent swimmers, that do cling together 
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald 
(Worthy to be a rebel, for to that 
The multiplying villainies of nature 
Do swarm upon him) from the western isles 



Of Kernes and Gallowglasses^ is supplied ; 

And fortune, on his damned quarrel^ smiling, 

Show'd like a rebel's whore : but all 's too weak ; 

For brave Macbeth (well he deserves that name) 

Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, 

Which smok'd with bloody execution, 

Like valour's minion, carv'd out his passage, 

Till he fac'd the slave ; 

Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, 

Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, 

And fi'xd his head upon our battlements. 

Dun. 0, valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman ! 

Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflexion 
Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break,* 
So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, 
Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: 
No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd, 
Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heels, 
But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage. 
With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men, 
Began a fresh assault. 

Dun. Dismay'd not this 

Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo ? 

Sold. Yes; 

As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. 
If I say sooth, I must report they were 
As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks ; 
So they doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe : 
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, 
Or memorize another Golgotha, 
I cannot tell. — 
But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. 

Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy 
wounds : 



1 A name intimating the sownd of that it signifieth, as hurly burly, for an uprore and tumultuous stirre. — Penchnm's Garden of Elo- 
guence.li'l. " A toad. ' Vide Second Part of Henry VI., Act iv., So. ix. * quarry : in folio. Johnson made the change. * Not in 
first folio. Pope changed " breaking" of second, to " break." 



720 



MACBETH. 



ACT I. 



They smack of honour both. — Go, get him surgeons. 

[Exit Soldier, attended. 
Enter Rosse and Angus. 
Who comes here ? 

3Ial. The worthy thane of Rosse. 

Lcn. What haste looks through his eyes ! 
So should he look, that comes^ to speak things strange. 

Rosse. God save the king ! 

Dun, Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane? 

Rosse. From Fife, great king ; 
Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky 
And fan our people cold. 
Norway himself, with terrible numbers, 
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor, 
The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict ; 
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, 
Confronted him with self-comparisons. 
Point against point, rebellious arm 'gainst arm, 
Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, 
The victory fell on us ; — 

Dun. Great happiness ! 

Rosse. That now 
Sweno, the Norway's king, craves composition ; 
Nor would we deign him burial of his men, 
Till he disbursed at Saint Colmes' Inch 
Ten thousand dollars to our general use. 

Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive 
Our bosom interest. — Go, pronounce his present death, 
And with his former title greet Macbeth. 

Rosse, I '11 see it done. 

Du7i. What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— A Heath. 

Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 

1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister ? 

2 Witch. Killing swine. 

3 IVitch. Sister, where thou ? 

1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap, 
And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd : " Give 

me." quoth I : — 
" Aroint^ thee, witch !" the rump-fed ronyon' cries. 
Her husband 's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger : 
But in a sieve I '11 thither sail, 
And, like a rat without a tail, 
I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 

2 Witch. I '11 give thee a wind. 
1 Witch. Thou art kind. 

3 Witch. And I another. 

1 Witch. I myself have all the other ; 
And the very ports they blow. 

All the quarters that they know 
r the shipman's card to show.* 
1 '11 drain him dry as hay : 
Sleep shall, neither night nor day, 
Hang upon his pent-house lid ; 
He shall live a man forbid. 
Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, 
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine : 
Though his bark cannot be lost, 
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. — 
Look what I have. 

2 Witch. Show me, show me. 

1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, 
Wreck'd as homeward he did come. [Drum within. 

3 W-itch. A drum ! a drum ! 
Macbeth doth come. 

All. The weird' sisters, hand in hand, 



All hail ! Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of 



Posters of the sea and land, 
Thus do go about, about : 
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine. 
And thrice again, to make up nine. 
Peace ! — the charm 's wound up. 

Enter Macbeth and Banquo, 

Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 

Ban. How far is 't called to Fores ? — What are these, 
So wither'd, and so wild in their attire, 
That look not like th' inhabitants o' the earth, 
And yet are on 't? Live you ? or are you aught 
That man may question ? You seem to understand me, 
By each at once her chappy finger laying 
Upon her skinny lips. You should be women, 
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
That you are so. 

Macb. Speak, if you can. — What are you ? 

1 Witch 

Glamis ! 

2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of 

Cawdor ! 

3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! that shalt be king 

hereafter. 
Ban. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear 
Things that do sound so fair ? — I' the name of truth, 
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed 
Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner 
You greet with present grace, and great prediction 
Of noble having, and of royal hope. 
That he seems rapt withal : to me you speak not. 
If you can look into the seeds of time. 
And say which grain will grow, and which will not, 
Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, 
Your favours, nor your hate. 

1 Witch. Hail ! 

2 Witch. Hail ! 

3 Witch. Hail ! 

1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 

2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 

3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none. 
So, all hail, Macbeth, and Banquo ! 

1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth; all hail ! 

Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more. 
By Sinel's death, I know, I am thane of Glamis ; 
But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, 
A prosperous gentleman ; and to be king 
Stands not within the prospect of belief. 
No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence 
You owe this strange intelligence ? or why 
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
With such prophetic greeting ? — Speak, I charge you. 

[ Witches vanish. 

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has. 
And these are of them. — Whither have they vanish'd ? 

Macb. Into the air ; and what seem'd corporal, melted 
As breath into the wind. — 'Would they had stay'd ! 

Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about. 
Or have we eaten on the insane root''. 
That takes the reason prisoner ? 

Macb. Your children shall be kings. 

Ban. You .shall be king. 

Macb. And thane of Cawdor too : went it not so? 

Ban. To the self-same tune, and words. Who 's here ? 
Enter Rosse and Angus. 

Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, 
The news of thy success ; and when he reads 
Thy personal venture in the rebel's fight. 
His wonders and his praises do contend. 



» seems : in f. e. 2 gtill used in the sense of driving away, or imprecation., in parts of England ; " rynt thee," is a phrase addressed 
to cows, by milkmaids, when milking. 3 Fr. rogneux, scurf. * The words " to show," are not in f. e. « Saxon, wyrd, fatal. « Hemlock. 



SCENE IV. 



MACBETH.. 



Y21 



Which should be thine, or his. Silenc'd -with that, 
In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, 
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, 
Nothing aCeard of what thyself didst make, 
Strange images of death. As thick as tale,^ 
Came^ post with post ; and every one did bear 
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, 
And pour'd them down before him. 

Ang. We are sent, 

To give thee from our royal master thanks; 
Only to herald thee into his sight. 
Not pay thee. 

Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour. 
He bade me from him call thee thane of Cawdor : 
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane. 
For it is thine. 

Ban. ' What ! can the devil speak true ? 

Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you 
In borrow'd robes ? [dress me 

Ang. Who was the thane, lives yet ; 

But under heavy judgment bears that life 
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combin'd 
With those of Norway, or did line the rebel 
With hidden help and vantage, or that with both 
He laboured in his country's wreck, I know not ; 
But treasons capital, confess'd and prov'd, 
Have overthrown him. 

Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor : 

The greatest is behind. [Aside.\ Thanks for your pains. — 
Do you not hope your children shall be kings. 
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me, 
Promis'd no less to them ? 



Bail. 



That, thrusted^ home, 



Might yet enkindle you unto the crown. 
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 't is strange : 
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm. 
The instruments of darkness tell us truths ; 
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us 
In deepest consequence. — 
Cousins, a word, I pray you. 

Macb. Two truths are told. 

As happy prologues to the swelling act 
Of the imperial theme. [Aside. ^ I thank you, gentle- 
men. — 
This supernatural soliciting ^ \Aside. 

Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : — if ill, 
Why hath it given me earnest of success, 
Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor : 
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion, 
W^hose horrid image doth vinfix my hair, 
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs. 
Against the use of nature ? Present fears 
Are less than horrible imaginings. 
My thought, where murder yet is but fantastical, 
Shakes .so my single state of man, that function 
Is smothered in surmise, and nothing is, 
But what is not. 

Ban. Look, how our partner 's rapt. 

Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance 
may crown me, 
Without my stir. 

Ban. New honours come upon him, 

Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould. 
But with the aid of use. 

Macb. Come what come may, 

Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 

Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. 

Macb. Give me your favour : my dull brain was 
wrought 



With things forgotten. — Kind gentlemen, your pains 
Are register'd where every day I turii 
The leaf to read them. — Let us toward the king. — 
[To Banquo.] Think upon what hath chanc'd ; and, 

at more time, 
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak 
Our free hearts each to other. 

Ban. Very gladly. 

Macb. Till then, enough. — Come, friends. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Fores. A Ptoom in the Palace. 

Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, 
Lenox, and Attendants. 

Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not 
Those in commission yet return'd ? 

Mai. My liege, 

They are not yet come back ; but I have spoke 
With one that saw him die, who did report, 
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons, 
Implor'd your highness' pardon, and set forth 
A deep repentance. Nothing in his life 
Became him like the leaving it : he died 
As one that had been studied in his death, 
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd, 
As 't were a careless trifle. 



Dun. 



There 's no art 



To find the mind's construction in the face : 
He was a gentleman on whom I built 
An absolute trust. — 

Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus. 

worthiest cousin ! [Embrace.'^ 
The sin of my ingratitude even now 

Was heavy on me. Thou art so far before. 
That swiftest wind* of recompense is slow 
To overtake thee : would thou hadst less deserv'd, 
That the proportion both of thanks and payment 
Might have been more" ! only I have left to say, 
More is thy due than more than all can pay. 

Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe. 
In doing it pays itself. Your highness' part 
Is to receive our duties : and our duties 
Are to your throne and state, children, and servants; 
Which do but what they should, by doing every thing 
Safe toward your love and honour. 

Dun. Welcome hither : 

1 have begun to plant thee, and will labour 
To make thee full of growing. — Noble Banquo, 
That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known 
No less to have done so : let me infold thee. 

And hold thee to my heart. [Embrace.'^ 

Ban. There if I grov*^, 

The harvest is your o\\ti. 

Dun. My plenteous joys, 

Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves 
In drops of sorrow. — Sons, kinsmen, thanes, 
And you whose places are the nearest, know, 
We will establish our estate upon 
Our eldest, Malcolm ; whom we name hereafter 
The prince of Cumberland : which honour must 
Not, unaccompanied, invest him only. 



But signs of nobleness, 



like stars, shall 



;hine 



•Rowe reads : hail. 2 Can : in folio. ^ trusted : in f. e. 



On all deservers. — From hence to Inverness, 
And bind us farther to you. 

Blacb. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you, 
I '11 be myself tlic harbinger, and make joyful 
The hearing of my ^^■ife with your approach ; 
So, humbly take my leave. 

Drm. My worthy Cawdor ! 

Macb. The prince of Cumberland ! — That is a step 

■wing : in f. e. * mine : in f. e. '' Not in f. e. 



♦ Not in f. e. 

46 



722 



MACBETH. 



ACT I. 



On which I must fall do^\-n. or else o'er-leap, [Aside. 

For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires : 

Let not light see my black and deep desires • 

The eye wink at the hand ; yet let that be, 

Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. [Exit. 

Dun. True, worthy Banquo : he is full so valiant, 
And in his commendations I am fed ; 
It is a banquet to me. Let us after him, 
Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : 
It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Inverness. A Room in Macbeth's Castle. 
Enter Lady Macbeth, u'ith a letter. 

Lady 31. [Rcads.\ '■ They met me in the day of suc- 
cess ; and I have learned by the perfectest report, they 
have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I 
burned in desire to question them farther, they made 
themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I 
stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the 
king, who all-hailed me, ' Thane of Cawdor ;' by which 
title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and re- 
ferred me to the coming on of time, with, ' Hail, king 
that shalt be !' This have I thought good to deliver 
thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou might- 
est not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of 
what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, 
and farewell." 

Giamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be 
What thou art promised. — Yet I do fear thy nature : 
It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, 
To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great; 
Art not without ambition ; but without 
The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, 
That wouldst thou holily: wouldst not play false, 
And yet wouldst wrongly win : thou 'dst have, great 

Giamis, 
That which cries, " Thus thou must do, if thou have it ; 
And that which rather thou dost fear to do. 
Than wishest should be undone." Hie thee hither, 
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear. 
And chastise with the valour of my tongue. 
All that impedes thee from the golden round, 
Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 
To have thee crown'd withal. — 

Enter an Attendant. 

What is your tidings ? 

Attcn. The king comes here to-night. 

Lady M. Thou 'rt mad to say it. 

Is not thy master with him ? who. were 't so. 
Would have inform'd for preparation. 

Atten. So please you, it is true : our thane is coming. 
One of my fellows had the speed of him ; 
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
Than would make up his message. 

I-a1y M. Give him tending : 

He brings great news. [Exit Attendant.] The raven 

himself is hoarse. 
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits 
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here. 
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full 
Of direst cruelty : make thick my blood 
Stop up th' access and passage to remorse ■ 
That no compunctious visitings of nature 
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
Th' effect and it. Come to my woman's breasts, 
And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, 
Wherever in your sightless substances 



You wait on nature's mischief. Come, thick night, 
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, 
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, 
Nor heaven peep through the blanlmess' of tlie dark, 
To cry, " Hold, hold !"— 

Enter Macbeth. 

Great Giamis ! worthy Cawdor ! 
Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter ! 

[They embrace.^ 
Thy letters have transported me beyond 
TJiis ignorant present, and I feel now 
The future in the instant. 

Macb. My dearest love, 

Duncan comes here to-night. 

Lady M. And when goes hence ? 

Macb. To-morrow, as he purposes. '' 

Lady M. ! never 

Shall sun that morrow see. 
Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men 
May read strange matters: to beguile the time. 
Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye. 
Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent flower, 
But be the serpent under it. He that 's coming 
Must be provided for: and you shall put 
This night's great business into my despatch. 
Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. 

Macb. We will speak farther. 

Lady M. Only look up clear : 

To alter favour ever is to fear, 
Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— The Same. Before the Castle. 

Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalb.mn. Banquo, Lenox, 

Macduff, Rosse, Angus, and Attendants. 

Bun. This castle hath a pleasant seat : the air 
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
Unto our gentle senses. 

Ban. This gviest of summer, 

The temple-haunting martlet, does approve. 
By his lov'd mansionry, that tlie heaven's breath 
Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze. 
Buttress, nor coigne of vantage, but this bird 
Hath made his pendent bed, and procreant cradle : 
Wliere they much^ breed and haunt, I have observ'd, 
The air is delicate. 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 



Dun. 



See, see ! our honour'd hostess. 



* blanket : in f. e. 
factor. 



The love that follows us sometime is our trouble. 
Which still we thank as love : herein I teach you. 
How you shall bid God yield us for your pains. 
And thank us for your trouble. 

Lady M. All our service, 

In every point twice done, and then done double. 
Were poor and single business to contend 
Against those honours deep and broad, wherewith 
Your majesty loads our house. For those of old, 
And the late dignities heap'd up to them, 
We rest your hermits.* 

Dun. Where 's the thane of Cawdor ? 

We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose 
To be his purveyor : but he rides well, 
And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him 
To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess. 
We are your guest to-night. 

Lady M. Your servants ever 

Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt, 
To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, 

* Not in f. e. 3 most : in f. e. ; altered by Ro-we, from " must," of folio. * Searfjmen— bound to pray for a bene- 



SCENE I. 



MACBETH. 



723 



Still to return your own. 

Du7i. Give me your hand ; 

Conduct me to mine host : we love hiin highly, 
And shall continue our graces towards him. 
By your leave, hostess. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— The Same. A Room in the Castle. 
Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over the stage^ 
a Sewer} and divers Servants with dishes and service. 
Then., enter Macbeth. 

Macb. If it were done, when 't is done, then 't were 
well 
It were done quickly : if the assassination 
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch 
With his surcease success ; that but this blow 
Might be the be-all and the end-all here. 
But here, upon this bank and shoal'' of time. 
We 'd jump the life to come. — But in these cases. 
We still have judgment here ; that we but teach 
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 
To plague th' inventor : thus' even-handed justice 
Commends th' ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
To our own lips. He 's here in double trust : 
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject; 
Strong both against the deed: then, as his host, 
Who should against his murderer shut the door, 
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
Will plead, like angels trumpet-tongued, against 
The deep damnation of his taking-off ; 
And pity, like a naked new-born babe. 
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd 
Upon the sightless couriers of the air. 
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 
That tears shall drown the wind. — I have no spur 
To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself. 
And falls on the other. — 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

How now ! what news ? 

Lady M. He has almost supp'd. Why have you left 
the chamber? 

Macb. Hath he ask'd for me? 

Lady 31. Know you not, he has ? 

Macb. We will proceed no farther in this business : 
He hath honour'd me of late ; and I have bought 
(Jolden opinions from all sorts of people, 
Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, 
Not cast aside so soon. 

Lady M. Was the hope drunk, 

Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since, 
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 



At what it did so freely ? From this time, 
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
To be the same in thine own act and valour. 
As thou art in desire ? Wouldst thou have that 
Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life 
And live a coward in thine own esteem. 
Letting I dare not wait upon I would, 
Like the poor cat i' the adage ?* 

Macb. Pr'ythee, peace. 

I dare do all that may become a man ; 
Who dares do' more is none. 

Lady M. What boast' was 't, then, 

That made you break this enterprise to me ? 
When you durst do it, then you were a man ; 
And, to be more than what you were, you would 
Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place, 
Did then adhere, and yet you would make both : 
They have made themselves, and that their fitness now 
Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know 
How tender 't is to love the babe that milks me : 
I would, while it was smiling in my face. 
Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums. 
And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you 
Have done to this. 

Macb. If we should fail ? 

Laky M. We fail ?^ 

But screw your courage to the sticking-place. 
And we '11 not fail. When Duncan is asleep, 
(Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey 
Soundly invite him) his two chamberlains 
Will I with wine and wassel so convince,* 
That memory, the warder of the brain. 
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
A limbeck only : when in swinish sleep 
Their drenched natures lie, as in a death. 
What cannot you and I perform upon 
Th' unguarded Duncan? what not put upon 
His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt 
Of our great quell?' 

Macb. Bring forth men-children only ! 

For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv'd 
When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two 
Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers. 
That they have done 't? 

Lady M. Who dares receive it other, 

As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar 
Upon his death? 

Macb. I am settled ; and bend up 

Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 
Away, and mock the time with fairest show : 
False face must hide what the false heart doth know. 

YExeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— The Same. Court within the Castle. 
Enter Banquo, and Fleance, with a torch before him. 
Ban. How goes the night, boy ? 
Fie. The moon is down ; I have not heard the clock. 
Ban. And she goes down at twelve. 
Fie. I take 't, 't is later, sir. 

Ban. Hold, take my sword. — There 's husbandry in 
heaven ; 



Their candles are all out. — Take thee that too. 
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, 
And yet I would not sleep : merciful powers ! 
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature 
Gives way to in repose ! — Give me my sword. — 
Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch. 
WTio 's there ? 

Macb. A friend. 

Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest? The king 's a-bed ; 



' An officer who placeJ and removed dishes. ' schoole : in folio. Theobald made the chanjre. •' this : in f. e. * " The cat loves fish, 
but dares not wet her feet." ' no : in folio. * bea.^t : in f. e. ' Some eds. place an exclamation, or comma, in place of the interrogation 
point; such, Dyce informs us, was Mrs. Siddons' delivery of the passage — as if "we fail," was the conclusion of Macbetu's remark. 
* Overpower. ' Murder. 



Y24 



MACBETH. 



ACT n. 



He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
Sent forth great largess to your offices. 
This diamond he greets your wife withal, 
By the name of most kind hostess, and shut up 
In measureless content. 

Macb. Being unprepar'd, 

Our will became the servant to defect, 
Which else should free have wrought. 

Ban. All 's well. 

I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters • 
To you they have show'd some truth. ^ 

Macb. I think not of them : 

Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, 
We would spend it in some words upon that business. 
If jow would grant the time. 

Ba7i. At your kind'st leisure. 

Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent, when 't is. 
It shall make honour for you. 

Ban. So I lose none 

In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear, 
I shall be counsell'd. 

Macb. Good repose, the while. 

Ban. Thanks, sir : the like to you. 

[Exeunt Banquo and Fleance. 

Macb. Go ; bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready. 
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. — 

\Exit Servant. 
Is this a dagger, which I sec before me, 
The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch 

thee : — 
I have thee not, and yet I sec thee still. 
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
To feeling, as to sight ? or art thou but 
A dagger of the mind, a false creation. 
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? 
I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
As this which now I draw. 
Thou mar.shall'st me the way that I was going ; 
And such an instrument I was to use. — 
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, 
Or else worth all the rest : I see thee still ; 
And on thy blade, and dudgeon^ gouts of blood, 
Which was not so before. — There 's no such thing : 
It is the bloody business, which informs 
Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world 
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
The curtaiu'd sleeper -.^ witchcraft celebrates 
Pale Hecate's offerings; and witlier'd murder, 
Alarum'd by his sentinel the wolf, 
Whose howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace. 
With Tarquin's ravishing strides,^ towards his design 
Moves like a ghost. — Thou sure and firm-set earth, 
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
The very stones prate of my where-about, 
And take the present horror from the time. 
Which now suits with it. — Whiles I threat, he lives : 
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 

[A bell rings. 
I go, and it is done : the bell invites me. 
Hear it not, Duncan : for it is a knell. 
That summons thee to heaven or to hell. \Exit. 

SCENE II.— The Same. 
Enter Lady Macbeth. 
Lady M. That which hath made them drunk hath 
made me bold : [Peace ! 

What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. — Hark ! — 



It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, 
Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it. 
The doors are open ; and tlic surfeited grooms 
Do mock their charge with snores : I have drugg'd their 

possets. 
That death and nature do contend about them, 
Whether they live, or die. 

Macb. [Within.] Who 's there? — what, ho ! 

Lady M. Alack ! I am afraid they have awak'd, 
And 't is not done : — the attempt, and not tlie deed. 
Confounds us. — Hark ! — I laid their daggers ready. 
He could not miss them. — Had he not resembled 
My father as he slept, I had done 't. — My husband? 
Eriter Macbeth. 

Macb. I have done the deed. — Didst thou^ot hear a 
noise ? 

Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry. 
Did not you speak ? 

Macb. When ? 

Lady M. Now. 



As I descended ? 



Macb. 

Lady M. Ay 

Macb. Hark !— 
AVho lies i' the second chamber ? 

Lady M. Donalbain. 

Macb. This is a sorry sight. [SJioiving his hands. 

Lady M. A foolish thought to say a sorry sight. 

Macb. There 's one did laugh in 's sleep, and one 
cried, " murder !" 
That ihey did wake each other : I stood and heard them • 
But they did say their prayers, and address'd them 
Again to sleep. 

Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. 

Macb. One cried -'God bless us !" and 
other. 

As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. 
Listening their fear, I could not say amen. 
When they did say God bless us. 

Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce amen ? 



"Amen," 



the 



I had most need of blessing, and amen 
Stuck in my throat. 

Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 

After these ways: so, it will make us mad. 



Macb. INIethought, I heard a voice cry, '• Sleep 



no 



more ! 
Macbeth does murder sleep," — the innocent sleep ; 
Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleave* of care, 
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath. 
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
Chief nourisher in life's feast. — 

Lady M. What do you mean ? 

Macb. Still it cried, "Sleep no more!" to all the 
house : 
" Glamis hath murdered sleep, and therefore Cawdor 
Shall sleep no more : Macbeth shall sleep no more !" 

Lady M. Who was it that thus cried ? Why, worthy 
thane. 
You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
So brainsickly of things. Go, get some water. 
And wash this filthy witness from your hand. — 
Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? 
They must lie there : go, carry them, and smear 
The sleepy grooms with blood. 

Macb. I '11 go no more : 

I am afraid to think what I have done ; 



Look on 't again, I dare not. 
Lady M. 



Infirm of purpose 



silk. 



1 Root of box-wood, of -which dagger handles were made. 2 sleep : in f. e. ^ sides : in folio. Pope made the change. * Unwrought 



SCENE III. 



MACBETH. 



725 



Give me the daggers. The sleeping, and the dead, 

Are but as pictures : 't is the eye of childhood 

That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 

I '11 gild the faces of the grooms withal, 

For it must seem their guilt. [Exit. — Knocking within. 
Macb. Whence is that knocking ? — 

How is 't with me. when every noise appals nie ? 

What hands are here ! Ha ! they pluck out mine eyes. 

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 

Clean from my hand ? No ; this my hand will rather 

The multitudinous seas iacarnardinc, 

Making the green one red.^ 

Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 
Lady M. My hands are of your colour ; but I shame 

To wear a heart so white. [Knock.] I hear a knocking 

At the south entry : — retire we to our chamber. 

A little water clears us of this deed : 

How easy is it, then ? Your constancy 

Hath left you unattended. — [Knock.] Hark ! more 
knocking. 

Get on your nightgo\^ni, lest occasion call us, 

And show us to be watchers. — Be not lost 

So poorly in your thoughts. 

Macb. To know my deed, 'twere best not know my- 
self. [A'noc^-. 

Wake Duncan with thy knocking ; I would thou 
couldst ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— The Same. 

Enter a Porter. [Knocking within. 

Porter. Here 's a knocking, indeed ! If a man were 
porter of hell-gate, he should have old'"' turning the key. 
[Knocki7ig.] Knock, knock, knock. Who 's there, 
i' the name of Beelzebub ? — Here 's a farmer, that 
hanged himself on the expectation of plenty : come in 
time ; have napkins enough about you : here you '11 
Hyveat (ov't. [Knocking.] Knock, knock. W^ho's there, 
in the other devil's name ? — 'Faith, here 's an equivo- 
cator, that could swear in both the scales against either 
scale ; who committed treason enough for God's sake, 
yet could not equivocate to heaven : ! come in, equi- 
vocator. [Knocking.] Knock, knock, knock. Who 's 
(liere ? — 'Faith, here 's an English tailor come hither 
for stealing out of a French hose : come in. tailor ; 
here you may roast your goose, [Knocking.] Knock, 
knock. Never at quiet ! What are you ? — But this 
place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no far- 
ther : I had thought to have let in some of all pro- 
fessions, that go the primrose way to the everlasting 
bonfire. [Knocking.] Anon, anon : I pray you, re- 
member the porter. [Opens the gate. 
Enter Macduff and Lenox. 

Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, 
That you do lie so late ? 

Port. 'Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second 
cock ; and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things. 

Macd. What three things does drink especially pro- 
voke? 

Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. 
Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes.: it provokes 
the desire, but it takes away the performance. There- 
fore, much drink may be said to be an equivocator 
with lechery : it makes him, and it mars him ; it sets 
him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, and 
disheartens him ; makes him stand to, and not stand 
to : in conclusion, equivocates him a-sleep, and, giving 
him the lie, leaves him. 

Macd. I believe, drink gave thee the lie last night. 



Port. That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me : but 
I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too 
strong for him, though lie took up my legs sometime, 
yet I made a shift to cast him. 

Macd. Is thy master stirring? — 

Enter Macbeth,^ in his night-gown. 
Our knocking has awak'd him ; here he comes. 

Lcn. Good-morrow, noble sir. 



Macb. 



Good-morrow, both. 



Macd^.^ Is the king stirring, worthy thane ? 

Macb'. Not yet. 

Macd. He did command me to call timely on him : 
I have almost slipp'd the hour. 

Macb. I '11 bring you to him. 

Macd. I know, this is a joyful trouble to you ; 
But yet, 't is one. 

Macb. The labour we delight in physics pain. 
This is the door. 

Macd. I '11 make so bold to call, 

For 't is my limited service. [Exit Macduff, 

Len. Goes the king hence to-day ? 

Macb. He does : — he did appoint so. 

Len. The night has been unruly : where we lay, 
Our chimneys were blown down ; and, as they say, 
Lamcntings heard i' the air ; strange screams of death, 
And prophesying with accents terrible 
Of dire combustion, and confus'd events, 
New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird 
Clamour'd the livelong night : some say, the earth 
Was feverous, and did shake. 

Macb. 'T was a rough night. 

Len. ]\Iy young remembrance camiot parallel 
A fellow to it. 

Re-enter Macduff. 

Macd. horror ! horror ! horror ! Tongue, nor heart, 
Cannot conceive, nor name thee. 



Macb. Len. 



What 's the matter ? 



Macd. Confusion now hath made his masler-piece. 
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
The life o' the building. 

Macb. What is 't you say ? the life ? 

Len. Mean you his majesty ? 

Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight 
With a new Gorgon. — Do not bid me speak : 
See, and then speak yourselves. — Awake ! awake ! — 

[Exeunt JNIaceeth arid Lenox. 
Ring the alarum-bell ! — Murder, and treason ! 
Banquo, and Donalbain ! Malcolm, awake ! 
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
And look on death itself : up, up, and see 
The great doom's image ! — Malcolm ! Banquo ! 
As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites 
To countenance this horror. Ring the bell ! [Bell rings. 
Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. Wliat 's the business, 
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley 
The sleepers of the house ? speak, speak ! 

Macd. 0, gentle lady ! 

'T is not for you to hear what I can speak : 
The repetition, in a woman's ear. 

Enter Banquo unready.^ 
Would murder as it fell. — Banquo I Banquo ! 
Our royal master 's rnurder'd ! 

Lady M. Woe, alas ! 

What ! in our house ? 

Ban. Too cruel, any where. 

Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself, 



' So the old copies ; some mod. eds. read 
not in f. e. * This word is not in f. e. 



the green — one red. ' Used, as often, as an augmentative. ^ Tke rest of this direction is 



726 



MACBETH. 



ACT II. 



And say, it is not so. 

Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox. 
Mach. Had I but died an hour before this chance, 
I had liv'd a blessed time, for from this instant 
There 's nothing serious in mortality ; 
All is but toys : renown and grace are dead ; 
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
Is left this vault to brag of. 

Enter Malcolm and Donalbain, 
Don. What is amiss ? 

Mach. You are, and do not know 't : 

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood 
Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd. 
Macd. Your royal father 's murder'd. 
Mai. ! by whom ? 

Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done 't. 
Their hands and faces were all badg'd with blood ; 
So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found 
Upon their pillows : they star'd, and were distracted. 
No man's life was to be trusted with them. 

Macb. ! yet I do repent me of my fury, 
That I did kill them. 

Macd. Wherefore did you so ? 

Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate and 
furious. 
Loyal and neutral, in a moment ? No man : 
The expedition of my violent love 
Out-ran the pauser reason. — Here lay Duncan. 
His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood ; 
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature 
For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the murderers, 
Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers 
Unmannerly breech'd with gore. Who could refrain, 
That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
Courage to make 's love known ? 

Lady M. Help me hence, ho ! 

Macd. Look to the lady. {Lady Macbeth swoons.^ 
Mai. Why do we hold our tongues, 

That most may claim this argument for ours ? 

Don. What should be spoken 
Here, where our fate, hid in an auger-hole, 
May rush, and seize us ? Let 's away : our tears 
Are not yet brew'd. 

Mai. Nor our strong sorrow 

Upon the foot of motion. 

Ban. Look to the lady. — [Lady Macb. is borne out. 
And when we have our naked frailties hid, 
That suffer in exposure, let us meet. 
And question this most bloody piece of work, 
To know it farther. Fears and scruples shake us : 
In the great hand of God I stand ; and, thence, 
Against the undivulg'd pretence'' I fight 
Of treasonous malice. 

Macd. And so do I. 

All. So all. 

Macb. Let 's briefly put on manly readiness, 

And meet i' the hall together. 

All. Well contented. 

[Exeunt all but Mal. and Don. 
Mai. What will you do ? Let 's not consort with them : 
To show an unfelt sorrow is an office 
Which the false man does easy. I '11 to England. 

Don. To Ireland, I : our separated fortune 
Shall keep us both the safer ; where we are. 
There 's daggers in men's smiles : the near in blood, 
The nearer bloody. 



Mal. This murderous shaft that 's shot 

Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way 
Is to avoid the aim : therefore, to horse ; 
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking. 
But shift away. There 's warrant in that theft 
Which steals itself, when there 's no mercy left. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Without the Castle. 
Enter Rosse and an Old Man. 

Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember well ; 
Within the volume of which time I have seen 
Hours dreadful, and things strange, but this sore night 
Hath trifled former knowings. 

Rosse. Ah ! good fa1.her, 

Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act, 
Threaten his bloody stage : by the clock 't is day. 
And yet dark night strangles the travailing^ lamp. 
Is 't night's predominance, or the day's shame, 
That darkness does the face of earth entomb. 
When living light should kiss it ? 

Old M. 'T is unnatural, 

Even like the deed that 's done. On Tuesday last, 
A falcon, towering in her pride of place. 
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at, and kill'd. 

Rosse. And Duncan's horses (a thing most strange 
and certain) 
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, 
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, 
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would 
Make war with mankind. 

Old M. 'T is said, they ate each other. 

Rosse. They did so ; to th' amazement of mine eyes. 
That look'd upon 't. Here comes the good Macduff. — 

Enter Macduff. 
How goes the world, sir, now ? 

Macd. Why. see you not ? 

Ros.se. Is 't knoNVTi who did this more than bloody deed ? 

Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain. 

Rosse. Alas, the day ! 

What good could they pretend ? 

Macd. They were suborn'd. 

Malcolm, and Donalbain, the king's two sons, 
Are stol'n away and fled ; which puts upon them 
Suspicion of the deed. 

Rosse. 'Gainst nature still : 

Thriftless ambition, that will ravin up 
Thine own life's means ! — Then, 'tis most like, 
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. 

Macd. He is already nam'd, and gone to Scone 
To be invested. 

Ro.sse. Where is Duncan's body ? 

Macd. Carried to Colme-kill : 
The sacred store-house of his predecessors. 
And guardian of their bones. 

Rosse. Will you to Scone ? 

Macd. No, cousin : I '11 to Fife. 

Rosse. Well, I will thither. 

Macd. Well, may you see things well done there : — 
adieu — 
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new ! 

Rosse. Farewell, father. 

Old M. God's benison go with you ; and with those, 
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes ! 

[Exeunt. 



' Not in f. e. ' Intention. ' So old copies ; most mod eds. read : travelling. 



SCENE I. 



MACBETH. 



m 



ACT III. 



SCENE I. — Fores, A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Banquo. 

Ban. Thou hast it now, king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, 
As tho weird women promis'd ; and, 1 fear, 
Thou play'dst most foully for 't : yet it was said, 
It should not stand in thy posterity ; 
But that myself should be the root, and father 
Of many kings. If there come truth from them, 
(As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches show) 
Why. by the verities on thee made good, 
May they not be my oracles as well, 
And set me up in hope ? But, hush ! no more. 
Sennet. Enter Macbeth, as A'ini^; Lady Macbeth, 

as Queen; Lenox, Rosse, Lords, Ladies, and 

Attendants. 

Macb. Here 's our chief guest. 

Lady M. If he had been forgotten, 

It had been as a gap in our great feast. 
And all things unbecoming. 

Macb. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir, 
And I '11 request your presence. 

Ban. Lay your highness" 

Command upon me, to the which my duties 
Are with a most indissoluble tie 
For ever knit. 

Macb. Ride you this afternoon? 

Ban. Ay, my good lord. 

Macb. We should have else dcsir'd your good advice 
(Which still hath been both grave and prosperous) 
In this day's council • but we '11 take to-morrow. 
Is 't far you ride? 

Ban. As far, my lord, as M'ill fill up the time 
'Twixt this and supper : go not my horse the better, 
I must become the borrower of the night 
For a dark hour, or twain. 

Macb. Fail not our feast. 

Ban. My lord, I will not. 

Macb. We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd 
In England, and in Ireland ; not confessing 
Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers 
With strange invention. But of that to-morrow ] 
When, therewithal, we shall have cause of state 
Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse : adieu, 
Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you ? 

Ban. Ay, my good lord, our time does call upon us. 

Macb. I wish your horses swift, and sure of foot; 
And so I do commend you to their backs. 
Farewell. — [Exit Banquo. 

Let every man be master of his time 
Till seven at night. To make society 
The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself 
Till supper-time alone : while then, God be with you. 
[E.xeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, Ladies, fyc. 
Sirrah, a word with you. Attend those men 
Our pleasure ? 

Atteii. They are, my lord, without the palace gate. 

Macb. Bring them before us. — [Exit Atten.] To be 
thus is nothing, 
But to be safely thus. — Our fears in Banquo 
Stick deep, and in his royalty of nature 
Reigns tliat which would be fear'd : 't is much he dares ; 
And to that dauntless temper of his mind, 
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour 
To act in safety. There is none but he 
Whose being I do fear, and under him . 



My genius is rebuk'd, as. it is said, 

Mark Antony's was by Csesar. He chid the sisters, 

When first they put the name of king upon me. 

And bade them speak to him ; then, prophet-like, 

They hail'd him fatlier to a line of kings. 

Upon my head they plae'd a fruitless crown. 

And put a barren sceptre in my gripe. 

Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand. 

No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so. 

For Banquo's issue have I fil'd''' my mind. 

For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd j 

Put rancours in the vessel of my peace 

Only for {hem ; and mine eternal jewel 

Given to the common enemy of man, 

To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings ! 

Rather than so, come, fate, into the list, 

And champion me to the utterance^ — Who's there? 

Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers. 
Now, go to the door, and stay there till we call. 

[Exit Attendant. 
Was it not yesterday we spoke together ? 

1 3Jur. It was, so please your highness. 

Macb. Well then, now. 

Have you consider'd of my speeches ? Know, 
That it was he, in the times past, which held you 
So under fortune ; which, you thought, had been 
Our innocent self. This I made good to you 
In our last conference ; pass'd in probation with you, 
How you were borne in hand ; how cross'd ; the instru- 
ments ; 
Who wrought with them ; and all things else, that might, 
To half a soul, and to a notion craz'd, 
Say, ■' Thus did Banquo." 

1 Mnr. You made it knowii to us. 

Macb. I did so; and went farther, which is now 
Our point of second meeting. Do you find 
Your patience so predominant in your nature, 
That you can let this go ? Are you so gospell'd 
To pray for this good man, and for his issue. 
Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave. 
And beggar'd yours for ever ? 

1 Mur. We are men, my liege. 
Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men. 

As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, 
Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolvcs. are cleped 
All by the name of dogs : the valued file 
Distinguishes the swit't, the slow, the subtle. 
The house-keeper, the hunter, every one 
According to the gift which bounteous nature 
Hath in him clos'd, whereby he does receive 
Particular addition, from the quill 
That writes them all alike ; and so of men. 
Now, if you have a station in the file 
Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say it, 
ATid I will put that business in your bosoms, 
Whose execution takes your enemy off, 
Grapples you to the heart and love of us. 
Who wear our health but sickly in his life, 
Which in his death were perfect. 

2 Mwr. I am one, my liege, 
Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world 

Have so incens'd, that I am reckless what 
I do to spite the world. 

1 Mur. And I another, 

So wearied with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, 
That I would set my life on any chance, 



1 Let your highness : in f. e. ' Defiled. ^ Fr. d Voutranee, extremity. 



72S 



MACBETH. 



ACT ni. 



To mend it, or be rid on "t. 

3Iacb. Both of you 

Know Banquo was your enemy. 

2 3Iur. True, my lord. 

Macb. So is he mine ; and in such bloody distance, 
That every minute of his being thrusts 
Against my near'st of life. And though I could 
With bare-fac'd power sweep him from my sight, 
And bid my will avouch it, yet I nuist not, 
For certain friends that are both his and mine. 
Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall 
Whom I myself struck down : and thence it is, 
That I to your assistance do make love. 
Masking the business from the common eye 
For sundry weighty reasons. 

2 Mur. We shall, my lord. 

Perform what you command us. 

1 Mur. Though our lives — 
Macb. Your spirits shine through you. Within this 

hour, at most, 
I will advise you where to plant yourselves. 
Acquaint you, with a perfect spy, o' the time, 
The moment on 't ; for 't must be done to-night, 
And something fronr the palace ; always thought, 
That I require a clearness : and with him, 
(To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work) 
Fleance his son. that keeps him company. 
Whose absence is no less material to me 
Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart : 
I '11 come to you anon. 

2 Mur. We are resolv'd, my lord. 
Macb. I '11 call upon you straight : abide within. 

\Exeunt Murderers. 
It is concluded : Banquo, thy soul's flight. 
If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. {Exit. 

SCENE II.— The Same. Another Room. 
Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant. 

Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court ? 

Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 

Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his leisure 
For a few words. 

Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

Lady M. Nought 's had, all 's spent, 

Where our desire is got without content : 
'T is safer to be that which we destroy, 
Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. 

Enter Macbeth. 
How now, my lord ! why do you keep alone. 
Of sorriest fancies your companions making, 
Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died 
With them they think on ? Things without remedy. 
Should be without regard .• what 's done, is done. 

Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it : 
She '11 close, and be herself, whilst our poor malice 
Remains in danger of her former tooth. 
But let the eternal frame of things disjoint, 
Both the worlds suffer. 
Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep 
In the affliction of these terrible dreams. 
That shake us nightly. Better be with the dead. 
Whom we to gain our peace have sent to peace, 
Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave ; 
After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well; 
Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison. 
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing 
Can touch him farther ! 

1 Scaly-winged. ^ Blinding. ^ near : in f. e. 



Lady 31. Come on : 

Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks ; 
Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night. 

Much. So shall I, love ; and so, I pray, be you. 
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo : 
Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue : 
Unsafe the v/hile, that we must lave our honours 
In these flattering streams, and make our faces 
Vizards to our hearts, di.^guising what they are. 

Lady M. You must leave this. 

Macb. ! full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife. 
Thou know'st that Banquo and his Fleance live. 

Lady M. But in them nature's copy 's not eterne. 

Macb. There 's comfort yet ; they are assailable: 
Then, be thou jocund. Ere the bat hath flown 
His cloister'd flight; ere to black Hecate's summons 
The shard-borne' beetle, with his drowsy hums, 
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall bo done 
A deed of dreadful note. 

Lady M. What 's to be done ? 

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck. 
Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling^ night, 
Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, 
And with thy bloody and invisible hand. 
Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond 
Which keeps me pale ! — Light thickens ; and the crow 
Makes wing to the rooky wood : 
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse. 
Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse. 
Thou marvell'st at my words; but hold thee still : 
Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill. 
So, pr'ythee. go with me. {Exexmt. 

SCENE HI.— The Same. A Park, with a road lead- 
ing to the Palace. 

Enter three Murderers. 

1 Mur. But who did bid thee join with us ? 

3 Mur. Macbeth. 

2 Mur. He needs not our mistrust; since he delivers 
Our oflices, and what we have to do. 

To thy direction just. 

1 Mur. Then stand with us. 

The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day : 
Now spurs the lated traveller apace. 
To gain the timely inn : and here' approaches 
The subject of our watch. 

3 3Iur. Hark ! I hear horses. 
Ban. [ Within.] Give us a light there, ho ! 

2 3Iur. Then, 't is he : the rest, 
That are within the note of expectation. 

Already are i' the court. 

1 Mur. His horses go about. 

3 Mur. Almost a mile : but he does usually, 
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate 
Make it their walk. 

• Enter Banquo and Fleance, with a torch. 

2 Mur. A light, a light ! 

3 Mur. 'Tis he. 
1 3{ur. Stand to 't. 

Ban. It will be rain to-night. 

1 3Tur. Let it come down. [Strikes Banquo. 

Ban. 0, treachery ! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly. fly ! 
Thou may'st revenge. — slave ! [Dies. Fle. escapes. 
3 Mur. Who did strike out the light ? 

1 Mtir. Was 't not the way? 
3 3Iur. There 's but one down : the son is fled. 

2 Mur. We have lost best half of our affair. 
1 Mur. Well, let 's away, and say how much is done. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE IV. 



MACBETH. 



T29 



SCENE IV.— A Room of State in the Palace. 

A Banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, 
RossE, Lenox, Lords^ and Attendants. 

Mach. You know your own degrees ; sit down : at first 
And last the hearty welcome. 

Lords. Thanks to your majesty. 

Macb. Ourself will mingle with society, 
And play the humble host. 
Our hostess keeps her state ; but in best lime 
We will require her welcome. 

Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends; 
For my heart speaks, they are welcome. 

Macb. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' 
thanks. 
Both sides are even : here I '11 sit i' the midst. 
Be large in mirth ; anon, we 'II drink a measure 

Enter fir.st Murderer ., to the door. 
The table round. — There 's blood upon thy face. 

Mur. 'T is Banquo's then. 

Macb. 'T is better thee without, than him within. 
Is he despatch'd ? 

Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that I did for hira. 

Macb. Thou art the best o' the cut-throats ; 
Yet he is good, that did the like for Fleance : 
If thou didst it, thou art the nonpareil. 

Mur. Most royal sir, Fleance is 'scap'd. 

Macb. Then comes my fit again : I had else been 
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, [perfect ; 
As broad and general as the ca.sing air ; 
But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in 
To saucy doubts and fears. — But Banquo's safe ? 

Mur. Ay, my good lord, safe in a ditch he bides, 
With twenty trench'd gashes on his head. 
The least a death to nature. 

Mach. Thanks for that. — 

There the gro\\m serpent lies : the worm, that 's fled, 
Hath nature that in time will venom breed. 
No teeth for the present. — Get thee gone : to-morrow 
We '11 hear ourselves again. [Exit Murderer. 

Lady M. My royal lord, 

You do not give the cheer : the feast is sold, 
That is not often vouch'd the while 't is making' ; 
'T is given with welcome. To feed were best at home ; 
From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony ; 
Meeting were bare without it. 

Macb. Sweet remembrancer ! — 

Now, good digestion wait on appetite, 
And health on both ! 

Len. May it please your highness sit ? 

[The Ghost of Banquo enters^ and sits in 
Macbeth's place. 

Macb. Here had we now our country's honour roof d, 
Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present : 
Who may I ratlier challenge for unkindness, 
Than pity for mischance ! 

Rosse. His absence, sir. 

Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your highness 
To grace us with your royal company ? 

Macb. The table 's full. 

Len. Here is a place rcserv'd, sir. 

[Pointing to the Ghost.^ 

Mach. Whore ? 

Len. Here, my good lord. What is 't that moves 
your highness ? 

Mach. Which of you have done this ? 

Lords. What, my good lord ? 

Mach. Thou canst not say, I did it : never shako 
Thy gory Iqpks at me. 



1, i.ntj , his highness is not well. 



Feed, and regard him not. 



for shame ! 
i' th' olden 



Ro.fse. Gentlemen, rise 

Lady M. Sit, worthy friends. My lord is often thus. 
And hath been from his youth : pray you. keep seat. 
The fit is momentary ; upon a thought 
He will again be well. If much you note him 
You shall offend him, and extend his passion ; 

Are you a man ? 
[Coming to Macbeth : aside to him.^ 

Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
Wliich might appal the devil. 

Lady M. 0, proper stuff ! 

This is the very painting of your fear ; 
This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said. 
Led you to Duncan. ! these flaws, and starts, 
(Impostors to true fear) would well become 
A woman's story at a winter's fire, 
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself ! 
Why do you make such faces ? When all 's done, 
You look but on a stool. 

Mach. Pr'ythee, see there ! behold ! look ! lo ! how 
say you ? — 
Why, what care I ? If thou canst nod, speak too. — 
If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send 
Those that we bury back, our monuments 
Shall be the maws of kites. [Exit Ghost. 

Lady M. What ! quite unmann'd in folly ? 

Macb. If I stand here, I saw him. 

Lady M. Fie ! 

Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, 
time, 

Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal ; 
Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd 
Too terrible for the ear : the times have been, 
That when the brains were out the man would die, 
And there an end ; but now, they rise again 
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns. 
And push us from our stools. This is more strange 
Than such a murder is. 

Lady M. My worthy lord, [Going back to her state.* 
Your noble friends do lack you. 

Mach. I do foraet. — 

Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends ; 
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing 
To those that know me. Come, love and health to all; 
Then. I '11 sit down. — Give me some wine : fill full. — 
I drink to the general joy of the whole table. 
And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss : 

Re-enter Gho.'^t. 
Would he were here ! to all. 
And all to all. 

Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 

Mach. Avaunt ! and quit my sight. Let the earth 
hide thee ! 
Tliy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; 
Tliou hast no speculation in those eyes, 
Which thou dost glare with. 

Lady M. Think of this, good peers, 

But as a tiling of custom : 't is no other ; 
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 

Macb. What man dare, I dare : 
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, 
The arin'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger ; 
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
Shall never tremble : or. be alive again. 
And dare me to tiie desert witli thy sword ; 
If trembling I exhibit,* then protest me 
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! 

[Exit Ghost. 
Unreal mockery, hence ! — Why, so ; — ^being gone, 



and him, we thirst 



' vouch'd while 't is a making : in f. e. as* These directions not in f. e. * inhabit : in f. e. 



730 



MACBETH. 



ACT in. 



I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still. 

Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the 
good meeting, 
With most admir'd disorder. 

Macb. Can such things be, 

And overcome us like a summer's cloud, 
Without our special wonder ? You make me strange, 
Even to the disposition that I owe, 
When now I think you can behold such sights, 
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks. 
When mine are blancli'd with fear. 

Rosse. What sights, my lord? 

Lady M. I pray you, speak not : he grows worse 
and worse ; 
Question enrages him. At once, good night : 
Stand not upon the order of your going. 
But go at once. 

Lcn. Good night ; and better health 

Attend his majesty. 

Lady M. A kind good night to all ! 

[Exeunt Lords and Attendants. 

Macb. It will have blood, they say; blood will have 
blood : 
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak ; 
Augurs, and understood relations, have 
By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth 
The secret'st man of blood. — What is the night ? 

Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is 
which. 

Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his 
person, 
At our great bidding ? 

Lady M. Did you send to him, sir ? 

Macb. I hear it by the way : but I will send. 
There 's not a one of them, but in his house 
I '11 keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, 
(And betimes I will) to the weird sisters : 
More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to know. 
By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good, 
A 11 causes shall give way : I am in blood 
Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more, 
Returning were as tedious as go o'er. 
Strange things I have in head, that will to hand. 
Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. 

Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. 

Macb. Come, we '11 to sleep. My strange and self- 
abuse 
Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use : 
We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— The Heath. 
Tlumder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecate. 

1 Witch. Why. how now, Hecate ! you look angerly. 

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, 
Saucy, and over-bold ? How did you dare 
To trade and traffic with Macbeth, 
In riddles, and affairs of death ; 
And I, the mistress of your charms, 
The close contriver of all harms. 
Was never call'd to bear my part. 
Or show the glory of our art ? 
And, wiiich is worse, all you have done 
Hath been but for a wayward son. 
Spiteful, and wrathful ; who, as others do, 
Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
But make amends now : get you gone, 
And at the pit of Acheron 
Meet me i' the morning : thither he 
Will come to know his destiny. 
Your vessels, and your spells, provide. 



Your charms, and every thing beside. 

I am for the air ; this night I '11 spend 

Unto a dismal and a fatal end : 

Great business must be wrought ere noon. 

Upon the corner of the moon 

There hangs a vaporous drop profound ; 

I '11 catch it ere it come to ground : 

And that, distill'd by magic sleights, 

Shall raise such artificial sprites. 

As by the strength of their illusion. 

Shall draw him on to his confusion. 

He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 

His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear j 

And, you all know, security 

Is mortals' chiefest enemy. 

Song. [Within.] Come away., come away^ ^cT 
Hark ! I am call'd : my little spirit, see. 
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit Hecate, 

1 Witch. Come, let 's make haste : she '11 soon be 
back again. [Exeunt Witches. 

SCENE VI.— Fores. A Room in the Palace. 
Eiiter Lenox and another Lord. 

Lcn. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, 
Which can interpret farther : only, I say, 
Things have been strangely borne. The gracious 

Duncan 
Was pitied of Macbeth : — marry, he was dead ; 
And the right valiant Banquo walk'd too late ; 
Whom, you may say, if 't please you, Fleance kill'd. 
For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. 
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous 
It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain, 
To kill their gracious father ? damned fact ! 
How it did grieve Macbeth ! did he not straight. 
In pious rage the two delinquents tear. 
That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep? 
Was not that nobly done ? Ay, and wisely, too ; 
For 't would have anger'd any heart alive. 
To hear the men deny 't. So that. I say, 
He has borne all things well ; and I do think, 
That had he Duncan's sons under his key, 
(As, an 't please heaven, he shall not) they should find 
What 't were to kill a father ; so should Fleance. 
But, peace ! — for from broad words, and 'cause he 

fail'd 
His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear, 
Macduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell 
Where he bestows himself ? 

Lord. The son of Duncan, 

From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, 
Lives in the English court ; and is receiv'd 
Of the most pious Edward with such grace, 
That the malevolence of fortune nothing 
Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduff 
Is gone, to pray the holy king upon his aid 
To wake Northvxmberland, and warlike Siward ; 
That by the help of these, (with Him above 
To ratify the work) we may again 
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights, 
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, 
Do faithful homage, and receive free honours. 
All which we pine for now. And this report 
Hath so exasperate the king, that he 
Prepares for some attempt of war. 

Len. Sent he to Macduff? 



Lord. He did : and with an absolute, " Sir, 



not I ;" 



The cloudy messenger turns me his back. 

And hums, as who should say, " Yo« '11 rue the time 

That clogs me with this answer." 



SCENE I. 



MACBETH. 



731 



Len. And that well might 

Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance 
His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel 
Fly to the court of England, and unfold 



His message ere he come, that a swift blessing 
May soon return to this our suffering country 
Under a hand accurs'd ! 

Lord. I '11 send my prayers with him ! {Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I. — A dark Cave. In the middle, a Cauldron. 
Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 

1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 

2 Witch. Thrice : and once Ihe hedge-pig whin'd. 

3 Witch. Harper' cries, — 'T is time, 't is time. 

1 Witch. Round about the cauldron go ; 
In the poison'd entrails throw. — 

Toad, that under cold stone. 
Day and nights has thirty-one 
Swelter'd venom sleeping got, 
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. 

All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. 

2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, 
In the cauldron boil and bake : 
Eye of newt,, and toe of frog. 
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog. 
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, 
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, 

For a charm of powerful trouble. 
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 

All. Double, double toil and trouble, 
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. 

3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf ; 
Witches' mummy : maw, and gulf 

Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark; 
Root of hemlock, digg'd i' the dark ; 
Liver of blaspheming Jew ; 
Gall of goat, and slips of yew 
Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse ; 
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips ; 
Finger of birth-strangled babe, 
Ditch-deliverd by a drab. 
Make the gruel thick and slab : 
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron^. 
For the ingredients of our cauldron, 

All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. 

2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood ; 
Then the charm is firm and good. 

Enter Hbcate, and other Witches. 
Hec. 0, well done ! I commend your pains, 
And every one shall share i' the gains. 
And now about the cauldron sing, 
Like elves and fairies in a ring, 
Enchanting all tiiat you put in. 
[Music, and a Song. ^^ Black spirits^" ^c.^ Exit Hecate. 

2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs. 
Something wicked this way comes. — [Knocking. 

Open, locks, whoever knocks. 

Enter Macbeth. 
Mach. How now, you secret, black, and midnight 
hags ! 
What is 't you do ? 

All. A deed without a name. 

Mach. I conjure you, by that which you profess, 



(Howe'er you come to know it) answer me : 

Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 

Against the churches ; though the yesty waves 

Confound and swallow navigation up ; 

Though bleaded* corn be lodg'd, and trees blovvTi down ; 

Though castles topple o'er* their warders' heads ; 

Though palaces and pyramids do stoop* 

Their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure 

Of nature's germins' tumble all together, 

Even till destruction sicken, answer me 

To what I ask you. 

1 Witch. Speak. 

2 Witch. Demand. 

3 Witch. We '11 answer. 

1 Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our 

mouths. 
Or from our masters' ? 

Macb. Call 'em : let me see 'em. 

1 Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten 
Her nine farrow ; grease, that 's sweaten 
From the murderer's gibbet, throw 
Into the flame. 

All. Come high, or low ; 

Thyself, and office, deftly show. 

Thunder. 1 Apparition^ an armed Head. 
Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power, — 

2 Witch. He knows thy thought : 
Hear his speech, but say thou nought. 

1 App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! beware 
Macduff; 
Beware the thane of Fife. — Dismiss me : — enough. 

[Descends. 

Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution thanks : 
Thou hast harp'd my fear aright. — But one word 
more. — 

1 Witch. He will not be commanded. Here 's another. 
More potent than the first. 

Thunder. 2 Apparition, a bloody Child. 

App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! — 

Macb. Had I three ears, I 'd hear thee. 

App. Be bloody, bold, and resolute : laugh to scorn 
The power of man, for none of woman born 
Shall harm Macbeth. [Descends. 

Macb. Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee ? 
But yet I '11 make assurance double sure. 
And take a bond of fate : thou shaft not live ; 
That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies. 
And sleep in spite of thunder. — What is this, 
Thunder. 3 Apparition, a Child crowned, with a Tree 

in his Hand. 
That rises like the issue of a king ; 
And wears upon his baby brow the round 
And top of sovereignty ? 

All. Listen, but speak not to 't. 

App. Be lion-meftled, proud, and take no care 
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are : 
Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until 



* Harpier : in f. e. * Entrails. ' The re.st of this direction is not in f. e. The sonjj is probably the same as that in Middleton's Witch : 

Black .spirits and white, Mingle, minple. mingle, 

Red spirits and grey ; You that mingle may. 

*bladed : in f. e. • on : in f. e. ' slope : in f. e. ' Germinating seeds. Folio reads : germains. 



732 



MACBETH. 



ACT IV. 



Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 

Shall come against him. [Descends. 

Macb. That will never be : 

Who can impress the forest ; bid the tree 
Unfix his earth-bound root ? sweet bodements ! good ! 
Rebellion's' head, rise never, till the wood 
or Birnam rise ; and our high-plac'd Macbeth 
Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath 
To time and mortal custom. — Yet my heart 
Throbs to know one thing : tell me, (if your art 
Can tell so much) shall Banquo's issue ever 
Reign in this kingdom ? 

AU. Seek to know no more. 

Macb. I will be satisfied : deny me this, 
And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know. — 
Why sinks that cauldron ? and what noise is this ? 

[The cauldron descends.'' Hautboys sound. 

1 Witch. Show ! 2 Witch. Show ! 3 Witch. Show ! 

All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; 
Come like shadoM's. so depart. 

A show of eight Kings, and Banqvo first and last,^ with 
a Glass in his Hand. 

Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo : down ! 
Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls ; — and thy hair. 
Thou other gold-bound brow art like the first : — 
A third is like the former : — Filthy hags ! 
Wliy do you show me this ? — A fourth ? — Start, eyes ! 
What ! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? 
Another yet ? — A seventh ? I '11 see no more : 
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass, 
Which shows me many more ; and some I see, 
That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry. 
Horrible sight ! — Now, I see, 't is true ; 
For the blood-bolter'd'' Banquo smiles upon me. 
And points at them for his. — What ! is this so ? 

1 Witch. Ay, sir. all this is so : but why 
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly ? — 
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites. 
And show the best of our delights. 
I '11 charm the air to give a sound, 
AVhile you perform your antic round ; 
That this great king may kindly say, 
Our duties did his welcome pay. 

[Music. The tvitches dance, and vanish. 

Macb. Where are they? Gone? — Let this pernicious 
hour 
Stand aye accursed in the calendar ! — 
Come in ! without there ! 

Enter Lenox. 

Len. What 's your grace's will ? 

Macb. Saw you the weird sisters ? 

Len. No, my lord. 

Macb. Came they not by you ? 

Len. No, indeed, my lord. 

Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride, 
And damn'd all those that trust them ! — I did hear 
The galloping of horse : who was 't came by ? 

Len. 'T is two or three, my lord, that bring you word, 
Macduff is fled to England. 

Macb. Fled to England ? 

Len. Ay, my good lord. 

Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits : 
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook. 
Unless the deed go with it. From this moment, 
The very firstlings of my heart shall be 
The firstlings of my hand. And even now. 
To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done : 
The castle of Macduff I will surprise ; 



Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o' the sword 

His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 

That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool ; 

This deed I '11 do, before this purpose cool : 

But no more flights^ — Where are these gentlemen? 

Come ; bring me where they are. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IL— Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle. 

Enter Lady Macduff, her So?!, and Rosse. 
L. Macd. What had he done to make him fly the 

land ? 
Rosse. You must have patience, madam. 
L. 3Iacd. He had none : 

His flight was madness. When our actions do not, 
Our fears do make us traitors. 

Ros.se. You know not,'' 

Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear. 

L. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to leave his 



His mansion, and his titles, in a place 



[babes, 



From whence himself does fly ? He loves us not : 
He wants the natural touch ; for the poor wren, 
The most diminutive of birds, will fight. 
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. 
All is the fear, and nothing is the love : 
As little is the wisdom, where the flight 
So runs against all reason. 

Ro.sse. My dearest coz', 

I pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband, 
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows 
The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much farther 
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors, 
And do not know't" ourselves: when we hold rumour 
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, 
But float upon a wild and violent sea, 
Each way and move. — I take my leave of you : 
'T shall' not be long but I '11 be here again. 
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward 
To what they were before. — My pretty cousin. 
Blessing upon you ! 

L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he 's fatherless. 

Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer. 
It would be mj' disgrace, and your discomfort. 
I take my leave at once. [Exit Rosse. 

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father 's dead : 

And what will you do now ? How will you live ? 

Son. As birds do, mother. 

L. Macd. What, with worms and flies ? 

Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they. 

L. Macd. Poor bird ! thou 'dst never fear the net, 
nor lime. 
The pit-fall, nor the gin. 

Son. Why should I, mother ? Poor birds they are 
not set for. 
My father is not dead, for all your saying. 

L. Macd. Yes, he is dead : how wilt thou do for a 
father ? 

Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband ? 

L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. 

Son. Then you'll buy 'em to .sell again. 

L. Macd. Thou speak' st with all thy wit; 
And yet i' faith, with wit enough for thee. 

Son. Was my father a traitor, mother ? 

L. Macd. Ay, that he was. 

Son. What is a traitor ? 

L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies. 

Son. And be all traitors that do so ? 

L. Macd. Every one that does so is a traitor, and 
must be hanged. 



1 Rebellious : in f. e. s The first part of this direction is not in f. e. 
in f. e. 1 Shall : in f. e. 



3 Banqtjo Zasf; in f. e. * Besmeared. * sights : in f. e. 'know: 



scEins in. 



MACBETH. 



733 



Son. And must they all be hanged that swear and lie ? 

L. Macd. Every one. 

Son. Who must hang them ? 

L. Macd. Why, the honest men. 

Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools ; for there 
are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men, 
and hang up them. 

L. Macd. Now God help thee, poor monkey ! But 
how wilt thou do for a father? 

Son, If he were dead, you 'd weep for him : if you 
would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly 
have a new father. 

L. Macd. Poor prattler, how thou talk'st ! 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Bless you, fair dame. I am not to you kno\\ai. 
Though in your state of honour I am perfect. 
I doubt some danger does apprgach you nearly : 
If you will take a homely man's advice, 
Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. 
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage. 
To do worse to you were fell cruelty, 
Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you ! 
I dare abide no longer. [Exit Messenger. 

L. Macd. Whither should I fly ? 

I have done no harm ; but I remember now 
I am in this earthly world, where to do harm 
Is often laudable: to do good sometime 
Accounted dangerous folly ! why then, alas ! 
Do I put up that womanly defence, 
To say, I have done no harm ? — What are these faces ? 
Enter Murderers. 

Mur. Where is your husband ? 

L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanclified, 
Where such as thou may'st find him. 

Mur. He 's a traitor. 

Son. Thou liest, thou shag-car"d' villain. 

Mnr. What, you egg ! [Stabbing him. 

Young fry of treachery. 

Son. 
Run away, T pray you. '^' [Dies. 

[Exit Lady M.\,cduff, crying murder, and 
pursued by the Murderers. 

SCENE III.— England. A Room in the King's 
Palace. 

Enter Malcolm and Macduff. 

Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there 
Weep our sad bosoms empty. 

Macd. Let us rather 

Hold fast the mortal sword, and ]jke good men 
Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom. Each new morn 
New widows howl, new orphans cry; new sorrows 
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds 
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out 
Like syllable of dolour. 

Mai. What I believe, I '11 wail ; 

What know, believe ; and what I can redress, 
As I shall find the time to friend, I will : 
What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. 
Tliis tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, 
Was once thought honest : you have lov'd him well ; 
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young ; but some- 
thing 
You may deserve* of him through me, and wi.sdom 
To olfer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb 
To appease an angry god. 

Macd. I am not treacherous. 

Mai. But Macbeth is. 



He has kill'd me, mother : 



A good and virtuous nature may recoil 
In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon : 
That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose ; 
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell : 
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, 
Yet grace must still look so. 

Macd. I have lost my hopes. 

Mai. Perchance, even there, where I did find my 
doubts. 
Why in that rawness left you wife, and child, 
Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, 
Witliout leave-taking? — I pray you, 
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, 
But mine own safeties : you may be rightly just, 
Whatever I shall think. 

Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country ! 

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, 
For goodness dares not check thee ! wear thou thy 

wrongs ; 
Thy title is affeer'd^ ! — Fare thee well, lord : 
I would not be the villain that thou think'st, 
For the whole space that 's in the tyrant's grasp. 
And the rich East to boot. 

Mai. Be not offended : 

I speak not as in absolute fear of you. 
I think our coixntry sinks beneath the yoke ; 
It weeps, it bleeds: and each new day a gash 
Is added to her wounds : I think, withal. 
There would be hands uplifted in my right; 
And here, from gracious England, have I offer 

[Shoiving a Paper. ^ 
Of goodly thousands ; but, for all this. 
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, 
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country 
Shall have more vices than it had before. 
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever. 
By him that shall succeed. 

Macd. What should he be? 

Mai. It is myself I mean ; in whom I know 
All the particulars of vice so grafted, 
That, when they shall be ripen'd^, black Macbeth 
Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state 
P2steem him as a lamb, being compar'd 
With my confineless harms. 

Macd. Not in the legions 

Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd 
In CA'ils to top Macbeth. 

Mai. I grant him bloody. 

Luxurious, avaricious, faUe. deceitful. 
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin 
That lias a name ; but there 's no bottom, none. 
In my voluptuousness : your wives, your daughters, 
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up 
The cistern of my lust ; and my desire 
All continent impediments would o'er-bear, 
That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth, 
Than such a one to reign. 

Macd. Boundless intemperance 

In nature is a tyranny: it hath been 
Tir untimf'ly emptying of the happy throne, 
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet 
To take upon you what is yours : you may 
Enjoy" your pleasures in a spacious plenty, 
And yet seem cold, the time you may so lioodwink. 
We have willing dames enough ; there cannot be 
That vulture in you to devour so many 
As will to greatness dedicate themselves, 
Finding it so inclin'd. 



1 Prob.-ibly a misprint for " hair'd." 2 discern : in folio. Theobald mado the 
for to affirm. * Not in f. e. » open'd : in f. e. ' Convey : in f. e. 



shange. ' aflear'd : in folio. To affccr., is a la^v phrase, 



734: 



MACBETH. 



ACT lY. 



Mai. With this, there grows 

In my most ill-compos'd affection such 
A stanchless avarice, that, were I king, 
I should cut off the nobles for tlieir lands : 
Desire his jewels, and this other's house : 
And my more-having would be as a sauce 
To make me hunger more ; that I should forge 
Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, 
Destroying them for wealth. 

Macd. This avarice 

Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root, 
Than sunmier-seeming lust : and it hath been 
The sword of our slain kings : yet do not fear; 
Scotland hath foison^ to fill up your will, 
Of your mere own. All these are portable 
With other graces weigh'd. 

Mai. But I have none. The king-becoming graces, 
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness. 
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness. 
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, 
I have no relish of them ; but abound 
In the division of each several crime, 
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should 
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell. 
Uproar the universal peace, confound 
All unity on earth. 

Macd. Scotland, Scotland ! 

Mai. If such a one be fit to govern, speak : 
I am as I have spoken. 

Macd. Fit to govern ! 

No, not to live. — 0. nation miserable ! 
With an untitled tyrant, bloody-scepter'd, 
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, 
Since that the truest issue of thy throne f 

By his own interdiction stands accurs'd, / 

And does blaspheme his breed ? — Thy royal father 
Was a most sainted king : the queen, that bore thee, 
Ofl'ner upon her knees than on her feet, 
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well. 
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself 
Have banish'd me from Scotland. — 0, my breast ! 
Thy hope ends here. 

Mai. Macduff, this noble passion, 

Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts 
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth 
By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me 
From over-credulous haste ; but God above 
Deal between thee and me, for even now 
I put myself to thy direction, and 
Uuspeak mine own detraction ; here abjure 
The taints and blames I laid upon myself, 
For strangers to my nature. I am yet 
Unknown to woman ; never was forsworn ; 
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own ; 
At no time broke my faith ; would not betray 
The devil to his fellow, and delight 
No less in truth, than life : my first false speaking 
Was this upon myself. What I am truly 
Is thinC; and my poor country's, to command : 
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach, 
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, 
Already at a point, was setting forth. 
Now, we '11 together ; and the chance of goodness 
Be like our warranted quarrel. Why are you silent? 

Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at 
once, 
'T is hard to reconcile. 

1 foisons : in f. e. ; plenty. » Overcomes. 



Enter a Doctor. 

Mai. Well ; more anon. — Comes the king forth, I 
pray you ? 

Boct. Ay, sir : there are a crew of wretched souls, 
That stay his cure : their malady convinces' 
The great assay of heart ; but at his touch. 
Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand. 
They presently amend. 

Mai. I thank you, doctor. 

\Exit Doctor. 

Macd. .What 's the disease he means ? 

Mai. J 'T is call'd the evil: 

A mosr miraculous work in this good king, 
Which often, since my here remain in England, 
I have seen him do. How he .solicits heaven,'' 
Himself best knows ; but strangely-visited people, 
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, 
The mere despair of surgery, he cures ; 
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks. 
Put on with holy prayers : and 't is spoken, 
To the succeeding royalty he leaves 
The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, 
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy. 
And sundry blessings hang about his throne, 
That speak him full of grace. 

Enter Rosse. 



Macd. 



See, who comes here ? 




man's knell 
iom ; and good men's lives 



Mai. My countryman; but yet I know him not. 

Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 

Mai. I know him now. Good God, betimes remove 
The means that make us strangers ! 

Ro.tse. Sir, amen. 

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ? 

Rosse. Alas, poor country ! 

Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot 
Be eall'd our mother, but our grave ; where nothing. 
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile : 
Where sighs, and groansyind shrieks that rend the air, 
Are made, not mark'd ; fflipre violent sorrow seems 
A modern ecstasy : the 
Is there scarce ask'd, for 
Expire before the flowers ii\their caps. 
Dying or ere they sicken. • ^ 

Macd. 0, relation. 

Too nice, and yet too true ! '' ^ 

3Ial. Wha^.is the newest grief? 

Rosse. That of an hour's age dom hiss the speaker. 
Each minute teems a new one. 

Macd. How does my wife ? 

7?o.sse. Why, well.. 

Macd. And all my children ? 

Rosse. Well, too. 

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace ? 

Rosse. No ; they were well, at peace, when I did 
leave them. 

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech : how goes it? 

Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings, 
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour 
Of many worthy fellows that were out : 
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, 
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot. 
Now is the time of help. Your eye in Scotland 
Would create soldiers, make our women fight. 
To doff their dire distresses. 

Mai. Be it their comfort. 

We are coming thither. Gracious England hath 
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men : 
An older, and a better soldier, none 
That Christendom gives out. 



SCENE I. 



MACBETH. 



Y35 



Rosse. WoHld I could answer 

This comfort with the like ! But I have words, 
That would be howl'd out in the desert air 
Where hearing should not latch^ them. 

Macd. What concern they ? 

The general cause, or is it a fee-grief. 
Due to some single breast ? 

Rossc. No mind that 's honest 

But in it shares some woe, though the main part 
Pertains to you alone. 

Macd. If it be mine, 

Keep it not from me ; quickly let me have it. 

Rossc. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever. 
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound, 
That ever yet they heard. 

Macd. Humph ! I guess at it. 

Rosse. Your castle is surprised ; your wife, and babes. 
Savagely slaughter'd : to relate the manner 
Were, on the quarry^ of these murdcr'd deer. 
To add the death of you. 

il/a/. Merciful heaven ! — 

What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows : 
Give sorrow words ; the grief, that does not speak, 
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. 

Macd. My children too ? 

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all 

That could be found. 

Macd. And I must be from thence ! 

My wife kill'd too? 

Rosse. I have said. 



Mai. 



Be comforted : 



Let 's make us medicines of our great revenge. 
To cure this deadly grief. 

Macd. He has no children. — All my pretty ones? 
Did you say, all ?— 0, hell-kite !— All ? 
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam. 
At one fell swoop ? 

Mai. Dispute it like a man. 

Macd. T shall do so ; 

But I must also feel it like a man : 
I cannot but remember such things were. 
That were most precious to me. — Did heaven look on, 
And M'ould not take their part? Sinful Macduff! 
They were all struck for thee. Naught that I am. 
Not for their own demerits, but for mine. 
Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now ! 

Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword : let grief 
Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. 

Macd. ! I could play the woman with mine eyes, 
And braggart with my tongue. — But. gentle Heavens, 
Cut short all intermission ; front to front. 
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; 
Within my sword's length set him : if he 'scape, 
Heaven forgive him too ! 

ISIal. This tune^ goes manly. 

Come, go we to the king : our power is ready ; 
Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth 
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above [may ; 

Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you 
The night is long that never finds the day. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE L — Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. 
Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentlewoman. 

Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can 
perceive no truth in your report. When was it she 
last walked ? 

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have 
seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon 
her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write 
upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return 
to bed ; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. 

Doct. A great perturbation in nature, to receive at 
once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watch- 
ing. In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking 
and other actual performances, what at any time have 
you heard her say ? 

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. 

Doct. You may. to me; and 't is most meet you 
should. 

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, having no "wit- 
ness to confirm my speech. 

Enter Lady Macbeth, with a Taper. 
Lo you ! here she comes. This is her very guise, and 
upon my life fast asleep. Observe her : stand close. 

Doct. How came she by that light ? 

Gent. Why, it stood by her : she has light by her 
continually ; 't is her command. 

Doct. You see, her eyes are open. 

Gent. Ay, but their sen.se is .shut. 

Doct. What is it she does now? Look, how she 
rubs her hands. 

Gent. It is an accustomed action with licr to seem 
thus washing her hands : I have known her continue 
in this a quarter of an hour. 



Lady M. Yet here 's a spot. 

Doct. Hark ! she speaks. I will set down what 
comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more 
strongly. [Taking out his Tables.* 

Lady M. Out, damned spot ! out, I say ! — One ; 
two : why, then 't is time to do 't. — Hell is murky ! — 
Fie, my lord, fie ! a soldier, and afeard ? What need 
we fear who knows it, when none can call our power 
to account? — Yet who would have thought the old man 
to have had so much blood in him ? 

Doct. Do you mark that ? [ Writing.^ 

Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife : where is • 
she now? — What, will these hands ne'er be clean? — 
No more o' that, my lord ; no more o' that ; you mar 
all with this starting. 

Doct. Go to, go to : you have known what you 
should not. 

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure 
of tliat: Heaven knows what she has known. 

Lady M. Here 's the smell of the blood still : all the 
perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. 
Oh! oh! oh! 

Doct. What a sigh is there ! The heart is sorely 
charged. 

Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, 
for the dignity of the whole body. 

Doct. Well, well, welh— 

Gent. Pray God, it be. sir. 

Doct. Tliis disease is beyond my practice : yet I have 
known those which have walked in their sleep, who 
have died holily in their beds. 

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night-gown ; 
look not so pale. — I tell you yet again, Banquo 's 
buried : he cannot come out on 's grave. 



» Catch. » Heap of dead game. ' time : in folio. "Ro-we made the change. ♦ * Not in f. e 



736 



MACBETH. 



ACT V. 



Doct. Even so ? 

Lady M. To bed, to bed : there 's, knocking at the 
gate. Come, come, come, come, tjive 



What 's done, cannot be 



■'■> 



she go now to bed ? 



me your hand. 

undone : to bed, to bed, to 

[Exit Lady Macbeth. 



bed. 

Doct. Will 

Gent. Directly 

Doct. Foul whi.sperin2;s are abroad. Unnatural deeds 
Do breed unnatural troubles : infected minds 
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. 
More needs she the divine, than the physician. — 
God, God, forgive us all ! Look after her ; 
Remove from her the means of all annoyance, 
And still keep eyes upon her. — So. good night: 
My mind she lias mated\ and amaz'd my sight. 
I think, but dare not speak. 

Gent. Good night, good doctor. [Exeunt, 

SCENE II. — The Country near Dunsinane. 

Enter., with Drum and Colours, Menteth, Cathness^ 

Angus, Lenox, and Soldier.';. 

Mcnt. The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, 
His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. 
Revenges burn in them ; for their dear causes 
Would, to the bleeding and the grim alarm, 
Excite the mortified man. 

Ang. Near Birnam wood 

Shall wc well meet them : that way are they coming. 

Cath. Who knows, if Donalbainbe with his brother? 

Len. For certain, sir, he is not. I have a file 
Of all the gentry: there is Siward's son. 
And many untough youths, that even now 
Protest their first of manhood. 

Ment. What does the tyrant? 

Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies. 
Some say, he 's mad : others, that lesser hate him, 
Do call it valiant fury ; but, for certain, 
He cannot buckle his distemper'd course- 
Within the belt of rule. 

Ans. Now does he feel 

His secret murders sticking on his hands ; 
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach : 
Those lie commands move only in command, 
Nothing in love : now does he feel his title 
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe 
Upon a dwarfish thief. 

Mcnt. Who, then, shall blame 

His pester'd senses to recoil and start. 
When all that is within him does condemn 
Itself, for being there ? 

Cath. Well ; march we on, 

To give obedience where 't is truly ow'd : 
JNIeet we the medicine of the sickly weal : 
And with him pour we, in our country's purge, 
Each drop of us. 

Men. Or so much as it needs 

To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. 
Make we our march towards Birnam. 

[Exeunt, marching. 

SCENE III. — Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. 

Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. 
Macb. Bring me no more reports ; let them fly all : 
Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, 
I cannot taint with fear. What 's the boy Malcolm? 
Was he not born of woman ? The spirits that know 
All mortal conseqvaences have pronounc'd me thus : — 
'•'■ Fear not, Macbeth ; no man that 's born of woman 



Shall e'er have power upon thee." — Then fly, false 
And mingle with the English epicures : [thanes, 

The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear. 
Shall never sag with doubt, nor shake with fear. 

Enter a Servant. 
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon ! 
Where got'st thou that goose look? 

Serv. There is ten thousand — 

Macb. Geese, villain ? 

Serv. Soldiers, sir. 

Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, 
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch ?^ 
Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine 
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face? 

Serv. The English force, so please you. 

Macb. Take thy face hence. — [Exit Sen-.*] Seyton ! — 
I am sick at heart, 
When I behold — Seyton, I say ! — This push 
Will chair^ me ever, or disseat me now. 
I have liv'd long enough : my May* of life 
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf; 
And that which should accompany old age, 
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, 



I must not look to have 



but, in their stead. 



Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath, 
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. 
Seyton !— 

Enter Seyton. 

Sey. What is your gracious pleasure? 

Macb. What news more? 

Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, wiiich was reported. 

Macb. I '11 fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd. 
Give me my armour. 

Sey. 'T is not needed yet. 

3iacb. I '11 put it on. 
Send out more horses, skirr^ the country round ; 
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour. — 
How does your patient, doctor ? 

Doct. Not so sick, my lord, 

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
That keep her from her rest. 

Macb. Cure her of that. 

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd. 
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow. 
Raze out the written troubles of the brain. 
And with some sweet oblivious antidote 
Cleanse the stuff 'd bosom of that perilous grief,* 



Therein the patient 



Which weighs upon the heart? 

Doct. 
Must minister unto himself. 

Macb. Throw physic to tlie dogs ; I '11 none of it. — 
Come, put mine armour on : give me my staff. — 
Seyton, send out. — Doctor, the thanes fly from me. — 
Come, sir, despatch. — If thou couldst. doctor, cast 
The water of my land, find her disease. 
And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
I would applaud thee to the very echo, 
That should applaud again. — Pull 't off, I say. — 
What rhubarb, senna', or what purgative drug, 
Wovild scour these English hence ? — Hear'st thou of 
them ? 

Doct. Ay, my good lord : your royal preparation 
Makes us hear something. 

Macb. Bring it after me. — 

I will not be afraid of death and bane, 
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. [Exit. 

Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear. 
Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Exit. 



- Astonished. 
' Scour, s stuff: 



2 cause 
in f. e. 



in f. e. ' Fool. 
^ cyme : in folio. 



* Not in f. e. 5 cheer : 
Rowe made the change. 



in f. e. ^ way : in f. e. Johnson also suggested the change. 



SCENE VII. 



MACBETH. 



Y37 



SCENE IV. — Country near Dunsinane : a Wood in 

view. 
Enter, with Drum and Colours, Malcolm, old Siward, 

and his Son, Macduff, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, 

Lenox, Rosse, and Soldiers marching, 

Mai. Cousins. I hope, the days are near at hand, 
That chambers will be safe. 

Ment. We doubt it nothing. 

Siiv. What wood is this before us ? 

Mcnt. The wood of Birnam. 

Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough, 
And bear 't before him : thereby shall we shadow 
The numbers of our host, and make discovery 
Err in report of us. 

Sold. It shall be done. 

Siw. We learn no other but the confident tjTant 
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure 
Our setting down before 't. 

Mai. 'T is liis main hope; 

For where there is advantage to be gotten,' 
Both more^ and le.«s liave given him the revolt. 
And none serve with him but constrained things, 
Whose hearts are absent too. 

Macd. Let our just censures 

Attend the true event, and put wc on 
Industrious soldiership. 

Siw. The time approaches, 

That will with due decision make us know 
What we shall say we have, and what we owe. 
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate, 
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate ; 
Towards which, advance the war. [Exeunt, marching. 

SCENE v.— Dunsinane. Within the Castle. 

Enter, with Drums and Colours, Macbeth, Seyton, 

and Soldiers. 

Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward walls; 
The cry is still, -'They come !" Our castle's strength 
Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie. 
Till famine and the ague eat them up. 
Were they not fare'd^ with those that shoiild be ours, 
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, 

[A cry within, of Women. 
And beat them backward home. What is that noise ? 

Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. [Exit.'^ 

Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fear. 
The time has been, my senses would have quail'd' 
To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell^ of hair 
Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir. 
As life were in 't. I have supp'd full with horrors : 
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts. 
Cannot once start mc. — 

Re-enter Sevton.' 

WJierefore was that cry ? 

Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. 

Macb. She should have died hereafter : 
There would have been a time for such a word. — 
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow. 
Creeps in tliis petty pace from day to day. 
To the last syllable of recorded time ; 
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ! 
Li.'c's but a walking shadow; a poor player. 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 
And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
Signifying nothing. 

Enter a Mes.scngcr. 
Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story, quickly. 

1 giren : in f. e. > Greater. ^ forc'd : in f. e. * Not in f, 



ilfo.9. Gracious mj^ lord, 
I should report that which I say I saw, 
But know not how to do 't. 

3Iucb. Well, say. sir. 

Mess. As I did stand my watcli upon the hill, 
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought. 
The wood began to move. 

Macb. Liar, and slave ! 

Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so. 
Within this three mile may you see it coming ; 
I say, a moving grove. 

Macb. If thou speak'st false, 

Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, 
Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth, 
I care not if thou dost for me as much. — 
I pull in resolution; and begin 
To doubt th' equivocation of the fiend, 
That lies like truth : •' Fear not, till Birnam wood 
Do come to Dunsinane ;" — and now a wood 
Comes toward Dunsinane. — Arm, arm, and out ! — 
If this, which he avouches, does appear. 
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. 
I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, 

And wish th' estate o' the world were now undone. — 
Ring the alarum bell ! — Blow, wind ! come, wrack ! 
At least we 'U die with harness on our back. {Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— The Same. A Plain before the Castle. 
Enter, xvith Drums and Colours, Malcolm, old Siward, 
Macduff, ^c, and their Army icith Boughs. 
Mai. Now near enough : your leafy screens throw 
down. 
And show like those you are. — You, worthy uncle, 
Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son, 
Lead our first battle : worthy Macdufi", and we, 
Shall take upon 's what else remains to do. 
According to our order. 

Siw. Fare you well. — 

Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night. 
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. 

Macd. Make all our trumpets speak ; give them all 
breath. 
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. 

\Exeunt. Alarums continued. 

SCENE Vlt.— The Same. Another Part of the Plain. 
Enter Macbeth. 
Macb. They have tied me to a stake : I cannot fly. 
But, bear-like, I must fight the course. — What 's he. 
That was not born of woman ? Such a one 
Am I to fear, or none. 

Enter young Siward. 
Yo. Siw. What is thy name ? 

Macb. Thou 'It be afraid to hear it. 

Yo. Siw. No ; though thou call'st thyself a hotter 
name. 
Than any is in hell. 

Macb. My name 's Macbeth. 

Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a title 
More hateful to mine ear. 

Macb. No, nor more fearful. 

Yu. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant : with my sword 
I '11 prove the lie thou speak'st. 

[They fight, and young Siward is slain. 

Macb. Thou wast born of woman : — 

But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, 

Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit. 

Alarums. Enter Macduff. 

Macd. That way the noise is. — Tyrant, show thy face ! 

in f. e. • Skin. ' Not in f. e. 



5 cool'd 

47 



738 



MACBETH. 



ACT V. 



If thou be slain, and with no stroke of mine, 
My wife and children's ghosts will liannt me still. 
I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms 
Are hir'd to bear their staves : either thou, JMacbeth, 
Or else my sword, with an tinbatter'd edge, 
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be : 
By this great clatter, one of greatest note 
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune. 
And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarum. 

Enter Malcolm atul old Siward. 

Siw.This way, my lord. — The ca.stle 's gently render'd: 
The tyrant 's people on both sides do fight ; 
The iioble thanes do bravely in the war. 
The day almost itself professes yours, 
And little is to do. 

Mai. We have met with foes 

That strike beside us. 

Siw. Enter, sir, the castle. [Exeunt. Alarum. 

Re-enter Macbeth. 

Mach. "Why should I play the Roman fool, and die 
On mine own sword ? whiles I see lives, the gashes 
Do better upon them. 

Re-enter Macduff. 



Macd. 



Turn, hell-hound, turn. 



Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee: 
But get thee back : my soul is too much charg'd 
With blood of thine already. 

Macd. I have no words ; 

My voice is in my sword : thou bloodier villain 
Thau terms can give thee out ! [They fight. 

Macb. Thou losest labour. 

As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air 
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed : 
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ; 
1 bear a charmed life, which must not yield 
To one of woman born. 

Macd. Despair thy charm ; 

And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd, 
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb 
Untimely ripp'd. 

Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so. 
For it hath cow'd my better part of man : 
And be these juggling fiends no more bcliev'd, 
That palter with us in a double sense ; 
That keep the word of promise to our ear. 
And break it to our hope. — I '11 not fight with thee. 

Macd. Then, yield thee, coward, 
And live to be the show and gaze o' the time : 
We '11 have thee, as our rarer monsters are, 
Painted upon a pole, and iinderwrit, 
" Here may you see the tyrant." 

Macb. I will not yield, 

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, 
And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, 
And thou oppos'd be of no woman born, 
Yet I will try the last. Before my body 



He 's worth more sorrow. 



I throw my warlike shield : lay on, Macduff, 

And damn'd be he that first cries, " Hold, enough !" 

[Exeunt, fighting. 
Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with Drum and Colours, 
Malcolm, old Siward, Rosse, Thanes, and Soldiers. 

Mai. I would, the friends we miss were safe arriv'd. 

Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these I see, 
So great a day as this is cheaply bought. 

Mai. Macdufl' is missing, and your noble son. 

Ro.s.se. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt : 
He only liv'd but till he was a man. 
The wiiich no sooner had his prowess confirm'd 
In the unshrinking station where he fought, 
But like a man he died. 

Siiv. Then he is dead ? 

Ros.se. Ay, and brought off the field. Your cause of 
sorrow 
Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then 
It hath no end. 

SiuK Had he his hurts before ? 

Rosse. Ay, on the front. 

Siw. Why then, God's soldier be he. 

Had I as many sons as I have hairs, 
I would not wish them to a fairer death : 
And so, his knell is knoU'd. 

3Ial. 
And that I '11 spend for him. 

Siw. He 's worth no more : 

They say, he parted well, and paid his score, 
And God be with him ! — Here comes newer comfort. 
Re-enter Macduff, iviih Macbeth's Head, on a, Pike. 

Macd. Hail, king ! for so thou art. Behold, where 
stands' [Sticking the Pike in the ground.^ 

The usurper's cursed head : the time is free. 
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, 
That speak my salutation in their minds : 
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine, — 
Hail, king of Scotland ! 

All. Hail, king of Scotland ! [Flourish. 

Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of time, 
Before we reckon with our several loves. 
And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen, 
Henceforth be earls ; the first that ever Scotland 
In such an honour nam'd. What 's more to do. 
Which would be planted newly with the time, — 
As calling home our exil'd friends abroad. 
That fled the snares of watchful tyranny ; 
Producing forth the cruel ministers 
Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen, 
Who, as 't is thought, by self and violent hands 
Took off her life ; — this, and what needful else 
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, 
We will perform in measure, time, and place. 
So, thanks to all at once, and to each one. 
Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 



1 Kot in f. e. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Claudius, King of Denmark. 

Hamlet, Son to the former, and Nephew to the 

present King. 
Horatio, Friend to Hamlet. 
PoLONius, Lord Chamberlain. 
Laertes, his Son. 
voltimand, 
Cornelius, 
rosencrantz, 
guildenstern, 
OsRicK, a Courtier. 
Another Courtier. 
A Priest. 



Courtiers. 



Marcellus, 
Bernardo, 



"' > Officers. 

Framcisco, a Soldier. 
Reynaldo, Servant to Polonius. 
A Captain. Ambassadors. 
Ghost of Hamlet's Father. 
FoRTiNBRAS, Prlncc of Norway. 
Two Clowns, Grave-diggers. 

Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and Mother to 

Hamlet. 
Ophelia, Daughter to Polonius. 



Lords. Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players, Sailors, Messengers, and Attendants. 

SCENE, Elsinore. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L— Elsinore. A Platform before the Castle. 
Francisco on his Post. Enter to him Bernardo. 

Bcr. Who 's there ? 

Fran. Nay, answer me : stand, and unfold 

Yourself. 

Her. Long live the king ! 

Fran. Bernardo? 

Ber. He. 

Fran. You come most carefully iipon your hovir. 

Ber. 'T is new' struck twelve : get thee to bed, Fran- 
cisco. 

Fran. For this relief much thanks. 'T is bitter cold, 
And I am sick at heart. 

Bcr. Have you had quiet guard ? 

Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 

Bcr. Well, good night. 
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
The rivals^ of my watch, bid them make haste. 
Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 

Fran. I think I hear them. — Stand, ho ! Who is there? 

Hor. Friends to this ground. 

Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. 

Fran. Give yott good night. 



Mar. 
Who liath reliev'd you ? 

Fran. 



! farewell, honest soldier 



Give vou good night. 



Bernardo has my place. 

[Exit Francisco. 
3rar. Holla ! Bernardo ! 

Bcr. Say. 

What ! is Horatio there ? 

Hor. A piece of him. 

Ber. Welcome, Horatio : welcome, good Marcellus. 

Hor.^ What, has this thing appear'd again to-night? 

Ber. I have seen nothing. 

Mar. Horatio says, 't is but our fantasy, 



And will not let belief take hold of him. 
Touching this dreaded sight twice seen of us : 
Therefore, I have entreated him along 
With us, to watch the minutes of this night ; 
That, if again this apparition come. 
He may approve our eyes, and speak to it. 

Hor. Tu.sh, tush ! 'twill not appear. 

Ber. Sit down awhile ; 

And let us once again assail your ears. 
That are so fortified against our story, 
What we two nights have seen. 

Hor. Well, sit we down, 

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 

Ber. Last night of all, 
When yond' same star, that 's westward from the pole, 
Had made his course t' illume that part of heaven 
Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself. 
The bell then beating one, — 

3Iar. Peace ! break thee off : look, where it comes 
again ! 

Enter Ghost, armed.* 

Ber. In the same figure, like the king that 's dead. 

3Iar. Thou art a scholar: speak to it, Horatio. 

Ber. Looks it not like the king ? mark it, Horatio. 

Hor. Most like : — it harrows me with fear, and 
wonder. 

Ber. It would be spoke to. 

Mar. Question it, Horatio. 

Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night. 
Together with that fair and warlike form. 
In which the majesty of buried Denmark 
Did sometimes march ? by heaven I charge thee, speak ! 

3Iar. It is offended. 

Ber. See ! it stalks away. 

Hor. Stay ! speak, speak ! I charge thee, speak ! 

[Exit Ghost. 



noTi' : in f. e. = Companions. 3 Marcellus: in quarto, 1003, and folio. * This ■word is not added in f. e. 



Y40 



HAMLET, PEINCE OF DENMARK. 



ACT T. 



3Iar. 'T is gone, and will not answer. 

Ber. How now, Horatio ! you tremble, and look pale. 
Is not this something more than fantasy ? 
What think you on 't ? 

Hor. Before my God, I might not this believCj 
Without the sensible and true avouch 
Of mine own eyes. 

Mar. Is it not like the king ? 

Hor. As thou art to thyself. 
Such was the very armour he had on, 
When he th' ambitious Norway combated : 
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle, 
He smote the sledded Polacks' on the ice. 
'T is strange. 

3Iar. Thus, twice before, and jump^ at this dead hour, 
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. 

Hor. In what particular thought to work, I know not; 
But in the gross and scope of mine opinion. 
This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 

Mar. Good now, sit down ; and tell me, he that 

' knows, 
Why this same strict and most observant watch 
So nightly toils the subject of the land ? 
And why such daily cast° of brazen cannon, 
And foreign mart for implements of war ? 
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task 
Does not divide the Sunday from the week ? 
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste 
Doth make the night joint labourer with the day ? 
Who is 't, that can inform me ? 

Hor. That can I ; 

At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, 
Whose image even but now appear'd to us, 
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, 
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, 
Dar'd to the combat ; in which our valiant Hamlet 
(For so this side of our known world esteem'd him) 
Did slay this Fortinbras ; who. by a seal'd compact, 
Well ratified by law and lieraldry, 
Did forfeit with his life all those his lands, 
Which he stood seiz'd of. to the conqueror : 
Against the which, a moiety competent 
Was gaged by our king : which had return'd 
To the inheritance of Fortinbras, 
Had he been vanquisher ; as, by the same co-mart,* 
And carriage of the article design'd. 
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras, 
Of unimproved* mettle hot and full. 
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, 
Shark'd up a list of lawless* resolutes, 
For food and diet, to some enterprise 
That hath a stomach in in 't : which is no other 
(As it doth well appear unto our state) 
But to recover of us, by strong hand 
And terms compulsative, those 'foresaid lands 
So by his father lost. And this, I take it, 
Is the main motive of our preparations, 
The source of this our watch, and the chief head 
Of this post-haste and romage in the land. 

Ber. I think, it be no other, but e'en so :' 
Well may it sort,® that this portentous figure 
Comes armed through our watch : so like the king 
That was, and is, the question of these wars. 

Hor. A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye. 
In the mo.st high and palmy state of Rome, 
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell. 



The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead 
Did squeak and gibber in the E oraan streets : 
As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood. 
Disasters in the sun ; and the moist star. 
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, 
Was sick almost to dooms-day with eclipse : 
And even the like prccurse of fierce events — 
As harbingers preceding still the fates, 
And prologue to the omen coming on — 
Have heaven and earth, together demonstrated 
Unto our climatures and countrymen. — 

Re-enter Ghost. 
But, soft ! behold ! lo. where it comes again ! 
I '11 cross it. though it blast me. — Stay, illusion ! 
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice. 
Speak to me : 

If there be any good thing to be done, 
That may to thee do ease, and grace to me, 
Speak to me : 

If thou art privy to thy country's fate. 
Which happily foreknowing may avoid, 
0, speak ! 

Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life 
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth. 
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, 

\Cock crows. 
Speak of it : stay, and speak ! — Stop it, Marcellus. 

Mar. Shall I strike at' it with my partisan ? 

Hor. Do, if it will not stand. 

Ber. 'T is here ! 

Hor. 'T is here ! 

Mar. 'T is gone. [Exit Ghost. 

We do it wrong, being so majestical, 
To offer it the show of violence ; 
For it is, as the air, invulnerable. 
And our vain blows malicious mockery. 

Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew. 

Hor. And then it started, like a guilty thing 
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard, 
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,^" 
Doth with his lofty and .shrill-sounding throat 
Awake the god of day ; and at his warning, 
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, 
Th' extravagant and erring spirit hies 
To his confine ; and of the truth herein 
This present object made probation. 

3Iar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes 
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, 
This bird of dawning singeth all night long : 
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir'' abroad ; 
The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, 
No fairy takes,' ° nor witch hath power to charm. 
So hallow'd and .so gracious is that time. 

Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe it. 
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad. 
Walks o'er the dew of yond' high eastern hill. 
Break we our watch up : and, by my advice. 
Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
Unto young Hamlet ; for, upon my life. 
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. 
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, 
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? 

3Iar. Let 's do 't, I pray ; and I this morning know 
Where we shall find him most conveniently. [Exeunt. 



1 Poles. 2 just : in folio. ^ cogj . ;„ quartos. * covenant : in folio. 5 inapproved : in quarto, 160.3. 'landless: in folio. 'This 
and the seventeen foUowins lines, are not in quarto. 1603. or folio. 8 Agree. " Not in quartos. i" day : in folio. " dare -walk : in 
quarto, 1603 ; can walk : in folio. 1= talks : in folio ; blasts. 



SCENE II. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



T41 



I do beseech you. give him leave to go. 

Ki)7g. Take thy lair hour. Laertes ; time be thine. 
And thy best graces : spend it at thy will. — 
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, — 

Ham. A little more than kin^ and less than kind. 

[Aside. 

King. How is it that tlie clouds still hang on yovi ? 

Ho7n. Not so, my lord : I am too much i' the sun. 

Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy night-like' colour off, 
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids 
Seek for thy noble father in the du.«t : 
Thou know'st, 't is common ; all that live must die, 
Passing through nature to eternity. 

Hain. Ay, madam, it is common. 

Queen. If it be, 

Why seems it so particular with thee ? 

Ham. Seems, madatn ! nay, it is ) I know not seems. 
'T is not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
Nor customary suits of solemn black, 
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage. 
Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief, 
That can denote me truly : these, indeed, seem, 
For they are actions that a man might play j 
But I have tliat within, which passeth show, 
These but the trappings and the suits of woe. 

King. 'T is sweet and commendable in your nature, 
Hamlet, 
To give these mourning duties to your father : 
But, you must know, your father lost a father ; 
That father lost, lost his ; and the survivor bound 
In tilial obligation, for some term, 
To do obsequious' sorrow : but to persevere 
In obstinate eondolcment is a course 
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief: 
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven ) 
A heart unfortified, a mind impatient. 
An understanding simple and unschoord : 
For what, we know, must be, and is as common 
As any the most vulgar thing to sense. 
Why should we, in our peevish opposition, 
Take it to heart ? Fie ! 't is a fault to heaven, 
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature. 
To reason most absurd, whose common theme 
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried. 
From the first corse till he that died to-day, 
'■'• This must be so." We pray you, throw to earth 
This unprevailing woe, and think of us 
As of a father ; for, let the world take note. 
You are the most inuncdiato to our throne ) 
And, with no less nobility of love 
Than that which dearest father bears his son, 
Do I impart toward you. For your intent 
In going back to school in Wittenberg 
It is most retrograde to our desire : 
And, we beseech you. bend you to remain 
Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye, 
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 

Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet : 
I pray thee, stay with us ; go not to Wittenberg. 

Ha7n. I shall in all my best obey you, madam. 

King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply: 
Be as ourself in Demnark. — Madam, come ; 
This gentle and luilbre'd accord of Hamlet 
Sits smiling to my heart ; in grace whereof, 
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day, 

J The rest of tliis dirpction is not in f. e. 2 to : in quartos. 3 The preceding p-^rt of this speech is not in quarto, 1G03. * bearing : in 
folio. ^ Not in f. e. ^ This and the two following lines, are not in folios. " nighteJ : in f. e. * As at obsequies. 



SCENE II.— The Same. A Room of State. 
Sennet. Enter the King., Queen., Hamlet, Polonius, 
Laertes, Voltimand, Coknf.t.ius, Lords, and At- 
tendants.^ The King takes his Scat. 

King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death 
The memory be green, and that it us befitted 
To bathe our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom 
To be contracted in one brow of woe ; 
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature, 
That we with wisest sorrow think on him, 
Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
Therefore, our sometime sister, now our queen, 
Th' imperial jointress of'' this warlike state. 
Have we, as 't were with a defeated joy, — 
With one auspicious, and one dropping eye. 
With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage, 
In equal scale weighing delight and dole, — 
Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd 
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
With this affair along : for all, our thanks. 
Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, 
Holding a weak supposal of our worth, 
Or thinking, by our late dear brother's death 
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 
Colleagued with the dream of his advantage, 
He hath not faifd to pester us with message, 
Importing the surrender of those lands 
Lost by his father, with all bands of law. 
To our most valiant brother. — So mi;eh for him. 
Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting. 
Thus much the business is :'■' we have here writ 
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, — 
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears 
Of this his nephew's purpose, — to suppress 
His farther gait herein, in that the levies, 
The lists, and full proportions, are all made 
Out of his subject : and we here despatch 
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, 
For bearers* of this greeting to old Norway; 
Giving to you no farther personal power 
To business Avith the king, more than the scope 
Of these dilated articles allow. [Giving them.^ 

Farewell ; and let your haste commend your duty. 

Cor. Vol. In that, and all things, will we show our duty. 

King. We doubt it nothing : heartily farewell. 

[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. 
And now, Laertes, what 's the news with you ? 
You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes ? 
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
And lose your vofee : wliat wouldst thou beg, Laertes, 
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking ? 
The head is not more native to the heart, 
The hand more instrumental to the mouth. 
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 
What wouldst tliou have, Laertes ? 

Laer. My dread lord, 

Your leave and favour to return to France ; 
From whence though willingly I catne to Denmark. 
To show my duty to your coronation. 
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, 
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, 
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. 

King. Have you your father's leave ? What says 
Polonius ? 

Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from mc my slow leave,^ 
By laboursome petition ; and, at last. 
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent : 



742 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



ACT I. 



But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, 
And the king's rouse the heaven shall bruit again, 
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. 

[Flourish Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, ifc. 
PoLONius, and Laertes. 
Ham. ! that this too, too solid flesh would melt, 
Thaw, and resolve itself into a devt^j 
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter. O God ! God ! 
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
Seem to me all the uses of this world. 
Fie on 't ! fie'! 'tis an unwcedcd garden, 
That grows to seed ; things rank, and gross in nature. 
Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 
But two months dead ! — nay, not so much, not two : 
So excellent a king ; that was, to this, 
Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother. 
That he might not betecm" the winds of heaven 
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 
]\Iust I remember ? why, she would hang on him, 
As if increase of appetite had grown 
By what it fed on : and yet, within a month, — 
Let me not think on 't. — Frailty, thy name is woman ! — 
A little month ; or ere those shoes were old, 
With which she follow'd my poor father's body. 
Like Niobe, all tears ; — why she, even she, 
(0 God ! a beast, that Avants discourse of reason, 
Would have mourn'd longer) — married with my uncle, 
]My fat tier's brother ; but no more like my father, 
Than 1 to Hercules : within a month ; 
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, 
She married. — 0, most wicked speed, to post 
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! 
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good ; 
But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue! 
Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus. 

Hor. Hail to your lordship ! 

Ham. I am glad to see you : 

Horatio, — or I do forget myself. 

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. 

Hum. Sir, my good friend ; I '11 change that name 
with you. 
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? — 
Marcellus ? 

Mar. My good lord. 

Ham. I am very glad to see you ; good even, 
sir. — 
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? 

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 

Ham. I would not hcar^ your enemy say soj 
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence. 
To make it truster of your own report 
Against yourself: I know, you are no truant. 
But what is your affair in Elsinore ? 
We '11 teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. 

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. 

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student : 
I think, it was to see my mother's wedding. 

Hur. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. 

Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio : the funeral bak'd meats 
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
'Would I had met my dearest* foe in heaven 
Ere ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! — 
INIy father, — methinks, I see my father. 

Hor. O ! where, my lord ? 

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 

Hor. I saw him once : he was a goodly king. 



Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
I shall not look upon his like again. 

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 

Ham. Saw whom ?' 

Hor. My lord, the king your father. 

Ham. The king ray father ! 

Hor. Season your admiration for a while 
With an attent ear, till I may deliver, 
Upon the witness of these gentlemen, 
This marvel to you. 

Ham. For God's love, let me hear, 

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch. 
In the dead vast' and middle of the night, 
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father. 
Armed at point, exactly, cap-a-pie, 
Appears before them, and with solemn march 
Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walk'd. 
By their oppre.ss'd and fear-surprised eyes. 
Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they, bechill'd' 
Almost to jelly with the act of fear. 
Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
In dreadful secrecy impart they did. 
And I with them the third night kept the watch ; 
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, 
Form of the thing, each word made true and good, 
The apparition comes. I knew your father ; 
These hands are not more like. 

Ham. But where was this ? 

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd. 

Hojn. Did you not speak to it ? 

Hor. My lord. I did, 

But answer made it none ; yet once, methought, 
It lifted up its head, and did address 
Itself to motion, like as it would speak : 
But, even then, the morning cock crew loud, 
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, 
And vanish'd from our sight. 

Ham. 'T is very strange. 

Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 't is true ] 
And we did think it writ down in our duty, 
To let you know of it. 

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
Hold you the watch to-night ? 

All. We do, my lord. 

Ham. Arm'd, say you ? 

AH. Arm'd, my lord. 

Ham. From top to toe ? 

All. My lord, from head to foot. 

Ham. Then, saw you not his face ? 

Hor. ! yes, my lord : he wore hi^ beaver up. 

Ham. What ! look'd he frowningly ? 

Hor. A countenance more 

In sorrow than in anger. 

Ham. Pale, or red ? 

Hor. Nay, very pale. 

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you ? 

Hor. Most constantly. 

Ham. I would I had been there ! 

Hor. It would have much amaz'd you. 

Ham. Very like, 

Very like. Stay'd it long ? 

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a 
hundred. 

Mar. Ber. Longer, longer. 

Hor. Not ■when I saw it. 

Ham. His beard was grizzled' ? no ? 

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 



- fie, fie : in folio. = Suffer. ' have : in folio. * Greatest. ' -who ; in f. e. 
in mod. eds. to " waist." ' distill'd : in f. e. s grizly : in folio. 



6 So the quarto, 1603 j other old copies : -waste ; changed 



SCENE III, 



HAMLET, PKINCE OF DENMAKK. 



743 



A sable silver'd. 

Ham. I will watch to-night : 

Perchance, 't will walk again. 

Hor. I warrant it will. 

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, 
I '11 speak to it, though hell itself should gape, 
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
If you have hitherto conceal'd tliis sight. 
Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 
And whatsoever else sliall hap to-night, 
Give it an understanding, but no tongue : 
I will requite your loves. So, fare you well : 
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
I '11 visit you. 

All. Our duty to your honour. 

Ham. Your loves, as mine to you. Farewell. 

[Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus. and Bern.\rdo. 
My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well; 
I doubt some foul play : would the night were come ! 
Till then, sit still, my soul. Foul deeds will rise. 
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. 

[Exit. 

SCENE III. — A Room in Polonius's House. 
Enter Laertes and Ophelia. 

Laer. My necessaries are embark'd : farewell : 
And, sister, as the winds give benefit. 
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep. 
But let me hear from you. 

Oph. Do you doubt that ? 

Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour. 
Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood ; 
A violet in the youth of primy nature. 
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, 
The perfume and^ suppliance of a minute; 
No more. 

Oph. No more but so? 

Laer. Think it no more .' 

For nature, crescent, does not grow alone 
In thews, and bulk : but. as this temple waxes, 
The inward service of the mind and soul 
Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves you now ; 
And now no soil, nor cautel, doth besmirch 
The virtue of his will ; but you must fear, 
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own. 
For he himself is subject to his birth : 
He may not, as unvalued persons do, 
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends 
The safety" and health of this whole state ; 
And therefore must his choice be circuinscrib'd 
I'uto the voice and yielding of that body, 
Whereof he is the head. Then, if he says he loves you. 
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it, 
As he in his particular act and place^ ^ 

May give his saying deed ; which is no farther, 
Tlian the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 
Then, weigh what loss your honour may sustain, 
If with too credent car you list his songs, 
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open 
To liis unmaster'd importunity. 
Fi-ar it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear si.ster ; 
And keep you in the rear of your affection, 
Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
The chariest maid is prodigal enough, 
If she unmask her beauty to the moon. 
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes: 
The canker galls the infants of the spring, 
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd j 



And in the morn and liquid dew of youth 
Contagious blastments are most imminent. 
Be wary, then ; best safety lies in fear : 
Youth to itself rebels, tliough none else near. 

Oph. I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep. 
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, 
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven. 
Whilst, like a putf'd and reckless libertine, 
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, 
And recks not his own read.* 

Laer. ! fear me not. 

I stay too long; — but here my father comes. 

Enter Polonius. 
A double blessing is a double grace ; 
Occasion smiles upon a second leave. 

Pol. Yet here, Laertes ? aboard, aboard, for shame ! 
The wind sits in the shoulder of your .sail, 
And you are stay'd for. Tliere, — my blessing •with you ; 
[Laying his Hand on Laertes' Head. 
And these few precepts in thy memory 
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. 
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar: 
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel ; 
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware 
Of entrance to a quarrel ; but, being in, 
Bear 't, that th' opposer may beware of thee. 
Give every man thine car, but few thy voice ; 
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 
But not exprcss'd in fancy ; rich, not gaudy : 
For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 
And they in France, of tlic best rank and station. 
Are of a most select and generous choice' in that. 
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be ; 
For loan oft loses both itself and friend, 
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
This above all, — to thine own self be true ; 
And it nmst follow, as the night the day. 
Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
Farewell : my blessing .^ca.son this in thee ! 

Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. 

Pol. The time invites' you : go : your servants tend. 

Laer. Farewell, Ophelia ; and remember well 
What I have said to you. 

Oph. 'T is in my memory lock'd, 

And you yourself shall keep the key of it. 

Laer. Farewell. [Exit Laertes. 

Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you? 

Oph. So please you, something touching the lord 
Hamlet. 

Pol. Marry, well bethought : 
'T is told me. he hath very oft of late 
Given private time to you ; and you yourself 
Have of your audience been mo.st free and bounteous. 
If it be .so, (as so 't is put on me, 
And that in way of caution) I must tell you, 
You do not understand yourself so clearly, 
As it behoves my daughter, and your honour. 
What is between you ? give me up the truth. 

Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders 
Of his affection to me. 

Pol. Affection? pooh ! you speak like a green girl, 
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. 
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them ? 



1 These t-wo words, not in folio. 
in quarto. 



'sanctity: in folio. ^ peculiar sect and force: in folio. * Counsel. * chief: in f. o. • invests j 



T4i 



HAMLET, PPwmCE OF DENMAEK. 



ACT I. 



Oph. I do not know, my lord, ■what I should think. 

Pol. Marry, I '11 teach you : think yourself a baby; 
That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay. 
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly; 
Or, not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, 
Running' it thus, you '11 tender me a fool. 

Oph. My lord, he hath importun'd me with love, 
In honourable fashion. 

Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it ; go to, go to. 

Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, my 
lord. 
With almost all the holy a'Ows' of heaven. 

Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know, 
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 
Lends^ the tongue vows : these blazes, daughter, 
Giving more light than heat, — extinct in both, 
Even in their promise, as it is a making, — 
You must not take for fire. From this time, 
Bo somewhat scanter of your maiden jiresence : 
Set your entreatments at a higher rate, 
Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, 
Balieve .^o much in him, that he is young ; 
And with a larger tether may he walk, 
Than may be given you. In few, Ojihelia, 
Do not believe his vows, for they are brokers 
Not of that die* which their investments show. 
But mere irnplorators of unholy suits. 
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,' 
The better to beguile. This is for all, — 
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth. 
Have you so squander" any moments leisure. 
As to give words or talk with tlie lord Hamlet. 
Look to 't, I charge you ; so now,' come your ways. 

Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Platform. 
Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and JMarcellus. 

Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is' very cold. 

Hor. It is a nipping, and an eager air. 

Ham. What hour now? 

Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. 

Mar. No. it is struck. 

Hor. Indeed ? I heard it not : it then draws near 
the season. 
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. 
[A Flouri.'ih of Trumpets, and Ordnance shot off", within. 
What does this mean, my lord ? 

Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes his 
rouse, 
Keeps wassel, and the swaggering up-spring reels; 
And as ho drains his draughts of Rhenish down, 
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
The triumph of his pledge. 

Hor. Is it a custom ? 

Ham. Ay, marry, is't: 
But to my mind, — though I am native here, 
And to the manner born, — it is a custom 
]\Iore honour'd in the breach, than the observance. 
This heavy-headed revel, east and west' 
Makes us traduc'd and tax'd of other nations : 
They clepe'° us drunkards, and with swinish phrase 
Soil our addition ; and, indeed, it takes 
From our achievements, though pcrform'd at height, 
The pith and marrow of our attribute. 
So. oft it chances in particular men. 
That for some vicious mole of nature in them. 



As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty, 

Since nature cannot choose his origin) 

By their o'ergrowth of some complexion, 

Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason ; 

Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens 

The form of plausive manners ; — that these men, — 

Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect 

Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — 

Their'' virtues else, be they as pure as grace, 

As infinite as man may undergo. 

Shall in the general censure take corruption 

From that particular fault : the dram of ilP' 

Doth all the noble substance often dout'^, 

To his own scandal. 

Enter Ghost,'^* armed as before. 

Hor. Look, my lord ! it comes. 

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! 

[Paitse.^* 
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd. 
Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, 
Be thy intents'" wicked, or charitable. 
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, 
That I will speak to thee. I '11 call thee, Hamlet, 
King, Father, Royal Dane: ! answer me: 
Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell, 
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death. 
Have burst their cerements ? why the sepulchre, 
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd," 
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, 
To cast thee up again ? What may this mean, 
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, 
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon. 
Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature. 
So horridly to shake our disposition. 
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? 
Say, why is this ? wherefore ? what should we do ? 

[The Ghost beckons Hamlet. 

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it. 
As if it some impartment did desire 
To you alone. 

Mar. Look, with what courteous action 

It waves" you to a more removed ground: 
But do not go with it. 

Hor. No, by no means. 

Ham. It will not speak; then, will I follow it. 

Hor. Do not, my lord. 

Ham. Why, what should be the fear ? 

I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
And, for my soul, what can it do to that, 
Being a thing immortal as itself? — 
It waves me forth again : — I '11 follow it. 

Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, 
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, 
That^beetles o'er his base into the sea. 
And there assiune some otlier horrible form, 
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, 
And draw you into madness? think of it: 
The very place puts toys of desperation," 
Without more motive, into every brain 
That looks so many fathoms to the sea. 
And hears it roar beneath. 

Ham. It waves me still. — Go on, 

I '11 follow thee. 

Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 

Ham. Hold off your hands. 

Hor. Berul'd: you shall not go. [They struggle.'^'' 



I in f. e. : "Wronging ; from quarto. Roaming : in folio. 2 With all the vows : in folio. ^ Gives : in folio. * the eye : in folio. ' bonds : 
in f. e. Tlieobald al.so made the change. 6 slander : in f.e. ' The words, "so now." are not in f. e. B is it : in folio. ^ This and the 
twenty-one following lines, are not in quarto, l(i03. or folio. 'O Call. " His : in old copies. Theobald made the change. i^ eale : in 
quarto. 13 of ^ doubt : in quarto ; dout. is to do nut, to destroy. 1* The rest of this direction is not in f. e. '^ Not in f. c. '^ events : 
in folio. 1' interred : in quartos, is wafts ; in folio. '^ This and the next three lines, are not in the quarto, 1G03, or folio. 20 Not in t. e. 



SCENE V. 



HAMLET, PEINCE OF DENMARK. 



745 



Ham. My fate cries out, 

And makes each petty artery in this body 
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. [Ghost beckons. 
Still am I call'd. — Unhand me, gentlemen : — 

[ Breaking from them . 
By heaven, I '11 make a ghost of him that lets me : — 
I say, away ! — Go on, I '11 follow tlice. 

[Exeunt Ghost ami Hamlet. 

Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. 

Mar. Let 's follow; 't is not fit thus to obey him. 

Hor. Have after. — To what is.sue will this come ? 

Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. 

Hor. Heaven's will direct it ! 

Mar. Nay, let 's follow him. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— A more remote Part of the Platform. 
Enter Ghost and Hamlet. 

Ham. Whither' wilt thou lead me? speak, I'll go 
no farther. 

Ghost. Mark me. 

Ham. I vnll. 

Ghost. My hour is almost come, 

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
Must render up myself. 

Ham. Alas, poor ghost ! 

Ghost. Pity me not : but lend thy serious hearing 
To what I shall unfold. 

Ham. Speak : I am bound to hear. 

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. 

Ham. What? 

Ghn.st. I am thy father's spirit ; 
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, 
And for the day confin'd to lasting fiires". 
Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature. 
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, 
Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, 
Thy knotted' and combined locks to part, 
And each particular hair to stand an-end, 
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine* : 
But this eternal blazon must not be 
To cars of flesh and blood. — List, list, list !' — 
If thou didst ever thy dear father love, — 

Him. O God ! 

Ghost. R evenge his foul and most unnatural murder. 

Ham. Murder? 

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is ; 
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 

Ham. Haste me to know 't. that I, with wings as swift 
As meditation, or the thovights of love, 
May sweep to my revenge. 

Ghost. I find thee apt ; 

And duller shouldst thou be. than the fat weed 
That roots" itself in ease on Lctho wharf, 
Wouldst thou not stir in this : now, Hamlet, hear. 
'Tis given out. that sleeping in mine orchard, 
A serpent stung me : so the whole ear of Denmark 
Is by a forged process of my death 
Piankly abus'd ; but know, thou noble youth, 
The serpent that did sting thy father's life 
Now wears his crown. 

Ham. 0, my prophetic soul ! my uncle? 

Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, 
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts. 
(0 wicked wit. and gifts, that have the power 



So to seduce !) won to his .shameful lust 
The will of my most .seeming virtuous queen. 
0, Hamlet, what a falling-oft' was there ! 
From me, whose love was of that dignity, 
That it went hand in hand even with the vow 
I made to her in marriage ; and to decline 
Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor 
To those of mine ! 

But virtue, as it never will be mov'd, 
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, 
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, 
Will sate itself in a celestial bed. 
And prey on garbage. 

But, soft ! methinks, [ scent the morning air : 
Brief let me be. — Sleeping within mine orchard. 
My custom always in the afternoon. 
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole. 
With juice of cursed hebenon in a phial, 
And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
The leperous distilment ; whose effect 
Holds such an enmity with blood of man. 
That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
The natural gates and alleys of the body; 
And with a sudden vigour it doth posset, 
And curd, like eager' droppings into milk, 
The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine : 
And a most instant tetter bark'd* about, 
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust 
All my smooth body. 

Thus was 1, sleeping, by a brother's hand, 
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despoiled' : 
Cut off even in the blossom of my sin, 
Unhouscl'd, disappointed, unaneled^" : 
No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
With all my imperfections on my head : 
0. horrible ! 0, horrible ! most horrible ! 
If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ; 
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 
A couch for luxury and damned incest. 
But. how.soever thou pursuest this act, 
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
Against thy mother aught : leave her to heaven, 
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge. 
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once. 
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, 
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire : 
Adieu, adieu ! Hamlet," remember me. [Exit. 

Ham. 0, all you host of heaven ! O earth ! What 
else ? 
And shall I couple hell ? — fie ! — Hold, heart ; 
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, 
But bear me stiffly'' up. — Remember thee ? 
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat 
In this distracted globe. Remember thee? 
Yea, from the table of my memory 
I '11 wipe away all trivial fond records. 
All saws of books, all forms, all ])ressures past. 
That youth and observation copied there, 
Aiid thy commandment all alone shall live 
Within the book and volume of my brain, 
Unmix'd with baser matter : yes, by heaven ! 
0, most pernicious and perfidious woman ! 
villain, villain, smiling, damned villain ! 
My tables.'^ — meet it is, I set it down, 
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain ; 
At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark : — 

[ Writing. 



* Where : in folio. ^ to fast in fires : in f. e. ^ knotty : in folio. ♦ portentino : in old copies. 6 List, Hamlet, 0, list : in folio. « rots : 
in folio. ■' Fr. aigre. sour. 8 bnk'd : in folio. ' despatched : in f. e. "> Without the sacr.ament, unprepared, unoiled, or without 
extreme unction. " adieu : in quarto. 12 swiftly : in quartos. '^ My tables, my tables : in folio. 



74:6 



HAMLET, PEINCE OF DENMARK. 



ACT n. 



So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word ; 
It is, " Adieu, adieu ! remember me." 
I have sworn 't. 

Jlor. [ Within.] My lord ! my lord ! 
Mar. [Witlmi.] Lord Hamlet! 
Hor. [Within.] Heaven secure him ! 

Mar. [Within.] So be it ! 
Hor. [Within.] Illo, ho, ho, my lord ! 
Ham. Hillo. ho. ho ! boy ! come, bird, come. 
Eriter Horatio and Marcellus. 
How is't. my noble lord ? 

What news, my lord ? 



3Iar 
Hor. 

Ham. Oj wonderful ! 
Hor. 
Ham. 
You 'U reveal it. 

Hor. Not I, my lord, 
3Iar. 



Good my lord, tell it. 



No; 



by heaven. 

Nor I, my lord. 

Ham. How say you, then ; would heart of man once 
think it ?— 
But you '11 be secret. 

Hor. Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord. 

Ham. There 's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark, 
But he 's an arrant knave. 

Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the 
grave 
To tell us this. 

Ham. Why, right : you are i' the right ; 

And so, without more circuinstancc at all, 
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part : 
You, as your business and desire .shall point you, 
For every man hath business and desire. 
Such as it is ; and, for mine own poor part. 
Look you, I '11 go pray. 

iTor.These are but wild and whirling^ words, my lord. 

Ham. I am sorry they oiFend you, heartily ; yes, 
'Faith, heartily. 

Hor. There 's no offence, my lord. 

Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, 
And much offence too. Touching this vision here. 
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you : 
For your desire to know what is between us, 
O'er-master 't as you may. And now, good friends, 
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers. 
Give me one poor request. 

Hor. What is 't, my lord? 

Mar. We will. 

Ham. Never make known what you have seen to- 
night. 

Hor. Mar. My lord^ we will not. 

Ham. Nay, but swear 't, 

Hor. In faith. 



My lord, not I. 

3Iar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. 

Ham. Upon my sword. 

Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already. 

Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 

Ghost. [Beneath.] SvA'car. 

Ham. Ha. ha, boy! say'st thou so? art thou there, 
true-penny ? 
Come on. — you hear this fellow in the cellarage, — 
Consent to swear. 

Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 

Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen, 
Swear by my sword. 

Ghoxt. [Beneath.] Swear. 

Ham. Hie ct vhique ? tlien, we '11 shift our ground. — 
Come hither, gentlemen. 
And lay your hands again upon my sword : 
Never to speak of this that you have heard, 
S^year by my sword. 

Ghost. [Bencath\ Swear. 

Ham. W'ell said, old mole ! canst work i' the earth- 
so fast ? 
A worthy pioneer ! — Once more remove, good friends. 

Hor. day and night, but this is wondrous strange ! 

Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. 
There arc more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in your^ philosophy. But come ; — 
Here, as before, never, so help you mercy. 
How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, — 
As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet 
To put an antic disposition on, — 
That you, at such times seeing mc, never shall. 
With arms encumbered thus, or this head-shake. 
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, 
As, '• Well, well, we know ;" — or, '' We coiild, an if 

we would ;" — 
Or, " If we list to speak;" — or, " There be, an if they 

might;" — 
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 
That you know aught of me : — this not to do. 
So grace and mercy at your most need help you, 
Swear. 

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swxar. 

Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit ! — So, gentlemen, 
With all my love I do commend me to you ; 
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 
May do, t' express his love and friending to you, 
God willing, .shall not lack. Let us go in together; 
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. — 
The time is out of joint ; cursed spite ! 
That ever I was born to set it right. — 
Nay, come ; let 's go together. [Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — A Room in Polonius's House. 
Enter Polonius and Reynaldo. 

Pol. Give him this money, and these notes, Reynaldo. 

Rcy. I will, my lord. 

Tol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo, 
Before you visit him, to make inquiry 
Of his behaviour. 

Rey. My lord. I did intend it. 

Bol. Marry, well said : very well said. Look you, sir. 
Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris ; 
And how, and who, what means, and where they keep, 

> hurling : in folio. * ground : in folio. ' our : in folio. 



What company, at what expense : and finding, 

By this encompassment and drift of question, 

That they do know my son, come you more nearer 

Than yovir particular demands will touch it. 

Take you, as 't were, some distant knowledge of him ; 

As thus, — •• I know his father, and his friends, 

And, in part, him :" — do you mark this, Reynaldo ? 

Rey. Ay, very well, my lord. 

Pol. '• And, in part, him ; but," you may say, " not 
well : 
But, if 't be he I mean, he 's very wild, 
Addicted so and so :" — and there put on him 



\ 



SCENE II. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



747 



Wliat forgeries you please ; marry, none so rank 
As may dishonour him : take heed of that; 
But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips, 
As are companions noted and most known 
To youth and liberty. 

Rey. As gaming, my lord. 

Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling, 
Drabbing : — you may go so far. 

Rcy. My lord, that would dishonoiir him. 

Pol. 'Faith, no ; as you may .'^eason it in the charge. 
You must not put another scandal on him, 
That he is open to incontinency : 
That 's not my meaning : but breathe his faults so 

quaintly, 
That they may seem the taints of liberty ; 
The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind ; 
A savagencss in unreclaimed blood, 
Of general assault. 

Rey. But, my good lord. — 

Pol. Wherefore should you do this ? 

Rey. Ay, my lord, 

I would know that. 

Pol. Marry, sir, here 's my drift j 

And, I believe, it is a fetch of warrant.^ 
You laying these slight sullies on my son. 
As 't were a thing a little soil'd i' the working, 
Mark you. 

Your party in converse, him you would sound, 
Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes 
The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur'd, 
He closes with you in this consequence : 
"Good sir," or so; or '• friend," or '"gentleman," — 
According to the phrase, or the addition 
Of man, and country. 

R(^y. Very good, my lord. 

Pol. And then, sir, docs he this, — he does — 
What was I about to say ? — By the mass, I was 
About to say something : — where did I leave ? 

Rey. At closes in the consequence, 
As ''friend or so," and "gentleman." 

Pol. At, closes in the consequence, — ay, marry; 
He closes thus : — '' I know the gentleman ; 
I saw him yesterday, or t' other day. 
Or then, or then ; with such, or .such ; and, as you say. 
There was he gaming ; there o'ertook in 's rouse ; 
There falling out at tennis : or perchance, 
I saw him enter such a house of sale, 
Videlicet.^ a brothel " or so forth. — 
See you now ; 

Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth : 
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, 
With windlasses, and with assays of bias, 
By indirections find directions out : 
So. by my former lecture and advice, 
Sliall you my son. You have me, have you not? 

Rey. My lord, I have. 

Pol. God be wi' you ; fare you well. 

Rey. Good my lord. 

Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. 

Rey. I shall, my lord. 

Pol. And let lam ply his music. 

Rey. Well, my lord. {Exit. 

Enter Ophkli.\. 

Pol. Farewell! — How now, Ophelia? what's the 
matter ? 

Oph. Alas,'' my lord ! I have been so affrighted ! 

Pol. With what, in the name of God ? 

Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber, 



Lord Hamlet, — with his doublet all unbrac'd ; 

No hat upon his head ; his stockings foul'd, 

Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle ; 

Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other; 

And with a look so piteous in purport, 

As if he had been loosed out of hell, 

To speak of horrors, — he comes befdre me. 

Pol. Mad for thy love ? 

Oph. My lord, I do not know; 

But, truly, I do fear it. 

Pol. What said he ? 

Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held me hard ; 
Then goes he to the length of all his arm. 
And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, 
He falls to such perusal of my face. 
As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so : 
At last, — a little shaking of mine arm. 
And thrice his head thus waving up and down, — ■ 
He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound, 
That it did seem to shatter all his bulk. 
And end his being. That done, he lets me go. 
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd. 
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes ; 
For out o' doors he went without their help. 
And to the last bended tlieir light on me. 

Pol. Come', go with me : 1 will go seek the king. 
This is the very ecstasy of love ; 
Whose violent property fordoes itself, 
And leads the will to desperate undertakings, 
As oft as any passion vmder heaven. 
That does afflict our natures. I am sorry, — 
What ! have you given him any hard words of late ? 

Oph. No, my good lord ; but, as you did command, 
I did repel his letters, and denied 
His access to me. 

Pol. That hath made him mad. 

I am sorry that with better heed and judgment 
I had not quoted* him : 1 fear'd, he did but trifle, 
And meant to wreck thee ; but, beshrew my jealousy. 
By heaven,' it is as proper to our age 
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions, 
As it is common for the younger sort 
To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king : 
This must be known ; which, being kept close, might 

move 
More grief to hide, than hate to utter love. [Exeunt. 

SCENE H.— A Room in the Castle. 
Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and 

Attendant.'^ . 

King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz. and Guildenstern : 
Moreover, that we did much long to see you, 
The need we have to use you, did provoke 
Our hasty sending. Something have you heard 
Of Hamlet's transformation ; so I call it, 
Sith nor th' exterior nor the inward man 
Resembles that it was. What it should be. 
More than his father's death, that thus hath put him 
So much from the uiulcrstanding of himself, 
I cannot dream' of: I entreat you both, 
That, being of so young days brought up with him, 
And since so neighbour'd to his youth and humour,' 
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court 
Some little time; so by your companies 
To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather. 
So much as from occasion you may glean, 
Whether augiit, to us unknown, afflicts him thus,' 
That, open'd, lies within our remedy. 



4 



1 wit : in quarto. 1604. 2 my lord : 
in quartos. ^ This line is not in folio. 



in quartos. 'Not in folio. * Observed. * It seems : in folio, 'deem: in folio, 'havionr: 



748 



HAMLET, PKINCE OF DENMAEK. 



ACT n. 



Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you ; 
And, sure I am, two men there are not living, 
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you 
To show us so much gentry, and good will, 
As to expend your time with us a while, 
For the supply and profit of our hope. 
Your visitation shall receive such thanks 
As fits a king's remembrance. 

Ros. Both your majesties 

Might, by the sovereign pow'er you have of us, 
Put your dread pleasures more into command 
Than to entreaty. 

Guil. But^ we both obey ; 

And here give up ourselves, in the full bent, 
To lay oiu- service freely at your feet. 
To be commanded. 

King. Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guildenstern. 

Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosen- 
And I beseech you instantly to visit [crantz : 

My too much changed son. — Go, some of you. 
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. 

Guil. Heavens make our presence, and our practices, 
Pleasant and helpful to him ! v y 

Queen. Ay,* amen ! y\ 

y [Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern. and 
some Attendants. 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, 
Are joyfully return'd. 

A'wg. Thou still hast been the father of good news. 

Pol. Have I, my lord ? Assure you, my good liege, 
I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, 
Both to my God, one' to my gracious king : 
And I do think, (or else this brain of mine 
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure 
As it hath* us'd to do) that I have found 
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 

King. ! speak of that ; that do I long to hear. 

Pol. Give first admittance to th' ambassadors ; 
My news shall be the fruit' to that great feast. 

King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in. 

[Exit POLONIUS. 
He tells me, my dear Gertrude," he hath found 
The head and source of all your son's distemper. 

Queen. I doubt, it is no other but the main ; 
His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage. 
Re-enter Polonius, icith Voltimand and Cornelius. 

King. Well, we shall sift him. — Welcome, my good 
friends. 
Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? 

Volt. Mcst fair return of greetings, and desires. 
Upon our first, he sent out to suppress 
His nephew's levies ; which to liim appear'd 
To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack. 
But, better look'd into, he truly found 
It was against your highness : whereat griev'd, — 
That so his sickness, age, and impotence. 
Was falsely borne in hand, — sends out arrests 
On Fortinbras : which he in brief obeys, 
Receives rebuke from Norway, and, in fine, 
Makes voav before his uncle, never more 
To give th' assay of arms against your majesty. 
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, 
Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee, 
And his commission to employ those soldiers. 
So levied as before, against the Polack : 
With an entreaty, herein farther shown. 

[Giving a Paper. 



That it might please you to give quiet pass 
Through your dominions for this enterprise, 
On such regards of safety, and allowance, 
As therein are set down. 

King. It likes us well ; 

And, at our more consider'd time, we '11 read, 
Answer, and think upon this business : 
Mean time, we thank you for your well-took labour. 
Go to your rest : at night we '11 feast together : 
Most welcome home. 

[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. 

Pol. This business is well ended. 

My liege, and madam ; to expostulate 
What majesty should be, what duty is. 
Why day is day, night night, and time is time. 
Were nothing but to waste day, night, and time. 
Therefore, since' brevity is the soul of wit, 
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, 
I will be brief. Your noble son is mad : 
Mad call I it; for, to define true madness. 
What is 't, but to be nothing else but mad : 
But let that go. 

Queen. More matter, with Icfs art. 

Pol. Madam, I swear, I use no art at all. 
That he is mad, 't is true : 't is true, 't is pity, 
And pity 't is 't is true : a foolish figure ; 
But farewell it, for I will ute no art. 
Mad let us grant him, then ; and now remains. 
That we find out the cause of this effect ; 
Or rather say, the cause of this defect. 
For this eflject defective comes by cause : 
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
Perpend. 

I have a daughter ; have, while she is mine ) 
Who, in her duty and obedience, mark. 
Hath given me this. Now gather, and surmise. 

[Reads. 
— " To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beau- 
tified Ophelia,"— 

That 's an ill phrase, a vile phrase ; " beautified " is a 
vile phrase ; but you .«hall hear. — Thus : 

'■ In her excellent white bosom, these," &c. — 

Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her? 

Pol. Good madam, stay awhile : I will be faithful. — 
'• Doubt thou the stars are fire, [Reads. 

Doubt, that the sun doth move ; 
Doubt truth to be a liar. 
But never doubt I love. 

'• dear Ophelia ! I am ill at these numbers : I have 
not art to reckon my groans ; but that I love thee best, 

Adieu. 
Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst 
this machine is to him, Hamlet." 
This in obedience hath my daughter shown me j 
And more above, hath his solicitings. 
As they fell out by time, by means, and place, 
All given to mine ear. 

King. But how hath she 

Receiv'd his love ? 

Pol. What do you think of me ? 

King. As of a man faithful, and honourable. 

Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might you think, 
When I had seen this hot love on the wing, 
(As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that, 
i?efore my daughter told me) w^hat might you, 
Or my dear majesty, your queen here, think. 
If I had play'd the desk, or table-book ; 
Or given my heart a winking', mute and dumb ; 



! most best, believe it. 



1 2 Not in folio. 
ing : in quartos. 



' and : in quartos. * I have : in folio. ' news : in folio. * my sweet queen : in folio. ' Not ia quartos. 8 -vyork- 



SCENE II. 



HAMLET, PEINCE OF DENMAKK. 



Y49 



Or look'd upon this love with idle sight ; 

What might you think ? no, I went round to work, 

And my young mistrc.<s thus 1 did bespeak : 

" Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star' ; 

This must not be :" and then I precepts gave her, 

That she should lock herself from his resort, 

Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 

Which done, she took the fruits of my advice j 

And he, repulsed, a short tale to make. 

Fell into sadness ; then into a fast ; 

Thence to a watch ; thence into a weakness ; 

Thence to a lightness ; and by this declension, 

Into the madness wherein now he raves, 

And we all waiP for. 

King. Do you think 't is this ? 

Queen. It may be, very likely. 

Pol. Hath there been such a time, I 'd fain know that, 
That I have positively said, " 'T is so," 
When it prov'd otherwise ? 

King. Not that I know. 

Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise. 

[Pointitig to hi.s Head and Shoulder 
If circumstances lead me, [ will find 
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
Within the centre. 



Kini 



How may we try it farther ? 



Pol. You know, sometimes he walks for hours 
together, 
Here in the lobby. 

Queen. So he doth, indeed. 

Pol. At such a time I '11 loose my daughter to him : 
Be yov^ and I behind an arras, then : 
Mark the encounter ; if he love her not. 
And be not from his reason fallen thereon, 
Let me be no a.ssistant for a state, 
But^ keep a farm and carters. 

King. We will try it. 

Enter Hamlet, reading. 

Queen . But. look, where sadly the poor WTctch comes 
reading. 

Pol. Away ! I do beseech you, both away. 
I '11 board him presently : — ! give me leave. — 

[Exeunt King. Queen, and Attendants. 
How does my good lord Hamlet ? 

Ham. Well, god-'a-mercy. 

Pol. Do you know me, my lord ? 

Ham. Excellent well ; you are a fishmonger. 

Pol. Not I, my lord. 

Ham. Then, I would you were so honest a man. 

Pol. Honest, my lord ? 

Ham. Ay, sir : to be honest, as this world goes, is to 
be one man picked out of ten* thousand. 

Pol. That 's very true, my lord. 

Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, 
being a good' kissing carrion, — Have you a daughter ? 

Pol. I have, my lord. 

Ham. Let her not' walk i' the sun : conception is a 
blessing : but not as your daughter may conceive : — 
friend, look to 't. 

Pol. [A.tide.] How say you by that ? Still harping 
on my daughter : — yet he knew me not at first ; he 
said, I was a fishmonger.' He is far gone, far gone : and 
truly in iny youth I suffered much extremity for love ; 
very near this. I '11 speak to him again. — What do you 
read, my lord ? 

Ham. Words, words, words. 

Pol. What is the matter, my lord ? 



Ham. Between whom ? 

Pol. I mean, the matter that you read,^ my lord. 

Hain. Slanders, sir : for the satirical rogue says here 
that old men have grey beards ; that their faces arc 
wrinkled ; their eyes purging thick amber, and plum- 
tree gum ; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit. 
together with most weak hams ; all of which, sir^ 
though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I 
hold it not honesty to have it thus set down : for you 
yourself, sir, should be' old as I am. if like a crab you 
could go backward. 

Pol. Though this be madness, yet there is method 
in 't. [A.nde.] Will you walk out of the air. my lord ? 

Ham. Into my grave ? 

Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air. — [A.nde.^°] How 
pregnant sometimes his replies are ! a happiness that 
often madness hits on, which reason and sanity could 
not .so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him, 
and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between 
him and my daughter. — [To him.'^] My honourable 
lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you. 

Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that 
I will more willingly part withal ; except my life," ex- 
cept my life, except my life. 

Pol. Fare you well, my lord. 

Ham. These tedious old fools ! 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Pol. You go to seek the lord Hamlet ; there he is. 

Ros. God save you, sir ! [7b Poloniu?. 

[Exit POLONIUS, 

Guil. Mine honour'd lord ! — 

Ros. My most dear lord ! 

Ham. My excellent good friends ! How dost thou, 
Guildenstern ? Ah, Rosencrantz ! Good lads, how do 
ye both ? 

Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth. 

Guil. Happy, in that we are not overhappy •" 
On fortune's cap we are not the very button. 

Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe ? 

Ros. Neither, my lord. 

Ha)n. Then you live about her waist, or in the 
middle of her favours ? 

Guil. 'Faith, her privates we. 

Ham. In the secret parts of fortune ? ! most true ; 
she is a strumpet. What news ? 

Ros. None, my lord, but that the world 's grown 
honest. 

Harji. Then is dooms-day near ; but your news is not 
true. Let me question more in particular : what have 
you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of fortune, 
that she sends you to prison hither ? 

Guil. Prison, my lord ! 

Ham. Denmark 's a prison. 

Ros. Tlien, is the world one. 

Ham. A goodly one ; in which there are many con- 
fines, wards, and dungeons, Denmark being one of the 
worst. 

Ros. We think not so. my lord. 

Ham. Why, then 't is none to you : for there is 
nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so : 
to me it is a prison. 

Ros. Why then, your ambition makes it one : 't is 
too narrow for your mind. 

Ham. God ! I could be bounded in a nut-shell, 
and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not 
that I have bad dreams, 

Guil. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition ; for the 



• .<;phere : in folio. 1632. 2 mourn : in quartos. ^ And : in folio. * two 
in quartos. " mean : in folio. ' shall grow : in quartos. '" '^ Not in f. e. 
tune's lap : in quartos. 



in folio. * So old copies. Warburton reads : god. ' ' Not 
IS except my life, my life : in folio. '^ ever happy on for- 



750 



HAMLET, PRmCE OF DENMARK. 



ACT n. 



very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow 
of a dream. 

Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. 

Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light 
a quality, that it is but a shadow's shadow. 

Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and ourmonarchs, 
and outstretched lieroes, the beggars' shadows. Shall 
we to the court ? for, by my fay, I cannot reason. 

Ros. Giiil. We '11 wait upon you. 

Ham. No such matter : I will not sort you with the 
rest of my servants ; for, to speak to you like an honest 
man, I am most dreadfully attended. But, in the 
beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore ? 

Ros. To visit you. my lord ; no other occasion. 

Ham. Beggar that I am. I am even poor in thanks ; 
but I thank you : and sure, dear friends, my thanks are 
too dear a halfpenny. Were you not sent for? Is it 
your own inclining ? Is it a free visitation ? Come, 
come ; deal justly with me : come, come ] nay, speak. 

Guil. What should we say, my lord ? 

Ham. Why any thing, but to the purpose. You 
were sent for ; and there is a kind of confession in 
your looks, which your modesties have not craft enough 
to colour : I know, the good king and queen have sent 
for you. 

Ros. To what end, my lord ? 

Ham. That you must teach me. But let me conjure 
you, by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy 
of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved 
love, and by what more dear a better proposer could 
charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether 
you were sent for, or no ? 

Ros. What say you? [To Guildknstern. 

Ham. Nay, then I have an eye of you. [Aside.] — If 
you love me, hold not off. 

Guil. My lord, we were sent for. 

Ham. I will tell you why : so shall my anticipation 
prevent your discovery, and^ your secrecy to the king 
and queen moult no feather. I have of late (but 
wherefore I know not) lost all my mirth, foregone all 
custom of exercises : and, indeed, it goes so heavily 
with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, 
seems to me a sterile promontory ; this most excellent 
canopy, the air, look you. this brave o'erhanging firma- 
ment, this majestical roof fretted with golden fires, why, 
it appeareth nothing to me, but a foul and pestilent 
congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a 
man ! How noble in reason ! how infinite in faculties ! 
in form, and moving, how express and admirable ! in 
action, how like an angel ! in apprehension, how like a 
god ! the beauty of the world ! the paragon of animals ! 
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust ? man 
delights not me ; [Ros. smiles^^ no, nor woman neither, 
though by your smiling you seem to say so 



in my 



the 



shall 



m peace : the clown shall make those laugh, whose 
lungs are tickled o' the sere f and the lady shall say 
her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for 't. — 
What players are they ? 

Ros. Even those you were wont to take such delight 
in; the tragedians of the city. 

Ham. How chances it, they travel ? their residence, 
both in reputation and profit, was better both ways. 

Ros. I think, their inhibition comes by the means 
of the late innovation.' 

Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did 
when I was in the city? Are they so followed ? 

Ros. No, indeed, they are not. 

Ham. How comes it ? Do they grow rusty ? 

Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted 
pace ; but there is, sir, an eyry of children,* littfe eyases, 
that cry out on the top of question, and are most 
tyrannically clapped for 't : these are now the fashion ; 
and so berattle the common stages, (so they call them) 
that many, wearing rapiers, are afraid of goose quills, 
and dare scarce come thither. 

Ham. What ! are they children ? who maintains them? 
how are they escoted ?' Will they pursue the quality 
no longer than they can sing ? will they not say after- 
wards, if they should grow themselves to common 
players, (as it is most like, if their means are not 
better) their writers do them wrong, to make them ex- 
claim against their own succession? 

Ros. 'Faith, there has been much to do on both 
sides ; and the nation holds it no sin to tarre^' them to 
controversy : there was. for a while, no money bid for 
argument, unless the poet and the player went to cuffs 
in the question. 

Ham. Is it possible ? 

Gxiil. O ! there has been much throwing about of 
brains. 

Ham. Do the boys carry it away ? 

Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord ; Hercules, and his 
load too. 

Ham. It is not very'' strange ; for my uncle is king 
of Denmark, and those, that would make mowes" at 
him while my father lived, give twenty, foi'ty, fifty, an 
hundred ducats a-piece for his picture in little. 'Sblood ! 
there is something in this more than natural, if philo- 
sophy could find it out. [Truvipcts within. 

Guil. There are the players. 

Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. 
Your hands. Come, then ; the appurtenances of wel- 
come is fashion and ceremony : let me comply with 
you in this garb, lest my extent to the players (which, 
I tell you, must show fairly outward) should more 
appear like entertainment than yours. You are wel- 



come ; but 
ceived. 

Guil 

Ham. 
wind is 
saw." 



my uncle-father, and aunt-mother, are de- 



In what, my dear lord ? 

I am but mad north-north-west : when the 
southerly, I know a hawk from a hand- 



Ros. My lord, there was no such stuff 
thoughts. 

Ham. Why did you laugh, then, when I said, man 
delights not me ? 

Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, 
what lenten* entertainment the players shall receive 
from you : we coted* them on the way, and hither are 
they coming to offer you service. 

Ham. He that plays the king, shall be welcome ; 
his majesty shall have tribute of me ; the adventurous 
knight shall use his foil, and target : the lover shall 
not sigh gratis : the humorous man shall end his part 

1 On. 'of: in folio. ^ Not in f. e. * Players were not allowed to perform in Lent. ' Came alons; side of. ' in the lunj^s : in 
quarto, 1603. ' Probably a reference to the restriction in lGOO-1, of dramatic performances to two theatres, the Globe and the Fortune. 
8 An allusion to some juvenile company of players, of which there were several in preat popular favor at the time. ' Fr. esent : shot, or 
reckoning, i" Excite, 'i Not in folio. '2 mouths : in tjuartos. " A common proverb, when the play was written ; the word is a corrup- 
tion of hernshaio, a heron. 



Enter Polonius. 

Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen ! 

Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern ; — and you too ; — at 
each ear a hearer : that great baby, you see there,^ is 
not yet out of his swathing-clouts. 

Ros. Haply, he 's the second time come to them ; 
for, they say, an old man is twice a child. 

Harn. I will prophesy, he comes to tell me of the 



BCENE II. 



HAMLET, PHINCE OF DENMAEK. 



751 



players ; mark it. — You say right, sir : o' Monday 
morning ; 't was then, indeed. 

Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. 

Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. When 
Roscius was an actor in Home. — 

Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. 

Ham. Buz, buz ! 

Pol. Upon my honour, — 

Ham. Then came each actor on his ass, — 

Pol. The best actors in the Morld, either for tragedy, 
comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical- 
pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical- 
pastoral, scene individable, or poem unlimited : Seneca 
cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the 
law of writ, and the liberty,' these are the only men. 

Ham. Jephthah, Judge of Israel, what a treasure 
hadst thou ! 

Pol. What treasure had he, my lord ? 

Ham. Why — 

" One fair daughter, and no more. 

The which he loved passing well." 

Pol. Still on my daughter. [Aside. 

Ham. Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah ? 

Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a 
daughter that I love passing well. 

Ham. Nay, that follows not. 

Pol. What follows, then, my lord ? 

Ham. Why, 

'•' As by lot, God wot," 
And then, you know, 

" It came to pass, as most like it was."* 
The first row of the pious chanson will show you more ; 
for look, where my abridgment comes. 

Enter Four or Five Players. 
You are welcome, masters ; welcome, all. — I am glad 
to see thee well : — welcome, good friends. — 0, old 
friend ! why, thy face is valanccd' since I saw thee 
last : com'st thou to beard me in Denmark ? — What, 
my young lady and mistress ! By'r-lady, your ladyship 
is nearer to heaven, than when I saw you last, by the 
altitude of a chopine.* Pray God, your voice, like a 
piece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the 
ring. — Masters, you are all welcome. We '11 e'en to 't 
like French falconers, fly at any thing we see : we '11 
have a speech straight. Come, give us a taste of your 
quality : come, a passionate speech. 

1 Play. What speech, my good' lord ? 

Ham. I heard tiiee speak me a speech once, — but it 
was never acted ; or, if it was, not above once, for the 
play, I remember, pleased not the million- 'twas 
caviare to the general : but it was (as I received it, and 
others, whose' judgments in such matters cried in the 
top of mine) an excellent play ; well digested in the 
scenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning. 
I remember, one said, there was no salt' in the lines to 
make the matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase 
that might indict the author of aflTcctation, but called 
it an honest method, as' wholesome as sweet, and by 
very much more handsome than fine. One speech in it 
I chiefly loved : 't was Eneas' tale' to Dido ; and there- 
about of it especially, where he speaks of Priam's 
slaughter. If it live in your memory, begin at this 
line : — let me see, let me see ; — 
" The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast," 
— 't is not so ; it begins with Pyrrhus. 
" The rugged Pyrrhus, — he. whose sable arms, 
" Black as his purpose, did the night resemble 

> fjood, whether for written or extempore performances. 2 Fiom the ballad of .Tephthah. See Percy Relique.';, Vol. I. ' valiant : in quarto. 
* A his^k cork, or taoorlen-soled shoe. ' Not in folio. ' there were no sallets : in f. e. Pope also .suspfested the change. ' This and the 
foUowinp; wcrds, to the period, arc not in the folio. ' talk : in quarto, 1601. ' vile murders : in folio, i* match : in foho. n A comic 
entertainment by the clown, after the play. •' Carelessly dressed. '^ Blind. ^* And passion in : in f. e. 



" When he lay couched in the ominous horse, 

•'Hath now this dread and black complexion sraear'd 

'•'■ With heraldry more dismal : head to foot 

" Now is he total gules; horridly trick'd 

"With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons* 

" Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, 

'• That lend a tyrannous and a damned light 

" To their lord's murder :' roasted in wrath, and fire, 

" And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, 

"• With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus 

'•Old grandsire Priam seeks ;" — 

So proceed you. 

Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken ; with j^ood 
accent, and good discretion. 

1 Play. '• Anon he finds him 
'• Striking too short at Greeks : his antique sword, 
'' Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, 
"Repugnant to command. Unequal match'd.'" 
" Pyrrhus at Priam drives; in rage strikes wide; 
" But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword 
'■ The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, 
" Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top 
" Stoops to his base ; and with a hideous crash " 
" Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear : for, lo ! his sword 
" Which was declining on the milky head 
"Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick: 
" So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood : 
" And, like a neutral to his will and matter, 
" Did nothing. 

" But, as we often see, against some storm, 
" A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still. 
" The bold winds speechless, and the orb below 
"As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder 
■' Doth rend the region ; so, after Pyrrhus' pause, 
" Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work, 
" And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall 
" On Mars's armour, forg'd for proof eterne, 
" With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword 
" Now falls on Priam. — 

" Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune ! All you gods, 
•'In general synod, take away her power; 
"Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, 
" And bowl the round nave down the lull of heaven, 
" As low as to the fiends !" 

Pol. This is too long. 

Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard. — 
Pr'ythee, say on : he 's for a jig," or a tale of bawdry, 
or he sleeps. Say on: come to Hecuba. 

1 Play. "But who, ! who had seen the mobled" 
queen " — 

Ham. The mobled queen ? 

Pol. That 's good ; mobled queen is good. 

1 Play. " Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning the 
flames 
"With bisson" rheum; a clout upon that head, 
" Where late the diadem stood ; and. for a robe 
" About her lank and all o'erteemed loins, 
" A blanket, in th' alarm of fear caught up ; 
" Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd, 
" 'Gainst fortune's state would trca.«on have pronounc'd : 
" But if the gods themselves did see her then, 
" When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport 
"In mincing with his .sword her husband's limbs, 
"The instant bur.st of clamour that she made, 
" (Unless things mortal move them not at all) 
" Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven, 
" And passionate'* the gods." 



752 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMAEK. 



ACT III. 



Pol. Look, whether he has not tn^^ltiis colour, and 
has tears in 's eyes ! — Pr"ythee, no mf!»e. 

Ham. 'T is well ; I '11 have thee speak out the rest of 
this' soon. — Good my lord, will you see the players well 
bestowed ? Do you hear, let them be well used ; for 
they are the abstracts, and brief chronicles, of the time : 
after your death you were better have a bad epitaph, 
than their ill report while you live^. 

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their desert. 

Hcmi. God 's bodkin, man, much' better : use every 
man after his desert, and who should 'scape whipping ? 
Use them after your own honour and dignity : the less 
the y deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take 
them in. 

Pol. Come, sirs. 

[Exit PoLOMUS. with. some of the Players. 

Ham. Follow him, friends : we '11 hear a play to- 
morrow. — Dost thou hear mc, old friend ? can you play 
tlie murder of Gonzago? 

1 Play. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. We '11 have it to-morrow night. You could, for 
a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, 
which I would set down and insert in 't, could you not ? 

1 Play. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Very well. — Follow that lord; and look you 
mock him not. [Exit Player.] My good friends, [7b 
Ros. and Guil.] I '11 leave you till night : you are 
welcome to Elsinore. 

Ros. Good my lord ! 

[Exeimt RosENCRANTZ and Guildenstern. 

Ham. Ay, so, good bye you*. — Now I am alone. — 
0, what a rogue and peasant .slave am I ! 
Is it not monstrous, that this player here. 
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion. 
Could force his soul so to his own^ conceit, 
That from her working all his visage wann'd' ; 
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect, 
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
With forms to his conceit ? and all for nothing : 
For Hecuba ! 

What 's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
That he should weep for her ? What would he do. 
Had he the motive and the cue for passion, 
That I have ? He would drown the stage with tears, 



And cleave the general ear with horrid speech ; 
Make mad the guilty, and appal the free. 



Confound the ignorant 



and amaze, indeed, 



The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I, 

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak. 

Like John a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, 

And can say nothing; no, not for a king, 

Upon whose property, and most dear life, 

A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ? 

Who calls me villain ? breaks my pate across ? 

Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ? 

Tweaks me by the nose ? gives me the lie i' the throat, 

As deep as to the lungs ? Who does me this ? Ha ! 

'Swounds ! I should take it ; for it cannot be, 

But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall 

To make transgression' bitter, or ere this " 

I should have fatted all the region kites 

With this slave's ofTal. Bloody, bawdy villain ! 

Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain ! 

0, vengeance !* 

Why,' what an ass am I ! This is most brave ; 

That I, the son of a dear father'" murder'd. 

Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, 

Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, 

And fall a cursing, like a very drab, 

A scullion ! 

Fie upon 't ! foh ! About my brain ! — I have heard, 

That guilty creatures, sitting at a play. 

Have by the very cunning of the scene 

Been struck so to the soul, that presently 

They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; 

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 

With most miraculous organ. I '11 have these players 

Play something like the murder of my father, 

Before mine uncic : I '11 observe his looks ; 

I '11 tent" him to the quick : if he but blench'^, 

1 know my course. The spirit, that 1 have seen, 

May be the devil ; and the devil hath power 

T' assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and. perhaps, 

Out of my weakness, and my melancholy, 

As he is very potent with such spirits, 

Abuses me to damn me. I '11 have grounds 

More relative than this : the play 's the thing, 

Wherein I '11 catch the conscience of the king. [Exit. 



ACT III. 



SCENE L— A Room in the Castle. 

Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, 

and Guildenstern. 

King. And can you, by no drift of conference", 
Get from him why he puts on this confusion. 
Grating so harshly all liis days of quiet 
With turbulent and dangerous lunacy ? 

Ros. He docs confess, he feels himself distracted ; 
But from what cause he will by no means speak. 

Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded. 
But with a crafty madness keeps aloof. 
When we would bring him on to some confession 
Of his true state. 

Queen. Did he receive you well ? 

Ros. Most like a gentleman. 

Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. 

Ros. Niggard of question ; but to our demands 



Did you assay him 



Most free in his reply. 

Queen . 
To any pastime ? 

Ros. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players 
We o'er-raught'* on the way : of these we told him j 
And there did seem in him a kind of joy 
To hear of it. They are about the court ; 
And, as I think, they have already order 
This night to play before him. 

Pol. 'T is most true : 

And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties, 
To hear and see the matter. 

King. With all my heart ; and it dotli much content me 
To hear him so inclin'd. 
Good gentlemen, give him a farther edge. 
And drive his purpose on to these delights. 

Ros. We shall, my lord. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 



1 " of this" : not in folio. 2 lived : in folio. ^ Not in folio. * to you : in quartos. ' -whole : in folio. ' warm'd : in folio. ' oppres- 
sion : in f. e. 6 This line is not in quartos. ' "Who : in quartos, i" Not in folio, or quartos, 1604-5. ^^ Search, try. ^' Start, i^ circum- 
stance : in folio, i* Overtook. 



SCENE I. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



753 



King. 



Sweet Gertrude, leave us too : 



For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither, 

That he, as 't were by accident, may here 

Affront^ Ophelia: her father, and myself (lawful espials) 

Will so bestow ourselves, that, seeing, unseen, 

We may of their encounter frankly judge; 

And gather by him, as he is behav'd. 

If 't be th' alllictiou of his love, or no. 

That thus he suffers for. 

Queen. I shall obey you. — 

And, for your part, Ophelia, I do wish. 
That your good beauties be the happy cause 
Of Hamlet's wildness; so shall I hope, your virtues 
Will bring him to his wonted way again, 
To botii your honours. 

Opii. IMadam, I wish it may. [Exit Queen. 

Po/. Ophelia, walk you here. — Gracious, so please you, 
We will bestow ourselves. — Read on this book, 

[lb Ophelia. 
That sliow of such an exercise may colour 
Your loneliness. — We are oft to blame in this, — 
'T is too much prov'd, — that, with devotion's visage, 
And pious action, we do sugar" o'er 
The devil himself. 

King. ! 't is too true. — \Aside^ How smart 

A lash that speech doth give my conscience ! 
The harlot's check, beautied with plastering art, 
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it, 
Than is my deed to my most painted word. 
O heavy burden ! 

Pol. I hear him coming: let 's withdraw, my lord. 
{Exeunt King and Polonius.^ Manet Ophelia 
behind^ reading. 
^ Enter Hamlet. 

Ham.^To be, or not to be ; that is the question : — 
Whether 't is nobler in the mind, to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune : 
Or to take arms against a sea of.troubles, 
And by opposing end thenij — To die, — to sleep, — 
No more : — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That ff'sh is heir to, — 't is a consummation 
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die ; — to sleep : — 
To sleep ! perchance to dream : — ay, there 's the rub ; 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause. There 's the respect 
That makes calamity of so long life : 
P'or who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
The oppressor's AA^rong, the proud man's contumely, 
The pangs of despis'd'^ love, the law's delay. 
The insolence of office, and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin* ? who would fardels bear. 
To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 
But that the dread of something after death, — 
The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn 
"No traveller returns,-r-puzzlcs the will. 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
Than fly to others that Ave knoAv not of? 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all : 
And thus the natiA'c hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er Av-ith the pale cast of thought, 
And enterprises of great pith" and moment, 
With this regard their currents turn aAATy, 
And lose :he name of action. — Soft you, now ! 



The fair Ophelia. — Nymph, in thy orisons, 
Be all my sins remembcr'd. 

Op/i. [Coming forward.''] Good my lord, 

How does your honour for this many a day ? 

Ham. I humbly thank you ; Avell, aa'cU, well. 

Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours, 
That I have longed long to re-deliver ; 
I pray you, now receive them. 

Ham. No, not P ; 

I never gave you aught. 

Oph. My honour'd lord, I know right well you did; 
And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd 
As made the things more rich : their perfume lost, 
Take these again ; for to the noble mind, 
Rich gifts wax poor when givers proA'e unliind. 
There, my lord. 

Ham. Ha, ha ! are you honest ? 

Opii. My lord ! 

Ham. Are you fair? 

Opii. What means your lordship ? 

Ham. That if you be honest, and fair, your honesty 
should admit no discourse to your beauty. 

Opk. Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce 
than with' honesty ? 

Ha7n. Ay, truly ; for the power of beauty Avill sooner 
transform honesty from Avhat it is to a bawd, than the 
force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness : 
this was some time a paradox, but noAV the time giA'es 
it proof. I did love you once. 

Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. 

Ham. You should not have bcJicA'cd me^ for virtue 
cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we shall relish 
of it. I loved you not. 

Oph. I AA^as the more deceived. 

Ham. Get thee to a nunnery : AA'hy wouldst thou be 
a breeder of sinners ? I am myself indifferent honest ; 
but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it Avere 
better, my mother had not borne me. I am very proud, 
revengeful, ambitious ; Avith more offences at my back'", 
than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to 
give them shape, or time to act them in. • What should 
such fellows as I do, craAvling between heaven and 
earth? We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us. 
Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where 's your father ? 

Oph. At home, my lord. 

Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may 
play the fool noAA-here^' but in 's own house. Farewell. 

Oph. ! help him, you sweet heavens ! 

Ham. If thou dost marry, I '11 glA'e thee this plague 
for thy doAvry : be thou as chaste as ice. as pure as 
snoAV, thou shall not escape calunuiy. Get thee to 
a nunnery ; farewell' ^ Or, if thou wilt needs marry, 
marry a fool, for Avise men knoAV aa'cII enough Avhat 
monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go ; and 
quickly too. FarcAA-ell. 

Oph. HeaA^enly powers, restore him ! 

Ham. I haA-e heard of your paintings" too, aa'cII 
enough : God hath given you one facc'^, and you make 
yourselves another : you jig. you amble, and you lisp, 
and nickname God's creatures, and make your wanton- 
ness your iirnorance. Go to; I'll no more on't: it 
hath made nie mad. I say, avc AviU have no more mar- 
riages, ihosc that are married already, all but one, 
shall live : the rest shall keep as they are. To a nun- 
nery, go. [Exit Hamlet. 

Oph. 0, Avhat a noble mind is here o'erthroAvn I 
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword : 



1 Confront. - surge : in folios. 
' Not in f. e. 8 ^o. no : in folio, 
folio. '* pace : in folio. 



' The rest of thjs direction is not in f. e. * di.'priz'd : in folio. 
" your : in folio. •" beck : in f e. '' -way : in folio. '^ go, 

48 



8 Small dasger. ^ pitch : in quartos, 
farewell : in folio. " prattlings : in 



754: 



HAMLET, PEINCE OF DENMARK. 



ACT III. 



Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state. 
^ho glass of fashion, and the mould of form. 
/ Th' observ"d of all observers, quite, quite down ! 
C- And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, 
That suck'd the honey of his music vows. 
Now sec that noble and most sovereign reason. 
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tunc and harsh; 
That unmatch'd form and feature^ of blown youth. 
Blasted with ecstasy. 0, woe is me ! 
To have seen wliat I have seen, see what I see ! 
Re-enter King and Polomus. 

King. Love ! his afFections do not that way tend ; 
Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little. 
Was not like madness. There 's something in his soul, 
O'er which his melancholy sits on brood ; 
And, I do doubt, the hatch, and the disclose, 
Will be some danger : Avhich for to prevent, 
I have, in quick determination, 

Thus set it down. He shall with speed to England, 
For the demand of our neglected tribute : 
Haply, the seas, and countries different, 
With variable objects, shall expel 
This something settled matter in his heart, 
Whereon his brain still beating puts him thus 
From fashion of himself. What think you on 't ? 

Pol. It shall do well : but yet do I believe. 
The origin and commencement of liis^ grief 
Sprung from neglected love. — How now, Ophelia ! 
You need not tell us what lord Hamlet said; 
We heard it all. — My lord, do as you please ; 
But, if you hold it fit, after the play 
Let his queen mother all alone entreat liim 
To show his griefs : let her be round^ with him ; 
And I '11 be plac'd. so please you, in the ear 
Of all their conference. If she find him not, 
To England send him ; or confine him where 
Your wisdom best shall think. 

King. It shall be so : 

Madness in great ones miTst not unwatch'd go. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— A Hall in the Same. 
Entcx Hamlet, and certainPIaycrs, unready.* 

Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced 
it to you, trippingly on the tonguei; but if you mouth 
it, as many of your players do, I liad as lief the town- 
crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too 
much with your hand, thus; but use all gently: for in 
the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind 
of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance, 
that may give it smoothness. ! it offends me to the 
soul, to hear* a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a 
passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the 
groundlings ; who, for the most part, are capable of 
nothing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise : I 
would have such a fellow whipped for o'er-doing Ter- 
magant^ ; it out-herods Hcrod^ : pray you avoid it. 

1 Play. I warrant your honour. 

Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your own 
discretion be your tutor : suit the action to the word, 
the word to the action, with this special observance, 
that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature ; for any 
tiling £0 ©verdone is from the purpose of playing, whose 
end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as 
't were, the mirrror up to nature ; to show virtue her 
own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age 
and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now, 
this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the 
miskilful laugh.^ cannot but make the judicious grieve ; 

1 stature : in quartos. 2 this : in folio. 3 Plain. * Not in f. e. 
god of the Sajacens. * the which ; in folio. ' my : in quarto. 



the censure of which" one must, in your allowance, 
o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. ! there be 
players, that I have seen play, — and heard others praise, 
and that highly, — not to speak it profanely, that, 
neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait 
of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted, and 
bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's jour- 
neymen had made men, and not made them well, they 
imitated humanity so abominably. 

1 Play. I hope, we have reformed that indifferently 
with us. 

Ham. O ! reform it altogether. And let those, that 
play your clowns, speak no more than is set down for 
them : for there be of them, that will themselves laugh, 
to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh 
too ; though in the mean time some necessary question 
of the play be then to be considered : that 's villainous, 
and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses 
it. Go, make you ready. — [Exxunt Players. 

Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, aiid Guildenstern. 
How now. my lord ! will the king hear this piece of 

Pol. And the queen too, and that presently, [work ? 

Ham. Bid the players make haste. — [Exit Polonius. 
Will you two help to hasten them? 

Both. We will, my lord. 

[E.reiuit llosENCRANTZ and Guildenstern. 

Ham. What, ho ! Horatio ! 

Enter Horatio ! 

Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 

Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
As e'er my conversation coped withal. 

Hor. ! my dear lord, — 

Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter; 

For what advancement may I hope from thee, 
That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, 
To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor be 

flatter'd ? 
No; let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp. 
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, 
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? 
Since my dear soul Avas mistress of her choice, 
And could of men distinguish, her election 
Hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been 
lAs one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; 
A man. that fortune's buffets and rewards 
Hast ta'eii witli equal thanks : and blci-s'd are those, 
Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled, 
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
To sound Avhat stop she please. Give me that man 
That is not passion's slave, and I Avill wear him 
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, 
As I do thee. — Something too much of this. — 
There is a play to-night before the king : 
One scene of it comes near the circumstance. 
Which I haA^e told thee, of my father's death : 
I pr'ythee, when thou seest that act a-foot. 
Even with the very comment of thy^ soul 
Observe mine uncle : if his occulted guilt 
Do not itself unkennel in one speech, 
It is a damned ghost that we have seen. 
And my imaginations are as foul 
As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note; 
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face, 
And. after, we will both our judgments join 
In censure of his seeming. 

Hor. Well, my lord ; 

If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing. 
And 'scape detecting, I will pay the theft. 

* Bee • in folio. ' '' Chaiactecs in old Miracle plays ; the former was 



SCENE II. 



HAMLET, PKINCE OF DENMAEK. 



756 



■ :f*—-f{am 
Oph. 
Ham 
Oph. 



Ham. They are coming to the play : I mixst be idle ; 
Get you a place. 

Sennet. Danish March. Enter King, Queen, Polonius, 
Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and others. 
King. How fares our cousin Hamlet? 
Ham. Excellent, i' faith; of the camelion's dish: I 
eat the air, promise-crammed. You cannot feed ca- 
pons so. 

King. I have nothing with this answer. Hamlet: 
these words are not mine. 

Ham. No, nor mine now. — My lord, you played once 
in the university, you say? [To Polonius. 

Pol. That did I, my lord ; and was accounted a good 
actor. 

Ham. And what did you enact ? 
Pol. I did enact Julius Caesar: I was killed i' the 
Capitol ; Brutus killed me. 

Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a 
ca,lf there. — Be the players ready? 

Ros. Ay, my lord ; they stay upon your patience. 
Queen. Come hither, my dear' Hamlet ; sit by me. 
Ham. No, good mother, here 's metal more attractive. 
Pol. ho ! do you mark that ? [To the King. 

Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap ? 

[Lying down at Ophelia's Feet. 
Oph. No, my lord. 

Harn. I mean, my head upon your lap? 
Oph. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Do you think I mean country matters ? 
Oph. I think nothing, my lord. , . ^,_^^ 

That 's a fair thought to lie between maids' leg^ 
What is, my lord? .,,-■--- 

Nothing. 

You are merry, my lord. 
Ham. Who, I ? ' ^ 

Oph. Ay, my lord. j 

Ham. O God ! your only jig-maker. ' Wliat should . 
a man do, but be merry ? for, look you, how cheerfully 
my mother looks, and my father died within these two 
hours. 

Nay, 't is twice two months, my lord. 
So long ? Nay then, let the devil wear black, 
have a suit of sables. heavens ! die two 
ago, and not forgotten yet ? Then there 's 
great man's memory may outlive his life half 
a year\but, by 'r-lady, he must build churches then, 
or elad^hall he suiTer not thinking on, with the hobby- 
horse^ ; who.se epitaph is, " For, ! for, ! the hobby- 
horse is forgot." 

Trumpets smind. The dumb Show enters. 
Enter a King and Queen, very lovingly ; the Queen 
embracing him. She kneclf. and makes show of pro- 
testation unto him. He takes her up, and declines 
his head upon her neck ; lays him down upon a bank 
of flowers : she, seeing him a.-ileep, leaves him. Anon 
comes in a felloic, takes off his crown. kis.';es it, and 
pours poison in the King\<; ears, and exit. The Queen 
returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate 
action. The poisoner., ivith some two or three Mutes, 
comes in again, seeming to lament ivith her. The 
dead body is carried away. The poisoner woos the 
Queen with gifts : .the seerns loath and unwilling 
awhile, but in the end accepts his love. [Exeunt. 

Oph. What means this, my lord ? 
Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho* ; it means 
mischief. 



Oph. 

Ham. 
for I '11 
months 
hope, a 



Oph. Belike, this show imports the argument of the 
play. 

Enter Prologue. 

Ham. We shall know by this fellow: the players 
cannot keep coun.^el ; they '11 tell all. 

Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant ? 

Ham. Ay, or any show that you will show him: be 
not you ashamed to show, he '11 not shame to tell 
you what it means. 

Oph. You are naught, you are naught. I '11 mark 
the play. 

Pro. " For us, and for our tragedy. 

Here stooping to your clemency, 
We beg your hearing patiently." 

Ham. Is this a prologue, or the poesy of a ring ? 

Oph. 'T is brief, my lord. 

Ham. As woman's love. 

Enter the Player King and Player Queen. 

P. King. Full thirty times has Plio^bus' car gone 
round 
Neptune's salt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground: 
And thirty dozen moons, with borrow'd sheen, 
About the world have times twelve thirties been ; 
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands, 
Unite commutual in most sacred bands. 

P. Queen. So many journeys may the sun and moon 
Make us again count o'er, ere love be done. 
But, woe is me ! you are so sick of late, 
So far from cheer, and from your former state, 
That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust, 
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must; 
For women's fear and love hold quantity,* 
In neither aught, or' in extremity. 
Now, what my loA'e is proof hath made you know, 
And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so. 
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; ^\ 
Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.) 

P. King. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly 
too : 
My operant powers their' functions leave to do : 
And tliou shalt live in this fair world behind, 
Honour'd, belov'd ; and. haply, one as kind 
For husband shalt thou — 

P. Queen. 0, confound the rest ! 

Such love must needs be treason in my breast : 
In second husband let me be accurst ; 
None wed the second, but who kill'd the first. 

Ham. [Aside.] Wormwood, wormwood. 

P. Queen. The instances, that second marriage move. 
Are base respects of thrift, but none of love : 
A second time I kill my husband dead. 
When second husband kisses me in bed. 

P. King. I do believe you tliink wliat now you speak, 
But what we do determine oft we break. 
Purpose is but the slave to memory,^ 
Of violent birth, but poor validity; 
Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree, 
But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. 
Most necessary 't is, that we forget 
To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt : 
What to ourselves in passion we propose, 
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. 
The violence of either grief or joy 
Their own enactors* with themselves destroy: 
Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; 
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. 
This world is not for aye ; nor 't is not strange, 



> good : in folio. ' Entertainments performed by clowns. ' The hobby-horse played an important part in the May prames. ♦ Thieving 
rascality, s The. quarto. 1604, ha.^ the line : ''For women fear too much, even as they love," preceding this. ' Either none, in neither 
aught : in quarto, 1604. ' my : in folio. * enactures : in quartos. 



756 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



ACT ni. 



That even our loves should with our fortunes change ; 

For 't is a question left us yet to prove, 

Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. 

The great man down, you mark his favourite flies ; 

The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies : 

And hitherto doth love on fortune tend, 

For who not needs shall never lack a friend; 

And who in want a hollow friend doth try. 

Directly seasons him his enemy. 

But, orderly to end where I begun, 

Our wills aiid fates do so contrary run. 

That our devices still are overthrown; 

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own : 

So think thou wilt no second liusband wed, 

But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead. 

P. Queen. Nor earth to me give' food, nor heaven 
light ! 
Sport and repose lock from me, day and night ! 
To desperation turn my trust and hope ! 
An anchor's- cheer in prison be my scope ! 
Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy. 
Meet what I would have well, and it destroy ! 
Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife, 
If, once a widow, ever I be wife ! 

Ham. If she should break her vow. — 

P. King. 'T is deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here 
a while : 
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 
The tedious day with sleep. [Sleeps. 

P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain ; 

And never come mischance between us twain ! [Exit. 

Ham. Madam, how like you this play? 

Queen. The lady doth protest' too much, methinks. 

Ham. ! but she "11 keep her word. 

King. HaA^e you heard the argument ? Is there no 
ofience in 't ? 

i/am. No, no ; they do bat jest, poison in jest : no 
offence i' the world. 

King. What do you call the play? 

Ham. The mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically. 
This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna : 
Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife, Baptista. You 
shall see anon : 't is a knavish piece of work ; but what 
of that ? your majesty, and we that have free souls, it 
touches us not : let the galled jade wince, our withers 
are unwrung. 

Enter Lucianus. 
This is one Luciantis, nephew to the king. 

Ofh. You are as good as a chorus*, my lord. 

Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, 
if I could see the puppets dallyins. 

Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. 

Ham. It would cost you a groaning to take off my 
edge. 

Oph. Still better, and worse. 

Ham. So you must take'^ your husbands. — Begin, 
murderer : leave thy damnable faces, and begin. 
Come : — The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge. 

Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time 
agreeing ; 
Confederate season, else no creature seeing ; 
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected. 
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, 
Thy natural magic and dire property. 
On wholesome life usurp immediately. 

[Po\(rs the Poison into the Skcper^s Ears. 
Haju." He poisons him i' the garden for his estate. 



His name 's Gonzago : the story is extant, and written 
in verv° choice Italian. You shall 



see anon, how the 
murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. 
Oph. The king rises. 
Ham. What ! frighted with false fire? 
Queen. How fares my lord? 
Pol. Give o'er the play. 
King. Give me some light ! — away ! 
All. Lights, lights, lights ! 

[Exeunt all but IL^mlet and Horatio. 
Ham. Why, let the stricken deer go weep. 
The hart ungalled play : 
For some must watch, while some must sleep: 
Thus runs the world away. — 
Would not this, sir. and a forest of feathers, (if the rest 
of my fortunes turn Turk with me) with two Provin- 
cial roses on my raised' shoes, get me a fellowship in 
a cry" of players, sir ? 
Hor. Half a share. ' 
Ham. A whole one, I. 

For thou dost know, Damon dear ! 

This realm dismantled was 
Of Jove himself; and now reigns here 
A very, very — peacock. 
Hor. You might have rhymed. 

Hu7n. good Horatio ! I '11 take the ghost's word 
for a thousand pound. Didst perceive? 
Hor. Very well, my lord. 
Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning. — 
Hor. I did verv well note him. 



I 



the 



Ham. Ah, ha! — Come! some mu.sic I come: 
recorders ! 

For if the king like not the comedy, 
Why, then, belike, — he likes it not, perdy. — 
Enter Rosencraktz and Guildenstekn. 
Come ; some music ! 

Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. 

Ham. Sir, a whole history. 

Guit. The king, sir, — 

Ham. Ay, sir, what of him ? 

Guil. Is in his retirement marvellous distempered. 

Ham. With drink, sir? 

Guil. No, my lord,'" with choler. 

Ha7n. Your wisdom should show itself more richer, 
to signify this to his doctor; for, for me to put him to 
his purgation would, perhaps, plunge him into" more 
choler. 

Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some 
frame, and start not so wildly from the alfair. 

Hun. I am tame, sir: pronounce. 

Guil. The queen your mother, in most great afflic- 
tion of spirit, hath sent me to you. 

Ham. You are welcome. 

Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the 
right breed. If it shall please you to make me a 
wholesome answer, I will do your mother's command- 
ment ; if not, your pardon and my return shall be the 
end of my business. 

Ham. Sir. I cannot. 

Guil. What, my lord ? 

Ham. Make you a wholesome answer ; my wit 's 
diseased : but, sir, such ansv.er as I can make, you 
shall command ; or, rather, as you say, my mother : 
therefore no more, but to the matter. My mother, 
you say, — 

Ros. Then, thus she says. Your behaviour has 
struck her into amazement and admiration. 



' to give me: in folio. ^ Anrhorite's : this and the previous line, are not in folio. 
s mistake : in later quartos, and folio. « Not in folio. ■> razed : in f. e. ^ Company. 
old theatres. '" folio inserts : rather. " far more : in folio. 



3 protests : in folio. * a good chorus : in folio. 
9 The stock company were shareholders in the 



SCENE m. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DEN'MAEK. 



75r 



Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a 
mother ! — But is there no sequel at the heels of this 
mother's admiration ? impart.' 

Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet, ere 
you go to bed. 

Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. 
Have you any farther trade with u.s ? 

Ros. My lord, you once did love me. 

Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers. 

Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of distem- 
per? you do. surely ■•*, but bar the door upon your own 
liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend. 

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 

Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice of 
the king him.sclf for your succession in Denmark? 

Ham. Ay, sir. but " while the grass grows,"^ — the 
proverb is something musty. 

Enter one with a Recorder*'. 
0! the recorder: — let me see one. — To withdraw with 
you : — why do you go about to recover the wind of 
me, as if you Avould drive me into a toil ? 

Ckiil. 0, my lord ! if my duty be too bold, my love 
is too unmannerly. 

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play 
upon this pipe ? 

Guil. My lord. I cannot. 

Ham. I pray you. 

Guil. Believe me, I cannot. 

Ham. I do beseech you. 

Guil. I know no toucli of it, my lord. 

Ham. It is as easy as lying : govern these ventages 
with your finger and thumb, give it breath with your 
mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent^ music. 
Look you, these are the stops. 

Guil. But these cannot I command to any utterance 
of harmony: I have not the skill. 

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing 
you make of me. You would play upon me ; you 
would seem to know my stops ; you would pluck out 
the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from 
my lowest note to the top of my compass ; and there is 
much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet 
cannot you make it speak". 'Sblood ! do you think I 
am easier to be played on than a pipe ? Call me what 
instrument you will, though you can fret me, you can- 
not play upon me. — 

Enter Polonius. 
God bless you, sir ! 

Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with you, and 
presently. 

Ham. Do you see yonder cloud, that 's almost in 
shape of ' a camel ? 

Pol.. By the mass, and 't is like a camel, indeed. 

Ham. Methinks, it is like a weasel. 

Pol. It is backed like a weasel. 

Ham. Or, like a whale? 

Pol. Very like a whale. 

Ham. Then, will I come to my inother by and by. — 
They fool me to the top of my bent. — I will come by 
and by. 

Pol. I will say so. [Exit Polonius. 

Ham. By and by is easily said. — Leave me, friends. 
[Exnntt Ros., Gnr,., Hor.. Ifc. 
'T is now the very witcliing time of night. 
When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes* out 
Contagion to this world : now could I drink hot blood, 
And do such bitter business as the' day 



Would quake to look on. Soft ! now to my mother. 

0, heart ! lose not thy nature ; let not ever 

The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : 

Let me be cruel, not unnatural. 

I will speak daggers to her, but use none ; 

My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites : 

How in my words soever she be shent,'" 

To give them seals never, my soul, consent ! [Exit. 

SCENE III.— A Room in the Same. 
Enter King, Rosencrantz. and Guildenstern. 

King. I like him not; nor stands it safe with us. 
To let his madncfs range. Therefore, prepare you; 
I your commission will forthwith despatch, 
And he to England shall along with you. 
The terms of our estate may not endure 
Hazard so dangerous", as doth hourly grow 
Out of his lunacies''''. 

Guil. We will ourselves provide. 

Most holy and religious fear it is. 
To keep those very many bodies safe, 
That live, and feed, upon your majesty. 

Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound, 
With all the strength and armour of the mind, 
To keep itself from 'noyancc ; but much more 
That spirit, upon whose weal" depend and rest 
The lives of many. The cease of majesty 
Dies not alone ; but like a gulf doth draw 
What 's near it with it : it is a massy wheel, 
Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount. 
To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things 
Are mortis'd and adjoin'd ; which, when it falls. 
Each small annexment, petty consequence, 
Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone 
Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. 

King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage ; 
For we will fetters put upon this fear. 
Which now goes too free-footed. 

Ros. and Guil. We will haste us. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
Enter Polonius. 

Pol. My lord, he "s going to his mother's closet. 
Behind the arras 1 '11 convey myself, 
To hear the process : I '11 warrant, she '11 tax him home ; 
And. as you said, and wisely was it said, 
'T is meet that some more audience than a mother. 
Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear 
The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege : 
I '11 call upon you ere you go to bed, 
And tell you what I know. 

King. Thanks, dear my lord. 

[Exit Polonius. 

! my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; 
It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, 
A brothcrV murder ! — Pray can I not. 
Though inclination be as sharp as will : 
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; 
And, like a man to double business bound, 

1 stand in pause where I shall flr.st begin. 
And both neglect. Wiiat if this cursed liand 
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, 
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, 
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy, 
But to confront the visage of offence ? 
And what 's in prayer, but this two-fold force, — 
To be forestalled, ere we come to fall. 
Or pardon'd, being down? Then, I '11 look up: 

1 Not in folio. ^ freely : in folio; "but." is omitted. '" "Why 1st grass doth growe. oft starves the seely steed." — W/ietstone^s "Vromos 
and Cassandra." 1.578. * Flageolet, 'delicate: in quarto, 1603 ; excellent: in folio. • Not in folio. 'like: in folio. * breaks : in 
quartos. ' such business as tho bitter : in quartos. Dyce reads : better day. '" Rebuked. " near us : in quartos. '^ brows : 
^' spirit : in folio. 



in quartos. 



758 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMAEK. 



ACT in. 



My fault is past. But. ! what form of prayer 
Can serve my turn ? Forgive ine my foul murder ! — 
That cannot be; since I am still possess'd 
Of those effects for which I did the murder, 
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 
May one be pardond, and retain th' offence ? 
In the corrupted currents of this world, 
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, 
And oft 't is seen, the wiclced purso' itself 
Buys out the law : but 't is not .'o above : 
There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
In his true nature : and we ourselves compeU'd, 
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
To give in evidence. What then? what rests? 
Try what repentance can : what can it not ? 
Yet what can it, when one can not repent ? 
wretched state ! bosom, black as death ! 
limed soul, that struagling to be free. 
Art more engaged ! Help, angels ! make assay: 
Bow, stubborn knees : and, heart, with strings of steel, 
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe. 
All may be well. [Kneels.' 

Enter Hamlet^ behind, his Sword drawn. 

Ham, Now might I do it, pat,* now he is praying; 
And now I '11 do 't : — and so he goes to heaven. 
And so am I reveng'd ? That would be scann'd : 
A villain kills my father : and for that, 
I, his sole^ son, do this same villain send 
To heaven. 

Why. this is hire and salary,' not revenge. 
He took my father grossly, full of bread ; 
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush^ as ]\Iay, 
And how his audit stands, who knows, save heaven ? 
But, in our circumstance and course of thought, 
'T is heavy with him ; and am I then reveng'd. 
To take him in the purging of his soul, 
When lie is fit and season'd for his passage ' 
No. 

Up, sword ; and know thou a more horrid hent.* 
When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage ; 
Or in th' incestuous pleasures of his bed; 
At gaming, swearing ; or about some act. 
That has no relish of salvation in 't ; 
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, 
And that his soul may be as damn'd, and black, 
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays : 
This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [Exit. 

King. [Rising.] My words fly up, my thoughts re- 
main below ; 
Words without thoughts never to heaven go. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— A Room in the Same. 
Enter Queen and Polonius. 

Pol. He will come straight. Look, you lay home to 
him ; 
Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to bear with. 
And that your grace hath screeu'd and stood between 
Much heat and him. I '11 sconce' me even here. 
Pray you, be round with him. 

Ham. [Within.] Mother, mother, mother !"' 
Queen. I'll warrant you : 

Fear me not : — withdraw, I hear him coming. 

[Exit Polonius behind the Arras. 
Enter Hamlet. 
Ham. Now, mother : what 's the matter ? 
Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. 
Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. 



Queen. Come, come : you answer with an idle tongue. 

Ham. Go, go ; you question with a wicked^' tongue. 

Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ! 

Ham. What 's the matter now ? 

Queen. Have you forgot me ? 

Ha7n. No, by the rood, not so : 

You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; 
And, — would it^^ were not so ! — you arc my mother. 

Queen. Nay then, I '11 send those to you that can speak. 

Ham. Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not 
You go not, till I set you up a glass [budge ; 

Where you may see the inmost part of you. 

Queen. What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not murder me. 
Help, help, ho ! 

Pol. [Behind.] What, ho ! help ! help ! hel^ ! 

Ham. How now ! a rat? [I)raws\ Dead for a ducat, 
dead. [Hamlet makes a pass through the Arras. 

Pol. [Behind.] 0! I am slain. [Falls and dies. 

Queen. me ! what hast thou done ? 

Ham. [Coming forward.y^ Nay, I know not: 

Is it the king ? 

[Lifts the Arras, and draws forth Polonius. 

Queen. 0, what a rash and bloody deed is this ! 

Ham. A bloody deed ; almost as bad. good mother, 
As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 

Queen. As kill a king ! 

Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word. — 

Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell. 

[Seeing the body of Polonius. 
I took thee for thy better ; take thy fortune : 
Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger. — 
Leave wringing of your hands. Peace ! sit you down, 
And let me wring your heart : for so I shall, 
If it be made of penetrable stuff: 
If damned custom liave not braz'd it so. 
That it is'* proof and bulwark against sense. 

Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy 
tongue 
In noise so rude against me ? 

Ham. Such an act. 

That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; 
Calls virtue, hypocrite ; takes off the rose 
From the fair forehead of an innocent love, 
And sets'' a blister there ; makes marriage vows ' 
As false as dicers' oaths : ! such a deed. 
As from the body of contraction plucks 
The very soul ; and sweet religion makes 
A rhapsody of words : Heaven's face doth glow. 
Yea," this solidity and compound mass. 
With tristful" visage, as against the doom. 
Is thought-sick at the act. 

Queen. Ah me ! what act. 

That roars so loud, and thunders in the index ?'* 

Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this ; 
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
See, what a grace was seated on this brow : 
Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself: 
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; 
A station'' like the herald Mercury, 
New-liglited on a heaven-kissing hill; 
A combination, and a form, indeed. 
Where every god did seem to set his seal. 
To give the world assurance of a man. 
This was your husband : look you now, what follows. 
Here is your husband : like a mildew'd ear. 
Blasting his wholesome brother'"'. Have you eyes ? 
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, 

» prize : in f. e. = Retires and kneels : in f. e. = The rest of this direction is not in f. e. * but : in quartos. * foul : in folio. 6 base and 



silly: in quartos. ' fresh : in folio. ^ Grnsp. 
13 Not in f. e. l* be : in quarto. I5 makes 
Standing, attitude. 20 breath : in folio. 



9 silence : in f. e. "> Not in quartos. n idle : in quartos. '^ But— would you : in folio, 
in folio. 16 O'er : in quartos. 1' heated : in quartos. is Commencement. i^ Act oj 



SCENE IV. 



HAMLET, PKTNCE OF DENMAKK. 



V59 



And batten' on this moor ? Ha ! have you eyes ? I 

You cannot call it, love ; for, at your age, 

The hey-day in the blood is tame, it 's humble, 

And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment 

Would stoop'-' from this to this ? Sense, ^ sure, you have. 

Else, could you not have motion ; but, sure, that sense 

Is apoplex'd ; for madness would not err, 

Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd. 

But it reserved some quantity of choice, 

To serve in such a difference. What devil was 't 

That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodrnan-blind?* 

Eyes' without feeling, feeling without sight. 

Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, 

Or but a sickly part of one true sense 

Could not so mope. 

O shame ! Avhere is thy blush ? Rebellious hell, 

If thou canst mutine' in a matron's bones, 

To flaming youth let virtue be as wax. 

And melt in her own fire : proclaim no shame, 

When the compulsive ardour gives the charge, 

Since frost itself as actively doth burn. 

And reason panders will. 

Queen. Hamlet ! speak no more. 

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ;' 
And there I see such black and grained spots. 
As will not leave their tinct. 

Ham. Nay, but to live 

In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed ; 
Stew'd in corruption ; honeying, and making love 
Over the nasty stye ; — 

Queen. O, speak to me no more ! 

These words, like daggers enter in mine ears : 
No more, sweet Hamlet. 

Ham. A murderer, and a villain ; 

A slave, that is not twentieth part the tithe 
Of your precedent lord : — a vice of kings ! 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule. 
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole. 
And put it in his pocket ! 

Queen. No more ! 

Enter Ghost, unarmed.^ 

Ham. A king of shreds and patches. — 
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, 
You heavenly guards ! — What would you. 

Queen. Alas ! he 's mad. 

Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, 
That, laps'd in fume" and passion, lets go by 
Til' important acting of your dread command? 
0, say ! 

Ghost. Do not forget. This visitation 
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
But, look ! amazement on thy mother sits : 
! step between her and her fighting soul : 
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works. 
Speak to her, Hamlet. 

Ham. How is it with you, lady ? 

Queen. Alas ! how is 't with you. 
That you do bend your eye on vacancy, 
And with th' incorporal air do hold discourse ? 
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; 
And, as the sleeping soldiers in th' alarm, 
Youi bedded hair, like life in excrements."' 
Starts up, and stands on end. gentle son ! 
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look ? 

Haul. On him, on him ! — Look you, how pale he 



gracious 
[figure ? 



glares 



His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones. 

Would make them capable. — Do not look upon me; 

Lest with this piteous action you convert 

My stern effects : then, what I have to do 

Will want true colour ; tears, perchance, for blood. 

Queen. To whom do you speak this? 

Ham. Do you see nothing there ? 

Queen. Nothing at all; yet all, that is, I see. 

Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? 

Queen. No, nothing but ourselves. 

Ham. Why, look you there ! look, how it steals away ! 
My father, in his habit as he liv'd ! 
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! 

[Exit Ghost. 

Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain : 
This bodiless creation ecstasy 
Is very cunning in. 

Ham. Ecstasy !'' 
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
And makes as healthful music. It is not madness, 
That I have utler'd : bring me to the test, 
And I the matter will re-word, which madness 
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, 
Lay not that'^ flattering unction to your soul. 
That not your trespass, but my madness speaks : 
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, 
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within. 
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven: 
Repent what 's past ; avoid what is to come, 
And do not spread the compost on the weeds. 
To make them ranker.'^ Forgive me this my virtue ; 
For in the fatness of these pursy times, 
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg. 
Yea, curb'* and woo, for leave to do him good. 

Queen. Hamlet ! thou hast cleft my heart in twain. 

Ham. throw away the worser part of it, 
And live the purer with the other half. 
Good night ; but go not to mine uncle's bed : 
Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 
That" monster, custom, who all sense doth eat 
Of habits, devil, is angel yet in this ; 
That to the use of actions fair and good 
He likewise gives a frock, or livery, 
That aptly is put on : refrain to-night ; 
And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
To the next abstinence: the'^ next more easy ; 
For use almost can change the stamp of nature. 
And master the devil, or throw him out 
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night : 
And when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
I 'II blessing beg of you. — For this same lord, 

[Pointing to Polonius. 
I do repent : but heaven hath pleas'd it so, 
To punish me with this, and this with me, 
That I must be their scourge and minister. 
I will bestow him, and will answer well 
The death I gave him. So, again, good night. — 
I must be cruel, only to be kind : 
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. — 
One word more, good lady." 

Queen. What shall I do ? 

Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do : 
Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed ; 
Pinch wanton on your cheek ; call you his mouse : 
And let him, for a pair of recchy kisses, 
Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers. 
Make you to ravel all this matter out, 



1 Feed. ^ step : in f. e. ' This sentence to the period, is not in folio, 
folio. ^Mutiny. ^ my very eyes into my soul : in qu.artos. "Not in 
11 Not in quartos. " a : in folio. '^ rank : in folio. " Fr. courber ; 
to " potency," are not in folio. >' This line i.s not in folio. 



* Blincl-man\'! huff. 
f. e. ' time : in f. e. 



' This sentence to the period, is not in 
'o )!air-iiails ; feathers were .so called. 



bend. " lo The passages from " That" to " put on," and firora " the" 



Y60 



HAMLET, PKINCE OF DENMAEK. 



ACT IV. 



That I essentially nm not in madness. 

But mad in craft. 'T were good, you let him know; 

For who, that 's but a queen, fair, sober, wise, 

Would from a paddock', from a bat, a gib°, 

Such dear conccrnings hide ? who would do so ? 

No, in despite of sense and secrecy, 

Unpeg the basket on the house's top. 

Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape. 

To try conclusions in the basket creep, 

And break your own neck down. 

Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath. 
And l)reath of life, I have no life to breathe 
What thou hast said to me. 

Ham. I must to England ; you know that. 

Queen. Alack ! 

I liad forgot: 't is so conckided on. [fellows,^ — 

Ham. There's letters scai'd, and my two school- 



Whom I will trust, as I will adders fang'd, — 

They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my way, 

And marshal me to knavery. Let it work ; 

For 't is the sport, to have the enginer 

Hoist with his ov/n petar, and it shall go hard, 

But I will delve one yard below their mines. 

And blow them at the moon. ! 't is most sweet, 

When in one line two crafts directly meet. — 

This man shall set me packing : 

I '11 lug the guts into the neighbour room. — 

Mother, good night. — Indeed, this counsellor 

Ls now most still, most secret, and most grave, 

Who was in life a foolish prating knave. — 

Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you. — 

Good night, mother. 

[Exeunt severally ; Hamlet dragging in Polonius. 



ACT ly. 



SCENP: L— The Same. 
Enter King. Queen, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. 

King. There 's matter in these sighs : these profound 
heaves 
You must translate ; 't is fit we understand them. 
Where is your son ? 

Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while.* — 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night ! 

King. What, Gertrude ? How does Hamlet ? 

Queen. Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend 
Which is the mightier. In his lawless fit, 
Behind the arras hearing something stir, 
He whips his rapier out, and cries, " A rat ! a rat !" 
And in his brainish apprehension kills 
The unseen good old man. 

King. heavy deed ! 

It had been so with us, had wo been there. 
His liberty is full of threats to all ; 
To you yourself; to us, to every one. 
Alas ! how shall this bloody deed be answer'd ? 
It will be laid to us. whose providence 
Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt, 
This mad young man ; but so much was our love. 
We would not understand what most was fit, 
But, like the owner of a foul disease, 
To keep it from divulging, let it feed 
Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone? 

Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd ; 
O'er whom his A'ery madness, like some ore 
Among a mineral of metals base, 
Shows itself pure : he weeprs for what is done. 

King. 0, Gertrude ! come away, 
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch, 
But we will ship him hence : and this vile deed 
We must, with all our majesty and skill, 
Both countenance and excuse. — Ho ! Guildenstern ! 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
Friends both, go join you with some farther aid. 
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain. 
And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him : 
Go, seek him out : speak fair, and bring the body 
Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this. 

[Exeunt Ros. and GuiL. 



1 Toad. 2 Cat. ^ This and the eight preceding lines, are not in folio. * This line is not in folio. 
Theobald ; the rest of the passage to " air," is not in folio. iJ as an ape doth nuts : in qui'to, 1G03. 
"Ail hid." 



Come, Gertrude, we '11 call up our wisest friends ; 

And let them know, both what we mean to do, 

And what 's untimely done : so, haply, slander,^ — 

Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter. 

As level as the cannon to his blank. 

Transports his poison'd shot, — may miss our name. 

And hit the woundless air. — 0, coitie away! 

My soul is full of discord, and dismay. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II, — Another Room in the Same. 

Enter Hamlet. 

Ham. Safely stowed. — [Ros. ^c, within. Hamlet ! 
lord Hamlet !] But soft ! what noise ? — Who calls on 
Hamlet ? — ! here they come. 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the dead 
body? 

Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 't is kin. 

Ros. Tell us where 't is ; that we may take it thence, 
And bear it to the chapel. 

Ham. Do not believe it. 

Ros. Believe what ? 

Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine 
own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge, what repli- 
cation should be made by the son of a king ? 

Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord ? 

Ham. Ay, sir ; that soaks up the king's countenance, 
his rewards, his authorities. But such oflicers do the 
king best service in the end ; he keeps them, like an 
ape,' in the corner of his jaw, first mouthed, to be last 
swallowed : when he needs what you liave gleaned, it 
is but squeezing you. and, sponge, you shall be dry 
again. 

Ros. I under.stand you not, my lord. 

Ham. I am glad of it : a knavish speech sleeps in a 
foolish ear. 

Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body is, 
and go with us to the king. 

Ham. The body is with the king, bvit the king is not 
with the body. The king is a thing — 

Quil. A thing, my lord ! 

Ham.. Of nothing : bring me to him. Hide fox, and 
all after.' [Exeunt. 

^ These three words -were added by 
' A reference to the boys' game of 



SCENE IV. 



HAMLET, PKINCE OF DENMARK. 



Y61 



SCENE III.— Another Room in tlie Same. 
Enter King, attended. 
King. I have sent, to seek him, and to find the body. 
How dangerous is it, tliat this man goes loose ! 
Yet must not we put the strong law on him : 
He 's lov'd of the distracted multitude, 
Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes; 
And where 'tis so, th' oflender's seourge is wcigh'd. 
But never the olTence. To bear all smooth and even, 
This sudden sending him away must seem 
Deliberate pause : diseases, desperate grown. 
By desperate appliance are reliev'd, 

Enter Rosencrantz. 
Or not at all. — How now ! what hath befallen ? 

Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord, 
We cannot get from him. 

King. But where is he ? 



Away, for every thing is seal'd and done. 

That else leans on th' affair : pray you, make haste. 

[Exeunt Ros. and Guil. 
And, England, if my love tliou hold'st at aught, 
(As my great power thereof may give thee sense. 
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red 
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe 
Pays homage to us) Ihou may'st not coldly see 
Our sovereign process, which imports at full, 
By letters conjuring'' to that effect. 
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; 
For like the heclic in my blood he rages, 
And thou must cure me. Till I know 't is done, 
Howe'er my hopes, my joys were ne'er begun. [Exit. 



Ros. Without, my lord ; guarded 

pleasure. 
King. Bring him before us. 
Ros. Ho, Guildenstern ! bring in my lord, 
Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern 
Now, Hamlet, where 's Polonius? 
At supper. I 

At supper ! Where ? 

Not where he eats, but where he is eaten ; a 
certain convocation of palated' worms are e'en at him. ' 
Your worm is your only emperor for diet : we fat all 
creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for mag- . 



King 
Ham. 
King, 
Ham. 



king. 



and 



vour lean bessar 



two dishes, but to one table : 



IS but 
that 's 



SCENE IV.— A Plain in Denmark. 
Enter Fortinbras, and Forces, marchins. 
For. Go, captain ; from me greet the Danish king : 
, to know your Tell him, that by his license Fortinbras 

Claims^ the conveyance of a promis'd march 
Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous. 
If that his majesty would aught with us. 
We shall express our duty in his eye; 
And let him know so. 

Cap. I will do 't, my lord. 

For. Go safely' on. 

[Exeunt Fortinbras and Forces. 
Enter^ Hamlet, Rosencuant/, Guildenstern, ^'c. 
Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these ? 
Cap. They are of Norway, sir. 
Jiam. How purpos'd, sir, 

I pray you ? 

Cap. Against some part of Poland. 

Ham. Who 

Commands them, sir? 

Cap. The nejihew to old Norway, Fortinbras. 
Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, 
Or for some frontier '? 

Cap. Truly to speak, and with no addition, 
We go to gain a little patch of ground. 
That hath in it no profit but the name. 
Ham. In heaven : send thither to see ; if your mes- ' To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it • 
sengcr find him not there, seek him i' the other place Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole, 
yourself. But, indeed, if you find hitn not within this A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. 
month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it. 
the lobby. Cap. Yes, 't is already garrison'd. 

Ki}ig. Go seek him there. [To some Attendants. ' Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand 

Ham. We \\'\\\ f^i'Ay {\\\ yow. comc.[Excunt Attendants. \ ducats, 

King. Hamlet, this deed,^ for thine especial safety, — Will not debate the question of this straw : 
Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve I This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace 

For that which thou hast done, — must send thee hence . That inward breaks, and shows no cause without 

-I humbly thank you. sir. 



gots. Your fat 
variable service ; 
the end. 

King. Alas, alas !^ 

Ham. A man may fish with the worm that hath eat 
of a king ; and eat of the fish that hath fed of that 
worm. 

King. What dost thou mean by this ? 

Ham. Nothing, but to show you how a king may go 
a progress through the guts of a beggar. 

King. Where is Polonius ? 



With fiery quickness : therefore, prepare thy.self. 
The bark is ready, and the wind at help, 
Th' associates tend, and every thing is bent 
For England. 

Ham. For England ? 

King. Ay, Hamlet. 

Ham. Good. 

King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. 



Why the man dies.- 
Cap. God be wi' 

7? 05. 



you, sir. [Exit Captain. 

Will 't please you go, my lord ? 

Ham. I '11 bo with you straight. Go a lil tie before. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz 'and Guildenstern. 

How all occasions do inform against me. 

And spur my dull revenge ! What is a man. 

If his chief good, and market of his time, 



Ham. I sec a cherub that sees them*. — •But, come; Re but to sleep, and feed? a beast, no more. 



for England ! — Farewell, dear mother. 
King. Thy loving father, Hamlet. 



Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse. 
Looking before and after, gave us not 



Ham. My mother: father and mother is man and That capability and godlike reason, 
wife, man and wife is one flesh ; and so, my mother. To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be 
Come, for England ! [Exit. Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple 

tempt him with speed Of thinking too precisely on th' event. — 

A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom. 



King. Follow him at foot , 
aboard : 



Delay it not, I '11 have him hence to-night. 



A nd ever three parts coward, — I do not know 



1 politic : in f. e. ^ Tliis and the next speeoh, are not in folio. ' deed of thine : in folio. < him : in folio. 
6 Craves : in qiiartos. ' softly : in quartos. 8 'phe rest of the scene is not in the folio, or quarto, 1603. 



' congruing : in quartos. 



Y62 



HAMLET, PEmCE OF DENMARK. 



ACT IV. 



White his shrond as the mountain snow, [Singing. 
Enter King. 
Queen. Alas ! look here, my lord. 
Oph. Larded with siucet flowers ; 

Which bewept to the grave'' did go, 
With true-love showers. 
King. How do you, pretty lady ? 
Oph. Well, God 'ild* you ! They say, the owl was a 
baker's daughter.' Lord ! we know what we are, but 
know not what we may be. God be at your table ! 
King. Conceit upon her father. 
Oph. Pray you, let 's have no words of this; but 
when they ask you what it means, say you this ; 
To-morrow is Saint Valentine'' s day, 

All in the morning betime, ^ 

And I a maid at your window. 

To be your Valentine: 
Then, up he rose, and don^d his clothes, 

And dupp^d the chamber door ; 
Let in the maid, that out a maid 
Never departed more. 
King. Pretty Ophelia ! 

Oph. Indeed, la ! without an oath, I '11 make an end 
on't: 
By Gis and by Saint Charity, 

Alack, and fie for shame ! 
Yoimg men u'ill do H, if they come to 't; 

By cock, they are to blame. 
Quoth she, before you tumbled me, 
You promised me to wed : 
He answers. 

So would I lia' done, by yonder sun, 
An thou hadst not come to my bed. 

King. How long hath she been thus ? 

Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be patient; 
but I cannot choose but weep, to think, they would'" 
lay him i' the cold ground. My brother shall know of 
it, and so I thank you for your good counsel. — Come, 
my coach ! Good night, ladies ; good night, sweet 
ladies : good night, good night. {Exit. 

King. Follow her close ; give her good watch, I pray 
you. [Exit Horatio. 

O ! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
All from her father's death.'' And now, behold, 
Gertrude, Gertrude ! 

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, 
But in battalions. First, her father slain ; 
Next, your son gone; and he most violent author 
Of his own just remove : the people muddied. 
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers, 
For good Polonius' death, and we have done but greenly, 
In hugger-mugger to inter him ; poor Ophelia, 
Divided from herself, and her fair judgment. 
Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts : 
Last, and as much containing as all the.se, 
Her brother is in secret come from France, 
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds, 
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear 
With pestilent speeches of his father's death ; 
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd, 
Will nothing stick our persons to arraign 
In ear and ear. ! my dear Gertrude, this, 
Like to a murdering piece, in many places 
Gives me superfluous death. [A noise within. 

I This character does not appear in the folio, where all his speeches in the text are given to Horatio. 2 yawn : in quartos. 3 Queen : 
in folio. * Not in f. e. ; playing on a lute, taitk her hair doicn, singing : in quarto, 1603. » grass-green turf: in f. e. 6 Not in folio. 
' ground: in quartos, after 1603. 8 Yield, or reward. 9 " Our Saviour went into a baker's shop where the people were bakin":, and asked 
for bread : the mistress put a piece of douffh in the oven for him. which was taken out by her daughter, and reduced to a small lump. It 
immediately beiran to swell, and the daughter to cry ' heugh, heugh, hengh,' which owl-like noisn probably induced our Saviour to change 
her into that bird." — An old tradition, quoted by Douce, i" should : in folio. '' The rest of this line is not in folio. 



Why yet I live to say, '-This thing 's to do ;" 

Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means, 

To do 't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me : 

Witness this army, of such mass and charge, 

Led by a delicate and tender prince, 

Whose .spirit, with divine ambition pufT'd. 

Makes moutlis at the invisible event; 

Exposing what is mortal, and unsure, 

To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare. 

Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great, 

Is not to stir without great argument, 

But greatly to find quarrel in a straw, 

When honour's at the stake. How stand I, then. 

That have a father kill'd, a mother stain d, 

Excitements of my reason and my blood. 

And let all sleep ? while, to my shame, I see 

The imminent death of twenty thousand men, 

That for a fantasy, and trick of fame, 

Go to their graves like beds ; fight for a plot 

Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause ; 

Which is not tomb enough, and continent, 

To hide the slain? — ! from this time forth. 

My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! \Exit. 

SCENE v.— Elsinore. A Room in the Castle. 

Enter Queen, Horatio, and a Gentleman.^ 
Queen. I will not speak with her. 
Gent. She is importunate ; indeed, distract : 
Her mood will needs be pitied. 

Queen. What would she have? 

Gent. She speaks much of her father ; says, she hears. 

There 's tricks i' the world ; and hems, and beats her 

heart ; 
Spurns enviously at straws ; speaks things in doubt, 
That carry but half sense. Her speech is nothing. 
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 
The hearers to collection ; they aim- at it, 
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts ; 
Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them. 
Indeed would make one think, there might be thought. 
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. 

Hor.^ 'T were good she were spoken with, for she 
may strew 
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. 

Queen. Let her come in. — [Exit Horatio. 

To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is. 
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss : 
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, 
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. 

Re-enter Horatio, U'ith Ophelia, distracted.* 
Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark? 
Queen. How now, Ophelia? 

Oph. How should I your true love know [Singing. 
Fro7n another one ? 
By his cockle hat and staff, ' 
And his sandal shoon. 

Queen. Alas, sweet lady ! what imports this song ? 
Oph. Say you ? nay, pray you, mark. 
He is dead and gone, lady. 

He is dead and gone ; 
At his head a green grass turf,^ 
At his heels a stone. 
ho!« 



[Singing. 



0, 

Queen. 
Oph. 



Nay, but Ophelia, — 



Pray you, mark. 



-T^ 



SCENE V. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



T63 



Alack ! what noise is this ? 



Let them guard the door. 



Qvecn. 

King. Attend !^ 
Where arc my Switzers ? 
What is the matter ? 

Enter a Gentleman, in haste.^ 

Gent. Save yourself, my lord; 

The ocean, overpeering of his list, 
Eats not the flats with more impetuous^ haste, 
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, 
Oerbears your officers ! The rabble call him 
And, as the world were now but to begin, 
Antiquity forgot, custom not known. 
The ratificrs and props of every word, 
They cry, •' Choose we; Laertes shall be king !" 
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, 
"Laertes shall be king, Laertes king !" 

Queen. How cheerfully on tlie false trail they cry 
! this is counter, you false Danish dogs. 



king; 



Kins;. The doors are broke. 



Enter Laertes." with 



Lae 



r. Where 
without. 



his sirord drawn ;'^ 
lowing. 



[N'oi'se within, 
fol- 



J), 



'anes 



is this king? — Sirs, stand you all 



Dan. 
Laer. 



No, let s come in. 

I pray you, give me leave. 

Ban. We will, we will. [They retire without the Door. 

Lucr. I thank you : keep the door. — thou vile king ! 
Give mc my father. 

Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. 

Laer. That drop of blood that 's calm' proclaims me 
bastard ; 
Cries, cuckold, to my father ; brands the harlot 
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow 
Of my true mother. 

King. What is the cause, Laertes, 

That thy rebellion looks .«o giant-like ? — 
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person : 
Tlicre 's such divinity doth hedge a king. 
That treason can but peep to what it would, 
Acts little of his will. — Tell me, Laertes, 
Why thou art thus incens'd. — Let him go. Gertrude. — 
Speak, man. 

Laer. Where is my father? 

King. Dead. 

Queen. But not by him. 

King. Let him demand his fill. 

Laer. How came he dead? I Ml not be juggled with. 



To hell, allegiance ! vows, to the blackest devil ! 
Conscience, and grace, to the profoundcst pit ! 
I dare damnation. To this point I stand. 
That both the worlds I give to negligence, 
Let come what comes, only I '11 be reveng'd 
Most throughly for my father. 

King. Who shall stay you ? 

Laer. My will, not all the world's : 
And, for my means. I '11 husband them so well, 
They shall go far with little. 

King. Good Laertes, 

If you desire to know the certainty 
Of your dear father's death, is 't writ in your revenge. 
That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe, 
Winner and loser? 

Laer. None but his enemies. 

King. Will you know them, then? 

Laer. To his good friends thus wide I '11 ope my arms ; 
And, like the kind life-rendering pelican,* 
Repast them with my blood. 



'pear,' 



King. Why, now you speak 

Like a good cliild, and a true gentleman. 
That I am guiltle.«s of your father's death, 
And am rnost sensibly in grief for it. 
It shall as level to your judgment 
As day does to your eye. 

Danes. \Within.] Let her come in. 

Laer. How now ! what noise is that ? 

Re-enter Ophelia, still distracted.'^ 
heat, dry up my brains ! tears seven times salt, 
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye ! — 
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight, 
Till our sca-le turns the beam. rose of May ! 
Dear maid, kind sis-ter, sweet Ophelia ! — 
O heavens ! is 't possible, a young maid's wits 
Should be as mortal as an old man's life ?' 
Nature is fine in love ; and, where 't is fine, 
It sends some precious instance of itself 
After the thing it loves. 

Oph. They bore him bare-fac'd on their bier ; [Sings. 
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny: 
And in his grave rain'd many a tear j-^ 
Fare you well, my dove ! 

Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade re- 
venge. 
It could not move thus. 

Oph. You must sing, Down a-down, an you call him 
a-down-a. 0, how the wheel becomes it ! [t is the 
false steward, that stole his master's davighter. 

Laer. This nothing 's more than matter. 

Oph. There 's rosemary, that 's for remembrance ;'" 
pray you, love, remember : and there is pansics ; that 's 
for thoughts. 

in madness ; thoughts and re- 



Laer. A document 
membrance fitted. 

Oph. There 's fennel for you, and columbines : — 
there 's rue for you : and here 's some for me ; we may 
call it, herb of grace o' Sundays : — you may'' wear your 
rue with a diflTerenee. — There 's a daisy : I would give 
you some violets; but they withered all when my 
father died. — They say, he made a good end, — 
For bonny .sweet Robin is all my joy, — [Sings. 
Laer. Thought and affliction ; passion, hell itself, 
She turns to favour, and to prettiness. 

Oph. Aiid u'ill he not come again ? [Sings. 

And will he not come again ? 
No, no, he is dead ; 
Gone to hi.s^" death-bed, 
He never will come again. 
His beard was white^^ as snow^ 
All flaxen was his poll ; 
He is gone, he is go7ie, 
And we cast away moan : 
God ha'' mercy^^ on his soid ? 
And of all christian souls ! I pray God. — God be wi' 
you ! [Exit Ophelia." dancing distractedly. 

Laer. Do you see this, O God ? 
King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief, 
Or you deny me right. Go but apart, 
Make choice of wliom your wisest friends you will, 
And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me. 
If by direct, or by collateral hand 
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, 
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, 
To you in satisfaction ; but if not, 
Be you content to lend your patience to us, 

' Not in folio. = "in An,«e" : not in f. e. ' impitious : in quarto, 1004, and folio. i Enter IjXKRTES.amieri : in f. e. » that calms : in folio. 
« politicians : in folio. ' pierce : in folio, e The rest of this direction is not in f. e. " The rest of this speech is not in quartos. "> Streugth- 
eninfr the memory.— K■nl^A^ " ! you must : in folio. ^' Go to thy : inf. e. ^' ivas as white : in I. e. " Growiercy : in folio. "The 
lest of this direction, is not in f. e. 



764: 



HAMLET, PPJNCE OF DENMARK. 



ACT IV. 



And we shall jointly labour with your soul 
To give it due content. 

Lacr. Let this be so : 

His means of death, his obscure funeral', 
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones. 
No noble rite, nor formal ostentation, 
Cry to be heard, as 't were from heaven to earth, 
That I must call 't in question. 

King. So you shall ; 

And, where th' offence is, let the great axe fall. 
I pray you, go \Aith me. \Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — Another Room in the Same. 
Enter Horatio, and a Servant. 

Hot. What are they, that would speak with me ? 

Serv. Sailors, sir: they say, they have letters for you. 

Ilor. Let them come in. — [Exit Servant. 

I do not know from what part of the world 
I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet. 
Enter Sailors. 

1 Sail. God bless you, sir. 

Hor. Let him bless thee too. 

1 Sail. He shall, sir, an 't please him. There 's a 
letter for you, sir : it comes from the ambassador that 
was bound for England, if your name be Horatio, as I 
am let to know it is. 

Hor. [Reads.] " Horatio, when thou shalt have over- 
looked this, give these fellows some means to the king: 
they have letters for him. Ere we were two days old 
at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us 
chase. Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a 
compelled valour ; and in the grapple I boarded them : 
on the instant they got clear of our ship, so I alone 
became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like 
thieves of mercy; but they knew what they did : I am 
to do a good turn for them. Let the king have the 
letters I have sent ; and repair thou to me with as much 
haste as thou wouldst tly death. I have words to speak 
in thine ear will malce thee dumb ; yet are they much 
too light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows 
will bring thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guilden- 
stern hold their course for England : of them I have 
much to tell thee. Farewell ; 

He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet." 
Come, I will give you way for these your letters ; 
And do 't the speedier, that you may direct me 
To him from whom you brought them. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VH.— Another Room in the Same. 
Enter King and Laertes. 

King. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal, 
And you must put me in your heart for friend, 
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, 
That he, which hath your noble father slain, 
Pursu'd my life. 

Laer. It well appears. But tell me, 

Why you proceeded not against these feats, 
So criminaP and so capital in nature, 
As by your safety, greatness,^ wisdom, all things else. 
You mainly were stirr'd up. 

King. ! for two special reasons. 

Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd, 
But* yet to me they are strong. The queen, his mother, 
Lives almost by his looks ; and for myself, 
(My virtue, or my plague, be it either which) 
She 's so conjunctive to my life and soul. 
That, as the star moves not but in his sphere, 
I could not but by her. The other motive. 



Why to a public count I might not go, 
Is the great love the general gender bear him ; 
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection, 
Work like tlie spring that turneth wood to stone, 
Convert his gyves to graces ; so that my arrows. 
Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind, 
Would have reverted to my bow again. 
And not where I had aim'd them. 

Lacr. And so have I a noble father lost, 
A sister driven into desperate terms ; 
Who was, if praises may go back again. 
Sole challenger on mount of all the age 
For her perfections. But my revenge will come. 

King. Break not your sleeps for that : you must not 
think, 
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull, 
That we can let our beard be shook with danger, 
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more: 
I loved your father, and we love ourself ; 

And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine, 

How now ! what news ? 

Enter a Messe?iger. 

Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet. 

This to your majesty : this to the queen. 

King. From Hamlet ! who brought them ? 

3Iess. Sailors, my lord, they say ; I saw them not : 
They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd them 
Of him that brought them.^ 

King. Laertes, you shall hear them. — 

Leave us. [Exit Messenger. 

[Reads.] '•'• High and mighty, you shall know, I am 
set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall 1 beg 
leave to see your kingly eyes ; when I shall, first askfng 
your pardon thereunto, recount the occasions of my 
sudden and more strange return. Hamlet." 

What should this mean ? Are all the rest come back ? 
Or is it some abuse, and no such thing ? 

Laer. Know you the hand ? 

King. 'T is Hamlet's character. " Naked," — 

And, in a postscript here, he says, " alone :" 
Can you advise me ? 

Laer. I 'm lost in it. my lord. But let him come : 
It warms the very sickness in my heart. 
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, 
•' Thus diddest thou." 

King. If it be so. Laertes, 

(As how should it be so? how otherwise ?) 
Will you be ruled by me ? 

Laer. Ay, my lord f 

So you will not o'er-rule me to a peace. 

King. To thine own peace. If he be now return'd, — 
As liking not' his voyage, and that he means 
No more to undertake it. — I will work him 
To an exploit, now ripe in my device, 
Under the which he shall not choose but fall ; 
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe, 
But even his mother shall uncharge the practice. 
And call it accident. 

Laer. My' lord, I will be rul'd ; 

The rather, if you could devise it so. 
That I might be the organ. 

Ki7ig. It falls right. 

You have been talk'd of since your travel much, 
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality 
Wherein, they say, you shine : your sum of parts 
Did not together pluck such envy from him. 
As did that one ; and that, in my regard, 
Of the unworthiest siege. 



1 burial: in folio, ^crimeful: in folio. 3 Not in folio. * And : in folio. 5 This line is not in folio. 6 These three words are not 
in folio. ' So the undated quajto ; checking at : in folio. 8 This speech and all that lollows, to " graveness," is not in folio. 



SCENE VII. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



765 



Laer. What part is that, my lord ? 

King. A very riband in tlie cap of youth, 
Yet needful too ; for youth no less becomes 
The light and careless livery that it wears. 
Than settled age his sables, and liis weeds. 
Importing health and graveness. — Two months since,' 
Here was a gentleman of Normandy : 
1 have seen myself, and serv'd against the French, 
And they can^ well on horseback; but this gallant 
Had witchcraft in 't ; he grew unto his seat : 
And to such wond'rous doing brought his horse, 
As he had been incorps'd and demi-natur'd 
With the brave beast. So far he topji'd^ my thought. 
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks, 
Come short of what he did. 

Laer. A Norman, was 't ? 

King. A Norman. 
Laer. Upon my life, Lamord*. 
King. The very same. 

Laer. I know him well : he is the brooch, indeed, 
And gem of all the nation. 

King. He made confession of you : 
And gave you such a masterly report. 
For art and exerci.se in your defence, 
And for your rapier most especially, 
That he cried out, 't would be a sight indeed. 
If one could matcli you : the f-crimers* of their nation. 
He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye. 
If you oppos'd them. This report of his 
Did Ilaniiet so envenom with his envy, 
That he could nothing do, but wish and beg 
Your sudden coming o'er, to play with you. 
Now, ovat of this, — 

Lncr. What* out of this, my lord? 

King. Laertes, was your fatlier dear to you ? 
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
A face without a heart ? 

Lier. Why ask you this ? 

King. Not that I think you did not love your fatlier, 
But that I know love is begun by time ; 
And that I see, in passages of proof, 
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. 
There lives within the very flame of love' 
A kind of wick, or snufT, that will abate it. 
And nothing is at a like goodness still : 
For goodness, growing to a pleurisy,* 
Dies in his own too-much. That we would do. 
We .should do when we would : for this " would " 
And hath abatements and delays as many, [changes, 
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; 
And then this -'should '' is like a spendthrift's sigh, 
That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o' the ulcer. 
Hamlet comes back : what would you undertake. 
To show yourself your father's son in deed," 
More than in words ? 

Lncr. To cut his throat i' the church. 

King. No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize : 
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes, 
Will you do this, keep close within your chamber. 
Hamlet, returnd, shall know you are come home : 
We '11 put on those shall praise your excellence, 
And set a double varnish on the lame 
The Frenchman gave you ; bring you in fine together, 
And wager on your heads : he, being remiss, 
Most generous, and free from all contriving. 



Will not peruse the foils ; so that with ease, 
Or with a liltle sliuffling, you may choose 
A sword unbated'", and in a pa&s of practice 
Requite him for your father. 

Laer. I will do 't ; 

And, for that purpose, I '11 anoint my sword. 
I bought an unction of a mountebank. 
So mortal; that but dip" a knife in it. 
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare. 
Collected from all simples that have virtue 
Under the moon, can save the thing from death, 
That is but scratch'd withal : I '11 touch my point 
With this contagion, that if I gall him slightly. 
It may be death. 

King. Let 's farther think of this ; 

Weigh, what convenience, both of time and means, 
May fit us to our shape. If this should fail. 
And that our drift look through our bad performance, 
'T were better not assay'd : therefore, this project 
Should have a back, or second, that might hold. 
If this sliould blast in proof. Soft ! — let me sec : — 
We '11 make a solemn wager on your cunnings,'" — 
I ha 't : 

When in your motion you are hot and dry. 
(As make your bouts more violent to that end) 
And that lie calls for drink. I '11 have preferr'd'' him 
A chalice for the nonce, whereon but sipjiing, 
If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck,'* 
Our purpose may hold there. But stay ! what noise? 

Enter Queen. 
How now, sweet queen ! 

Queen. One woo doth tread upon another's heel, 
So fast they follow. — Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. 
Laer. Drown'd ! O, where ? 

Queen. There is a willow grows aslant the brook, 
That shows his hoar leaves in tlie glassy stream ; 
Therewith'^ fantastic garlands did she make'^ 
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, 
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name. 
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them. 
There, on the pendent boughs hef coronet weeds 
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke, 
When down her weedy trophies, and herself, 
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide, 
And, mermaid-like, a while they bore her up; 
Which time she chanted snatches of old lauds''; 
As one incapable of her own distress, 
Or like a creature native and reduc'd 
Unto that element : but long it could not be. 
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, 
Pnll'd the poor wretch from licr melodious lay 
To muddy death. 

Laer. Alas ! then, is she drown'd? 

Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. 

Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, 
And therefore I forbid my tears: but yet 
It is our trick ; nature her custom holds, 
Let shame say what it will : when these arc gone, 
The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord : 
I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, 
But that this folly drowns'* it. [Exit. 

Kino-. Let's follow, Gertrude. 

How much I had to do to calm his rage I 
Now fear I, this will give it start again; 
Therefore, let 's follow. [Exeunt. 



1 hence : in folio. 2 ran : in folio. ' ^as.s'd : in folio. ♦ I,amoiind : 
'them,'' is not in folio. 6 "Why : in folio. 'This and the nine foUowin 
deed your father's son : in quartos. '" Xot bhinteil. 'i T but diptj in folio 



in folio, s Fr. esrrimeurs, fencers ; this and what follows to 

""■ 'ines, are not in folio. ^ Fulness. ' indeed : in folio; in- 

folio. " prepar'd : in folio. "Italian, 



'2 cotuiTiinss : in 



stoccata, thrust. i* There with : in folio. is come : in folio. 1' tunes : in folio, is douts : in folio ; i. e. does it out. 



766 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



ACT V. 



ACT V. 



2 Clo. I tell 
grave straisht : 



SCENE I.— A Church Yard. 
Enter two Clowns^ with Spades^ Sfc. 
1 Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial, that^ 
wilfully seeks her own salvation? 

thee, she is; and therefore make her 
the crowner hath set on her, and finds 
it Christian burial. 

1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself 
in her own defence ? 

2 Clo. Why, 't is found so. 

1 Clo. It must be se offendcndo ; it cannot be else. 
For here lies the point : if I drown myself wittingly, it 
argues an act, and an act hath three branches ; it is, 
to act, to do. and to perform : argal, she drowned her- 
self wittingly. 

2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 
1 Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water ; good : 



here stands the man ; good : 



water, 

goes 

and 



and drown himself, it 



if the 
is, 



^) 



man go to this 
will he, nill he, he 
mark you that ] but if the water come to him, 
drown him, he drowns not himself: argal, he 
that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own 
life. 

2 Clo. But is this law ? 



1 Clo. 

2 Clo. 



Ay. marry, is 't; crowner's quest-law. 
Will you ha' the truth on 't ? 



to drown or hang themselves, more 
Christian. Come 



If this had not 
been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out 
of Christian burial. 

1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st ; and the more pitv, 
that great folk shall have countenance in this world 

than their even'^ 
my spade. There is no ancient 
gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers : 
they hold up Adam's profession. 

2 Clo. Was he a gentleman? 

1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. 

2 Clo. Why, he had none. 

1 Clo. What, art a heathen ? How dost thou under- 
stand the Scripture ? The Scripture says, Adam dig- 
ged : could he dig without arms ? I '11 put another 
question to thee : if thou answerest me not to the pur- 
pose, confess thyself 

2 Clo. Go to. 

1 Clo. What is he, that biTilds stronger than either 
the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter ? 

2 Clo. The gallows-maker j for that framc^ outlives 
a thousand tenants. 

1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith : the gallows 
does well ; but how does it well ? it docs well to those 
that do ill : now, thou dost ill to say the gallows is 



built stronger than the church : 
do well to thee. To 'i again ; 
2 Clo. Who builds stronger 
Wright, or a carpenter ? 



argal, the gallows may 



come, 
that 



a mason, a ship- 



1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 

2 Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 

1 Clo. To 't. 

2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 

Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance. 
1 Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your 
dull ass will not mend his pace with beating; and, 
when you are asked this question next, say, a grave- 
maker : the houses that he makes, last till doomsday. 
Go, get thee to yon'* ; fetch me a stoop of liquor. 

[Exit 2 Clown. 

J when she : in qnartos. > Fellow. ' Not in quartos. * Yaughan 
game, in -which pins or small logs are thrown at a stake set in the ground. ^ mad : in quartos. >» scarcely : in quartos. 



1 Clown digs, and sings. 
In youth, when I did love, did love, 
Methought it icas very .sweet, 
To contract, ! the time, for, ah ! 7ny behove 
! methought, there was nothing meet. 
Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that 
he sings at grave-making ? 

Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of 
easiness. 

Ham. 'T is e'en so : the hand of little employment 
hath the daintier sense. 

1 Clo. But age, with his stealing steps, ^ 
Hath claw'd^ me in his clutch, 
And hath shipped me iniill the land. 
As if I had never been such. 

[Throws up a skull. 
Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing 
once : how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it 
were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder ! This 
might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now 
o'er-reaches,^ one that would circumvent God, might 
it not ? 

Hor. It might, my lord. 

Ham. Or of a courtier, which could say, " Good- 
morrow, sweet lord ! How dost thou, good lord ?" 
This might be my lord such-a-one, that praised my 
lord such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it, might 
it not ? 

Hor. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Why, e'en so. and now my lady Worm's ; 
chapless, and knocked about the mazzard' with a sex- 
ton's spade. Here 's fine revolution, an we had the 
trick to see 't. Did these bones cost no more the 
breeding, but to play at loggats* with them ? mine ache 
to think on 't. 

1 Clo. A pick-axe, and a .spade, a spade, [Sings. 

For — and a shrouding sheet : 
! a pit of clay for to be made 
For such a guest is meet. 

[Throws up another skull. 
Ham. There 's another : why may not that be the 
skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits now, his 
quillets, his ca.ses, his tenures, and his tricks ? why 
does he suffer this rude' knave now to knock him about 
the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of 
his action of battery ? Humph ! This fellow might 
be in 's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, 
his recognizances, his fines, his double vovichers. his- 
recoveries : is this the fine of his fines, and the reco- 
very of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine 
dirt ? will his vouchers vouch him no more of liis pur- 
chases, and double ones too. than the length and breadth 
of a pair of indentures ? The very conveyances of his 
lands will hardly'" lie in this box. and must the in- 
heritor himself have no more? ha? 
Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 
Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins ? 
Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins too. 
Ha7n. They are sheep, and calves, which seek out 
assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow. — Whose 
grave 's this, sir ? 
1 Clo. Mine, sir. — 

! a pit of clay for to be made [Sings. 

For such a guest is meet. 
Ham. I think, it be thine, indeed ; for thou liest in 't. 

, f. e. * caught : in folio. ' o'er-offices : in folio. ''Head. * A 



SCENE I. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DEXMAEK. 



767 



sir. and 
not lie 



therefore it is not ' is ! 



"t, and yet it is 



1 Clo. You lie out on 't. 
yours : for my part, I do not He in 
mine. 

Ham. Thou dost lie in 't, to be in 't, and say it is 
thine : '"t is for the dead, not for the quick ; therefore, 
thou liest. 

1 Clo. 'T is a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again, 
from me to you. 

Him. What man dost thou dig it for ? 

1 Clo. For no man, sir. 

What woman, then ? 



Ham. 

1 Clo. For none, neither. 

Ham. Who is to be buried in 't ? 

1 Clo. One, that was a woman, sir ; 



but, rest her 
soul, she 's dead. 

Ham. How absolute the knave is : we must speak 
by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the 
lord ! Horatio, these three years 1 have taken note of 
it ; the age is grown so picked, that the toe of the pea- 
sant comes so near the heel of the' courtier, he galls 
his kibe. — How long hast thou been a grave-maker? 

1 Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I came to 't that 
day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. 

Ham. How long is that since? 

1 Clo. Cannot you tell that ? every fool can tell that. 
It was the A^ery day that young Hamlet was born ; he 
that is mad, and sent into England. 

Ham. Ay, marry ; why was he sent into England ? 

1 Clo. Why, because he was mad : he shall recover 
his wits there ; or, if he do not, 't is no great matter 
there. 

Ham 

1 Clo. 



Why? 

'T will not be seen in him there; there, the 
men are as mad as he. 

Ham. How came he mad ? 

Very strangely, they say. 
How strangely '•' 



1 Clo. 
Ham. 
1 Clo. 
Hnm. 
1 Clo. 



'Faith, e'en with losing his wits. 



Upon what ground ? 

Why, here in Denmark. I have been sexton 
here, man, and boy, thirty years. 

Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he 
rot? 

1 Clo. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, (as 
we have many pocky corses now-a-days", that will 
scarce hold the laying in) he will last you some eight 
year, or nine year : a tanner will last you nine year. 

Ham.. Why he more than another? 

1 Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade, 
that he will keep out water a great while, and your 
water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. 
Here 's a skull now ; this skull hath lain i' the earth 
thrce-and-twenty years. 

Ham. Whose was it? 

1 Clo. A wiioreson mad fellow's it was : whose do 
you think it was ? 

Ham. Nay, I know not. 

1 Clo. A pestilence on him 
poured a flagon of Rhenish on 
same skull, sir, this same skull, 
the king's jester. 

Ham. This? 

1 Clo. E'en that. 



for a mad rogue ! a' 

my head once. This 

sir, was Yorick's skull, 

[Takes the Skull. 



Ham. Let me see.' Alas, poor Yorick ! — I knew 
him, Horatio : a fellow of infinite jest, of most excel- 
lent fancy: he halh borne me on his back a thousand 
times : and now. how abhorred in* my imagination it' 



IS ! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips, that I 
have kissed 1 know not how oft. Where be your gibes 
now ? your gambols ? your songs ? your flashes of mer- 
riment, that w'cre wont to set the table on a roar? 
Not one now, to mock your own grinning^ ? quite chap- 
fallen ? Now, get you to my lady's chamber, and tell 
her, let her paint an inch tliick, to this favour she must 
come ; make her laugh at that. — Pr'ythec. Horatio, tell 
me one thing. 

Hor. What's that, my lord? 

Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander looked o' this 
fashion i' the earth ? 

Hor. E'en so. 

Ham. And smelt so ? pah ! [Puts down the Skull. 

Hor. E'en so, my lord. 

Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio. 
Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of 
Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung-hole ? 

Hor. 'T were to consider too curiously, to consi- 
der so. 

Ham. No, faith, not a jot ; but to follow him thither 
with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it : as 
thus' ; Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alex- 
ander returned into dust; the du.st is earth: of earth 
we make loam, and why of that loam, whereto he was 
converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel ? 

"ImperiaP Ca?sar dead, and turn'd to clay, 

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away : 

! that that earth, which kept the world in awe, 
Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's' flaw !" 

But soft ! but soft ! aside : — here comes the king. 
Enter Priests^ ^'c.in Procession ; the Corpse o/ Ophelia, 

Laertes and Mourners following ; King., Queen., and 

their Trains. 
The queen, the courtiers. Who is that they follow. 
And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken, 
The corse they follow did with desperate hand 
Fordo its own lite : 't was of some estate. 
Couch we awhile, and mark. 

[Retiring on one side with Horatio. 

Laer. What ceremony else ? 

Ham. That is Laertes, 

A ve*-y noble youth : mark. 

Laer. What ceremony else ? 

1 Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd 
As we have warranty : her death was doubtful ; 
And but that great command o'ersways the order, 
She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd, 
Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers. 
Shards'", flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her; 
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants," 

Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home 
Of bell and burial. 

Laer. Must there no more be done ? 

1 Priest. No more be done. 

We should profane the service of the dead, 
To sing sad'^ requiem, and such rest to her 
As to peace-parted souls. 

Laer. Lay he'r i' the earth ; 

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh. 
May violets .spring ! — I tell thee, churlish priest, 
A ministering angel shall my sister be, 
When thou liest howling. 

Ham. What ! the fair Ophelia ? 

Queen. Sweets to the sweet : farewell. 

[ Streicing flowers. 
I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife : 



I heels of our : in folio, s Not in quarto. ' These three words are not in quarto. * ' Not in folio. ' jeering : in folio. ' " a.s thus," 
only in quarto, 1603. ' Imperious : in quartos. ' water's : in quartos. "• Broken pots. •'■ German, kranz, garlands ; rites : in folio. 
'2 a: in f. e. ; from quarto, and folio : sage. 



768 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



ACT V. 



I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, 
And not to have strew'd thy grave. 

Laer. O ! treble ■woe' 

Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, 
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
Depriv'd thee of ! — Hold off the earth awhile, 
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms. 

[Leaping into the Grave. 
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead, 
Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 
To o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head 
Of blue Olympus. 

Ham. [Advancing.'\ What is ho, whose grief 
Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow 
Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand, 
Like wonder- wounded hearers ? this is I, 
Hamlet the Dane. \Lcaping into the Grave. 

Lncr. The devil take thy soul. [Grappling ivith him. 

Ham. Thou pray'st not well. 
I pr'ytliee, take thy fingers from my throat ; 
For" though I am not splenetic^ and rash, 
Yet have I in me something dangerous, 
Which let thy wisdom* fear. Hold off* thy hand. 

King. Pluck them asunder. {They strive.'^ 

Quern. Hamlet ! Hamlet ! 

All. Gentlemen! — 

Hor. Good my lord, be quiet. 

[The attendants part them., and they come out of 
the grave. 

Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme, 
Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 

Queen. my son ! what theme ? 

Ham. I lov'd Ophelia: forty thousand brothers 
Could not, with all their quantity of love, 
Make up my sum. — What wilt thou do for her? 

King. ! he is mad, Laertes. 

Qricen. For love of God, forbear him. 

Ham. "Swounds ! show me what thou 'It do : 
Woul'tweep? woul't fight? woul't storm? wou'lt tear 

thyself? 
Woul't drink up EsilT? eat a crocodile? 
1 '11 do 't; I '11 do 't.* — Dost thou come here to whine? 
To outface me with leaping in her grave ? 
Be buried quick with her, and so will I : 
And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw 
]Millions of acres on us: till our ground. 
Singeing his pate against the burning zone. 
Make O.-^sa like a wart ! Nay, an thou 'It mouth, 
I '11 rant as well as thou. 

King. This is mere madness :' 

And thus a while the fit will work on him. 

Qveeii. Anon, as patient as the female dove. 
When tliat her golden couplets arc disclosed, 
His silence will sit drooping. 

Ham. Hear you, sir : 

What is the reason that you use me thus? 
I lov'd you ever: but it is no matter; 
Let Hercules himself do what he may, 
The cat will mew, the dog '11 have his day. [Exit. 

King. I pray you. good Horatio, wait upon him. 

[Exit Horatio. 
[To Laertes.] Strengthen your patience in our last 

night's speech : 
We '11 put the matter to the present push. — 
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. — 
This grave shall have a living monument : 



An hour of quiet thereby^" shall we see ; 

Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IL— A Hall in the Castle. 
Enter Hamlet and Horatio. 

Ham. So much for this, sir : now shall you" see the 
other. — 
You do remember all the circumstance. 

Hor. Remember it, my lord ! 

Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting, 
That would not let me sleep : methought, I lay 
Worse than the mutines'^ in the bilboes.'^ Rashly, — 
And prais'd be rashness for it, — let us own, 
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well. 
When our deep'* plots do fail;" and that should 

teach' ° us. 
There 's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
Rough-hew them how we will. 

Hor. That is most certain. 

Ham. Up from my cabin. 
My sea-gown scarf 'd about me, in the dark 
Grop'd I to find out them; had my desire: 
Finger'd their packet ; and, in fine, withdrew 
To mine own room again : making so bold, 
My fears forgetting manners, to unfold" 
Their grand commission ; where I found, Horatio, 

royal knavery ! an exact command. — 
Larded with many several sorts of reasons. 
Importing Denmark's health, and England's too, 
With, ho ! such bugs and goblins in my life, — 
That on the supervise, no leisure bated, 

No, not to stay the grinding of the axe. 
My head should be struck off. 

Hor. Is 't possible ! 

//am. Here 's the commission : read it at more 
leisure. [Givi^ig it."* 

But wilt thou hear me'' how I did proceed ? 

Hor. I beseech you. 

Ham. Being thus benetted round with villains, — 
Ere I could make a prologue to my brains. 
They had begun the play, — I sat me down, 
Devis'd a new commission ; wrote it fair. 

1 once did hold it, as our statists do, 

A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much 
How to forget that learning 
It did me yeoman's service. 
The effect of what I WTote ? 

Hor. 

Ham. An earnest conjuration from'the king, — 
As England was his faithful tributary. 
As love between them like the palm might flourish. 
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear, 
And stand a comma 'tween their amities, 
And many such like as's of great charge, 
That on the view and know^" of these contents, 
Without debatement farther, more or less. 
He should the bearers put to sudden death, 
Not shriving time allow'd. 

Hor. How was this seal'd ? 

Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinate.'^' 
I had my father's signet in my ptirse. 
Which was the model of that Danish seal ; 
Folded the writ up in form of the other ; 
Subscrib'd it : gave 't th' impression ; plac'd it safely. 
The changeling never known. Now, the next day 
Was our sea-fight, and what to this was sequent 



but. sir. now 
Wilt thou know 

Ay, good my lord. 



1 terrible woer : in folio. 2 g;;- , ;„ folio. 3 splenetjve : in f. e. * wiseness : in folio. ^ Away : 



foli. 



river Yiisell. 8 I'he words, "I " 
in folio. 11 let me : in folio. ' 
15 pall; i 
in folio. 



6 Not in f. e. ' Probably the 



do't," are not repeated in f. e. ^ This and the followinj; line, are given to the Queen, in f. e. 1° shortly : 

Mutineers, i^ Bars of iron with fetters, so called from Bilboa, where they were made. 1* dear : in folio. 

learn: in quartos, i' unseal : in folio. I8 ]\fot in f. e. i^ now : in quartos. 20 knowing : in quartos. 21 ordinant : 



SCENE II. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



169 



Thou know'st already. 

Hor. So Guildcnstern and Rosencraniz go to't. 
Hutu. Why, man, they did make love to this em- 
ployment :' 
They are not near my conscience : their defeat 
Does by their own insinuation grow. 
'T is dangerous, when a baser nature comes 
Between the pass and fell incensed points 
Of mighty opposites. 

Hor. Why, what a king is this ! 

Ham. Does it not, think thee, stand me now upon — 
He that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mother; 
Popp'd in betweoi th' election and my hopes; 
His angle for my proper life thrown out. 
And with such cozenage — is 't not perfect conscience, 
To quit liim with his own ?" and is 't not to be damn'd. 
To let this canker of our nature come 
In farther evil ? 

Hor. It must be shortly known to him from England, 
What is the issue of the business there. 

Ham. It will be short: the interim is mine; 
And a man's life no more than to say, one. 
But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 
That to Laertes I forgot myself, 
For by the image of my cause I see 
The portraiture of his : I '11 court' his favours : 
But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me 
Into a towering passion. 

Hor. Peace ! who comes here ? 

Enter Osrick. 

Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark. 

Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. — Dost know this 

Hor. No, my good lord. [water-fly? 

Ham. Thy state is the more gracious, for 't is a vice 
to know him. He hath much land, and fertile : let a 
beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the 
king's mess : 't is a chough* ; but, as I say', .spacious in 
the possession of dirt. 

Osr. Sweet lord, if yoiir lordship were at leisure, I 
shoukl impart a thing to you from his majesty. 

Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of 
spirit. Your bonnet to his right use ; 't is for the head. 

O.sr. I thank your lordship, 't is very hot. 

Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold : the wind is 
northerly. 

Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. 

Ham. But yet, methinks, it is very sultry, and hot 
for my complexion. 

Osr. Exceedingly, my lord ; it is A'cry sultry, as 
't were, — I caimot tell how. — But, my lord, his majesty 
bade me signify to you, that he has laid a great wager 
on your head. Sir, this is the matter, — 

Ham. I beseech you, remember — 

[Hamlet moves him to put on his Hat. 

Osr. Nay, in good faith ; for mine case, in good 
faith.' Sir, here is newly come to court, Laertes : be- 
lieve me, an absolute gentleman, full of most excellent 
differences, of very soft society, and great showing : 
indeed, to speak feelingly^ of him, he is the card or 
calendar of gentry, for you shall find in him the conti- 
nent of what part a gentleman would see. 

Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you : 
though, I know, to divide liim inventorially, would dizzy 
the arithmetic of memory ; and yet but raw* neither, 
in respect of his quick sail. But, in the verity of cx- 
tolmont, I take him to be a soul of great article ; and 
his infusion of such dearth and rareness, as, to make 



true diction of him, his semblablc is his mirror : and 

who else would trace him, his umbraL^e, nothing more. 

Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him. 

Ham. The concernancy, sir? why do we wrap the 
gentleman in our more rawer breath ? 
0.sr. Sir? 

Hor. Is 't not possible to understand in another 
tongue ? You will do 't, sir, really. 

Ham. What imports the nomination of this gentle- 
man ? 

Osr. Of Laertes? 

Hor. His purse is empty already ; all his golden 
words are spent. 

Ham. Of him, sir. 

O.ST. I know, you are not ignorant — 

Ham. I would, you did, sir; yet, in faith, if you did, 
it would not much approve me. — Well, sir. 

Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence 
Laertes is. 

Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should compare 
with him in excellence ; but to know a man well were 
to know himself.' 

Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon ; but in the impu- 
tation laid on him by them, in his meed'" he 's unfel- 
lowed. 

Ham. What 's his weapon ? 

Osr. Rapier and dagger. 

Ha7n. That 's two of his weapons : but, well, 

Osr. The king, sir, hath wagered with him six Bar- 
bary horses : against the which he has imponed", as I 
take it, six French rapiers and poniards, with their 
assigns, as girdle, hangers, and so. Three of the car- 
riages, in faith, are very dear to fancy, very responsive 
to the hilts, most delicate carriages, and of very liberal 
conceit. 

Ham. What call you the carriages ? 

Hor. I knew, you must be edified by the margin, ere 
you had done.'^ 

Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers. 

Ham. The phrase would be more germane to the 
matter, if we could carry a cannon by our sides : I 
would, it might be hangers till then. But, on ; six 
Barbary horses against six French swords, their assigns, 
and three liberal-conceited carriages ; that 's the French 
bet against the Danish. Why is this imponed, as you 
call it? 

0.sr. The king, sir, hath laid, sir, that in a dozen 
passes between yourself and him. he shall not exceed 
you three hits : he hath laid on twelve, for nine ; and 
that would come to immediate trial, if your lordship 
would vouchsafe the answer. 

Ham. How, if I answer, no ? 

Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person 
in trial. 

Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall : if it please 
his majesty, it is the breathing time of day with me, 
let the foils be brought, the gentleman willing, and the 
king hold his purpose, I will win for him, if I can ; if 
not, I will gain nothing but my shame, and the odd hits. 

Osr. Shall I deliver you'^ so? 

Ham. To this effect, sir ; after what flourish your 
nature will. 

Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. [Exit. 

Ham. Yours, yours. — He docs well to commend it 
himself; there are no tongues else for 's turn'*. 

Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell on his 
head. 



1 This line is not in quartos. * this arm : in f. e. ; from this word to the entrance of OsniCK. is not in quartos. ^ count : in folio. Rowe 
made the change. * A kind o{ jacktiaiv . * saw : in folio. ' From this word, all that follows to, " What 's his weapon ?" is not in folio. 
' sellingly : in quarto, 1003. 8 ya-^y : jp quarto, KiOl. Dyce reads it : but yaw. ' This and the next speech, are not in folio. '* Merit. 



11 impauned : in quartos, i^ This speech is not in folio. 



'3 re-deliver you e'en : in folio. 

49 



i* tongue : in folio. 



770 



HAMLET, PEINCE OF DENMARK. 



ACT T. 



Ham. He did comply* with his dug before he sucked 
it. Thus has he (and many" more of the same breed^ 
that, I know, the di'ossy age dotes on) only got the tune 
of the time, and outward habit of encounter, a kind of 
ycsty collection, which carries them through and 
through the most fond* and winnowed opinions ; and 
do but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are out. 
Enter a Lord. 

Lord. My* lord, his majesty commended him to you 
by young Osrick, who brings back to him, that you 
attend him in the hall: he sends to know, if your 
pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you will 
take longer time. 

Ham. I am constant to my purposes; they follow 
the king's pleasure : if his fitness speaks, mine is ready ■. 
now, or whensoever, provided I be so able as now. 

Lord. The king, and queen, and all are coming down. 

Ham. In happy time. 

Lord. The queen desires you to use some gentle 
entertainment to Laertes, before you fall to play. 

Ham. She well instructs me. \^Exit Lord. 

Hot. You will lose this wager,^ my lord. 

Ham. I do not think so: since he went into France, 
I have been in continual practice ; I shall win at the 
odds. Thou wouldst not think, how ill all is here 
about my heart ; but it is no matter. 
. Hor. Nay, good my lord, — 

Hum. It is but foolery ; but it is such a kind of gain- 
giving,^ as would, perhaps, trouble a woman. 

Hor. If your mind dislike any thing, obey it : I will 
forestall their repair hither, and say you are not fit. 

Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury : there is a special 
providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis 
not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if 
it be not now, yet it will come : the readiness is all. 
Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows, what is 't to 
leave betimes? Let be.* 

Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osrick, &nd 
Attendants with Foils, ^c. 

and take this hand 



Well : — again. 
Hamlet, this pearl is 



King. Come, Hamlet ; come, 
from me. 

[The King puts the hand 0/ Laertes into that of 
Hamlet. 

Ham. Give me your pardon, sir : I 've done you 
wrong : 
But pardon 't, as you are a gentleman. 
This presence knows. 

And you must needs have heard, how I am punish'd 
With sore distraction. What I have done. 
That might your nature, honour, and exception, 
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. 
Was 't Hamlet -wTong'd Laertes ? Never, Hamlet : 
If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away, 
And when he 's not himself does wrong Laertes, 
Tiien Hamlet does it not ; Hamlet denies it. 
Who docs it then ? His madness. If 't be so, 
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd ; 
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. 
Sir, in this audience,' 
Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil 
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts, 
That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house. 
And hurt my brother. 

Laer. I am satisfied in nature. 

Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most 
To my revenge : but in my terms of honour, 
I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement, 

> Compliment. = mine : in folio. 3 >,evy : in folio. * Warburton reads : fand (fanned). 5 This and the following speeches to, " Exit 
Lord." are not in folio. 6 " this wager" is not in quarto. ' Misgiving. 8 So the quarto, 1604. Since no man has aught of what he leaves, 
■what is 't to leave betimes : in folio, s This line is not in quartos. lO ■'come on" : not in quartos, ii Not in f. e. ^'^ A rich pearl ; onyx : 
in quartos, (except that of 1604). i^ Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows : in f. e. 



Till by some elder masters, of knowTi honour, 
I have a voice and precedent of peace, 
To keep my name ungor'd. But till that time, 
I do receive your offcr'd love like love, 
And will not wrong it. 

Ham. I embrace it freely ; 

And will this brother's wager frankly play. — 
Give us the foils; come on.*" [Foils hrought.^^ 

Laer. Come ; one for me. 

Ham. I '11 be your foil, Laertes : in mine ignorance 
Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night. 
Stick fiery off indeed. 

Laer. You mock me. sir. 

Ham. No, by this hand. 

King. Give them the foils, young Osrick. — Cousin 
Hamlet, 
You know the wager ? 

Ham. Very well, my lord; 

Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker side. 

King. I do not fear it : I have seen yon both ; 
But since he is better, we have therefore odds. 

Laer. This is too heavy ; let me see another. 

Ham. This likes me well. These foils have all a 
length ? [They prepare to play. 

Osr. Ay, my good lord. 

King. Set me the stoops of wine upon that table. — 
If Hamlet give the first or second hit. 
Or quit in answer of the third exchange, 
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire ; 
The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath : 
And in the cup an union'" shall he throw, 
Richer than that which four successive kings 
In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the cups ; 
And let the kettle to the trumpet speak. 
The trumpet to the cannoneer without, 
The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth, 
"Now the king drinks to Hamlet !" — Come, begin; — 
And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 

Ham. Come on, sir. 

Laer. 

Ham. 

Laer. 

Ham. 

Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. 

Laer. 

King. Stay; give 
thine ; 
Here's to thy health. — Give him the cup. 

[Trumpets sound ; and Cannon shot off within. 

Ham. I '11 play this bout first ; set it by awhile. — 
Come. — Another hit; what say you ? [They play. 

Laer. A touch ; a touch, I do confess. 

King. Our son shall win. 

Queen. He 's fat, and scant of breath. — 

Here is a napkin, rub thy brows, my son :*' 
The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 

Ham. Good madam, — 

King. Gertrude, do not drink. 

Queen. I will, my lord : I pray you, pardon me. 

[She drinks. 

King. It is the poison'd cup ! it is too late. [Aside. 



Come, my lord. 



[ They play 
One. 

No. 
Judgment. 



I dare not drink yet, madam ; by and by. 



Ham. 

Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face. 

Laer. My lord, I '11 hit him now. 



Ki7i^ 



I do not think it. 



Laer. And yet it is almost against my conscience. 

[Aside. 



8CENE II. 



HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



m 



The king, the king's to blame. 



Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes. You but dally: 
I pray j'ou, pass with your best violence. 
I am afeard', you make a wanton of me. 

Laer. Say you so? come on. [They play. 

Osr. Nothing, neither way. 

Laer. Have at you now. 

[Lakktes wounds Hamlet ; then^ in scuffling they 
clmnge Rapiers., and Hamlet wounds Laertes. 

King. Part them ! they are incens'd. 

Ha?n. Nay, come again. [The Queen falls. 

Osr. Look to the queen there, ho ? 

Hot. They bleed on both sides. — How is it, my lord ? 

Osr. How is 't, Laertes ? 

Laer. Why, as a woodcock to mine OM'n'' springe, 
Osrick : 
I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery. 

Ham. How does the Queen ? 

King. She swoons to see them bleed. 

Queen. No. no, the drink, the drink. — my dear 
Hamlet ! — 
The drink, the drink : I am poison'd. [Dies. 

Ham. villainy ! — How? let the door be lock'd : 
Treachery ! seek it out. [Laertes falls. 

Laer. It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain : 
No medicine in the world can do thee good : 
In thee there is not half an hour of^ life; 
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, 
Uiibated, and envenom'd. The foul practice 
Hath turn'd itself on me : lo ! here I lie, 
Never to rise again. Thy mother 's poison'd 
I can no more. 

Ham. The point 
Envenom'd too ! — Then, venom, to thy work. 

[Stabs the King. 

AH. Treason ! treason ! 

King. ! yet defend me, friends : I am but hurt. 

Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned 
Dane, 
Drink off this potion : — is thy union here ? 
Follow my mother. [King dies. 

Laer. He is justly serv'd ; 

It is a poison temper'd by himself. — 
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet : 
Mine and my father's death come not upon thee , 
Nor thine on me ! [Dies. 

Ham. Heaven make thee free of it ! I follow thee. — 
I am dead, Horatio. — Wretched queen, adieu ! — 
You that look pale and tremble at this chance, 
That are but mutes or audience to this act, 
Had I but time, (as this fell sergeant, death, 
Is strict in his arrest) ! I could tell you, — 
But let it be. — Horatio, I am dead; 
Thou liv'st : report me and my cause aright* 
To the unsati.sfied. 

Hor. Never believe it: [Taking the Cup.'' 

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane : 
Here 's yet some liquor left. 

Ham. As Ihou 'rt a man, 

Give me the cup : let go ; by heaven I '11 have it. — 

[Struggling : Hamlet gets the Cup.* 
God ! — Horatio, what a wounded name. 
Things standing tlius unknown, shall live behind me ! 
If tliou didst ever liold me in thy heart, 
Ab.«cnt tlice from felicity awhile. 
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, 
To tell my story. — [March afar off, and Shot within. 



What warlike noise is this? 

Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from 
Poland, 
To the ambassadors of England gives 
This warlike volley. 

Ham. ! I die, Horatio; 

The potent poison quite o'er-crows' my spirit : 
I cannot live to hear the news from England ; 
But I do prophesy the election lights 
On Fortinbras : he has my dying voice ; 
So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less, 
Which have solicited — The rest is silence. [Dies. 

Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. — Good night, sweet 
prince ; 
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest ! 
Why does the drum come hither ? [March ivilhin. 

Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors, and others. 

Fort. Where is this sight ? 

Hor. What is it ye would see ? 

If aught of woe, or wonder, cease your search. 

Fort. This quarry cries on havock. — proud death ! 
What feast is toward in thine eternal cell, 
That thou so many princes at a shot 
So bloodily hast struck ? 

1 Amb. The sight is dismal, 

And our affairs from England come too late : 
The ears are senseless that should give us hearing, 
To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd. 
That Roscncrantz and Guildenstern are dead. 
Where should we have our thanks ? 

Hor. Not from his mouth. 

Had it th' ability of life to thank you : 
He never gave commandment for their death. 
But since, so jump upon this bloody question. 
You from the Polack wars, and you from England, 
Are here arriv'd, give order that these bodies 
High on a stage be placed to the view; 
And let me speak to the yet unknowing world, 
How these things came about ; so shall you hear 
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts, 
Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters, 
Of deaths put on by cunning, and fore'd' cause. 
And, in tliis upshot, purposes mistook 
Fall'n on the inventors' heads. All this can I 
Truly deliver. 

Fort. Let us haste to hear it. 

And call the noblest to the audience. 
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune : 
I have some rights of memory in this kingdom. 
Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me. 

Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak. 
And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more : 
But let this scene be presently perform'd. 
Even while men's minds are wild, lest more mischance, 
On plots and errors, happen. 

Fort. Let four captains 

Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage ; 
For he was likely, had he been put on, 
To have prov'd most royally : and for his passage, 
The soldiers' music, and the rites of war. 
Speak loudly for him. — . 
Take up the body. — Such a sight as this 
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. 
Go, bid the soldiers shoot. [A dead March. 

[Exeunt, marching ; after which, a peal of 
Ordnance is shot off. 



1 sure : in quarto.-:. ' Not in folio. ^ half an hour's : in quartos. * causes right : in folio, 
jrows : in undalcd quarto, and those of I(jlt-G7. * for no : in quartos. ' same : in f. e. 



' 5 These directions are not in f. e. i o'er- 



^' 



<i^"K 




•t 



KING LEAR. 



♦ ♦ 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Lear, King of Britain. 

King of France. 

Duke of Burgundy. 

Duke of Cornwall, 

Duke of Albany. 

Earl of Kent. 

Earl of Gloster. 

Edgar, Son to Gloster. 

Edmund, Bastard Son to Gloster. 

CuRAN, a Courtier. 

Oswald J Steward to Goneril. 



Old Man, Tenant to Gloster. 

Physician. 

Fool. 

An Officer, employed by Edmund. 

Gentleman, Attendant on Cordelia. 

A Herald. 

Servants to Cornwall. 



Goneril, 

Regan, 

Cordelia, 



Daughters to Lear. 



Knights of Lear's Train, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers, and Attendants. 

SCENE, Britain. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L— A Room of State in King Lear's Palace. 
Enter Kent. Gloster, and Edmund. 

Kent. I thought, the king had more affected the 
duke of Albany, than Cornwall. 

Glo. It did always seem so to us : but now, in the 
division of the kingdoms, it appears not which of the 
dukes he values most ; for equalities' are so weighed, 
that curiosity in neither can make choice of cither's 
moiety. 

Kent. Is not this your son, my lord ? 

Glo. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge : I 
have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I 
am brazed to it. 

Ke7it. I cannot conceive you. 

Glo. Sir, this young fellow's mother could ; where- 
upon she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a 
son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. 
Do you smell a fault ? 

Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of 
it being so proper. 

Glo. But I have a son, sir, by order of law. some 
year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my 
account : though this knave came somewhat saucily 
into= the world, before he was sent for, yet was his 
mother fair, there was good sport at his making, and 
the whoreson must be acknowledged — Do you know 
this noble gentleman, Edmund ? 

Edm. No, my lord. 

Glo. My lord of Kent : remember him hereafter as 
my honourable friend. 

Edm. My services to your lordship. 

Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you better. 

Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving. 

Glo. He hath been out nine years, and away he 
shall again. — The king is coming. [Sennet within. 



Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, 
Cordelia, and Attendants. 

Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, 
Gloster. 

Glo. I shaW, my Viege. ^[Exeimt Glosteh and Edmund. 

Lear. Mean-time, we shall express our darker, pur- 
pose. 
Give me the map there. — Know, that we have divided, 
In three, our kingdom : and 'tis our fast intent 
To shake all cares and business from our age,* 
Conferring' them on younger strengths,* while we 
Unburden'd crawl toward death. — Our son of Cornwall, 
And you, our no less loving son of Albany. 
We have this hour a constant will to publish 
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife 
May be prevented now. The princes, France and 

Burgundy, 
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, 
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn. 
And here are to be answer'd. — Tell me, my daughters, 
(Since now we will divest us, both of rule,' 
Interest of territory, cares of state) 
Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most ? 
That we our largest bounty may extend 
Where nature doth with merit challenge.* — Goneril, 
Our elde.st-born, speak first. 

Gon. I love' you more than words can wield the 
matter ; 
Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty ; 
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare : 
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour : 
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found : 
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable ; 
Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 



Cor. What 
silent. 



shall Cordelia speak ?'" Love, 



and be 
[A.nde. 



1 qualities : in folio. 2 to : in folio. 
^This and the next line, are nut in folio. 



' lord : in folio. * of our state : in quartos. ^ Confirming : in quarto.s. « years : in quartos. 
8 Where merit most doth challenge it : in quartos. ' Sir, I love, &c. : in f.e. 1° do : in quartos. 



SCENE I. 



lONG LEAK. 



773 



Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, 
With shadowy' forests, and with champains rich'd, 
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, 
We make thee lady : to thine and Albany's issue 
Be this perpetual. — What says our second daughter, 
Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall ? Speak." 

Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister, 
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart 
I find, she names my very deed of love ; 
Only she comes too short, that I profess 
Myself an enemy to all other joys, 
Which the most precious sphere^ of sense possesses,* 
And find, I am alone felicitate 
In your dear highness' love. 

Cor. Then, poor Cordelia ! 

\Aside. 
And yet not so : since, I am sure, my love 's 
More plenteous* than my tongue. 

Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever, 
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom ; 
No less in space, validity, and pleasure. 
Than that conferr'd on Goneril. — Now, our joy. 
Although our last, not least ; to whose young love 
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy, 
Strive to be interess'd ; what can you say, to draw 
A third more opulent than your sisters ? Speak. 

Cor. Nothing, my lord. 

Lear. Nothing ? 

Cor. Nothing. 

Lear. Nothing will come of nothing : speak again. 

Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave 
My heart into my mouth : I love your majesty 
According to my bond ; nor more, nor less. 

Lear. How? how, Cordelia? mend your speech a 
little. 
Lest you may mar your fortunes. 

Cor. Good my lord. 

You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me : I 
Return those duties back as are right fit. 
Obey you, love you, and most honour yoii. 
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say, 
They love you all ? Haply, when I shall wed, 
That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry 
Half my love with him, half my care, and duty: 
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters. 
To love my father all.^ 

Lear. But goes this with thy heart ? 

Cor. Ay, my good lord. 

Lear. So young, and so untender ? 

Cor. So young, my lord, and true. 

Lear. Let it be so : thy truth, then, be thy dower ; 
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun. 
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night, 
By all the operation of the orbs, 
From whom we do exist, and cease to be. 
Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 
Propinquity and property of blood. 
And as a stranger to my heart and me, 
Hold tliee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian, 
Or he that makes his generation messes 
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom 
Be as well neighbourd, pitied, and reliev'd. 
As Ihou, my sometime daughter. 

Kent. Good my liege. — 

Lear. Peace, Kent ! 
Come not between the dragon and his wrath. 
I lov'd her most, and thought.to set my rest 



On her kind nursery. — Hence, and avoid my sight ! — 

[lb Cordelia. 
So be my grave my peace, as here I give 
Her father's heart from her ! — Call France. — Who stirs ? 
Call Burgundy. — Cornwall, and Albany, 
With my two daughters' dowers digest the third : 
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. 
I do invest you jointly with my power. 
Pre-eminence, and all the large efTects 
That troop with majesty. — Ourself, by monthly course. 
With reservation of an hundred knights. 
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode 
Make with you by due turns. Only, we still' retain 
The name, and all th' additions to a king ; 
The sway, revenue, execution of the rest. 
Beloved sons, be yours : which to confirm, 
This coronet part between you. {Giving the Crown. 

Kent. Royal Lear, 

Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, 
Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd, 
And as my patron* thought on in my prayers, — 

Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from the 
shaft. 

Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
The region of my heart : be Kent unmannerly. 
When Lear is mad. — What wouldst thou do, old man ? 
Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak. 
When power to flattery bows ? To plainness honour 's 

bound, 
When majesty stoops' to folly. Reverse thy doom"; 
And in thy best consideration check 
This hideous rashness : answer my life my judgment, 
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least ; 
Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound 
Reverbs no hollowness. 

Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. 

Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn 
To wage against thine enemies ; nor' ' fear to lose it, 
Thy safety being the motive. 

Lear. Out of my sight ! 

Kent. See better, Lear; and let me still remain 
The true blank of thine eye. 

Lear. Now, by Apollo, — 

Kent. Now, by Apollo, king. 

Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. 

Lear. 0, vassal ! recreant" ! 

[Laying his hand upon his Sword. 

Alb. Corn. Dear sir, forbear.'^ 

Kent. Do ; 
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow 
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift'*; 
Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, 
I '11 tell thee, thou dost evil. 



Lear. 



Hear me, recreant ! 



On thine allegiance hear me. 

Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, 

(Which we durst never yet) and, with strain'd" pride, 

To come betwixt our sentence and our power. 

(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear) 

Our potency made good, take thy reward. 

Five days we do allot thee for provision 

To shield thee from diseases of the world. 

And on the sixth to turn thy hated back 

Upon our kingdom : if the seventh" day following, 

Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, 

The moment is thy death. Away ! By Jupiter, 

This shall not be revok'd. 



* shady : in quartos. 2 Jjot in folio. ' square : in f. e. * professes : in folio. * richer : in f. e. ; ponderous 
folio. ' shall : in folio. 8 As my great patron : in f. e. ^ falls : in folio. 'O Reserve thy state : in folio, 
creant : in folio. '^ Not in quartos. '* doom : in quartos, i* straied : in quartos. " tenth : in f. e. 



in folio. * This line, not in 
11 ne'er : in folio. " mis- 



774: 



KING LEAR. 



ACT I. 



Kent. Fare thee well, king : since thus thou wilt 
appear, 
Freedom' lives hence, and banishment is here. — 
The gods to their dear shelter^" take thee, maid, 

[To Cordelia. 
That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said !, — 
And your large speeches may your deeds approve, 

[To Regan and Goneril. 
That good effects may spring from words of love. — 
Thus Kent, princes ! bids you all adieu : 
He '11 shape his old course in a country new. [Exit. 
Flourish. Re-enter Gloster, ivith France, Bur- 
gundy, and Attendants. 

Glo. Here 's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. 

Lear. My lord of Burgundy, 
We first address toward you. who with this king 
Flnth rivall'd for our daughter : what, in the least, 
Will you require in present dower with her, 
Or cease your quest of love ? 

Bur. Most royal majesty, 

I crave no more than hath^ your highness offer'd. 
Nor will you tender less. 

Lear. Right noble Burgundy, 

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so ; 
But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands : 
If aught within that little seeming substance, 
Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd. 
And nothing more, may fitly like your grace. 
She 's there, and she is yours. 

Bur. I know no answer. 

Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she owes, 
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, 
Dowcr'd-* with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath. 
Take her. or leave her ? 

Bur. Pardon me, royal sir ; 

Election makes not up on such conditions. 

Lear. Then leave her, sir ; for, by the power that 
made me, 
I tell you all her wealth. — For you, great king, 

[To France. 
I would not from your loA^e make such a stray. 
To match you where I hate : therefore, beseech you 
T' avert your liking a more worthier way, 
Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd 
Almost t' acknowledge hers. 

France. This is most strange, 

That she, that even but now was your blest object. 
The argument of your praise, balm of your age, 
Most* best, most* dearest, should in this trice of time 
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle 
So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence 
Must be of such unnatural degree, 
Tliat monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection 
Fall'n into taint: which to believe of her, 
Must be a faith that reason, without miracle, 
Could' never plant in me. 

Cor. I yet beseech your majesty, 

(If for I Avant that glib and oily art. 
To speak and purpose not, since what I well intend, 
I '11 do 'i before I speak) that you make known 
It is no vicious blot, nor other foulness," 
No unchaste' action, or dishonour'd stoop*'. 
That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour ; 
But even for want of that for which I am richer, 
A still-Koliciting eye, and such a tongue 
That I am glad I have not, though not to have it, 
Hath lost me in your liking. 



Lear. Better thou 

Hadst not been born, than not to have pleas'd me better. 

France. Is it" but this? a tardiness in nature, 
Which often leaves the history unspoke. 
That it intends to do ? — My lord of Burgundy, 
What say you to the lady? Xtove is not love. 
When it is mingled with respects, that stand 
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her ? 
She is herself a dowry.*'' 

Bur. Royal Lear,*' 

Give but that portion which yourself propos'd, 
And here I take Cordelia by the hand, 
Duchess of Burgundy. 

Lear. Nothing : I have sworn ; I am firm. 

Bur. I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father, 
That you must lose a husband. 

Cor. Peace be with Burgundy : 

Since that respects of** fortune are his love, 
I shall not be his wife. 

France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being 
poor, 
Most choice, forsaken, and most lov'd, despis'd, 
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon : 
Be it lawful, I take up what 's east away. 
Gods, gods ! 't is strange, that from their cold'st neglect 
My love should kindle to inflam'd respect. — 
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, 
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France : 
Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy 
Shall" buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me. — 
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind : 
Thou losest here, a better where*' to find. 

Lear. Thou hast her, France : let her be thine, for wc 
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see 
That face of hers again : — Therefore, be gone 
Without our grace, our loA'e, our benison. — 
Come, noble Burgundy. 

[Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Corn- 
wall, Albany, Gloster, and Attendants. 

France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 

Cor. Ye jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes 
Cordelia leaves you : I know you what you arc ; 
And, like a sister, am most loath to call 



well cur 
[father : 



Your faults as they are nam'd. Love 
To your professed bosoms I commit him ; 
But yet, alas ! stood I within his grace, 
I would prefer him to a better place. 
So, farewell to you both. 

Gon. Prescribe not us our duty. 

Reg. Let your study 

Be to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you 
As fortune's alms : you have obedience scanted, 
And well are worth the want that you have wanted. 

Cor. Time sliall unfold what plighted cunning liides; 
Who cover faults, at last shame them'" derides. 



Well may 
France. 



you prosper 



Come, my fair Cordelia. 
[Exeunt France and Cordelia. 

Gon. Sister, it is not little I have to say of what 
most nearly appertains to us both. I think, our father 
will hence to-night. 

Reg. That 's most certain, and with you ; next month 
with us. 

Gon. You see how full of changes his age is ; the 
observation we have made of it hath not*' been little : 
he always loved our sister most, and with what poor 
judgment he hath now cast her off appears too grossly. 



' Friendship : in quartos. 
8 murder, or foulnfiss 
*' king : in folio. " an 



artos. 2 protection : in quartos, '-vrhat: in qu.artos. * Cover'd : in quartos. 5 < 
in f. e. ' unclean ; i'n quartos. '" step: in f e. ^ no more but this : in q 
ind : in folio. '* Can : in folio, i^ Place, i' Use : iu quartos. '" with shame : 



6 the : in folio. ' Should : in folia, 
quartos. 12 and dower : in quartos, 
in folio. " Not in folio. 



SCENE II. 



KING LEAR. 



Y75 



Reg. 'T is the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever 
but slenderly known I'.imself. 

Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath been 
but rash ; then, must we look to receive from his age, 
not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted condition, 
but, therewithal, the unruly waywardness that infirm 
and choleric years bring with them. 

Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to have 
from liim, as this of Kent's banishment. 

Gon. There is farther compliment of, leave-taking 
between France and him. Pray you, let us hit^ toge- 
ther : if our father carry authority with such dispo- 
sitions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but 
offend us. 

Reg. We shall farther think of it. 

Go7i. We must do something, and i' the heat. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE 11.— A Hall in the Earl of Gi.oster's Castle. 
Enter Edmund, the Bastard, with a Letter. 

Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy law 
My services are bound. Wherefore should I 
Stand on the plague of custom, and permit 
The curiosity" of nations to deprive me, 
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines 
Lag of a brother? Why bastard ? wherefore base, 
When my dimensions are as well compact, 
My mind as generous, and my shape as true. 
As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us 
W^itli base? with baseness ? bastardy? base, base? 
Who in the lusty stealth of nature take 
More composition and fierce quality, 
Than doth within a dull, stale, tired bed, 
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops. 
Got 'tween asleep and wake ? — Well then, 
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land : 
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund, 
As to the legitimate. Fine word, — legitimate !' 
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, 
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base 
Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper : — 
Now. gods, stand up for bastards ! [Reads the Letter.* 
Enter Gloster. 

Glo. Kent banish'd thus ! And France in choler 
parted ! 
And the king gone to-night ! subserib'd^ his power ! 
Conrm'd to exhibition' ! All this done 
Upon the aad ! — Edmund? How now ! what news ? 

Edm. So please your lordship, none. 

[Hiding the Letter. 

Glo. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that 
letter ? 

Edm. I know no news, my lord. 

Glo. What paper were you reading ? 

Kdni. Nothing, my lord. 

Glo. No ! What needed, then, that terrible de- 
spatch of it into your pocket ? the quality of nothing 
hath not such need to hide itself. Let's see: come; 
if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. 

Edm. I bci-eech you, sir, pardon me : it is a letter 
from my brother, that 1 have not all o'er-read ; and for 
so much as I have perused, i find it not fit for your 
o'erlooking'. 

Glo. Give me the letter, sir. 

Edm. 1 shall offend, cither to detnin or give it. 
The contents, as in part I understand them, 
Are to blame. 



Glo. Let 's see, let 's see. 

Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, ho wrote 
this but as an essay or taste of my virtue. 

Glo. [Reads.] " This policy, and reverence* of age, 
makes the world bitter to the best of our times ; keeps 
our fortunes from us, till our oldness cannot relish 
them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the 
oppression of aged tyranny, who sways, not as it hath 
power, but as it is suflered. Come to me, that of this 
I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I 
waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, 
and live the beloved of your brother, Edgar.'" — 
Humph! — Conspiracy! — "Sleep till I waked him, — 
you should enjoy half his revenue." — My son Edgar ! 
Had he a hand to write this ? a heart and brain to 
breed it in ? — When came this to you ?' Who 
brought it ? 

Edm. It was not brought me, my lord ; there 's the 
cunning of it : I found it thrown in at the casement of 
my closet. , 

Glo. You know the character to be your brother's ? 

Edm.. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst 
swear it were his ; but, in respect of that, I would fain 
think it were not. 

Glo. It is his. 

Edm. It is his hand, my lord; but, I hope, his heart 
is not in the contents. 

Glo. Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this 
business ? 

Edm. Never, my lord ; but I have often heard him 
maintain it to be fit, that sons at perfect age, and 
fathers declined, the father should be as ward to the 
son. and the son manage his revenue. 

Glo. villain, villain ! — His very opinion in the 
letter ! — Abhorred villain ! Unnatural, detested, brutish 
villain ! worse than brutish ! — Go, sirrah, seek him ; 
I 'IP" apprehend him. Abominable villain ! — V>'^hcre 
is he? 

Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it shall 
please you to suspend your indignation against my 
brother, till you can derive from him better testimony 
of his intent, you shall run a certain course : where, if 
you violently proceed against him, mistaking liis pur- 
pose, it would make a great gap in your own honour, 
and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare 
pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ this to 
feel my affection to your honour, and to no other'' pre- 
tence" of danger. 

Glo. Think you so? 

Edm. If your honour judge it meet, I will place you 
where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an 
auricular assurance have your satisfaction : and tliat 
without any farther delay than this very evening. 

Gin. He cannot be such a monster. 

Edm. Nor is not. sure.'' 

Glo. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely 
loves him. — Heaven and earth ! — Ednnind, seek him 
out; wind me into him, I prayyoii: frame the busi- 
ness after ^-^our own Avisdom. I would unstatc myself 
to be in a due resolution. 

Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently, convey ihe 
business as I shall find'* means, and acquaint you 
withal. 

Glo. These late eclipses in the sun and moon por- 
tend no good to us; though the wisdom of nature can 
reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged 
by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls olF, 



1 sit : in folio. ' Scrvpulousness. ' These three i.vorJ.'' are not in quarto 
in quartcs. ^ Not in quartos. ' you to this : in folio, i" 1 : in quartos, 
reply to Edmu.nd, are not in folio. ^* see : in quartos. 



* Not in f. e. * Signed away. • Maintenance. ' liking^ : 
" farther : in quartos. '* Intention. " This speech, and the 



ne 



KING LEAK. 



ACT I. 



brothers divide : in cities, mutinies ; in countries, dis- 
cord ; in palaces, treason, and the bond cracked between 
son and father." This villain of mine comes under the 
prediction ; there 's son against father : the king falls 
from bias of nature ; there 's father against child. We 
have seen the best of our time : machinations, hollow- 
ness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us 
disquietly to our graves ! — Find out this villain, Ed- 
mund : it shall lose thee nothing: do it carefully. — 
And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished ! his 
ofTence, honesty. — 'T is strange. \Exit, 

Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, 
when we arc sick in fortune, (often the surfeit of our 
own behaviour) we make guilty of our disasters, the 
sun, the moon, and the stars : as if we were villains by 
necessity ; fools, by heavenly compulsion ; knaves, 
thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance ; 
drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obe- 
dience of planetary influence, and all that we are evil 
in, by a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of 
whore-master man, to lay his goatish disposition to the 
charge of stars'.^ My father compounded with my 
mother under the dragon's tail, and my nativity was 
under ursa major ; so that, it follows, I am rough and 
lecherous. — Tut ! I should have been that I am, had 
the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my 
bastardizing.^ Edgar — 

Enter Edgar. 
and pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old 
comedy : my cue is villainous melancholy, w"ith a sigh 
like Tom o' Bedlam. — ! these eclipses do portend 
these divisions. Fa, sol, la, mi. 

Edg. How now, brother Edmund ! "What serious 
contemplation are you in? 

Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read 
this other day, wliat should follow these eclipses. 

Edg. Do you busy yourself with that ? 

Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed 
unhappily;* as of unnaturahiess between the child 
and the parent ; death, dearth, dissolution of ancient 
amities; divisions in state; menaces and maledictions 
against king and nobles ; needless diffidences, banish- 
ment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, 
and I know not what. 

Edg. How long have you been a sectary astronomical ? 

Edm. Come, come ; when saw you my father last ? 
The night gone by. 
Spake you with him ? 



Edi 
Edm. 
Edg. 
Edm. 



Ay, two hours together. 



Parted you in good terms ? Found you no 
displeasure in him, by word, or countenance? 

Edg. None at all. 

Edm. Bethink yourself, wherein you may have of- 
fended hiio: and at my entreaty forbear his presence, 
till some little time hath qualified the heat of his dis- 
pleasure, which at this instant so rageth in him, that with 
the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay. 

Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong. 

Edm. That's my fear.* I pray you, have a conti- 
nent forbearance, till the speed of his rage goes slower ; 
and, as I say. retire with me to my lodgin< 
whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord 
Pray you. go : there 's my key. If you do stir abroad, 
go armed. 

Edg. Armed, brother? 



from 
speak. 



Edm. Brother, I advise 



. , i ou , iow you to the best ; l am no 
honest man, if there be any good meaning towards 



you : 1 have told you what I have seen and heard, but 
faintly ; nothing like the image and horror of it. Pray 
you, away. 

Edg. Shall I hear from you anon ? 

Edm. I do serve you in this business. — 

[Exit Edgar. 
A credulous father, and a brother noble, 
Whose nature is so far from doing harms, 
That he suspects none, on whose foolish honesty 
My practices ride easy. — I see the business. — 
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit : 
All with me 's meet, that I can fashion fit. [Exit. 

SCENE HI.— A Room in the Duke of Albany's 
Palace. 

Enter Goneril, and Oswald her Steward. 

Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding 
of his fool ? 

Osw. Ay, madam. 

Gon. By day and night he wrongs me: every hour 
He flashes into one gross crime or other. 
That sets us all at odds : I '11 not endure it. 
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us 
On every trifle. — When he returns from hunting, 
I will not speak with him ; say, I am sick ; 
If you come slack of former services. 
You shall do well : the fault of it I '11 answer. 



Osw. He 



s coming. 



madam 



., by my life, 
and must be us'd 



I hear him. 

[Horns within. 

Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please. 
You and your fellows; I 'd have it come to question : 
If he distaste' it, let him to my sister, 
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, 
Not to be over-rul'd. Idle old man,' 
That still would manage those authorities. 
That he hath given away ! — Now, 
Old fools are babes again ; 

With checks as flatteries : when they are seen abus'd. 
Remember what I have said. 

Osw. Well; madam. 

Gon. And let his knights have colder looks among you. 
What grows of it, no matter ; advise your fellows so : 
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, ^ 
That I may speak. — I '11 WTite straight to my sister. 
To hold my course. — Prepare for dinner. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— A Hall in the Same. 
Enter Kent, disguised. 

Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow, 
That can my speech diffuse', my good intent 
May carry through itself to that full issue 
For which I raz'd my likeness. — Now, banish'd Kent, 
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd, 
(So may it come !'") thy master, whom lliou lov'st, 
Shall find thee full of labours. 
Horns icithin. Enter Lear Knights, and Attendants. 

Lear. Let me not stay a iot for dinner : go, get it 
ready. [Exit an Attendant.] How now ! what art thou ? 

Kent. A man, sir. 

Lear. What dost thou profess ? What wouldst thou 
with us ? 

Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem : to 
serve him truly that will put me in trust ; to love him 
that is honest ; to converse with him that is wise, and 
says little ; to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot 
choose, and to eat no fish. 

Lear. What art thou V 

I The passage from this to " Find," is not in quartos. = on the charge of a star : in folio. = on my tastardy : in quartos. * The rest of 
this and the next speech, are not in folio. ^ The rest of this and the next speech, are not in quartos. '' dislike : in quartos. ' This and 
the next four lines, are not in the folio. 8 This and the next line, to '' I '11,"' not in folio. 9 Disorder, disguise, i" These lines are not in 
quartos. 



SCENE IV. 



KING LEAR. 



Y77 



Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as 
the king. 

Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is for a 
king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou ? 

Kent. Ser\'ice. 

Lear. Whom wouldst thou serve ? 

Kent. You. 

Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow? 

Kent. No, sir ; but you have that in your counte- 
nance which I would fain call master. 

Lear. What 's that? 

Kent. Authority. 

Lear. Wliat services canst thou do ? 

Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a 
curious tale in telling it. and deliver a plain message 
bluntly : that which ordinary men are fit for, I am 
qualified in; and Ihe best of me is diligence. 

Lear. How old art thou ? 

Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for sing- 
ing ; nor so old, to dote on her for any thing : I have 
years on my back forty-eight. 

Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serve me : if I like 
thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee 
3'et. — Dinner, ho ! dinner ! — Where 's my knave? my 
fool ? Go you, and call my fool hither. 

Enter Oswald. 
You, you. sirrah, where 's my daughter? 

Ostc. So please you, — [Exit. 

Lear. What says the fellow there ? Call the clodpole 
back. [Exit Knight.^] — Where 's my fool, ho? — I 
think the world 's asleep. — [Re-enter Knight."] How 
now, where 's that mongrel ? 

Knight.^ He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. 

Lear. Why came not the slave back to me, when I 
called him ? 

Knight.* Sir, he answered me in the roundest 
manner, he Avould not. 

Lear. He would not ! 

Knight. INIy lord, I know not what the matter is ; 
but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertained 
with that ceremonious affection as you were wont : 
there 's a great abatement of kindness" appears, as well 
in the general dependants, as in the duke himself also, 
and your daughter. 

Lear. Ha ! sayest thou so? 

Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if [ be 
mistaken ; for my duty cannot be silent, when I thmk 
your highness wronged. 

Lear. Thou but rememberest me of mine own con- 
ception. I have perceived a most faint neglect of late ; 
which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curi- 
osity, than as a very pretence and purpose of unkind- 
ness : I will look farther into 't. — But where "s my 
fool ? I have not seen him this two days. 

Knight. Since my young lady's going into France, 
sir, the fool hath much pined away. 

Lear. No more of that; I have noted it well. — Go 
you, and tell my daugliter I would speak with her. — 
Go you, call hither my fool. — 

Re-enter Oswald. 
! you sir, you sir, come you hither. Who am I, sir ? 

Osw. My lady's father, 

Lear. My lady's father? my lord's knave: you 
whoreson dog ! you slave ! you cur ! 

Osw. I am none of these, my lord : I beseech your 
pardon. 

Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal ? 

[Striking him. 



Osw. I '11 not be stricken, my lord. 
Kent. Not tripped neither, you base foot-ball player. 

[Tripping itp his heels. 
Lear. I thank thee, fellow ; thou servest me, and 
I '11 love thee. 

Kent. Come, sir, ari.se; away ! I'll teach you differ- 
ences : away, away ! If you will measure your lubber's 
length again, tarry ; but away ! Go to : liave you wis- 
dom ? so. [Pushes Oswald out. 
Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee : there 's 
earnest in thy service. [Giving Kent money. 
Enter Fool. 
Fool. Let me hire him too : — here 's my coxcomb. 

[Giving Kent his Cap. 
Lear. How now, my pretty knave ! how dost thou ? 
Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. 
Lear. Why, my boy ?* 

Fool. Why ? For taking one's part that 's out of 
favour. — Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, 
thou 'It catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb. 
Why, this fellow has banished two on 's daughters, and 
did the third a blessing against his will : if thou follow 
bim, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. — How now, 
nuncle ! Would I had two coxcombs, and two daugh- 
ters ! 

Lear. Why, my boy ? 

Fool. If I gave them all my living, I 'd keep my cox- 
comb myself. There 's mine ; beg another of thy daugh- 
ters. 

Lear. Take heed, sirrah ; the whip. 
Fool. Truth 's a dog must to kennel : he must be 
whipped out, when the lady brach' may stand by the 
fire and stink. 

Lear. A pestilent gall to me. 

Fool. Sirrah, I '11 teach thee a speech. 

Lear. Do. 

Fool. Mark it, nuncle. — 

Have more than thou showest, 
Speak less than thou knowest, 
Lend less than thou owest, 
Ride more than thou goest. 
Learn more than thou trowest, 
Set less than thou throwest ; 
Leave thy drink and thy whore, 
And keep in-a-door, 
And thou shalt have more 
Than two tens to a score. 
Lear.^ This is nothing, fool. 

Fool. Then, 't is like the breath of an unfee'd law- 
yer : you gave me nothing for 't. Can you make no 
use of nothing, nuncle ? 

Lear. Why, no, boy ; nothing can be made out of 
nothing. 

Fool. Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of his land 
comes to: he will not believe a fool. 
Lear. A bitter fool ! 

Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, be- 
tween a bitter fool and a sweet one ? 
Lear. No, lad ; teach me. 
Fool.^ That lord, that counsell'd thee 
To give away thy land. 
Come place him here by me ; 

Do tliou for him stand : 
The sweet and bitter fool 
Will pre.'tently appear ; 
The one in motley here, 
The other found out there. 
Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy ? 



» • Not in f. e. ' Kent : in quartos. * A serva/it : in quartcs. * " of kindness" : not in quartos. 6 Kent. Whyjfool : in quaitos. ' A 
female hound 8 Kent : in folio. ' This and the next four speeches, to " Give me," are not in folio. 



7Y8 



KING LEAK. 



ACT I. 



Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away, that 
thou wast born with. 

Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. 

Fool. No, 'faith ; lords and great men will not let 
me : if I had a monopoly out, they would have part 
cn't, and loads too: they will not let me have all fool 
to myself; they '11 be snatching. — Give me an egg. 
nnncle, and 1 '11 give thee two crowns. 

Lear. What two crowns shall they be? 

Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, 
and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. 
When thou devest thy crown i' the middle, and gavest 
away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy back o'er 
the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when 
thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like 
myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so. 
Fools had ne'er /e,w grace^ m a year ; [Singing. 

For wise men are grown foppish ; 
And well may fcar^ their wits to wear, 
Their manners are so apish. 

Lear. When were you wont to be so full of songs, 
sirrah ? 

Fool. I have used it, imncle, ever since thou madest 
thy daughters thy mothers : for. when thou gavest them 
the rod and putt'st down thine own breeches, 

Then they for sudden joy did weep, [Singing. 

And I for sorrow sung, 
That such a king should play bo-pcep, 
And go the fools among. 
Pr'ythce, nuncle, keep a school-master that can teach 
thy fool to lie : I would fain learn to lie. 

Lear. An you lie, sirrah, we '11 have you whipped. 

Fool. I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters 
are : they '11 have me whipped for speaking true, thou 'It 
have me whipped for lying ; and sometimes I am 
whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any 
kind o' thing than a fool; and yet I would not be 
thee, nuncle : thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, 
and left nothing i' the middle. Here comes one o' the 
parings. 

Enter Goneril. 

Lear. How now, daughter ! what makes that front- 
let on? 
Methinks,^ you are too much of late i' the frown. 

Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thou hadst 
no need to care for her frowniing ; now thou art an 
without a figure. I am better than thou art now : I 
am a fool; thou art nothing. — Yes, forsooth, I will hold 
my tongue ! so your face [To Gon.] bids me, though 
you say nothing. Mum. mum : 

He that keeps nor crust nor crum, [Singing. 
Weary of all. shall imnt some. 
That's a shealed peascod. 

Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool, 
But other of your insolent retinue 
Do hourly carp and quarrel ; breaking forth 
In rank, and not to be endured, riots. Sir, 
I had thought, by making this well known unto you. 
To have found a safe redress, but now grow fearful. 
By what yourself too late have spoke and done. 
That you protect this course, and put it on, 
By your allowance ; which if you should, the fault 
Would not 'seape censure, nor the redresses sleep. 
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal. 
Might in their working do you that offence, 
Which else were shame, that then necessity 
Will* call discreet proceeding. 



Fool. For you know, nuncle. 

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long. 
That it had its head bit off by its young. 
So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. 

Lear. Are you our daughter ? 

Gon.^ I would, you would make use of your good 
wisdom. 
Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away 
These dispositions, which of late transform you 
From what you rightly are. 

Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws the 
horse ? — Whoop, Jug ! I love thee. 

Lear. Does any here know me ? — Why this is not 
Lear : does Lear walk thus ? speak thus ? Where are 
his eyes ? Either his notion weakens, or his discernings 
are lethargied. — Sleeping or waking? — Ha"! sure 'tis 
not so. — Who is it that can tell me who I am ? — Lear's 
shadow ?^ I would learn that ; for by the marks of 
sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false 
persuaded I had daughters. 

Fool. Which they will make an obedient father, 

Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman ? 

Gon. "This admiration, sir, is much o' the favour 
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you 
To understand my purposes aright. 
As you are old and reverend, should be wise. 
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires ; 
Men so disorder'd, so debauch'd and bold, 
That this our court, infected with their manners. 
Shows like a riotous inn : epicurism and lust 
Make it more like a tavern, or a brothel, 
Than a grac'd* palace. The shame itself doth speak 
For instant remedy: be, then, desir'd 
By her, that else will take the thing she begs, 
A little to disquantity your train ; 
And the remainder, that shall still depend, 
To be such men as may besort your age. 
Which know themselves and you. 

Lear. Darkness and devils ! — 

Saddle my horses ; call my train together. — 
Degenerate bastard ! I '11 not trouble thee : 
Yet have I left a daughter. 

Gon. You strike my people; and your disorder'd 
rabble 
Make servants of their betters. 

Enter Albany. 



Lear. Woe, that too late 

Alb.] are you come ? 
it your will ?'" Speak, sir. 



repents,® — 0, sir! [To 

—Prepare my horses ! — 

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, 

More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child. 

Than the sea-monster ! 

Alb. Pray) sir. be patient." 

Lear. Detested kite ! thouliest: [To Goneril. 

My train arc men of choice and rarest parts. 

That all particulars of duty know. 

And in the mo.st exact regard support 

The worship of their name. — 0, most small fault! 

How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show. 

Which, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature 

From the fix'd place, drew from my heart all love, 

And added to the gall. Lear, Lear, Lear! 

Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, [Striking his head. 

And thy dear judgment out ! — Go, go, my people. 
Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant 

Of what hath mov'd you.'^ 



Lea 



r. 



It may be so, my lord. — 



' wit : in quartos, 
sir, I : in quartos. « 



^ And knom not how : in f. e. ' Not in folio. < Must : in quartos which print the whole speech as prose. 'Come, 
Lear's shadow," is spoken by the fool, and the rest of this and the next speech, is omitted in folio. ' Come, sir, 

this : in quartos ; the rest of the speech is there printed as prose. 8 great : in quartos. " The rest of the line, is not in folio, i" will that 

we prepare our horses : in quartos. n 12 These lines are not in quartos. 



SCENE V. 



KING LEAR. 



779 



Hear, nature, hear ! dear goddess, hear ! 

Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend 

To make tliis creature fruitful ! 

Into her womb convey sterility ! 

Dry up in her the organs of increase ; 

And from her derogate body never spring 

A babe to honour her ! If she must teem, 

Create her child of spleen ; that it may live, 

And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her ! 

Let it stamp ^^Tinkles in her brow of youth ; 

With cadcnt tears fret channels in her cheeks j 

Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits. 

To laughter and contempt; that she may feel 

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 

To have a thankless child ! — Away! away!- [Exit. 

Alb. Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this ? 

Gon. Never atflict yourself to know the cause ;" 
But let his disposition have that scope 
That dotage gives it. 

Re-enter Lear. 

Lear. What ! fifty of my followers, at a clap, 
Within a fortnight ? 

Alb. What 's the matter, sir ? 

Lear. I '11 tell thee. — Life and death ! [To Goneril. 
I am asham'd, 
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus : 
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, 
Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon 

thee ! 
Th' untcnted woundings of a father's curse 
Pierce every sense about thee ! — Old fond eyes, 
Bcweep this cause again, I '11 pluck you out. 
And cast you, Avith the waters that you lose, 
To temper clay. — Ha ! 
Let it be so : — I have another daughter, 
Who. I am sure, is kind and comfortable : 
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails 
She '11 flay thy wolfi.'^h visage. Thou shalt find, 
That I 'II resume the shape, which thou dost think 
I have cast olF for ever.^ 

[Exeunt Lear in fury*, Kent, and Atteiidants. 

Gon. Do you mark that, my lord ? 

Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, 
To the great love I bear you, — 

Gon. Pray you, content.' — What, Oswald, ho! 
You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master. 

[To the Fool. 

Fool Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear ! tarry, and take the 
fool with thee. 

A fox. when one has caught her, 

And such a daughter, 

Should sure to the slaughter, 

If my cap would buy a halter ; 

So the fool follows after. [Exit. 

Gon. This' man hath had good counsel. — A hundred 
knights ! 
'T is politic, and safe, to let him keep 
At point a hundred knights : yes, that on every dream. 
Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, 
He may cnguard his dotage with their powers. 
And hokl our lives in mercy. — Oswald, I say ! — 

Alb. Well, you may fear too far. 

Gon. Safer than trust too far. 

Let me still take away the harms I fear. 
Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart. 
What he hath vitterM I have writ my sister: 
If she sustain him and his hundred knights, 



When I have show'd th' unfitness, — how now, Oswald !' 

Re-enter Oswald. 
What, have you writ that letter to my sister ? 

Osw. Ay, madam. 

Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse : 
Inform her full of my particular fear ; 
And thereto add such reasons of your own, 
As may compact it more. Get you gone. 
And hasten your return. [Exit Osw.] No, no, my lord, 
This milky gentleness, and course of yours. 
Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon. 
You are much more attask'd* for want of wisdom. 
Than prais'd for harmful mildness. 

Alb. How far your eyes may pierce, I cannot tell : 



Striving to better, oft we mar what 's well. 



Gon. Nay, then — 

Alb. Well, well ; the event. 



[Exeunt. 



SCENE v.— Court before the Same. 
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 

Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these letters. 
Acquaint my daughter no farther with any thing you 
know, than comes from her demand out of tlie letter. 
If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there before 
you. 

Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered 
your letter. [Exit. 

Fool. If a man's brains were in 's heels, were 't not 
in danger of kibes? 

Lear. Ay, boy. 

Fool. Then, I pr'ythee, be merry; thy wit shall not 
go slip-shod. 

Lear. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Fool. Shalt see, thy other daughter will use thee 
kindly ; for though she 's as like this, as a crab is like 
an apple, yet I can tell what' I can tell. 

Lear. What canst tell, boy? 

Fool. She will taste as like this, as a crab does to a 
crab. Canst thou tell why one's ncsc stands i' the 
middle on 's face ? 

Lear. No. 

Fool. Why, to keep one's eyes of either side 's ncse ; 
that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. 

Lear. I did her wrong. — 

Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell ? 

Lear. No. 

Fool. Nor I neither ; but I can tell why a snail has 
a house. 

Lear. Why? 

Fool. Why, to put his head in ; not to give it away 
to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. 

Lear. I will forget my nature. — So kind a father ! — 
Be my horses ready? 

Fool. Thy a.^scs are gone about 'em. The reason 
why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty 
reason. 

Lear. Because they are not eight? 

Fool. Yes, indeed. Thou wouldest make a good fool. 

Lear. To take it again perforce ! — Monster ingrati- 
tude ! 

Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I 'd have thee 
beaten for being old before thy time. 

Lear. How 's that ? 

Fool. Thou shouldst not have been old before thou 
hadst been wise. 

Lear. 0, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven ! 
Keep me in temper : I would not be mad ! — 



•" Go. go, my people" : in quartos. » more of it : infolio. ' The quartos add : " Thou shalt, I warrant thee." * " tn/i/ry;" notin f. e. 

. . . ... ■■ are not in quartos. ' The quarto adds : What, Os- 



' Come, sir, no more 
wald, ho ! 8 at ta^k 



in quartos. 'This and the next two speeches to "how now, 
: in ibiio. ' I con what : in quartos. 



Y80 



KING LEAR. 



ACT II. 



Enter Gentleman. 
How now ! Are the horses ready ? 
Gent. Ready, my lord. 
Lear. Come, boy. 



Fool. She that 's a maid now, and laughs at my de- 
parture, 
Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— A Court within the Castle of the Earl of 

Gloster. 

Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting. 



Edm. Save thee 
Cur. And you. 



sir 



Curan. 

I have been with yoiir father, 



-sir, in fine, 



Edm. Persuade me to the murder of your lordship ; 
But that I told him, the revenging gods 
'Gainst parricides did all their thunders' bend ; 
Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond 
The child was bound to the father ;- 
Seeing how loathly opposite I stood 
To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion. 
With his prepared sword he charges home 
My unprovided body, lanc'd mine arm: 
But whether he saw my best alarum'd spirits. 
Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to th' encounter, 
Or whether gasted by the noise I made, 
Full suddenly he fled. 

Glo. Let him fly far : 

Not in this land shall he remain uncaught ; 
And found, dispatch'd". — The noble duke my master, 
My worthy arch' and patron, comes to-night : 
By his authority I will proclaim it, 
That he, which finds him, shall deserve our thanks, 
Bringing the murderous coward* to the stake ; 
He, that conceals him, death. 

Edm. When I dissuaded him from his intent. 
And found him pight' to do it, with curst speech 
I threaten'd to discover him : he replied, 
" Thou unpossessing bastard ! dost thou think. 
If 1 would stand against thee, would the reposaP" 
Of any trust, virtue, or worth, in thee 
Make thy words faith'd ? No : what I should deny. 
(As this T would ; although thou didst produce 
My very character) I 'd turn it all 
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice:" 
And thou must make a dullard of the world, 
If they not thought the profits of my death 
Were very pregnant and potential spurs'^ 
To make thee seek it." 

Glo. Strong'^ and fasten'd villain ! 

Would he deny his letter ?'* — I never got him. 

[Tucket within. 
Hark ! the duke's trumpets. I know not why he 

comes. — 
All ports I '11 bar ; the villain shall not 'scape ; 
The duke must grant me that : besides, his picture 
I will send far and near, that all the kingdom 
May have due note of him ; and of my land, 
Loyal and natural boy, I '11 work the means 
To make thee capable. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants. 

Corn. How now, my noble friend ! since I came 
hither, 
(Which I can call but now) I have heard strange news'', 

Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short, 
WhicTi can pursue th' offender. How dost, my lord ? 

Glo. 0. madam ! my old heart is crack'd, it 's crack'd. 

Reg. What ! did my father's godson seek your life ? 
He whom my father nam'd? your heir,'^ your Edgar? 

Glo. 0, lady, lady ! shame would have it hid. 

Reg. Was he" companion with the riotous knights 
That tend upon my father ? 

' Not in quarto. 2 ■which must ask — briefness and fortune help: in quartos, 'your: in quartos. * Warbling : in quartos. * the 
thunder: in folio. * dispatch : in f. e. ''Chief. ^ caitiff: in quartos. ^Determined, i" could the reposure : in quartos, i' pretence : 
in quartos. 12 spirits : in folio. '3 0, strange : in folio, i' Folio adds, ''said he," and omits the rest of the line. '* strangeness: in 
folio. 16 '• your heir," is not in f. e. i' he not : in f. e. 



and given liim notice, that the duke of Cornwall, and 
Regan his duchess, will be here with him to-night. 

Edm. How comes that ? 

Cur. Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news 
abroad : I mean, the whispered ones, for they are yet 
but ear-bussing arguments. 

Edm. Not I : pray you, what are they? 

Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 
'twixt the dukes of Cornwall and Albany ? 

Edm. Not a word. 

Cur. You may do,' then, in time. Fare you well, 
sir. [Exit. 

Edm. The duke be here to-night ? The better ! 
Best! 
This weaves itself perforce into my business. 
My father hath set guard to take my brother • 
And I have one thing, of a queazy question. 
Which I must act. — Briefness, and fortune, work !* — 
Brother, a word ; — descend : — brother. I say ! 

Etiter Edgar. 
My father watches. — O sir ! fly this place ; 
Intelligence is given where you are hid : 
You have now the good advantage of the night. — 
Have you not spoken 'gainst the duke of Cornwall? 
He 's coming hither; now, i' the night, in haste, 
And Regan with him : have you nothing said 
Upon his party 'gainst the duke of Albany? 
Advise yourself.^ 

Edg. I am sure on 't, not a word. 

Edm. I hear my father coming. — Pardon me ; 
In cunning, I must draw my sword upon you : 
Draw : seem to defend yourself. Now 'quit you well. 
Yield : — come before my father ; — Light, ho ! here ! — 
Fly, brother ; — Torches ! torches ! — So, farewell. — 

[Exit Edgar. 
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion 

[ Wounds his arm. 
Of my more fierce endeavour : I have seen drunkards 
Do more than this in sport. — Father ! father ! 
Stop, stop ! No help ? 

Enter Gloster, and Servants with Torches. 

Glo. Now, Edmund, where 's the villain ? 

Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, 
Mumbling* of wicked charms, conjuring the moon 
To stand auspicious mistress. 

Glo. But where is he ? 

Edm. Look, sir, I bleed. 

Glo. Where is the villain, Edmund ? 

Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means he 
could — 

Glo. Pursue him, ho ! — Go after. — [Exit Serv.] ^y 
no means, — what ? 



SCENE II. 



KING LEAK. 



T81 



L 



GIo. I know not, madam : 'tis too bad, too bad. — 

Edm. Yes, madam, yes ;' he was of that consort. 

Reg. No marvel, then, though he were ill-afTccted : 
'T is they have put him on the old man's death, 
To have th' expense and waste of his revenues. 
I have this present evening from my sister 
Been well inform'd of them ; and with such cautions, 
That if they come to sojourn at my house, 
I '11 not be there. 

Corn. Nor I, assure thee, R,egan. — 

Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father 
A child-like office. 

Edm. 'T was my duty, sir. 

Glo. He did bewray^ his practice : and receiv'd 
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. 

Corn. Is he pursued ? 

Glo. Ay, my good lord, he is. 

Corn. If he be taken, he shall never more 
Be fear'd of doing harm : make your own purpose. 
How in my strength you please — As for you, Edmund, 
Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant 
So much commend itself, you shall be ours : 
Natiu-es of such deep trust we shall much need ; 
You we first seize on. 

Ed7n. I shall serve you, sir, 

Truly, however else. 

Glo. For him I thank your grace. 

Corn. You know not why we came to visit you. 

Reg. Thus out of season, threading dark-ey'd night. 
Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poize,' 
Wherein we must have use of your advice. 
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister. 
Of differences, which I best thought fit 
To answer from our home : the several messengers 
From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend. 
Lay comforts to our bosom, and bestow 
Your needful counsel to our business,* 
Which craves the instant use. 

Glo. I serve you, madam. 

Your graces are right welcome. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Before Gloster's Castle. 
Enter Kent and Oswald, 
Osu'. Good dawning' to thce^ 

house ? 
Kent. Ay. 

O.sw. Where may we. set our horses ? 
Kent. V the mire. 

Osw. Pr'ythee, if thou love me, tell me. 
Kent. I love thee not. 
Osw. Why, then I care not for thee. 
Ke7it. It I had thee in Finsbury' pinfold, I would 
make thee care for me. 

Osu\ Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not. 

Kent. Fellow, I know thee. 

O.SW. What dost thou know me for? 



to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, nor 
knows thee. 

Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny 
thou knowest me. Is it two days since I tripped up 
thy heels, and beat thee, before the king? Draw, you 
rogue ; for, though it be night, yet the moon shines : 
I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of you : [Drawing hi.s 
Sword.] Draw, you wiioreson cullionly barber-monger, 
draw. 

Osw. Away ! I have nothing to do with thee. 

Kent. Draw, you rascal : you come with letters 
against the king, and take Vanity, the puppet's*, part, 
against the royalty of her father. Draw, you rogue, or 
I '11 so carbonado your shanks : — draw, you rascal : 
come your ways. 



, severally. 

friend : art of this* 



help! 
stand. 



you 
him. 



Kent. A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken 



a base, 
pound. 



proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred 
filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-liver'd. 



action-taking, knave, a whoreson, glass-gazing, super 
serviceable, finical rogue ; one-trunk-inheriting 
one 
and 



that wouldest be a bawd, in way of good service 




Osw. Help, ho ! murder ! 

Kent. Strike, you slave : stand, rogue, stand ; 
neat slave, strike. [Beating 

Osw. Help, ho ! murder ! murder ! 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, Edmund, and 
Servants. 

Edm. How now ! Wliat 's the matter ? Part.' 

Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please: come, 
I '11 flesh you ; come on, young master. 

Glo. Weapons ! arms ! What 's the matter here ? 

Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives : 
He dies that strikes again. What is the matter ? 

Reg. The messengers from our sister and the king. 

Corn. What is your difference ? speak. 

Osw. I am scarce in breath, my lord. 

Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour. 
You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee : a tailor 
made thee. 

Corn. Thou art a strange fellow : a tailor make a man ? 

Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir : a stone-cutter, or a painter, 
could not have made him so ill, though they had been 
but two hours'" at the trade. 

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel ? 

Osw. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life f have 
At suit of his grey beard, — [spar'd 

Kent. Thou, whoreson zed ? thou, unnecessary letter ? 
— My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this 
unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a 
Jakes with him. — Spare my grey beard, you wagtail ? 

Cor7}. Peace, sirrah! 
You beastly knave, know you no reverence ? 

Kent. Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege. 

Corn. Why art thou angry ? 

Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a sword. 
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these. 
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain 
Which are too intrinse" t' unloose ; smooth every passion 
That in the natures of their lords rebels ; 
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods; 
Renege", affirm, and turn their halcyon" beaks 
With every gale and vary of their masters, 

ke dogs, but following. — 
leptic visage ! 

mile at my speeches, as I were a fool ? 

oose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, 

'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot'*. 
Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow ? 
Glo. How fell you out ? say that. 
Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, 
Than I and such a knave. 



meats \ And knowing nought, li 
indred-\ A plague upon your epi 



What 's his 



art nothing but the composition of a knave, beg- 
gar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel, 
bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous wliinin 
if thou dcniest the least syllable of thy addition. 
^^ — Osw. Wh y. what a monstrous fellow art thou 

1 he was: in f. e 2 betray : in quartos. ' prize TtlTlolio. ♦businesses: in folio. * even : in quartos, 'the: 
bury: in f e. •* A contempt uomt term for a woman. — Dijc. ' Not in quar'os. Dyce savs, it is a .«tage direction. '" years : in 
" Tif^klly knotted. '2 Deny ; Revenge : in folio. i^ The kin^fi.^her. It was a popular belief that this bird, if hung up, would turn his 
beak the way the wind blew. '* In Somersetshire. King Arthur here kept his court. 



Corn. Why dost thou call him knave ? 
offence ? 



in quartos. 
10 ve 



' Lips- 
folio. 



782 



KING LEAE. 



ACT II. 



Kent. His countenance likes me not. 

Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor 
hers. 

Kent. Sir. 't is my occupation to be plain : 
I have seen better faces in my time, 
Than stand on any shoulders that I see 
Before me at this instant. 

Corn. This is some fellow, 

Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect 
A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb 
Quite from his nature : he cannot flatter, he ; 
An honest mind and plain,' — he must speak truth : 
An they will take it, so ; if not, he 's plain. 
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness 
Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, 
Than twenty silly ducking observants. 
That stretch their duties nicely. 

Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere A^erity, 
Under tli' alloAvance of your grand aspect, 
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire. 
On flickering Phoebus' front, — 

Corn. What mean'st by this ? 

Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discom- 



mend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer : he 
that beguiled you in a plain accent was a plain knave ; 
which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win 
your displeasure to entreat me to 't. 

Corn. What was the offence you gave him ? 

Osw. I never gave him any. 
It pleas'd the king, his master, very late. 
To strike at me upon his misconstruction ; 
When he, compact", and flattering his displeasure, 
Tripp'd me behind ; being down, insulted, rail'd, 
And put upon him such a deal of man, 
That worthicd him, got praises of the king 
For him attempting who was self-subdu'd ; 
And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit, 
Drew on me here again. 

Kent. None of these rogues, and cowards, 

But Ajax is their fool. 

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks ! 

You^ stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart. 
We '11 teach you — 

Kc7it. Sir, I am too old to learn. 

Call not your stocks for me ; I serve the king, 
On whose employment I was sent to you : 
You shall do small respect, show too bold malice 
Against the grace and person of my master, 
Stocking his messenger. 

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks ! 

As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon. 

Reg. Till noon ! till night, my lord ; and all night too. 

Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog, 
You should not use me so. 

Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will. 

[Stocks brought out. 

Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour 
Our sister speaks of. — Come, bring away the stocks. 

Glo. Let me beseech your grace not to do so. 
His fault is much, and the good king his master* 
Will check him for 't : your purpos'd low correction 
Is such, as basest and contemned'st wretches. 



For pilferins:s and most common trespasses. 
Are punish'd with. The king must take it ill, 
That he, so slightly valued in his messenger. 
Should have him thus restrain'd. 

Corn. I '11 answer that. 

Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse, 
To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted, 
For following her affairs. — Put in his legs. — ' 

[Kent is .set in the StocJcs. 
Come, my lord, away. 

[Exeunt Regan and Cornwall. 

Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend; 't is the duke's 
pleasure. 
Whose disposition, all the world well knows, 
Will not be rubb'd, nor stopp'd : I '11 entreat /or thee. 

Kent. Pray, do not, sir. I have watch'd, and tra- 
vell'd hard ; 
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I '11 whistle : 
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels. 
Give you good morrow ! 

Glo. The duke 's to blame in this : 't will be ill taken. 

[Exit. 

Kent. Good king, that must approve the common 
saw -.^ — 
Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st 
To the warm sun. 

Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, 
That by thy comfortable beams I may 
Peruse this letter. — Nothing almost sees miracles.' 
But misery : — I know, 't is from Cordelia; 
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd 
Of my obscured course ; and shall find time 
From this enormous state, — seeking to give 
Losses their remedies. — All weary and o'er- watch'd, 
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold 
This shameful lodging. Fortune, good night : 
Smile once more ; turn thy wheel ! [He sleeps. 

SCENE IH.— A Part of the Heath. 
Enter Edgar. 

Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd; 
And by the happy hollow of a tree 
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free ; no place. 
That guard, and most unusual vigilance. 
Does not attend my taking. While I may 'scape, 
I will preserve myself; and am bethought 
To take the basest and most poorest shape. 
That ever penury, in contempt of man. 
Brought near to beast : my face I '11 grime with filth, 
Blanlcet my loins, elf all my hair in knots. 
And with presented nakedness out-faee 
The winds, and persecutions of the sky. 
The country gives me proof and precedent 
Of Bedlam beggars,* who, with roaring voices, 
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms 
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary ; 
And with this horrible object, from low farms,' 
Poor pelting'" villages, sheep-cotes and mills, 
Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers. 
Enforce their charity. — Poor Turlygood !" poor Tom! 
That 's something yet : — Edgar I nothing am. [Exit. 



1 he must be plain : in quartos. = conjunct : in quartos. ' You miscreant knave : in quartos. * This and the following lines, to "The 
king," are not in folio. * This line is not in folio. 

' In your running from him to me. 
Ye run out cf God's blessing into the -warm sun. — Hei/wood's Proverbs ; quoted by Knight. 
' my wrack : in quartos. 8 Poor distracted men, that had been put into Bedlam, where recovering some soberness, they were licentiated 
to go a begging ; i. e. they had on their left arm, an armilla, an iron ring for the arm, about four inches long, as printed in some works. 
They could not get it off: they wore about their necks a great horn of an ox, in a string or bawdrick, which, when they came to a house, 
they did wind, and they put the drink given to them into this horn, whereto they put a stopple. — Aubr'.ifs MSS. ; quoted by D'Israeli. 
There were impostors even among these wretches. ' service : in quartos. 'O Petti/. " Supposed by Douce, to allude to the Turlepins, 
or Beghards, a set of fanatics of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, who went al^out howling like wolves, in their frenzies. 



SCENE rv. 



KING LEAK. 



783 



No, my lord, 
"arters. Horses 



SCENE IV.— Before Gloster's Castle. 
Enter Lear, Fool^ and a Gentleman. 
Lear. 'T is strange that they should so depart from 
home, 
And not send back my messenger. 

Gent. As I learn'd, 

The night before there was no purpose in thciii 
Of this remove. 

Kent. Hail to thee, noble master ! [IVaking.^ 

Lear. Ha ! 
Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime ? 
Kent. 

Fool. Ha, ha ! look : he wears cruel 
are tied by the head ; dogs, and bear 
monkeys by the loins, and 
man is over-lusty at lej. 
netherstocks. 

Lear. What 's he, that hath so much thy plac 
took, 
To set thee here ^ 

Kent. It is both he and she ; 

Your son and daughter. 
Lear. No. 
Yes. 

No, I say. 
I say, yea. 

No, no ; they would not.' 
Yes, they have. 
By Jupiter, I swear no. 



, ...... ......... by the neck: 

men by the legs. When a 



s, then he wears wooden 



mis- 



They durst not do 't : 
do 't : 't is worse than 



Kent. 

Lear. 
Kent. 
Lear. 
Kent. 
Lear. 

Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay 
Lear. 
They could not, vrould not 

murder, 
To do upon respect such violent outrage. 
Resolve me with all modest haste which wiiy 
Thou raightst deserve, or they impose, this usage, 
Coming from us. 

Kent. My lord, when at Iheir home 

I did commend your highness' letters to tlieu!. 
Ere I was risen from the place that show'd 
My duty kneeling, came thci-c a reeking post, 
Stew'd in his haste, ha!f-brcathless. panting forth 
From Goneril, his mistress, salutation ; 
Delivcr'd letters, spite of intermission. 
Which presently they read : on whose contents. 
Tl^ey sumnion"d up their meiny*, straight took horse j 
Commanded me to follow, and attend 
The leisure of their answer ; gave me cold looks : 
And meeting here the otlicr messenger. 
Whose welcome, I pei'cciv'd, had poison'd mine. 
(Being the very fellow which of late 
Displayed so saucily against your highness) 
Having more man than wit about me. drew : 
He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries. 
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth 
The shame which here it suffers. 

Fool.^ Winter 's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly 
that way. 

Fathers, that wear rags. 

Do make their children blind : 
But fathers, that bear bags, 

Sliall see their children kind. 
Fortune, that arrant whore, 
Ne'er turns the key to the poor. — 
But, for all this, it follows. 
Thou shalt have as many dolours 



For thy daughters dear, 
As thou canst tell in a year.* 
Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my heart ! 
Hysterica pa.s.sio ! down, thou climbing sorrow. 
Thy element 's below. — Where is this daughter ? 
Kent. With the earJ, sir; here, within. 
Lear. Follow me not : 

Stay here. • [Exit. 

Gent. Made you no more offence than what you 

speak of? 
Kent. None. 
How chance the king comes with so small a train ? 

Fool. An thou hadst been set i' the .stocks for that 
question, thou hadst well deserv'd it. 
Kent. Why, fool ? 

Fool. We '11 .set thee to school to an ant, to teach 
thee there 's no labouring i' the winter. All tliat fol- 
low their noses are led by their eyes, but blind men: 
and there 's not a nose among twenty but c;m smell 
him that 's stinking. Let go thy hold, when a great 
wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with 
following it; but the great one that goes up the hill,^ 
let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives 
thee better counsel, give me mine again : I would have 
none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. 

That sir. which serves and seeks for gain. 

And follows but for form. 
Will pack when it begins to rain, 

And leave thee in the storm. 
But I will tarry; the fool will stay, 

And let the wise man fly : 
The fool turns knave^ that runs away, 
The knave no fool,' perdy. 
Kent. Where learn'd you this, fool ? 
Fool. Not i' the stocks, fool. 

Re-enter Lear, with Gloster. 
Lear. Deny to speak with me ? They are sick? they 
are weary ? 
They have travell'd hard to-night'" ? Mere fetches, 
The images of revolt and flying off. 
Fetch me a better answer. 

Glo. My dear lord. 

You know the fiery quality of the duke ; 
How unremovable and fix'd he is 
In his own course. 

Lear. Vengeance ! plague ! death ! confusion ! — 
Fiery? what" quality? Why, Gloster, Gloster, 
I 'd speak with the duke of Cornwall and his wife. 
Glo. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so.'" 
Lear. Inform'd them ! Dost thou understand me, 

man? 
Glo. Ay, my good lord. 

Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall ; the 
dear father 
Would with his daushter speak, commands her service : 
Are they inform'd of this ? My breath and blood ! — 
Fiery'' ? the fiery duke?— Tell the hot duke, that''— 
No, but not yet : — may be, he is not well : 
Infirmity doth still neglect all office. 
Whereto our health is bound : we arc not ourselves, 
When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind 
To suffer with the body. I'll forbear; 
And am fallen out witli my more headier will, 
To take the indispos'd and sickly fit 
For the sound man. — Death on my state ! wherefore 

[Pointing to Kent. 
Should he sit here ? This act persuades me. 



1 Not in f. e 
quartos. ' f. ( 

turns fool : in f. e. ' The fool no knave : in f. p. "> all the night 
not in folio. '^ Not in quarto. '*'• Lear," is added in quarto. 



2 Thi.« and the next speech, arc 
give the last four lines a.s prose. 



not in folio. ' This speech is not in quartos. 



nnd omit the words, "it follows," and 
in folio. 11 what fierv 



dear." 
in quarto 



s This speech is not in 
upwards : in folio. ^ The knave 
" This and the next speech, are 



* Hetiniie. 

7 



784: 



KING LEAR. 



ACT n. 



eels, when 



That this remotion of the duke and her 

Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. 

Go, tell the duke and 's wife, I 'd speak with them, 

Now, presently : bid them come forth and hear me, 

Or at their chamber door I '11 beat the drum, 

Till it cry—" Sleep to death." 

Glo. I would have all well betwixt you. [Exit. 

Lear. me ! my heart, my rising heart ! — but, down. 

Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the 
she put them i' the paste alive ; she knapp'd 
the coxcombs with a stick, and cried, '' Down, 
wantons, down ;" 't was her brother, that in pure kind- 
ness to his horse butter'd his hay. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants. 

Lrar. Good morrow to you both. 

Coyn. Hail to your grace ! [Kent is set at liberty. 

Reg. I am glad to see your highness. 

Lear. Regan, I think you are ; I know what reason 
I have to think so : if thou shouldst not be glad, 
I would divorce thee from thy mother's tomb. 
Sepulchring an adult'ress, — ! are you free ? [To Kent. 
Some other time for that. — Beloved Regan, 
Thy sister 's naught : O Regan ! she hath tied 
Sharp'd-tooth'd unkindncss, like a vulture, here. — 

[Points to his heart. 
I can scarce speak to thee : thou 'It not believe, 
With how deprav'd a quality — O Regan ! — 

Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope, 
You less know how to value her desert. 
Than she to scant^ her duty 



^_^ Lear 



Say, how is that ?^ 



Reg. I cannot think, my sister in the least, 
Would fail her obligation : if, sir, perchance. 
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers, 
'T is on such ground, and to such wholesome end; 
As clears her from all blame. 

Lear. My curses on her ! 

Reg. 0, sir ! you are old ; 

Nature in yoit stands on the very verge 
Of her confine : you should be rul'd, and led 
By some discretion, that discerns your state 
Bettor than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you, 
That to our sister you do make return : 
Say, you have wrong'd her, sir. 

Lear. Ask her forgiveness ? 

Do you but mark how this becomes the mouth :^ 
'• Doar daughter, I confess that I am old ; 
Age is unnecessary : on my knees I beg. [K^iceling. 
That you '11 vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food." 

these are unsightly tricks. 



-Rfg'. Good sir, no more : 



R,eturn you to my sister. 
Lear. 



Never, Regan. 



[Risini 



She hath abated me of half my train ; 

Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her tongue. 

Most serpent-like, upon the very heart. — 

All tlie stor'd vengeances of heaven fall 

On her ungrateful top ! Strike her young bones, 

You taking airs, with lameness ! 

Corn. Fie, sir, fie ! 

Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding 
flames 
Into licr scornful eyes ! Infect her beauty, 
You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun. 
To fall and blast* her pride ! 

Reg. O the blest gods ! 

So will you wish on me, when the rash mood is on. 

Lear. No, Regan ; thou shalt never have my curse : 



Thy tender-hearted" nature shall not give 

Thee o'er to harshness : her eyes are fierce ; but thine 

Do comfort, and not burn. 'Tis not in tliee 

To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, 

To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,' 

And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt 

Against my coming in : thou better know'st 

The oflices of nature, bond of childhood. 

Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude ; 

Thy half o' the kingdom thou hast not forgot. 

Wherein I thee endow'd. 

Reg. Good sir, to the purpose. 

Lear. Who put my man i' the stocks ? [Tucket^ within. 

Corn. What trumpet 's that ? 

Enter Oswald. 

Reg. I know 't : my sister's : this approves her letter, 
That she would soon be here. — Is your lady come ? 

Lear. This is a slave, whose easy borrow'd pride 
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows. — 
Out, varlet, from my sight ! 

Corn. What means your grace ? 

Lear. Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have 
good hope 
Thou didst not know on 't. — Who comes here? 
heavens ! 

Enter Goneril. 
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 
Allow obedience, if yourselves are old. 
Make it your cause ; send down, and take my part ! — 
Art not asham'd to look upon this beard ? — 

[To Goneril. 

Regan ! wilt thou take her by the hand ? 

Gon. Why not by the hand, sir? How have I of- 
fended ? 
All 's not offence, that indiscretion finds, 
And dotage terms so. 

Lear. sides ! you are too tough ; 

Will you yet hold ? How came my man i' the stocks ? 

Corn. I set him there, sir ; but his own disorders 
Deserv'd much less advancement. 

Lear. You ! did you ? 

Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
If, till the expiration of your month. 
You will return and sojourn with my sister. 
Dismissing half your train, come then to me : 

1 am now from home, and cut of that provision 
Which shall be needful for your entertainment. 

Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd ? 
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose 
To wage against the enmity o' the air ; 
To be a comrade with the wolf and howP 
Necessity's sharp pinch ! — Return with her ? 
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took 
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought 
To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg 
To keep base life afoot. — Return with her ? 
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter 
To this detested groom. [Looking at Oswald. 

Gon. At your choice, sir. 

Lear. I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad : 
I will not trouble thee, my child : farewell. 
We '11 no more meet, no more see one another ; 
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter • 
Or, rather, a disease that 's'° in my flesh, 
Which I must needs call mine : thou art a boil, 
A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle, 
In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee ; 



1 slack : in quartos. * This and the next speech, are only in folio. ' house : in f. e. * Not in f. e. * and hlister : in folio. * tender- 
hefted : in f. e. T Fixed alloivances. ^ Blast of a trumpet. 9 The wolf and owl. Necessity's, &c.: in f. e. i" that lies within my flesh : 
in quaitos. 



SCENE I. 



KING LEAE. 



785 



Let shame come when it will, I do not call it : 
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, 
Nor tell tales of thee to higlijiidging Jove. 
Mend, when thou canst ; be better, at thy leisure: 
I can be patient; I can stay with Regan, 
I, and my hundred knights. 

Reg. Not altogether so : 

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided 
For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister; 
For those that mingle reason with their passion, 
Must be content to think you old, and so — 
But she knows what she does. 

Lear. Is this well spoken ? 

Reg. I dare avouch it, sir. What ! fifty followers ? 
Is it not well ? What should you need of more ? 
Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger 
Speak 'gaiiLSt so great a number ? How, in one house. 
Should many people, under two commands, 
Hold amity ? 'T is hard : almost impofrsible. [ance 

Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive attend- 
From those that she calls servants, or from mine ? 

Reg. Why not, my lord ? If then they chanc'd to 
slack you, 
We could control them. If you will come to me, 
(For now I spy a danger) I entreat you 
To bring but five and twenty : to no more 
Will I give place, or notice. 

Lear. I gave you all. 

Reg. And in good time you gave it. 

Lear. INIade you my guardians, my depositaries. 
But kept a reservation to be follow' d 
With such a number. What ! mu'^t I come to you 
With five and twenty ? Regan, said you so ? 

Reg. And speak 't again, my lord: no more with me. 

Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well- 
favour' d, 
When others are more wicked : not being the worst 
Stands in some rank of praise. — I '11 go AArith thee : 

{To GONERII.. 

Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty, 
And thou art twice her love. 

Gon. Hear me, my lord. 

What need you five and twenty, ten, or five. 
To follow in a house, where twice so many 
Have a command to tend you ? 

Re(r. What needs one ? 

Lear. ! reason not the need ; our basest beggars 
Are in the poorest thing superfluous : 
Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
Man's life is cheap as beast's. Thou art a lady ; 



You think, I '11 weep ; 



If only to go warm were gorgeous, 

Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, 

Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true need, — 

You heavens, give me but patience, patience I need ! 

You sec me here, you gods, a poor old man,' 

As full of grief as age ; wretched in both : 

If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 

Against their father, fool me not so much 

To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble anger. 

! let not women's weapons, water-drops, 
Stain my man's cheeks. — No, you unnatural hags, 

1 will have such revenges on you both, 

That all the world shall — I will do such things: — 

What they are, yet I know not ; but they shall be 

The terrors of the earth. 

No, I'll not weep : — 

I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart 

[Storm heard at a distance. 
Shall break into a hundred thou.«and flaws, 
Or ere I '11 weep. — 0. fool ! I shall go mad. 

[Exeunt Lear. Gloster, Kent, and Fool. 

Corn. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm. 

Reg. This house is little : the old man and 's people 
Cannot be well bestow'd. 

Gon. 'T is his own blame hath put himself from rest ; 
He must needs taste his folly. 

Reg. For his particular, I '11 receive him gladly. 
But not one follower. 

Gon. So am I purpos'd. 

Where is my lord of Gloster ? 

Re-enter Gloster. 

Corn. Follow'd the old man forth. — He is return'd. 

Glo. The king is in high rage. 

Corn. Whither is he going^ ? 

Glo. He calls to horse ; but will I know not 
whither. 

Corn. 'T is best to give him way ; he leads himself. 

Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay. 

Glo. Alack ! the night comes on, and the bleak winds 
Do sorely ruffle : for many miles about 
There's scarce^ a bush. 

Reg. sir ! to wilful men, 

The injuries that they themselves procure 
Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors : 
He is attended with a desperate train, 
And what they may incense him to, being apt 
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear. 

Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord ; 't is a wild night . 
My Regan counsels well. — Come out o' the storm. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— A Heath. 

A Storm, with Thunder and Lightning. Enter Kent, 

and a Gentleman, meeting. 

Kent. Who 's here, beside foul weather ? 

Gent. One minded, like the weather, most unquictly. 

Kent. 1 know you. Where 's the king ? 

Gent. Contending with the fretful elements : 
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea. 
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, 
That things might change or cease*: tears his white hair. 
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage. 
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of : 

> fellow : in quartos. ^ This and the next speech, to " horse," are not in quartos. ' not : in quartos. * The rest of this speech is not 
in folio. 

50 



Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn 

The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. 

This night, wherein the cub-draAvn bear would couch. 

The lion and the belly-pinched wolf 

Keep their far dry, unbonneted he runs, 

And bids what will take all. 

Kent. But who is with him ? 

Gent. None but the fool, who labours to outjest 
His heart-struck injuries. 

Kent. Sir, I do know you, 

And dare, upon the warrant of my note, 
Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, 
Although as vet the face of it be cover'd 



786 



KING LEAR. 



ACT III. 



No, do not. 



With mutual cunning, Hwixt Albany and Cornwall; 

Who have (as who have not, that their great stars 

Thron'd and set high ?) servants, who socm no less, 

Which are to France the spies and spectators^ 

Infelligeut of our state; M'hat hath been seen, 

Either in f-nufFs^ and packings of the dukes, 

Or the hard rei-n which both of them have borne 

Against the old kind king ; or something deeper, 

Whereof, perchance, these are but flourishings :* 

But, true it is, from France there comes a power ' 

Into this scatter'd kingdom : who already, 

Wise in our negligence, have secret feet 

In some of our best ports, and are at point 

To show their open banner. — Now to you : 

If on my credit you dare build so far 

To jnake your speed to Dover, you shall find 

Some that will thank you, making just report 

Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow 

The king hath cause to plain. 

I am a gentleman of blood and breeding. 

And from some knowledge and assurance offer 

This office to you. 

Gent. I will talk farther with you. 

Kent. 
For confirmation that I am much more 
Than my out wall, open this purse, and take 
What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia, 
(As fear not but you sliall) show her this ring, 
And she will tell you who that" fellow is 
That yet you do not know. \T}mndcr.\ Fie on this storm ! 
I will go seek the king. 

Gent. Give me your hand. Have you no more to say? 

Kent. Few words, but. to effect, more than all yet ; 
That, wlien we liave found tlie king, in which your pain 
That way, I '11 this, he that first lights on him, 
Holla the other. [Exeunt severally. 

SCENE II.— Another Part of the Heath. Storm 

continues. 

Enter Lear and Fool. 

Lear. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeksl rage! blow! 
You cataracts and hurricanocs spout. 
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks ! 
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires. 
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, 
Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking thunder, 
Strike^ flat the thick rotundity o' the world : 
Crack nature's moulds, all germins spill at once, 
That make ingrateful man ! 

Fool. nuncle, court holy- water' in a dry house is 
better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, 
in, and ask thy daughters blessing : here 's a night 
pities neither wise men nor fools. [Thunder. 

Lear. Rumble thy bellyfuU ! Spit, fire ! spout, rain ! 
Nor rain, v/ind, thunder, fire, are my daughters : 
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness ; 
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children. 
You owe me no subscription : then, let fall 
Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand, your slave, 
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man. 
But yet I call you servile ministers, 
That wilP with two pernicious daughters join' 
Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head 
So old and white as this. ! ! 't is foul ! 

Fool. He that has a house to put 's head in has a 
good head-piece. 



The cod-piece that will house, 

Before the head has any. 
The head and he shall louse ; — 

So beggars marry many. 
The man that makes his toe 

What he his heart should make, 
Shall of'° a corn cry woe, 
And turn his sleep to wake. 
— ^for there was never yet fair woman, but she made 
mouths in a glass. 

Enter Kent. 
Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience ; I 
will say nothing. 
Kent. Who 's there ? 

Fool. Marry, here 's grace, and a cod-piec§.; that 's 
a wise man, and a fool. 

ICeiU. Alas, sir! are you here ? Things that love night, 
Love not such nights as these ; the wrathful skies 
Gallow" the very wanderers of the dark. 
And make them keep their caves. Since I was man, 
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder. 
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never 
Remember to have heard : man's nature cannot carry 
Th' afiliction, nor the fear.^^ 

Lear. Let the great gods, 

That keep this dreadful pother^' o'er our heads, 
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch. 
That hast within thee undivulged crimes, 
Unwhipp'd of justice : hide thee, thou bloody hand : 
Thou perjure, and thou simuler'* of virtue 
That art incestuous : caitifl', to pieces shake, 
That under covert and convenient seeming 
Hast practis'd on man's life : close pent-up guilts. 
Rive your concealing continents,'^ and cry 
These dreadful summoners grace. — I am a man, 
More sinn'd against, than sinning. 

Kent. Alack ! bare-headed. 

Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel ; 
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest : 
Repose you there, while I to this hard house, 
(More hard'" than is the stone whereof 't is rais'd. 
Which even but now, demanding after you, 
Denied me to come in) return, and force 
Their scanted courtesy. 

Lear. My wits begin to turn. — 

Come on. my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold ? 
I am cold myself. — ^Where is this straw, my fellow? 
The art of our necessities is strange, 
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel. 
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart 
That 's sorry yet for thee. 

Fool. He that has a little tiny wit, — [Sings. 

With heigh, ho, the unnd and the rain, — 
Must make content zvith his fortunes Jit ; 
For the rain it raineth every day. 
Lear. True, my good boy. — Come, bring us to this 
hovel. [Exeunt Lear and Kent. 

Fool.^'' This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. — 
I '11 speak a prophecy ere I go : 

When priests are more in word than matter : 
When brewers mar their malt with water ; 
When nobles are their tailors' tutors ; 
No heretics burn'd, but wenches suitors : 
When every case in law is right ; 
No squire in debt, nor no poor knight ; 
When slanders do not live in tongues, 



1 This and the seven following- lines, are not in quartos. 3 speculations ; in f. e. ^ TtUUkex, and intrigues. * furnishings : in f. e. 
- — ' '^ " ■ ■ . - .. i your : in quartos. 6 Smite : in quartos. '" Compliments, fair words, flattering speeches."— 



The rest of the speech is not in folio. 
Cotgrave''s Dirt. s have : in quartos. 



folio; thundering: in quartos. 
speech not in quartos. 



' jcin'd : in quartos. 



'* The quartos insert : man. 



1" have : in quartos. " Scare.. 
IS concealed centres : in quartos. 



12 force ; in quartos. '^ pudder : in 
15 harder than the : in folio. "This 



SCENE IV. 



KIKG LEAR. 



Y87 



Nor cutpur.ses come not to throngs ; , 

Wlicu usurers tell their gold i' the field, 

And bawds and whores do churches build ; 

Then shall the realm of Albion' 

Come to great confusion: 

Then comes the time, who lives to see 't, 

That going shall be us'd with feet. 
This prophecy Merlin shall make ; for I live before his 
time. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— A Room in Gloster's Castle. 
Enter Gloster and Edmund. 

Glo. Alack, alack ! Edmund, I like not this unna- 
tural dealing. When I desired their leave that I might 
pity him, they took from me the use of mine own 
hou.'^e ; charged me, on pain of their perpetual displea- 
sure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, nor any 
way su.«tain him. 

Edm. Most savage, and unnatural ! 

Glo. Go to; say you nothing. There is division 
between the dukes, and a worse matter than that. I 
have received a letter this night ; — 't is dangerous to be 
spoken : — I have locked the letter in my closet. These 
injuries the king now bears will be revenged home ; 
there is part of a power already footed :^ we must in- 
cline to the king. I will seek him, and privily relieve 
him : go you, and maintain talk with the duke, that 
my charity be not of him perceived. If he ask for me, 
I am ill, and gone to bed. If I die for it, as no less is 
threatened me, the king, my old master, must be re- 
lieved. There is some strange thing toward, Edmund : 
pray you. be careful. [Exit. 

Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke 
Instantly know ; and of that letter too. 
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me 
That which my father loses; no less than all : 
The younger rises, when the old doth fall. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— A Part of the Heath, with a Hovel. 
Enter Lear. Kent, and Fool. 

Kent. Here is the place, my lord ; good my lord, enter : 
The tyranny of the open night 's too rough 
For nature to endure. [Storm still. 

Lear. Let me alone. 

Kc7it. Good my lord, enter here. 

Lear. Wilt break my heart ? 

Kent. I 'd rather break mine own. Good my lord, 
enter. 

Lear. Thou think'st 't is much, that this contentious 
storm 
Invades us to the skin : so 't is to thee ; 
But where tlie greater malady is fix'd, 
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou 'dst shun a bear; 
But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea, 
Thou 'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the 

mind 's free. 
The body 's delicate : the tempest in my mind 
D)th from my senses take all feeling else. 
Save what beats there. — Filial ingratitude ! 
Is it not as tliis mouth should tear this liand. 
For lifting food to 't? — But I will punish home,' — 
No. I will weep no more. — In such a night 
To shut me out ! — Pour on: — I will endure:* — 
In such a niglit as this ! O Regan ! Goneril ! 
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all.^ — 
! that way madness lies ; let me shun that ; 
No more of that. 



Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 

Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease: 
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
On things would hurt me more. — But I '11 go in: 
In, boy; go first. — [To the Fool.] You houseless 

poverty, — ' 
Nay, get thee in. I "11 pray, and then I '11 sleep. — 

[Fool goes in. 
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are. 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, ^ 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides. 
Your loop'd and window'd raggcdnes.s, defend you 
From seasons such as these ? ! I have ta'eu 
Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp; 
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel. 
That thou may'st shake tlie superflux to them. 
And show the heavens more just. 

Edg. [Within.] Fatliom and half, fathom and half! 
Poor Tom ! [The Fool runs out from the Hovel. 

Fool. Come not in here, nuncle ; here 's a spirit. 
Help me ! help me ! 

Kent. Give me thy hand. — Who 's there? 

Fool. A spirit, a spirit : he says his name 's poor Tom. 

Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i' the 
Come forth. [straw? 

Enter Edgar, disguised as a Madman. 

Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! — 
" Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold* wind." — 
Humph ! go to thy cold' bed, and warm thee. 

Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters? 
And art thou come to this? 

Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tcm ? whom the 
foul fiend hath led tlirough fire and through flame, 
through swamp'" and whirlpool, over bog and quagmire ; 
and hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in 
his pew ; set ratsbane by his porridge : made him proud 
of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inched 
bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. — Bless 
thy five wits !" Tom's a-cold. — 0! do de, do de, do 
de. — Bh\ss tliee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and 
taking' '^ Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul 
fiend vexes. — There could I have him now, — and there, 
— and there, — and tliere again, and there. 

[Strikes.^^ Storm continues. 

Lear. What ! have his daughters brought him to 
this pass ? — 
Couldst thou save nothing ? Didst thou give them all ? 

Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been 
all shamed. 

Lear. Now, all the plagues, that in the pendulous air 
Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters ! 

Ke7it. He hath no daughters, sir. 

Lear. Death, traitor ! nothing could have subdued 
nature 
To such a lowncss, but his unkind daughters. — 
Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers 
Should have thus little mercy of their fles^h? 
Judicious punishment ! 't was this flesh begot 
Those pelican daughters. 

I'^lg. Pillieock sat on Pillicock-hill : — '* 
Halloo, halloo, loo, loo ! 

Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and 
madmen. 

Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend. Obey thy parents ; 
keep tliy word : do justice ;" swear not ; conuirit not with 
man's sworn spouse ; set not thy sweet heart on proud 
array. Tom 's a-cold. 



1 This and the next line, form part of a prophecy resemblinff this, in Chaucer. = landed : in folio. 3 sure : in quartos. * This line is 
not in quartos. 5 vou oil : in quartos. 6 Thi.s and the next line, not in quartos. ' night : in qu.irtos. 8 9 Not in folio. i" ford : in 
f. e. 1' The five senses were formerly so called. '-' .Malignant influence. '^ This direction is not in f. e. >* There is a nursery rhyme 
Eimilaj to this line, i' word justly : in f. e. ; word's justice : in first folio ; words, justice : in second folio. 



788 



KING LEAR. 



ACT in. 



suum. inuh, ha no nonny. Dolphin 



Lear. What hast thou been? 

Edg. A serving'-man, proud in heart and mind; that 
curled my hair, wore gloves in my cap, served the lust 
of my mistress's heart, and did the act of darkness with 
her ; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and broke 
them in the sweet face of heaven : one, that slept in 
the contriving of lust, and waked to do it. Wine loved 
I deeply; dice dearly; and in woman, out-paramoured 
the Turk : false of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand ; 
hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in 
madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes, 
nor the rustling of silks, betray thy poor heart to 
woman : keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out 
of plackets, thy pen from lenders' books, and defy the 
foul fiend. — '■ Still through the hawthorn blows the 
cold wind ;" says 
my boy, my boy; sessa !' let him trot by 

[^Storm still continues. 

Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave, than to 
answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the 
skies. — Is man no more than this ? Consider him well. 
Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the 
sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. — Ha ! here 's three 
on's are sophisticated : thou art the thing itself; unac- 
commodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, 
forked animal as thou art. — Off. off, you tendings. — 
Come; unbutton hero. — [Tearing his clothes . 

Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented ; 't is a naughty 
night to swim in — Now, a little fire in a wide field 
were like an old lecher's heart ; a small spark, all the 
rest on 's body cold. — Look ! here comes a walking fire. 

Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet : he be- 
gins at curfew, and walks till the first cock ; he gives 
the web and pin', squints the eye, and makes the 
hare-lip ; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor 
creature of earth. 

Saint Withold'^ footed thrice the wold ; 
He 7nct the night-mare^ and her nine-fold; 
Bid her alight ^ 
And her troth plight, 
And, aroint^ thee, luitch, aroint thee ! 

Kent. How fares your grace ? 

Enter Gi-oster, with a Torch. 

Lear. What 's he ? 

Kent. Who 's there ? What is 't you seek? 

Glo. What are you there ? Your names ? 

Edg. Poor Tom ; that eats the swimming frog, the 
toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water* ; that 
in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats 
cow-dung for sallets ; swallows the old rat, and the 
ditch-dog ; drinks the green mantle of the standing 
pool ; who is whipped from tything to tything, and 
stocked, punished, and imprisoned ;' who hath had 
three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, horse to 
ride, and weapon to wear, — 

But mice, and rats, and such small deer, 
Have been Tom'' s food for seven long year. 
Beware my follower. — Peace. Smulkin* ! peace, thou 
fiend ! 

Glo. What ! hath your grace no better company? 

Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman ; 
Modo' he 's call'd, and Malm.'" 

Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile, 
That it doth hata what gets it. 

Edg. Poor Toin 's a-cold. 

Glo. Go in with me. My duty cannot suffer 
To obey in all your daughters' hard commands ; 



the 



Though their injunction be to bar my doors. 
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you, 
Yet I have ventur'd to come seek you out. 
And bring you where both fire and food is ready. 

Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher. — 
What is the cause of thunder ? 

Kent. Good my lord, take his offer; go into 
house. 

Lear. I'll talk a word vnth this same'' learned 
Theban. — 
What is your study ? 

Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin. 

Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. 

[They talk apart. ^^ 

Kent. Importune him once more to go, my^ord, 
His wits begin t' unsettle. 

Glo. Canst thou blame him ? 

His daughters seek his death. — Ah, that good Kent ! — 
He said it would be thus, poor banish'd man ! — 
Thou say'st, the king grows mad ; 1 '11 tell thee, friend, 
I am almost mad myself. I had a son. 
Now outlaw'd from my blood ; he sought my life, 



Tint lalely. very late: I lov'd him, friend, 

true to tell thee 



No father his son dearer : 
The grief hath craz'd my wits. 



I do beseech your grace, — 
Lear. 



What a night \s this ! 
[Storm continues. 



! cry you mercy, sir. — 
Noble philosopher, your company. 
Edg. Tom 's a-cold. 
Glo. In fellow, there, into the hovel : keep thee 

warm. 
Lear. Come, let 's in all. 
Kent. This way, my lord. 

Lear. Willi him : 

I Mnll keep still with my philosopher. 

Kent. Good my lord, soothe him ; let him take the 

fellow. 
Glo. Take him you on. 
Kent Sirrah, come on; go along with us. 



No words, no words 



Lear. Come, good Athenian. 
Glo. 
Hush ! 

Edg. " Child Rowland to the dark tower came, 
His word was still, — Fie, foh, and fum, 

I smell the blood of a British man." [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— A Room in Gloster's Castle. 
Eiiter Cornwall and Edmund. 

Co7-n. I will have my revenge, ere I depart his house. 

Edm. How. my lord, I may be censured, that nature 
thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think of. 

Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether your 
brother's evil disposition made him seek his death ; but 
a provoking merit, set a- work by a reprovable badness 
in himself. 

Edm. How malicious is my fortune, that I must 
repent to be just ! This is the letter which he spoke 
of, which approves him an intelligent party to the 
advantages of France. heavens ! that this treason 
were not, or not I the detector ! 

Corn. Go with me to the duchess. 

Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, you 
have mighty business in hand. 



or false, it hath 



Corn. True 
Gloster. Seek out where thy father 
be ready for our apprehension. 



made 
is, 



thee earl of 
that he may 



2 cease 



1 Servant in the old sense of lover 
^ Water-newt. 

fiends -were derived irom Bp. Har.snet's "Declara 
pnnce of darkness is a gentleman : Mahu. Mahu 



3 Cataract in the eye. 



in quartos. 
« hat an old auniuj uaii^ luic lu^iinuj^ dui.'nL l 
tion of egje^ious Popish Impostures." 1603. I 
, is his name." n most : in quartos. ^- Not in 



* Swithnld : in old copie?. * Get out. bepone. 
a 9 10 The names of these 



' The ordinary punishment, for what an old author calls " idle ropueing about the country. - - - j...v, ..i»...-.., „. 

" " . .- . . - - ■ T , . „ .„„„ In Suckling's " Goblins," -n-e find, "The 

f e. 



SCENE VI. 



KING LEAPv. 



T89 



Edm. [Aside.] If I find liira comforting the king, it 
will stuff his suspicion more fully. — [To him.] I will 
persevere in my course of loyalty, though the conflict 
be sore between that and my blood. 

Corn. I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt 
find a dearer' father in my love. [Exeunt. 

SCENE Vr.— A Chamber in a Farm-House, 

adjoining the Castle. 

Enter Glostek, Lear, Kent, FooL and Edgar. 

Glo. Here is better than the open air ; take it 

thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what 

addition I can : I will not be long from you. 

Kent. All the power of his wits has given vray to his 
impatience. — The gods reward your kindness ! 

[Exit Gloster. 
Edg. Fraterctto calls me, and tells me, Nero is an 
angler in the lake of darkness. Pray innocent, and 
beware the foul fiend. 

Fool. Pr'ythce, nunclc, tell me, whether a madman 
be a gentleman, or a yeoman ? 
Lear. A kiuL', a king ! 

Fool. No :''' he 's a yeoman, that has a gentleman to 
his son ; for he is a mad yeoman, that sees his son a 
gentleman before him. 

Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spits 
Come whizzing in upon them. — 
Edg.^^ The foul fiend bites my back. 
Fool. He 's mad. that trusts in the tameness of a 
wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath. 
Lear. It shall be done ; I will arraign them straight. — 
Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer; — 

[7b Edgar. 
Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she foxes ! — 

Edg. Look, where he stands and glares ! — 
Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam ? 

Cotw; o^er the bourne, Bessy., to me .'* — 
Fool. Her boat hath a leak, 

And she mu.st not speak 
Why she dares not come over to thee. 
Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of 
a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two 
white herring. Croak not, black angel ; I have no food 
for thee. 

Kent. How do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz'd: 
Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions ? 

Lear. I '11 see their trial first. — Bring in the evi- 
dence. — 
Thou robed man of justice, take thy place ; — [To Edgar. 
And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, [To the Fool. 

Bench by his side. — You are o' the commission, 
Sit you too. [To Kent. 

Edg. Let us deal justly. 

Sleepe.'it, or wakest thou, jolly shepherd ? 

Thy .sheep be in the corn ; 
And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, 
Thy sheep shall take no harm. 
the cat is grey. 
L'-ar. Arraign her first; 't is Goneril. I here take 
my oalh before this honourable assembly, she kicked 
the poor king her father. 

Fool. Come hither, mi.<tress. Is your name Goneril ? 
Lear. She cannot deny it. 

Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool. 
Lear. And here 's another, whose warp'd looks pro- 
claim 
What store her heart is made on. — Stop her there ! 



Arms, arms, sword, fire ! — Corruption in the place ! 
False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape ? 
Edg. Bless thy five wits ! 

Kent. itity ! — Sir, where is the patience now, 
That you so oft have boasted to retain? 

Edg. [A.side.] My tears begin to take his part so much, 
They '11 mar my counterfeiting. 
Lear. The little dogs and all. 
Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me. 

Edg. Tom will throw his head at them. — Avaunt, 
you curs ! 

Be thy mouth or black or white, 
Tooth that poisons if it bite ; 
Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel, grim, 
Hound, or spaniel, brach^, or lym" ; 
Or bobtail tike', or trundle-tail, 
Tom will make them" weep and wail : 
For with throwing thus my head. 
Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. 
Do, de, de, de. See, see ! Come, march to wakes 
and fairs, and market towns. — Poor Tom, thy horn is 
dry.' 

Lear. Then, let them anatomize Regan, see what 
breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature 
that makes these hard hearts ?'" — You, sir, [7b Edgar.] 
I entertain you for one of my hundred ; only, I do not 
like the fashion of your garments : you will say, they 
are Persian attire ;'' but let them be changed. 

Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here, and rest awhile. 
Lear. Make no noise, make no noise : draw the cur- 
tains. So, so, so : we '11 go to supper i' the morning : 



hither, friend : where is the king my 



Fool And I '11 go'- to bed at noon. 
Re-enter Gloster. 

Glo. Come 
master ? 

Kent. Here, sir: but trouble him not: his wits are 
gone. 

Glo. Good friend, I pr'ythee take him in thy arms ; 
I have o'er-heard a plot of death upon him. 
There is a litter ready; lay him in 't. 
And drive toward Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet 
Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master : 
If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life. 
With thine, and all that offer to defend him. 
Stand hi assured loss. Take up, take up ; 
And follow me, that will to some provision ■ 
Give thee quick conduct. 

Kent. Oppress'd nature sleeps :" — 

This rest might yet have balni'd thy broken senses,''' 
Which, if convenience will not allow. 
Stand in hard cure. — Come, help to bear thy master; 
Thou must not stay behind. [7b the Fool. 

Glo. Come, come, away. 

[Exeunt Kent, Gloster, and the Fool, bearing 
off the King. 

Edg. When we our betters see bearing our woes, 
We scarcely think our miseries our foes. 
Who alone suffers, suffers most i' the mind, 
Leaving free things and happy shows behind : 
But tlicn the mind much sulferance doth o'crskip, 
When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. 
How light and portable my pain seems now. 
When that winch makes ine bend, makes the king bow : 
He childed. as I fathcr"d ! — Tom. away ! 
Mark the high noises; and thyself bewray, 
When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee, 

' dear: in folio. " Not in quarto. ' Tliis and the foUowins speeches, to •' Edg;. Bless thy five wits !" are not in folio. * Lines some- 
what similar to this and the one following, are fuund in an old metrical dialogue, reprinted in the " Harleian IMiscellany." ^ Fetnale 
hound. ^ Hunting dog. "< ('omrnon riir. "him: in folio. ' See Note 8, p. 782. l" this hardness : in quarto. "Not in folio. '2 This 
line is not in quartos. '^ This speech and the rest of the scene, are not in folio. '* sinews: in quartos. Theobald made the change. 



Pur! 



In thy just prooT, repeals and reeonciles thee. 
What will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the king ! 
Lurk, lurk. [Exit. 

SCENE VIL— A Room in Gloster's Castle. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, and 
Servants. 

Corn. Post speedily to my lord your husband: show 
him this letter : — the army of France is landed. — Seek 
out the traitor' Gloster. [Exeunt some of the Servants. 

Reg. Hang him instantly. 

Gon. Pluck out his eyes. 

Corn. Leave him to my disposure. — Edmund, keep 
you our sister company: the revenges we are bound to 
take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your 
beholding. Advise the duke, where yovi are going, to 
a most festinate preparation : we are bound to the 
like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent betwixt 
us. Farewell, dear sister : — farewell, my lord of 
Gloster. 

Enter Oswald. 
How now ! Where 's the king ? 

Osw. My lord of Gloster hath convey'd him hence : 
Some five or six and thirty of his knights, 
Hot questrists after him, met him at gate ; 
Who, with some other of the lord's dependants, 
Arc gone with him towards Dover, where they boast 
To have well-armed friends. 

Corn. Get horses for your mistress. 

Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. 

[Exeunt Goneril, Edmund, and Oswald. 

Corn. Edmund, farewell. — Go, seek the traitor 
Gloster, 
Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us. 

[Exeunt other Servants. 
Though well we may not pass upon his life 
Without the form of justice, yet our power 
Shall do a courtesy to our WTath, which men 
May blame, but not control. Who 's there ? The 
traitor ? 

Re-enter Servants, with Gloster. 

Reg. Ingrateful fox ! 't is he. 

Corn. Bind fast his corky' arms. 

Glo. What mean your graces ? — Good my friends, 
consider 
You are my guests : do me no foul play, friends. 

Corn. Bind him, I say. [Servants hind him. 

Reg. Hard, hard. — filthy traitor ! 

Glo. Unmerciful lady as you are, I am none.^ 

Corn. To this chair bind him. — Villain, thou shalt 
find — [They bind him : R eg Ati plucks his beard. 

Glo. By the kind gods, 't is most ignobly done 
To pluck me by the beard. 

Reg. So white, and such a traitor ! 

Glo. Naughty lady. 

These hairs, which thou dost ravisji from my chin. 
Will quicken, and accuse thee. 1 am your host : 
With robbers' hands my hospitable favours 
You should not ruffle thus. What will you do ? 

Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late from 
France ? 

Reg. Be simple-answer'd, for we know the truth. 

Corn. And what confederacy have you with the 
Late footed in the kingdom ? [traitors 



Ren 



To whose hands 



Have you sent the lunatic king ? Speak. 
Glo. I have a letter guessingly set down, 



Which came from one that 's of a neutral heart, 
And not from one oppos'd. 

Corti. Cunning. 

jRpg-. And false. 

Corn, Where hast thou sent the king ? 

Glo. To Dover. 

Reg. Wherefore 

To Dover ? Wast thou not charg'd at peril — 

Corn. Wherefore to Dover ? Let him an.swer that. 

Glo. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the 
course. 

Reg. Wherefore to Dover? 

Glo. Because I would not see thy cruel nails 
Pluck out his poor old eyes ; nor thy fierce sister 
In his anointed flesh rash* bearish fangs. 
The sea. with such a storm as his bare' hcad^ 
In hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd up, 
And quench'd the stelled fires ; 
Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain.^ 
If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern' time. 
Thou shouldst have said, " Good porter, turn the 

key." 
All cruels else subscrib'd* : but I shall see 
The winged vengeance overtake such children. 

Cor7i. See it shalt thou never. — Fellows, hold the 
chair. — '^ 

Upon these eyes of thine I '11 set my foot. 

Glo. He, that will think to live till he be old. 
Give me some help ! — cruel ! O ye gods ! 

[They tear out one eye.^ 

Reg. One side will mock another ; the other too. 

Co}-n. If you see, vengeance, — 

Serv. Hold your hand, my lord. 

I have serv'd you ever since I was a child, 
But better service have I never done you. 
Than now to bid you hold. 

Reg. How now, you dog ! 

Serv. If you did wear a beard upon your chin, 
I 'd shake it on this quarrel ! What do you mean ? 

Corn. My villain ! [Draws and rtms at him. 

Serv. Nay then, come on, and take the chance of 
anger. [Draws. Cornwall is wounded. 

Reg. Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus ! 

Serv. 0, I am slain I — My lord, you haA'e one eye left 
To see some mischief on him ! — ! [Dies. 

Corn. Lest it sec more, prevent it. — Out, vile jelly ! 
Where is thy lustre now ? [Tearing out his other eye.'-'' 

Glo. All dark and comfortless. — Where 's my son 
Edmund ? 
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature, 
To quit this horrid act. 

Res;. Out. treacherous villain ! 

Thou call'st on him that hates thee: it was he 
That made the overture of thy treasons to us, 
Who is too good to pity thee. 

Glo. my follies ! Then Edgar was abus'd. — 
Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him ! 

Reg. Go, thrust him out at gates, and let him smell 
His way to Dover. — How is 't, my lord ? How look you ? 

Corn. I have receiv'd a hurt. Follow me, lady. — 
Turn out that eyeless villain : throw this slave 
Upon the dunghill. — Regan, I bleed apace : 
Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm. 

[Exit Cornwall, led by Regan: — Servants unbind 
Gloster, and lead him out.^^ 

1 Serv. I '11 never care what wickedness I do, 
If this man comes to good. 



' villain : in quartos. 
' lov'd : in quartos. ' rage 
folio. 



2 Dry-withered ; applied in "Harsnet's Declaration," to an old woman. ^ 
;e : in quartos. ' deain : in quartos ; dreary. * Yielded. ' i" Not in f. e. 



true : in quartos. * stick : in fclio. 
1' The rest of the scene is not in 



SCENE ir. 



KING LEAR. 



V91 



2 Sei-v. If she live long, 

And in the end meet the old course of death, 
Women will all turn monsters. 

1 Seiv. Let 's follow the old earl, and get the Bedlam 
To lead him where he would : his roguish madness 



Allows itself to any thing. 
2 Serv. Go thou : I '11 fetch some flax, and whites of 

To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him ! 

[Exeunt severally. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— The Heath. 
Enter Edgar. 
Edg. Yes,^ better thus, unkuosvn- to be contcmn'd, 
Than still contenm'd and llalter'd. To be worst. 
The lowest and most dejected thing of fortime, 
Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear: 
The lamentable change is from the best ; 
The worst returns to laughter.' Welcome, then, 
Thou unsv^bstantial air that I embrace : 
The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst, 
Owes nothing to thy blasts. — But who comes here ? — 

Enter Glosteu, led by mi old Man. 
My father, poorly led ? — World, world, world ! 
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, 
Life would not yield to agq. 

Old Man. my good lord ! I have been your tenant, 
and your father's tenant, these fourscore years. 

Glo. Away, get thee away ; good friend, be gone : 
Thy comforts can do me no good at all ; 
Thee they may hurt. 

Old Man. Alack, sir !* you cannot see your way. 
Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes : 
I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 't is seen, 
Our wants^ secure us; and our mere defects 
Prove our commodities. — X\\ ! dear son Edgar, 
The food of tliy abused father's wrath. 
Might I but live to see thee in my touch, 
I 'd say I had eyes again ! 

OH Man. How now ! Who 's there ? 

Edg. [Aside.] gods ! Who is 't can say, " I am 
at the worst?'' 
I am worse than e'er I was. 

Old Man. 'T is poor mad Tom. 

Edg. [Aside.] And w^orse I may be yet : the worst 
is not 
So long as we can say, " This is the worst." 
Olil Man. Fellow, w'here goest ? 
Glo. Is it a beggar-man? 

Old Man. Madman, and beggar too. 
Glo. He has some reason, else he could not beg. 
I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw. 
Which made me think a man a worm : my son 
Came then into my mind; and yet )ny mind 
Was then scarce friends with him : I have heard more 
As Hies to wanton boys, are we to the gods ; [since. 
They kill us for their sport. 

E:lg. [Aside.] How should this be ? — 

Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow. 
Angering itself and others. [To him.\ Bless thee, 
master ! 
Glo. Is that the naked fellow? 
Old Man. Ay, my lord. 

Glo. Then, pr'ythee. get thee gone. If, for my sake,* 
Thou wilt o'criake us, hence a mile or twain, 
I' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love ; 
And bring some covering for this naked soul, 
Whom I '11 entreat to lead me. 



Old Man. Alack, sir ! he is mad. 

Glo. 'T is the times' plague, when madmen lead the 
blind. 
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ; 
Above the rest, lae gone. 

Old Man. I '11 bring him the best 'parel that I have, 
Come on 't what will. [Exit. 

Glo. Sirrah; naked fellow. 
Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. — [Aside.] I cannot daub 

it farther. 
Glo. Come hither, fellow. 
Edg. [Aside.] And yet I must. — [To him.] Bless 

thy sweet eyes, they bleed. 
Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover? 
Edg. Both siile and gate, horse-way and fool-path. 
Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wiis: bless 
thee, good man's son, from the foul fiend !' Five fiends 
have been in poor Tom at once ; of lust, as Obidieut ; 
Hobbididance. prince of dumbness ; Mahu, of stealing ; 
Modo, of murder ; and Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and 
mowing, who since possesses chamber-maids and wait- 
ing-women. So, bless thee, master ! 

Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's 
plagues 
Have humbled to all strokes : that I am wretched, 
Makes thee the happier : — Heavens, deal so still ! 
Let the superlluous, and lust-dieted man, 
That braves* your ordinance, that will not see 
Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly ; 
So distribution should undo excess. 
And each man have enough. — Dost thou know Dover? 
Edg. Ay, master. 

Glo. There is a clilF, whose high and bending head 
Looks fearfully in the confined deep : 
Bring me but to the very brim of it, 
And I '11 repair the misery thou dost bear, 
With something rich about me ; from that place 
I shall no leading need. 

Edg. Give me thy arm : 

Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Before the Duke of Albany's Palace. 
Enter Goneril and Edmund ; Oswald meeting them. 
Gon. Welcome, my lord: I marvel, our mild hus- 
band 
Not met us on the way.— Now, where 's your master ? 

Osw. Madam, within ; but never man so chang'd. 
I told him of the army that was landed; 
He smil'd at it : I told him, you were coming ; 
His answer was, '■ The worse :" of Glostcr's treachery, 
And of the loyal service of his son, 
When 1 inform'd him, then he call'd me sot. 
And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out. 
What most he should dislike' seems pleasant to him ; 
What like, offensive. 

Gon. Then, shall you go no farther. [7b Ed.mund. 
It is the cowish terror of his spirit, 
That dares not undertake: he '11 not feel wrongs, 



1 Yet : in f. e. = and known ; in f. e. ' From this word to '-But who" is not in folios. 
f. e. ' Get thee away. If, &c. : in folio. ' The rest of this speech is not in folio. « slaves 



'^ Alack, sir ! : not in qu.-irtos 
in f. e. ' desire : in quartos. 



means : in 



792 



KING LEAE. 



ACT TV. 



Which tie hitn to an answer. Our wishes on the way 

May prove effects. Back. Edmund, to my brother; 

Hasten his musters, and conduct his powers: 

I must cliange arms' at home, and give the distaff 

Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant 

S'lall pass between us : ere long you are like to hear, 

If you dare venture in your own behalf, 

A mistress's command, '^ear this ; spare speech ; 

[Giving a chain. 
Decline your head : this kiss, if it durst speak, 
Would stretch thy spirits up into the air. — 
Ccuceive, and fare thee well. 

Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. 

Gon. My most dear Giostcr ! [Exit Edmund. 

0, the difference of man, and man !^ 
To thee a woman's services are due : 
My fool usurps my body.^ 

Osw. jNladam, here comes my lord. [Exit Oswald. 

Enter Albany. 

Gon. I have been worth the whistle. 
_ Alb. O Goneril ! 

You are not worth the dust, which the rude wind 
Blows in your face* — I fear your disposition : 
That nature, wliich contemns its origin. 
Cannot be border'd certain in itself; 
She that herself will sliver and disbranch * 
From her material sap. perforce mu.st wither, 
And come to deadly use. 

Gon. No more : the text is foolish. 

A!h. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile ; 
Filtlis savour but themselves. What have you done ? 
Tiua'i s, not daughters, what have you perform'd ? 
A father, and a gracious aged man. 
Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick, 
Most barbarous, most degenerate ! have you madded. 
Could my good brother suffer you to do it ? 
A man, a prince, by him so benefited ? 
If that the heavens do not their visible spirits 
Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, 
it wiil come, 

Humanity must perforce prey on itself, 
Like monsters of the deep. 

Gon. Milk-liver'd man ! 

Tiiat bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; 
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning 
Thine honour from thy suffering f that not know'st, 
Fools do those villains pity, who are punish'd 
Ere they have done their mit^chief. Where 's thy drum ? 
France spreads his banners in our noiseless land; 
With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats; 
Wr:ilst thou, a moral fool, sitt'st still, and criest, 
'• Alack ! wliy does he so '?'' 

Alb. See thyself, devil ! 

Proper deformity seems not in the fiend 
So horrid, as in woman. 

Gon. vain fool ! 

Alb.^ Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame, 
Be-nionster not thy feature. Were it my fitness 
To let these hands obey my blood. 
They are apt enough to dislocate and tear 
Thy ilcsh and bones : howe'er thou art a fiend, 
A woman's shape doth shield thee. 

Go7i. Marry, your manhood now ! — 

Enter a Messenger. 
Alb. What news ? 
Mess. 0, my good lord ! the duke of Cornwall 's dead ; 

^ 1 names: in folio. = This line not in quartos. 3 One quarto h 
< The rest of this and the following speeches, to '' Milk-livered man !'" 
the next speech, are not in the folio. ' iS'ot in f. e. 8 on : in quartos 
the change, n way : in quartos ; some mod. eds. : day. 



Slain by his servant, going to put out 
The other eye of Gloster. 

Alb. Gloster's eyes ! 

3Icss. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorsCj 
Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword 
To his great master ; who, thereat enrag'd. 
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead, 
But not without that harmful stroke, which since 
Hath pluck'd him after. 

Alb. • This shows you are above, 

You justicers. that these our nether crimes 
So speedily can venge I — But, poor Gloster ! 
Lost he his other eye ? 

Mess. Both, both, my lord. 

This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer ; 

[Giving it.'' 
'T is from your sister. 

Gon. [Aside.] One way I like this well : 
But being widow, and my Gloster with her. 
May all the building in'* my fancy pluck 
Upon my hateful life. Another way, 
The news is not so tart. [To him.] I '11 read, and 
answer. [Exit. 

Alb. Where was his son, when they did take his eyes ? 

3Ie.'>s. Come with my lady hither. 

Alb. He is not here. 

2\Icss. No, my good lord ; I met him back again. 

Alb. Knows he the wickedness ? 

Mess. Ay, my good lord ; 't was he inform'd against 
him, 
And quit the house, on purpose that their punishment 
Might have the freer course. 

Alb. Gloster, I live 

To thank tlicc for the love thou show'dst the king, 
And to revenge thine eyes. — Come hither, friend : 
Tell me what more thou knowest. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.'— The French Camp near Dover. 
Enter Kent, and a Gentleman. 

Kent. Why the king of France is so suddenly gone 
back, know you the reason? 

Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, 
Which since his coming forth is thought of: which 
Imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger, 
That his personal return was most requir'd. 
And necessary. 

Kent. Whom hath he left behind him general ? 

Gent. The Mareschal of France, Monsieur le Fer. 

Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any de- 
monstration of grief ? 

Gent. Ay. sir; she took them, read them in my 
presence ; 
And now and then an ample tear trill'd down 
Her delicate check : it seem'd, she was a queen 
Over her passion, who, rebel-like, 
Sought to be king o'er her. 

Kent. ! then it mov'd her. 

Gent. Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove'" 
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen 
Sunshine and rain at once : her smiles and tears 
Were like a better May :" those happy smilels. 
That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know 
What guests were in her eyes ; which parted thence, 
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. — In brief, sorrow 
Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all 
Could so become it . 

Kent. Made she no verbal question? 

as : My foot usurps my head ; another has : My fool usurp? my ted. 

are not in folio. * fhe rest of the speech is not in folio. ' This and 

9 This scene is not in the folio, i" streme : in quartos. Pope made 



SCENE VI. 



KING LEAR. 



T93 



Gent. 'Faith, once, or twice, she heav'd the name 
of " father" 
Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart : 
Cried, " Sisters ! sisters ! — Shame of ladies ! sisters ! 
Kent ! father ! sisters ! What ? i' the storm ? i' the night ? 
Let pity not be believed !" — There she shook 
The holy water from her heavenly eyes, 
And clamour moistcn"d : then, away she started 
To deal with grief alone. 

Kent. It is the stars, 

The stars above ns, govern our conditions ; 
Else one self mate and mate could not beget 
Such different issues. You spoke not with her since ? 

Gent. No. 

Kent. Was this before the king rcturn'd ? 

Geut. No, since. 

Koit. Well, sir, the poor distress'd Lear 's i' the town, 
Who sometime, in his better tuue, remembers 
What we are come about, and by no means 
Will yield to see his daughter. 

Gent. Why, good sir ? 

Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him ; his own 
unkindness, 
That strijjp'd her from his benediction, turn'd lier 
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights 
To his dog-hearted daughters ; these things sting 
His mind so venomously, that burning shame 
Detains him from Cordelia. 

Gent. Alack, poor gentleman ! 

Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard 
not ? 

Gent. 'T is so they are afoot. 

Kent. Well, sir, I '11 bring you to our master Lear, 
And leave you to attend him. Some dear cause 
Will in concealment wrap me up awhile : 
When I am known aright, you shall not grieve 
Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go 
Along with me. [Excimt. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. A Tent. 

Enter Coudewa, Physician, and Frctich Soldiers. 

Cor. Alack ! 't is he : w^hy, he was met even now 
As mad as the vex'd sea : singing aloud : 
Crowii'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds, 
With hoar-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-Uowers, 
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 
In our sustaining corn. — A century send forth; 
Search every acre in the high-grown field. 
And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.] — What 

can man's wisdom, 
In the restoring liis bereaved sense ? 
He, that helps him. take all my outward worth. 

Phy. There is means, madam : 
Our fo.*ter-nurse of nature is repose, 
The which he lacks ; that to provoke in him 
Are many simples operative, whose power 
Will close the eye of anguish. 

Cor. All bless'd secrets, 

All you unpublished virtues of the earth. 
Spring with my tears ! be aidant, and remediate, 
In the good man's distress' ! — Seek, seek for him ; 
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life 
That wants the means to lead it. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. News, madam : 

The Brit.ish powers are marching hithcrward. 

Cor. 'T is known before ; our preparation stands 
In expectation of them. — dear father ! 
It is thy bu.~ine.-s that I go about, 

1 desires : in folio. * Importunate. 



Therefore great France 

My mourning, and important^ tears, hath pitied. 

No blown ambition doth our arms incite. 

But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right. 

Soon may I hear, and see him ! [Exeunt, 

SCENE v.— A Room in Gloster's Castle. 
Enter Regan and Oswald. 

Reg. But are my brother's powers set forth ? 

O.vu'. Ay, madam. 

Reg. Himself in person there ? 

Osw. Madam, with much ado: 

Your sister is the better soldier. 

Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at 
home ? 

Oslo. No, madam. 

Reg. What might import my sister's letter to him? 

Osw. I know not, lady. 

Reg. 'Faith, he is po.sted hence on serious matter. 
It was great ignorance. Gloster's eyes being out, 
To let him live : where he arrives he moves 
All hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is gone, 
In pity of his misery, to despatch 
His nighted life ; moreover, to descry 
The strength o' the enemy. 

Osw. I must needs after him, madam, with my letter. 

Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow: stay with us; 
The ways are dangerous. 

Osiv. I may not, madam ; 

My lady charg'd my duty in this business. 

Reg. Why should she write to Edmund ? Might 
not you 
Transport her purposes by word ? Belike. 
Something — I know not what. — I '11 love thee much ] 
Let me unseal the letter. 

Osw. Madam, I had rather — 

Reg. I know your lady docs not love her husband, 
I am sure of that ; and. at her late being here. 
She gave strange ceiliads, and most speaking looks 
To noble Edmund. [ know, you are of her bosom. 

Osw. I, madam ? 

Reg. I speak in understanding : y' are, I know it ; 
Therefore, I do advise you, take this note: 
My lord is dead ; Edmund and I have talk'd, 
And more convenient is he for my hand. 
Than for your lady's. — You may gather more. 
If you do find liim, pray you, give him this ; 
And when your mistress hears thus much from you, 
I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her : 
So, fare you well. 

If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, 
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. 

Osw. Would I could meet him, madam: I would 
show 
What party do I follow. 

Reg. Fare thee well, [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— The Country near Dover. 

Enter Gloster, and Edgar dressed like a Peasant. 

Glo. When siiall I come to the top of that same hill ? 

Edg. You do climb up it now : look, how we labour. 

Glo. Methinks, the ground is even. 

Edg. Horribly steep. 

Hark ! do you hear the sea ? 

Glo. No, truly. 

Edg. Why, then your other senses grow imperfect 
By your eyes' anguish. 

Glo. So may it be, indeed. 

Methinks, thy voice is alter'd : and thou speak'st 



Y94: 



KING LEAE. 



ACT lY. 



In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst. 

Edg. Y' are much deceived : in nothing am I chang'd, 
But in my garments. 

Glo. Methinks, y' are better spoken. 

Edg. Come on, sir; here 's the place : stand still. — 
How fearful, 
And dizzy 't is to cast one's eyes so low ! 
The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air, 
Show f'Carcc so gross as beetles : half way down 
Hangs one that gathers samjihire : dreadful trade ! 
Mcthinks, he seems no bigger than his head. 
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, 
Appear like mice; and yond' tall anchoring bark, 
Diminisli'd to her cock' ; her cock, a buoy 
Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge, 
That on 111' unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes. 
Cannot be heard so high. — I '11 look no more; 
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
Topple down headlong. 

Glo. Set me where you stand. 

Edg. Give me your hand ; you are now within a foot 
Of th' extreme verge : for all beneath the moon 
Would I not leap upright. 

Glo. Let go my hand. 

Here, friend, is another purse ; in it, a jewel 
Well worth a poor man's taking : fairies, and gods, 
Prosper it with thee ! Go thou farther off: 
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. 

Edg. Now fare you well, good sir. 

Glo. With all my heart. 

Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair, 
Is done to cure it. 

Glo. 0, you mighty gods ! 

This world I do renounce, and in your sights 
Shake patiently my great affliction off: 
" If I could bear it longer, and not fall 
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, 
My snuir. and loathed part of nature, should 
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, 0, bless him ! — 
Now, fellow, fare thee well. [He leaps, and falls along. 

Edg. Gone, sir : farewell. — 

And yet I know not how conceit may rob 
The treasury of life, when life itself 
Yields to the theft : had he been where he thought. 
By this had thought been past. — Alive, or dead? 
Ho. you sir ! friend ! — Hear you, sir ? — speak ! 
TJius might he pass indeed ; — yet he revives. 
What are you, sir ? 

Glo. Away, and let me die. 

Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, 
air. 
So many fathom down precipitating. 
Thou 'd.'^t shiver'd like an egg : but thou dost breathe ; 
Hast heavy substance ; bleed'stnot; speak'st; art sound. 
Ten masts at each make not the altitude, 
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell : 
Thy life 's a miracle. Speak yet again. 
Glo. Rut have I fallen, or no ? 

Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn. 
Look up a height; the shrill-gorg'd lark so far 
Cannot be seen or heard : do but look up. 

Glo. Alack ! I have no eyes. — 
Is wretchedness dcpriv'd that benefit. 
To end itself by death? 'T was yet some comfort, 
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage. 
And frustrate his proud will. 

Edg. Give me your arm : [Helping him up.'' 

Up : — so ; — how is 't ? Feel you your legs ? You stand. 



Glo. Too well, too well. 



Edc 



This is above all strangeness. 



Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that 
Which parted from you ? 

Glo. A poor unfortundte beggar. 

Edg. As I stood here below, methought, his eyes 
Were too full moons: he had a thousand noses, . 
Horns whclk'd, and wav'd like the cnridged^ sea : 
It was some fiend : therefore, thou happy father, 
Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours 
Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee. 

Glo. I do remember now : henceforth I '11 bear 
Aflliction, till it do cry out itself 

" Enough, enough !" and die. That thing you speak of, 
I took it for a man ; often 't would say, 
" The fiend, the fiend !" he led me to that placfe. 

Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. — But who 
comes here ? 

Enter Lear, fantastically dressed with Straivs and 
Flowers. 
The safer sense will ne'er accommodate 
His master thus. 

Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining ;* I am 
the king himself. 

Edg. 0, thou side-piercing sight ! 

Lear. Nature 's above art in that respect. — There 's 
your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a 
crow-keeper' : draw me a clothier's yard. — Look, look ! 
a mouse. Peace, peace! — this piece of toasted cheese 
will do 't. — There 's my gauntlet ; I '11 prove it on a 
giant. — Bring up the brown bills.' — 0, well-flovv-n, bird ! 



' the clout' 
Edg. Sweet marjoram. 



— i' the clout, 1 



hewgh ! — Give the word. 



Lear. Pass 

Glo. I know that voice. 

Lear. Ha ! Goneril !" — with a white beard ! — They 
tlatter'd me like a dog ; and told me, I had white hairs 
in my beard, ere the black ones were there. To say 
" ay," and " no," to every thing I said ! — •' Ay" and 
"no" too was no good divinity. When the rain came 
to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter, when 
the thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I 
found 'cm, there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are not 
men o' their words: they told me I was every thing; 
't is a lie, I am not ague-proof. 

Glo. The trick of that voice I do vrell remember : 
Is 't not the king ? 

Lear. Ay, every inch a king : 

When I do stare, see how the subject quakes. 
I pardon that man's life : what was thy cause ? — 
Adultery. — 

Thou shalt not die : die for adultery ? No : 
The wren goes to 't, and the small gilded fly 
Does lecher in my .^ight. 

Let copulation thrive ; for Gloster's bastard son 
Was kinder to his father, than my daughters 
Get 'tween the lawful sheets. 
To 't, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers. — 
Behold yond' simpering dame, 
Whose face between her forks presageth snow ; 
That mimics' virtue, and does shake the head 
To hear of pleasure's name ; 
The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to 't 
With a n^.ore riotous appetite. 
Down from the waist they are centaurs, 
Though women all above : 
But to the girdle do the gods inherit. 
Beneath is all the fiends : there 's liell, there 's dark- 



1 Cockboat. 
below the point. 



2 Not in f. e. 3 enraged : in folio_ -^ - „ - 

1 T/ie mark. » Goneril, ha 1 Regan ! they, &c. : in quarto. ' minces : in f. e, 



' cryini; 



in folio, s A rustic, set to keep crows from corn. 6 Spears, with hooks 



SCENE VI. 



KING LEAR. 



795 



ness, there is the sulphurous pit. burning, scalding, 
stench, consumption;' — fie, fie. fie ! pah; pah! Give 
me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my 
imagination : there' s money for thee. 

Glo. 0, let me kiss that hand ! 

Lear. Let me wipe it first : it smells of mortality. 

Glo. ruin'd piece of nature ! This great world 
Shall so wear out to nought. — Dost thou know me ? 

Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost 
thou pquiny at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid; 
I 'II not love. — Read thou this challenge : mark but the 
penning of it. 

Glo. Were all the letters suns, I could not see one, 

Edg. I would not take this from report ; it is, 
And my heart breaks at it. 

Lear. Read. 

Glo. What! with the case of eyes? 

Lear. 0, ho ! arc you there with me ? No eyes in 
your head, nor no money in your purse ? Your eyes 
are in a heavy case, your purse in a light : yet you see 
how this world goes. 

Glo. I f-ee it feelingly. 

Lear. What, art mad ? A man may sec how this 
world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears ; see 
how youd' ju.'^tice rails upon yond' simple thief. Hark, 
in thine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which 
is the justice, which is the thief? — Thou hast seen a 
farmer's dog bark at a beggar ? 

Glo. Ay, sir. 

Lear. And the creature run from the cur ? There 
thou mightst behold the great image of authority : a 
dog 's obey'd in office. — 
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand ! 
Why dost thou lash that whore ? Strip thine own back; 
Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind 
For which thou wliipp'st her. The usurer hangs the 

cozener. 
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear ; 
Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all.^ Plate sin with 

gold. 
And the strong lance of justice hurlless breaks : 
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. 
None does offend, none, I say, none; I 'II able 'cm : 
Take that of me, my friend, who liavc the power 
To seal th' accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes: 
And, like a scurvy politician, seem 
To see the things thou dost not. — Now. now, now, 

now ! 
Pull oflT my boots : harder, harder ; so. 

Edg. 0, matter and impertinency mix'd ; 
Reason in madness ! 

Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. 
I know thee well enough ; thy name is Gloster : 
Thou must be patient. We came crying hither : 
Thou know'st. the first time that we smell the air 
We wawl, and cry. I will preach to thee : mark me. 

Glo. Alack ! alack the day ! 

Lear. When we are born, we cry that we are come 
To this great stage of fools. — 'T is^ a good plot.* 
It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe 
A troop of horse with felt. I 'II put it in proof; 
And ^%hcn I have stolen upon these sons-in-law, 
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. 

Enter a (^•cntlcmnn with Attendants. 

Gent. ! here he is : lay liand upon him. — Sir, 
Your most dear daughter — 

Lear. No rescue ? What ! a prisoner ? I am even 
The natural fool of fortune. — Use me well ; 



You shall have ransom. Let me have a surgeon 
I am cut to the brains. 

Gent. You shall have any thing. 

Lear. No seconds? All myself? 
W^hy, this would make a man, a man of salt 
To use his eyes for garden water-pots, 
Ay, and for laying autumn's dust.' 

Gent. Good sir, — 

Lear. I will die bravely, 
Like a smug^ bridegroom. What ! I will be jovial. 
Come, come ; I am a king, my masters, know you 
that? 

Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. 

Lear. Then there 's life in it. Nay, an you get it, 
you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. 

[Exit : Attendants follow. 

Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch. 
Past speaking in a king ! — Thou hast one daughter, 
Who redeems nature from the general curse 
Which twain have brought her to. 

Edg. Hail, gentle sir. 

Gent. Sir, speed you : what 's your will ? 

Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward ? 

Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: every one hears that, 
Which can distinguish sound. 

Edg. But, by your favour, 

How near 's the other army ? 

Gent. Near, and on speedy foot; the main descry 
Stands on the hourly thought. 

Edg. I thank you, sir : that 's all. 

Gent. Though that the queen on special cause is 
here. 
Her army is mov'd on. 

Edg. I thank you, sir. [Exit Gent. 

Glo. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me : 
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again 
To die before you please ! 

Edg. Well pray you, father. 

Glo. Now, good sir, what are you ? 

Edg. A most poor man, made tame to' fortune's 
blows ; 
Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, 
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, 
I 'II lead you to some biding. 

Glo. Hearty thanks ; 

The bounty and the bcnison of heaven 
To boot, and boot ! 

Enter Oswald. 

Osw.. A proclaim'd prize ! Most happy ! 

That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh 
To raise my fortunes. — Thou old unhappy traitor. 
Briefly thyself remember : — the sword is out [Drawing. 
That must destroy thee. 

Glo. Now let thy friendly hand 

Put strength enough to it. [Edgar interposes. 

Osw. Wherefore, bold peasant, 

Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence ; 
Lest that th' infection of his fortune take 
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. 

Edg. Ch 'ill not let go, zir, without varther 'casion. 

Osw. Let go, slave, or thou diest. 

Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor 
volk pass. And eh'ud lia' been zwagger'd out of my 
life, 't would not ha' been zo long as 't is by a vort- 
night. Nay, come not near the old man ; keep out, 
che vor'yc, or Isc try whether your costard or my hal- 
low* be the harder. Ch 'ill be plain with you. 

Osw. Out, dunghill ! 



'consummation: in quartos. 'The next sentence to ''Get" is not in quartos. ^ Xhis : in f. e. * block : in f. e. ^ This line is 
not in folio. * Not in quarto. '' lame by : in quartos. 8 Head, or my cudgel. 



Y96 



KING LEAR. 



ACT IV. 



Edg. Ch 'ill pick your teeth, zir. Come ; no matter 
vor your foins. 

[They fight; and Edgar strikes him down. 

Osw. Slave, thou hast slain me. — Villain, take my 
purse. 
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body ; 
And give the letters, which thou find'st about me. 
To Edmund carl of Gloster : seek him out 
Upon the Britisli' party. — 0, untimely death ! {Dies. 

Edg. I know thee well : a serviceable villain ; 
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress, 
As badness would desire. 



Gin. 



What ! is he dead ? 



Edg. Sit you down, father: rest you. — 
Let 's sec his pockets : these letters, that he speaks of. 
May be my friends. — He 's dead ; I am only sorry 
He had no other death's-man. — Let us see : — 
Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not: 
To know our enemies' minds we rip their hearts, 
Their pnpprs is more lawful. 

[Read.s^ '' Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. 
You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your 
will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. 
There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror ; then, 
am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol, from the loathed 
warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for 
your labour. 

" Your (wife, so I would say) 

" affectionate servant, 

" GONERIL." 

0, unextinguish'd blaze* of woman's will ! 

A plot iipon her virtuous husband's life ; 

And the exchange, my brother ! — Here, in the sands, 

Thee I '11 rake up. the post unsanctified 

Of murderous lechers ; and in the mature time, 

With this ungracious paper strike the sight 

Of the dcath-practis'd duke. For him 't is well, 

That of thy death and busincfS I can tell. 

Glo. The king is mad : how stiif is my vile sense. 
That I fctand up, and have ingenious feeling 
Of my huge sorrows ! Better I were distract ; 
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs, 
And woes, by wrong imaginalions, lose 
The knowledge of themselves. \Dnim afar off. 

Edg. Give me your hand : 

Far olf, methinks, I hear the beaten drum. 
Come, father: I '11 bestow you with a friend. \Exeunt. 

SCENE \ll.—A Tent in the French Camp. Lear on 
a Bed. asleep ; Doctor, Gentleman, and others, attcnd- 
insr: Enter Cordelia and Kent. 

o 

Cor. O thou good Kent ! how shall I live, and work, 
To match thy goodness ? My life will be too short, 
And every measure fail me. 

Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'er-paid. 
All my reports go wilh the modest truth; 
Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so. 

Cor. Be better suited : 

These weeds are memories of those worser hours. 
1 pr'ythee, put them off. 

Kent. Pardon me. dear madam : 

Yet to be known shortens my main-'' intent : 
My boon I make it, that you know me not. 
Till time and I think meet. 



Cor. 0, you kind gods. 
Cure this great breach in his abused nature ! 
Th' untun'd and jarring* senses, 0, wind up 
Of this child-changed father ! 

Doct. So please your majesty, 

That we may wake the king ? he hath slept long. 

Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed 
I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd ? 

Doct.^ Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of liis sleep, 
We put fresh garments on him. 

Kent. Good madam, be by when we do awake him : 
I doubt not of his temperance. 

Cor. Very well.'' [Music. 

Doct. Please you, draw near. — Louder the music 
there. 

Cor. my dear father ! Restoration, harfg 
Thy medicine on my lips ; and let this kiss 
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters 



Have in thy reverence made 

Kent. Kind and dear princess ! 

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white 
flakes 
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face 
To be expos'd against the warring' winds ? 
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder? 
In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
Of quick, cross lightning? to watch (poor perdu !) 
With this thin helm ? Mine enemy's dog, 
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night 
Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father. 
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn, 
In short and musty straw ? Alack, alack ! 
'T is wonder, that thy life and wits at once 
Had not concluded all. — He wakes; speak to him. 

Doct. Madam, do you ; 't is fittest. 

Cor. How does my royal lord ? How fares your 
majesty ? 

Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o' the 
grave. — 
Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound 
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
Do scald like molten lead. 

Cor. Sir, do you know me? 

Lear. You are a spirit, I know. Where* did you die? 

Cor. Still, still, far wide. 

Doct. He 's scarce awake: let him alone awhile. 

Lear. Where liave I been ? AVhere am I ? — Fair 
day-light ? — 

am mightily abus'd. — I should even die with pity 



=ay.— 



h. 



Cor. Then be 't so, my 

king? 
Doct. Madam, sleeps still 



good 



lord. — How does the 
[7b the PJiysician. 



I 

To see another thus. — 1 know not what to 
I will not swear, these are my hands : — let 's see : 
I feel this pin prick. Would I were assur'd 
Of my condition ! 

Cor. ! look upon me, sir, 

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me. — 
No, sir, you must not kneel. 

Lear. Pray, do not mock me : 

I am a very foolish fond old man. 
Fourscore and upward,' not an hour more nor lessj 
And, to deal plainly, 
I fear, I am not in my perfect mind. 
Methinks, I should know you, and know this man; 
Yet I am doubtful, for I am mainly ignorant 
What place this is ; and all the skill I have 
Bemembers not these garments ; nor I know not 
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, 
For, as I am a man, I think this lady 



3 made : in f. e. * Hurrying. ^ The folio gives this and the next speech to 



' English : in folio. '■* undistinguish'd space : in f. e. 
the honor. Most mod. eds. give the first to a G.nUimnri. and the second to the Doctor ; the text follows one ol the quartos. 5 This and 
the next line, are not in folio. ' oppos'd against the jarring : in folio. The following lines to " Mine" are not in folio. *> So one quarto, 
and folio ; the other : When. ^ The rest of the line is not in folio. 



SCENE I. 



KING LEAE. 



Y97 



To be my child Coi'delia. 

Cor. And so I am, I am. 

Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes,'faitli. I pray, weep not : 
If you have poison for nic, I will drink it. 
I know, you do not love me ; for your sisters 
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong : 
You have some cause, they have not. 

Cor. No cause, no cause. 

Lear. Am I in France ? 

Ke7iT. In your own kingdom, sir. 

Lear. Do not abuse me. 

Doct. Be coinforted, good madam : the great rage, 
You see, is cur'd* in him ; and yet it is danger 
To make him even o'er the time he has lost. 
Desire him to go in : trouble him no more, 
Till farther settling. 

Cor. Will 't please your highness walk ? 



Lear. You must bear with me : 

Pray you now, forget and forgive : I am old, and foolish. 

[Exeunt Lkar, Cokdelia, Doctor, and Attendants.'^ 

Gent. Holds it true, sir, that the duke of Cornwall 
was so slain ? 

Kent. Most certain, sir. 

Gent. Who is conductor of his people ? 

Kent. As 't is said, the bastard son of Gloster. 

Gent. They say, Edgar, his banished son, is with the 
earl of Kent in Germany. 

Kent. Report is changeable. 'T is time to look 
about ; the powers o' the kingdom approach apace. 

Gent. The arbitrement is like to be bloody. Fare 
you well, sir. • [Exit. 

Kent. My point and period will be throughly 
wrought, 
Or well or ill, as this day's battle 's fought. [Exit. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— The Camp of the British Forces, near 
Dover. 

Enter., with Brums and Colours., Edmund, Regan, 
Officers, Soldiers, and others. 

Edm. Know of the duke, if his last purpose hold; 
Or whether since he is advis'd by aught 
To change the course. He 's full of alteration. 
And self-reproving: — bring his constant pleasure. 

[To an Officer, who exit. 

Reg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. 

Edm. '"T is to be doubted, madam. 

Reg. Now, sweet lord, 

You know the goodness I intend upon you : 
Tell me, but truly, but then speak the truth. 
Do you not love my sister ? 

Edm. In honour'd love. 

Reg. But have you never found my brother's way 
To the forefended place ? 

Edm.^ That thought abuses you. 

Reg. I am doubtful that you have been conjunct. 
And bosom' d with her, as far as we call hers. 

Edm. No, by mine honour, madam. 

Reg. I never shall endure her. Dear my lord. 
Be not familiar with her. 

Edm. Fear me* not. — 

She, and the duke her husband, — 

Enter Albany, Goneril, and Soldiers. 

Gon. I had rather lose the battle, than that sister 
Should loosen him and me. [Aside. 

Alb. Our very loving sister, well be-met. — 
Sir. this I hear, — the king is come to his daughter. 
With others, whom the rigour of our state 
Fore'd to cry out." Where I could not be honest, 
I never yet was valiant : for this business, 
It toucheth us, as France invades our land, 
Not holds the king, with others, whom, I fear. 
Most just and heavy causes make oppose. 

Edm. Sir, you speak nobly. 

Reg. Why is this rcason'd ? 

Gon. Combine together 'gainst tbe enemy: 
For these domestic and particular broils 
Are not the question licre. 

Alb. Let us, then, determine 

With the ancient of war on our proceedings. 



Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent. 

Reg. Sister, you '11 go with us ? 

Gon. No. 

Reg. 'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us. 

Gon. 0, ho ! I know the riddle. [A.^^ide.] — I will go. 
Enter Edgar, disguised. 

Edg. If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor, 
Hear me one word. 

Alb. I '11 overtake you. — Speak. 

[Exemit Edmund, Recan, Goneril, Officers^ 
Soldiers, and Attendants. 

Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this letter. 
If you have victory, let the trumpet sound 
For him that brought it : wretched though I seem, 
I can produce a champion, that will prove 
What is avouched there. If you miscarry. 
Your business of the world hath so an end, 
And machination ceases. Fortune love you ! [Going.^ 

Alb. Stay, till I have read the letter. 

Edg. I was forbid it. 

Wlien time shall serve, let but the herald cry, 
And I '11 appear again. [Exit. 

Alb. Why, fare thee well : I will o'erlook thy paper. 
Re-enter Edmund. 

Edm. The enemy 's in view; draw up your powers. 
Here' is the guess of their true" strength and forces 
By diligent discovery ; [Showing a Paper.] but your 

haste 
Is now urg'd on you. 

Alb. We will greet the time. [Exit. 

Edm. To both these sisters have I sworn my love ; 
Each jealous of the other, as the stung 
Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take ? 
Both? one? or neither? Neitlicr can be enjoy'd, 
If both remain alive : to take the widow 
Exasperates, makes mad, her sister Goneril ; 
And hardly shall I carry out my side, 
Her husband being alive. Now then, we'll use 
His countenance for the battle ; which being done. 
Let her wlio would be rid of him devise 
His speedy taking off. As for the mercy 
Which he intends to Lear, nnd to Cordelia, 
The battle done, and tiiey within our power, 
Shall never see his pardon ; for my state 
Stands on me to defend, not to debate. [Exit. 



> kill'd : in folio. The latter part of this, anJ the next line, are not in folio. = The rest of this scene is not in folio. ' This and the 
next speech, are not in folio. * Not in folio. ' The rest of this, and next speech, not in folio. ' ^'ot in f. e. ' Hard : in quartos. » great : 
in quartos. 



798 



KING LEAR. 



ACT V. 



SCENE II.— A Field between the two Camps. 



Alarum icithin. Enter, unth Drum and Colours, Lear, 

Cordelia, and their Forces ; and. exeunt. 

Enter Edgar and Gloster. 

Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this tree' 
For your good host ; pray that the right may thrive. 
If ever I return to you again, 
I '11 bring you comfort. 

Gh. Grace go with you, sir ! [Exit Edgar. 

Alarum; afterwards a Retreat. Re-enter Edgar. 

Edg. Away, old man ! give me thy hand : away ! 
King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en. 
Give me thy hand ; come on-. 

Glo. No farther, sir : a man may rot even here. 

Edg. What ! in ill thoughts again ? Men must 
endure 
Their going hence, even as their coming hither : 
Ripeness is all. Come on. 

Glo. And that's true too.' [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The British Camp near Dover. 
Enter, in conquest, with Drum and Colours, Edmund ; 
Lkar and Cordelia, as Prisoners ; Captain, Officers, 
Soldiers, {fc. 

Edm. Some officers take them away : good guard, 
Until their greater pleasures first' be known, 
That are to censure them. 

Cor. We are not the first, 

Who, with best meaning, have ineurr'd the worst. 
For thee, oppressed king, ami cast down ; 
My.'^clf could else out- frown false fortune's frown. 
Shall wc not see these daughters, and these sisters ? 

Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let 's away to prison : 
We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage : 
When thou dost ask me blessing, I' 11 kneel down. 
And ask of thee forgiveness. So we '11 live, 
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
Talk of court new^s; and we '11 talk with them too, 
Who loses, and who wins ; who 's in, who 's out ; 
And take upon 's the mystery of things. 
As if we were God's spies : and we '11 wear out, 
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones. 
That ebb and flow by the moon. 

Edm. Take them away. 

Lear. Upo,n such sacrifices, iny Cordelia, 
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught 
thee ? [Embracing her.* 

He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven. 
And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes ; 
Tlio goujecrs' shall devour them, flesh and fell, 
Eie they shall make us weep : we '11 see them starve 

first. 
Come. [Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded. 

Edm. Come hither, captain ; hark. 
Take thou this note; [Giving a Paper.] go, follow them 

to prison. 
One step I have advanc'd thee ; if thou dost 
As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way 
To noble fortunes. Know thou this, that men 
Are as the time is ; to be tender-minded 
Does not become a sword. Thy great employment 
Will not bear question : either say, thou 'It do 't, 
Or thrive by other means. 

Capt. I '11 do't, my lord. [done 

Edm. About it ; and write happy, when thou hast 



Mark, — I say, instantly ; and carry it so, 
As I have set it down. 

Capt.^ I caimot draw a cart, nor cat dried oats ; 
If it be man's work, I M-ill do it. [Exit Captain. 

Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Reran, Officers, 
and Attendants. 

Alb. Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain, 
And fortune led you well. You have the captives, 
Who were the opposites of this day's strife : 
We do require them of you. so to use them, 
As we shall find their merits, and our safely. 
May equally determine. 

Edm. Sir, I thought it fit 

To send the old and miserable king 
To some retention, and appointed guard ;' 



Whose age has charms in it, whose title more, 

To pluck the common bosom on his side. 

And tumour impress'd lances in our eyes. 

Which do command them. With him I sent the queen : 

My reason all the same; and they are ready 

To-morrow, or at farther space, t' appear 

Where you shall hold your session.* At this time. 

We sweat, and bleed : the friend hath lo-st his friend ; 

And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd 

By those that feel tlieir sharpness. — 

The question of Cordelia, and her father, 

Requires a fitter place. 

Alb. Sir, by your patience, 

I hold you but a subject of this war, 
Not as a brother. 

Reg. That 's as we list to grace him : 

Methinks, our pleasure might' have been demanded, 
Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers, 
Bore the commission of my place and person; 
To which immediacy'" may well stand up, 
And call itself your brother. 

Gon. Not so hot : 

In his own grace he doth exalt himself. 
More than in your addition." 

Reg. In my rights, 

By me invested, he compeers the best. 

Gon. That were the most, if he should husband you. 

Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets. 

Gon. Holla! holla! 

That eye that told you so look'd but a-squint. 

Reg. Lady, I am not w^ell : else I should answer 
From a full-flowing stomach. — General, 
Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony : 
Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine. 
Witness the world, that I create thee here 
My lord and master. 

Gon. Mean you to enjoy him ? 

Alb. The let-alone lies not in your good will. 

Edm. Nor in thine, lord. 

Alb. Half-blooded fellow, yes. 

Reg. Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine. '^ 

[To Edmund. 

Alb. Stay yet ; hear reason. — Edmund, I arrest thee 
On capital treason ; and, in thy" arrest, 
This gilded serpent. [Pointiiig to GoN.] — For your 

claim, fair sister, 
I bar it in the interest of my wife ; 
'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord, 
And I, her husband, contradict your bans. 
If you will marry, make your love to me, 
My lady is bespoke. 

Gon. An interlude !'* 



• b\ish : in qiiartos. ^ This speech is not in quarto. ^ best : in quartos. * Not in f. e. « good years : in old copies. ' This speech is 
not in folio, i These three -ivords are not in folio. 8 The rest of the speech is not in folio. » should : in quartos. 1" immediate : in 
quartos. "advancement: in quartos. '2 good : in quartos. '^ thine attaint : in quartos. '* Not in quartos. 



60ENE in. 



KING LEAR. 



799 



Alb. Thou art arm'd, Gloster. — Let the trumpet 
sound : 
If none appear to prove upon thy person, 
Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, 
There is my pledge. [Throwing down a Glove.] I '11 

prove it on thy heart, 
Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less 
Than I have here proclaim'd thee. 

Reg. Sick ! 0, sick ! 

Gon. [J.sjWc] If not, I '11 ne'er trust poison.' 

Edin. There's my exchange: [Thrmving down a 
Glove.] what in the world he is 
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies. 
Call by thy trumpet : he that dares approach, . 
On him, on you, who not? I will maintain 
My truth and honour firmly. 



Alb. A herald, ho ! 
Edm. 



A herald, ho ! a herald ! 



Alb. Tru.st to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers, 
All levied in my name, have in my name 
Took their discharge. 

Reg. My sickness grows upon me. 

Alb. She is not well ■ convey her to my tent. 

[Exit Regan, led. 
Enter a Herald. 
Come hither, herald. — Let the trumpet sound, 
And read out this. 

Capt. Sound, trumpet. [A Trumpet sounds. 

Herald reads. 
" If any man of quality, or degree, within the lists" 
of the army, will maintain upon Edmund, supposed earl 
of Gloster, that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear 
at the third sound of the trumpet. He is bold in his 
defence." 

Edm. Sound! [I Triwipet. 

Her. Again. 2 Trumpet. 

Her. Again. [3 Trumpet. 

[Trumpet answers loithin. 
Enter Edgar, armed., preceded by a Trumpet. 
Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears 
Upon this call o' the trumpet 



To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, 
Thou Host. 

Edm. In wisdom, I should ask thy name; 
But since thy outside looks so fair and warlike. 
And that thy tongue some 'say of breeding breathes. 
Wliat safe and nicely I might well delay 
By rule' of knighthood, I disdain and spurn. 
Back do I tof-s these treasons to thy head ; 
With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart : 
Which, for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise, 
This sword of mine shall give them instant way. 
Where they shall rest for ever. — Trumpets, speak ! 

[Alarums. Therj fight. Edmv^d falls. 

Alb. 0, save him ! save him ! 

Gon. This is mere'^ practice, Gloster. 

By the laws of arms' thou wast not bound to answer 
An unknown opposite ; thou art not vanquish'd, 
But cozen'd and beguil'd. 

Alb. Shut your moiith. da)ne; 

Or with this paper shall I stop it? — Hold, .sir ! — '" 
Thou worse than any name,'' read thine own evil. 

[She snatches at the Letter.^' 
No tearing, lady; I perceive, you know it. 

[Gives the Letter to Edmund. 

Gon. Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine : 
Who can'^ arraign me for't?'* 

Alb. Most monstrous ! 

Know'st thou this paper ? 

Gon.^^ Ask me not what I know. [Exit Goneril. 

Alb. Go after her: she 's desperate; govern her. 

[Exit an Officer. 



Edm. What 
I done. 



you have charg'd me with, that have 



Her. 



What are you ' 



Your name? your quality? and why you answer 
This present summons? 

Edg. Know, my name is lost ; 

By treason's tooth bare-gnawn, and canker-bit : 
Yet am I noble, as the adversary 
I come to cope withal. 

Alb. Which is that adversary? 

Edg. What 's he, that speaks for Edmund earl of 
" Gloster? 

Edm. Himself: what say'st thou to him ? 

Edg. Draw thy sword. 

That if my speech offend a noble heart, 
Thy arm may do thee justice : here is mine : 

[Drawing.^ 
Behold, it is* the privilege of mine honours, 
My oath, and my profession. I protest. 
Manure thy strength, skill, youth,' and eminence. 
Despite thy victor sword, and fire-new fortune. 
Thy valour, and thy heart, thou art a traitor : 
False to thy gods, thy brother, and tliy father; 
Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince; 
And. from th' extremcst ujnvard of tliy head. 
To the descent and dust below tliy foot,^ 
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou, " No," 
Tliis sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent 

1 medicine : in folio. 2 host : ih quartos, spjotinf. e. * Folio inserts : my privilege. * thy strenjth, youth, place 
thy feet : in quarto. ' ripht : in quarto.-!. 8 Not in folio. 9 -n-ar : in quartos. '<> Hold, sir I : not in quartos, "thins 
in f. e. 13 shall : in quartos. '* £iit ; in folio, i' £(/oth7»/ ; in folio, "i ^fot in f. e. "virtues; in quartos 
1' we : in folio. 



And more, much m.orc ; the time will bring it out : 
'T is pa.st, and so am I. But what art thou. 
That hast this fortune on me ? If thou 'rt noble, 
I do forgive thee. 

Edg. Let 's exchange charity. 

I am no less in blood than tliou art, Edmund ; 
If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me. 

[Taking off his Helmet.'^ 
My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. 
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices" 
Make instruments to plague'* us : 
The dark and vicious place where thee he got 
Cost him his eyes. 

Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 't is true; 

The wheel is come full circle : I am here. 

Alb. Mctliought, thy very gait did prophesy 
A royal nobleness. I nuist embrace thee : 
Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I 
Did hate thee, or thy father. 

Edg. Worthy prince, I know 't. 

Alb. Where have you hid yourself? 
How have you known the miseries of your father? 

Edg. By nursing them, my lord. — List a brief tale; 
And when 't is told, O. that my heart would burst ! — 
The bloody proclamation to escape, 
That followed me so near, (0, our lives' sweetness ! 
That with" the pain of death we 'd hourly die, 
Rather than die at once !) taught me to shift 
Into a madman's rags, t' assume a semblance 
That very dogs disdain'd ; and in this habit 
Met I my father with his bleeding ring.s, 
Their precious stones new lost; became his guide. 
Led him, begg'd for him. sav'd him from despair; 
Never (0 fault !) revcal'd myself unto him, 



in f e. * beneath 

in quartos. '^ Not 

18 scour^'e : in quartos 



800 



KLNG LEAR. 



ACT V. 



Until some half hour past, when I was arm'd, 
Not sm-e, though hoping, of this good success, 
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last 
Told him my pilgrimage : but his flaw'd heart. 
(Alack ! too weak the conflict to support) 
'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief. 
Burst smilingly. 

Edm . This speech of yours hath mov'd me, 

And shall, perchance, do good; but speak you on: 
You look as you had something more to say. 

Alb. If there be more more woful, hold it in, 
For I am almost ready to dissolve, 
Hearing of this.' 

Edg. This would have seenvd a period 

To such as love not sorrow ; but another. 
To amplify too-much, would make much more. 
And top extremity. 

Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man. 
Who, having seen me in my worst estate, 
Shunn'd my abhorr'd society ; but then, finding 
Who 't was that so endur'd, with his strong arms 
He fasten"d on my neck, and bellow'd out 
As he 'd burst heaven; threw him^ on my father; 
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him. 
That ever ear receiv'd ; which in recounting, 
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life 
Began to crack; twice, then, the trumpets sounded, 
And there I left him tranc'd. 

Alb. But who was this ? 

Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent ; who in disguise 
Followed his enemy king, and did him service 
Improper for a slave. 

Enter a Gentleman hastily., with a bloody Knife. 

Gent. Help, help ! help ! 

Edg. What kind of help ? 

Alb. Speak, man. 

'Edg. What means that bloody knife? 



Gent. 



T is hot, it smokes; 



It came even from the heart of — ! she 's dead : 

Alb. Who dead ? speak, man. 

Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady : and her sister 
By her is poisoned; she hath confess'd it. 

Edm. I was contracted to them botli : all three 
Now marry in an instant. 

Alb. Produce the bodies, be they alive or dead ! — 

This judgment' of the heavens, that makes us tremble. 

Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gentleman. 

Enter Kent. 

Edg. Here comes Kent. 

Alb. ! it is* he. 
The time will not allow the compliment, 
"^Vhich very manners urges. 

Kent. I am come 

To bid my king and master aye good night : 
Is he not here ? 

Alb. Great thing of us forgot ! — 

Speak, Edmund, where 's the king? and where "s Cor- 
See-st thou this object, Kent? [delia? — 

[The Bodies o/Goneril and Reoan arc brought in. 

Kent. Alack ! why thus ? 

Edm. Yet Edmund was belov'd : 

The one the other poison'd for my sake. 
And after slew herself. 

Alb. Even so — Cover their faces. 

Edm. I pant for life : — some good I mean to do. 
Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send. — 
Be brief in it, — to the castle ; for my writ 
Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia. — 



Nay, send in time. 
Alb. 



Ptun, run ! 0. run ! 



Edg. To whom, my lord ? — Who has the office ? send 
Thy token of reprieve. 

Edm. Well thought on : take my sword, 
Give it the captain. 

Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit Edgar. 

Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me 
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and 
To lay the blame upon her own despair. 
That she fordid herself. 

Alb. The gods defend her ! Bear him hence awhile ! 

[Edmund is borne off. 
Enter Lear xvith Cordelia dead in his Arms ; Edgar, 
Officer, and others. 

Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl ! — ! you are men 
of stones ; 
Had I your tongues and eyes, I 'd use them so 
That heaven's vault should crack. — She 's gone for 

ever. — 
I know when one is dead, and when one liA'es; 
She 's dead as earth. — Lend me a looking-glass: 
If that her breath will mist or stain the shine,* 
Why, then she lives. 

Kent. Is this the promis'd end ? 

Edg. Or image of that horror ? 

Alb. Fall, and cease ! 

Lear. This feather stirs ; she lives ! if it be so. 
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows 
That ever I have felt. 

Kent. O, my good master ! 

[Kneeling. 

Lear. Pr'ythee, away. 

Edg. 'T is noble Kent, your friend. 

Lear. A plague upon you, murderers,^ traitors all ! 
I might have sav'd her ; now. she 's gone for ever. — 
Cordelia, Cordelia ! stay a little. Ha ! 
What is 't thou say'st? — Her voice was ever soft, 
Gentle, and low — an excellent thing in woman. — 
I kiird the slave that was a hanging thee. 

Off. 'T is true, my lords, he did. 

Lear. Did I not, fellow? 

I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion 
I would have made them' skip : I am old now, 
And these same crosses spoil me. — Who are you? 
Mine eyes are not o' the best : I '11 tell you straight. 

Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated, 
One of them we behold. 

Lear. This is a dull light :" — are you not Kent ? 

Kent. The same, 

Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius? 

Lear. He 's a good fellow, I can tell you that; 
He '11 strike, and quickly too. — He 's dead and rotten. 

Kent. No, my good lord ; I am the very man — 

Lear. I '11 see that straight. 

Kent. That from your first of difierence and decay, 
Have follow'd your sad steps. 

Lear. You are welcome hither. 

Kent. Nor no man else. All 's cheerless, dark, and 
deadly : 
Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves, 
And desperately are dead. 

Lear. Ay, so I think. 

Alb. He knows not what he says ;' and vain is it, 
That we present us to him. 

Edg. Very bootless. 

Enter an Officer. 

Off. Edmund is dead, my lord. 



I The next three speeches are not in folio. = me : in quartos, 'justice: 
in quartos. "> him : in folio. 8 sight ; in f. e. 9 sees : in quartos. 



in quartos. * this is : in folio, 'stone : in f. e. * mnrderoTjs : 



SCENE III. 



KING LEAE. 



801 



Alb. 
You lords, 



That 's but a trifle here — 
o, and noble friends, know our intent. 
What comfort to this great' decay may come, 
Shall be applied : for lis, wc will resign, 
JDuring the life of this old majesty, 
To him our absolute power. — To you your rights, 

[To Edgar and Kent. 
With boot, and ^uch addition, as your honours 
Have more than merited. — All friends shall taste 
The wages of their virtue, and all foes 
The cup of their deservings. — ! see, see ! 

Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd ! No, no, no life : 
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, 
And thou no breath at all ? Thou 'It come no more, 
Never, never, never, never, never ! — 
Pray you, undo this button : thank you, sir.' — 
Do you see this ? Look on her, — look, — her lips. — 
Look there, look there ! — [He dies. 

Edg. He faints. — My lord, my lord ! — 

Kent. Break, heart ; I pr'ythee, break ! 



Look up, my lord. 
! let him pass : he hates 



Edg. 

Kent. Vex not his ghost : 
him. 

That would upon the rack of this tough^ world 
Stretch him out longer. 

Edg. He is gone, indeed. 

Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long : 
He but usurp'd his life. 

Alb. Bear them from hence. Our present business 
Is general woe. — Friends of my soul, you twain 

[To Kent and Edgar. 
Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain. 

Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go : 
My master calls me;* I must not say, no. 

Alb.'' The weight of this sad time wc must obey ; 
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. 
The oldest hath borne most : we, that are young, 
Shall never see so much, nor live so long. 

[Exeunt^ with a dead March. 



1 Not in quartos. ^ The rest of the speech is not in quartos. ' Pope reads : rough. * and : in quartos. * Edgar : in folio. 

51 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF YENICE 



-♦*- 



DRAMATIS PEESON^. 



Duke of Venice. 

Brabantio, a Senator. 

Two other Senators. 

Gratiano, Brother to Brabantio. 

LoDovico, Kinsman to Brabantio. 

Othello, the Moor. 

Cassio, his Lieutenant. 

Iago, his Ancient. 

RoDERiGO, a Venetian Gentleman. 



MoNTANo, Governor of Cyprus. 
Clown, Servant to Othello. 
Herald. 

Desdemona, Daughter to Brabantio, and Wife to 

Othello. 
Emilia, Wife to Iago. 
BiANCA, a Courtezan of Venice. 



Officers, Gentlemen, INIessengers, Musicians, Sailors, Attendants, &c. 
SCENE, for the first Act, in Venice ; during the rest of the Play, at a Sea-Port in Cyprus. 



ACT I. 



<f: 



SCENE L— Venice. A Street. 
Enter Roderigo in choUr^ and Iago. 

Rod. Tush'^ ! never tell me, I take it much unkindly, 
That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse. 
As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. 

Iago. 'Sblood ! but you will not hear me : 
If over I did dream of such a matter, abhor me. 

Rod. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate. 

Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of 
the city. 
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, 
Off^-capp'd to him ; and, by the faith of man, 
I know my price : I am worth no worse a place ; 
But he, as loving his own pride and purposes, 
Evades them, with a bombast circumstance. 
Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war ; 
And, in conclusion,* 

Nonsuits my mediators ; " For certes," says he, 
'• I have already chose my officer." And what was he ? 
Forsooth, a great arithmetician. 
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, 
A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife ^ 
That never set a squadron in the field, 
Nor the division of a battle knows 
More than a spinster : unless the bookish theoric'. 
Wherein the toged* consuls can propose 
As masterly as he : mere prattle, vrithout practice, 
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had th' election ; 
And I, — of whom his eyes had seen the proof. 
At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds, / 

Christian and heathen, — must be be-lee'd and calm'd ■ 
By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster : 
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be. 
And I, God bless the mark ! his Moor-ship's ancient. 

Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his 



Iago 



hangman. 

But there 
service, 



s no remedy : 't is the curse of 



Preferment goes by favour and aflfection^ 
Not by the old gradation, where each second 
Stood heir t' the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, 
Whether I in any just terms am affin'd 
To love the Moor. 

Rod. I would not follow him, then. 

Iago. 0, sir ! content you ; 
I follow him to serve my turn upon him : 
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark 
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, 
That; doting on his own obsequious bondage. 
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, 
For nought but provender ; and when he 's old, cashier'd : 
Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are. 
Who, learn'd' in forms and usages^ of duty. 
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves. 
And, throwing but shows of service on their lords, 
Do well thrive by them; and when they have lin'd 

their coats, 
Do themselves homage ; these fellows have some soul ; 
And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir. 
It is as sure as you are Roderigo, 
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago : 
In following him, I follow but myself; 
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty. 
But seeming so, for my peculiar end : 
For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
The native act and figure of my heart 
In compliment extern, 't is not long after 
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
For daws' to peck at : \ am not what I am. 

Rod. What a full'" fortune does the thick-lips owe, 
If he can carry 't thus ! 

Iago. Call up her father ; 

Rouse him : make after him, poison his delight. 
Proclaim him in the streets : incense her kinsmen ; 
And though he in a fertile climate dwell, 
Plague him with flies ; though that his joy be joy. 



1 These two words, " i« c/ioler,''- are not in f. e. 
in folio. ' trimm'd : in f. e. 8 visages : in f. e. 



2 Not in folio. ' oft; in quarto. * This line is not in folio, 
s doves : in quartos. "• fall : in folio. 



* Theory. ^ tongued : 



SCENE I. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



803 



Yet throw such changes' of vexation on 't, 
As it may lose some colour. 

Rod. Here is her father's house : I '11 call aloud. 

lago. Do ; with like clamorous'-' accent, and dire yell, 
As when, by night and negligence, the tire 
Is spied in populous cities. 

Rod. What ho ! Brabantio ! signior Brabantio, ho ! 

lago. Awake ! what, ho ! Brabantio ! thieves ! thieves ! 
thieves ! 
Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags ! 
Thieves ! thieves ! 

£r7ter Brabantio, above, at a Wmdoiv. 

Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons ? 
What is the matter there ? 

Rod. Signior, is all your family within? 

lago. Are your doors lock'd ? 

Bra. Why ? wherefore ask you this ? 

lago. 'Zounds ! sir, you are robb'd ; for shame, put 
on your gown : 
Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul : 
Even now, now, very now, an old black ram 
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise ! 
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, 
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you. 
Arise, I say. 

Bra. What, have you lost your wits ? 

Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my voice ? 

Bra. Not I : what are you ? 

Rod. My name is Roderigo. 

Bra. The worse' welcome : 

I have charg'd thee not to haunt about my doors. 
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say, 
My daughter is not for thee ; and now, in madness, 
Being full of supper and distempering draughts, 
Upon malicious bravery* dost thou come 
To start my quiet. 

Rod. Sir, sir, sir, — 

Bra. But thou must needs be sure, 

My spirit and my place have in them power 
To make this bitter to thee. 

Rod. Patience, good sir. 

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing ? this is 
Venice ; 
My house is not a grange. 

Rod. Most grave Brabantio. 

In simple and pure soul I come to you. 

lago. 'Zounds ! sir. you are one of those, that will 
not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come 
to do you service, and you think we are ruffians, you '11 
have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse : 
you '11 have your nephews neigh to you ; you '11 have 
coursers for cousins, and gennets for germans. 

Bra. What profane wretch art thou ? 

lago. I am one, sir. that comes to tell you, your 
daughter and the Moor are now making the beast 
with two backs. 

Bra. Thou art a villain. 

lago. You are — a senator. 

Bra. This thou shalt answer : I know thee, Ro- 
derigo. [you,' 

Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I beseech 
If 't be yovu- pleasure, and most wise consent, 
(As partly, I find, it is) that your fair daughter, 
At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night, 
Transported with no worse nor better guard. 
But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, 
To the gro.ss clasps of a lascivious Moor, 



If this be known to you, and your allowance, 

We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs ; 

But if you know not this, my manners tell me. 

We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe 

That from the sense of all civility, 

I thus would play and trifle with your reverence : 

Your daughter, if you have not given her leave, 

I say again, hath made a gross revolt. 

Laying' her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes. 

On' an extravagant and wheedling® stranger. 

Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself: 

[f she be in her chamber, or your house, 

Let loose on me the justice of the state 

For thus deluding you. 

Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho ! 

Give me a taper ! — call up all my people ! — 
This accident is not unlike my dream ; 
Belief of it oppresses me already. — 
Light, I say ! light ! [Exit from above. 

lago. Farewell, for I must leave you : 

It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place. 
To be produc'd (as if I stay I shall) 
Against the Moor : for, 1 do know, the state, — 
However this may gall him with some check. — 
Cannot with safety cast him ; for he 's embark'd 
With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars 
(Which even now stand in act) that, for their souls, 
Another of his fathom they have none. 
To lead their business : in which regard. 
Though I do hate him as I do hell pains, 
Yet for necessity of present life, 
I must show out a flag and sign of love, 
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find 

him. 
Lead to the sagittary' the raised search ; 
And there will I be with him. So, farewell. [Exit. 
Enter Brabantio, and Se^-vants with Torches. 

Bra. It is too true an evil : gone she is ; 
And what 's to come of my despised time 
Is nought but bitterness. — Now, Roderigo, 
Where didst thou see her? — 0, unhappy girl ! — 
With the Moor, say'st thou ? — Who would be a 

father ? — 
How didst thou know 't was she?- 



-0 ! thou deceiv'st 



me 



Past thought. — What said she to you ? — Get more 

tapers ! 
Raise all my kindred ! — Are they married, think you? 

Rod. Truly, I think, they are. 

Bra. heaven ! — How got she out ? — 0, treason of 
my blood ! — 
Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds 
By what you see them act. — Are there not charms. 
By which the property of youth and maidhood 
May be abus'd ? Have you not read, Roderigo, 
Of some such thing ? 

Rod. Yes, sir; I have, indeed.'" 

Bra. Call up my brother. — 0, that you had had 
her !— 
Some one way, some another. — Do you know 
Where we may apprehend lier and the Moor ? 

Rod. I think, I can discover him, if you please 
To get good guard, and go along with me. 

Bra. Pray you, lead on." At every house I '11 call j 
I may command at most. — Get weapons, ho ! 
And raise some special officers of night. — 
On, good Roderigo ; — I '11 deserve your pains. [Exeunt. 



' chances : in folio. ' timorous : in f. e. ' 
quarto, ]C2'i. « Tying : in f. e. ' In : in f. e. 

in quarto. " Pray, lead rae on : in quartos. 



■worscr ; in folio. * knavery : in folio. * The rest of this speech to " Straight" is not in 
8 wheeling : in f. e. ' The official residence in the Arsenal of Othello. "> I have, sir : 



804: 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



ACT I. 



SCENE IL— The Same. Another Street. 
Enter Othello. Iago, and Attendants, with Torches, 
lago. Though in the trade of war I have slain men, 
Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience 
To do no contriv'd murder : I lack iniquity 

ten times 
under the ribs. 



Sometimes, to do me service. Nine or 



I had tliought to have yerk'd him here, 

0th. "T is better as it is. 

Iago. Nay, but he prated, 

And spoke sucli scurvy and provoking terms 
Again.><t your honour, 
That, with the little godliness I have, 
I did full liard forbear him. But, I pray, sir, 
Are you fast married ? for. be sure' of this, 
That the magnifico is much beloved; 
And hath, in his effect, a voice potential, 
As double as the duke's: he will divorce you; 
Or put upon you what restraint, or'' grievance, 
The law (with all his might t' enforce it on) 
Will give him cable. 

0th. Let him do his .«pite : 

My services, which I have done the signiory, 
Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'T is yet to know. 
Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, 
I shall promulgate, I fetch my life and being 
From men of royal siege f and my demerits* 
May speak, unbonneted, to as proud a fortune 
As this that I have reach'd : for know. Iago, 
But that I love the gentle Desdcmona, 
I would not my unhoused free condition 
Put into circumscription and confine 
For the sea's worth. But, look ! what lights come 
yonder? 

Iago. These are the raised father, and his friends : 
You were best go in. 

0th. Not I ; I must be found : 

My parts, my title, and my perfect soul. 
Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they ? 

Iago. By Janus, I think no. 
Enter Cassio, and certain Officers with Torches. 

0th. The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. 
The goodness of the night upon you, friends. 
What is the news ? 

Cas. The duke does greet you, general ; 

And he requires your haste, post-haste appearance, 
Even on the instant. 

0th. What is the matter, think you ? 

Cas. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine. 
It is a business of some heat : the galleys 
Have sent a dozen sequent' messengers, 
This very night, at one another's heels ; 
And many of the consuls, rais'd and met, 
Are at the duke's already. You have been hotly call'd 
When, being not at your lodging to be found, [for ; 

The senate sent above* three several quests. 
To search you out. 

0th. 'T is well I am found by you. 

I will but spend a word here in the house 
And go with you. 

Cas. Ancient, what makes he here ? 

Iago. 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carack' : 



0th. Have with you. 

Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. 
Iago. It is Brabantio. — General, be advis'd : 
He comes to bad intent. 

Enter Brabantio, Iiodertgo, and Officers, with 
Torches and Weapons. 
0th. Holla ! stand there ! 

Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. 

Bra. Down with him, thief ! 

[They draiv on both sides. 
Iago. You, Roderigo ! come, sir, I am for you. 
0th. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will 
rust them. — 
Good signior, you shall more command with years, 
Than with your weapons. 

Bra. O, thou foul thief! where hast thou stow'd 
my daughter ? 
Damn'd as thou art. thou hast enchanted her ; 
For I '11 refer me to all things of sense. 
If she in chains of magic were not bound,* 
Whether a maid so tender, fair, and happy, 
So opposite to marriage, that she shunn'd 
The wealthy curled darlings' of our nation. 
Would ever have, to incur a general mock. 
Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom 

not to delight. 

10 



If it prove lawful prize, he 's made for ever. 



Cas. 

Iago. 

Cas. 



I do not understand. 



He 's married. 



Re-enter Othello. 



Of such a thing as thou ; to fear. 

Judge me the world, if 't is not grcss in sense^ 

That thou hast practis'd on her with foul charms ; 

Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs, or minerals. 

That weaken motion. — I '11 have 't disputed ou ; 

'T is probable, and palpable to thinking. 

I, therefore, apprehend, and do attach thee 

For an abuser of the world, a practiser 

Of arts inhibited, and out of warrant. — 

Lay hold upon him ! if he do resist. 

Subdue him at his peril. 

0th. Hold your hands ! 

Both you of my inclining, and the rest : 
Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it 
Without a prompter. — Where will you that I go. 
To answer this your charge ? 

Bra. To prison ; till fit time 

Of law, and course of direct session, 
Call thee to answer. 

0th. What if I do obey ? 

How may the duke be therewith satisfied. 
Whose messengers are here about my side. 
Upon some present business of the state. 
To bear'' me to him ? 

Off. 'T is true, most worthy signior: 

The duke 's in council, and your noble self, 
I am sure, is sent for. 

Bra. How ! the duke in council, 

In this time of the night ! — Bring him away. 
Mine 's not an idle cause : the duke himself. 
Or any of my brothers of the state, 
Cannot but feel this wrong, as 't were their own; 
^or if such actions may have passage free, 
["^3.^^ ("Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. A Council-Chamber. 

The Duke, and Senators, sitting in state : Officers 
attending. 

Duke. There is no composition in these news, 
To whom ? That gives them credit. 

1 Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion'd : 

My letters say, a hundred and seven galleys. 



Iago. Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go ? 

I be assured : in folio. 2 and : in quarto. ^ height : in quartos. * Merits. * frequent : in quartos. ' about : in folio. ' Freight' 



skip. 8 This line is not in quarto, 1622. 
in folio. 



' dearling : in folio. i" This and the five following words, are not in quarto, 1022. ■! bring : 



SCENE III. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



805 



Diike. And mine, a hundred and forty. 

2 Sen. And mine, two hundred: 

But though they jump not on a just account, 
(As in these cases, with tlic same' reports, 
'T is oft with difference) yet do they all confirm 
A.Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. 

Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment. 
I do not so secure me in the error, 
But the main article I do approve 
In fearful sense. 

Sailor. [Within.] What ho ! what ho ! what ho ! 
Enter an Officer^ with a Sailor. 

Off. A messenger from the galleys. 

Duke. Now, the business? 

Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes : 
So was I bid report here to tlie state. 
By .sisnior Angelo.^ 

Duke. How say you by this change ? 

1 Sen. This cannot be, 

By no assay of reason : 't is a pageant. 
To keep us in false gaze. When we consider 
The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk ; 
And let ourselves again but understand. 
That, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, 
So may he with more facile question bear it,^ 
For that it stands not in such warlike brace, 
But altogether lacks th' abilities 

That Rhodes is dress'd in : — if we make thought of this. 
We must not think the Turk is so unskilful, 
To leave that latest which concerns him first, 
Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain. 
To wake, and wage, a danger profitless. 

Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he 's not for Rhodes. 

Off. Here is more news. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious. 
Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, 
Have there injointcd them* with an after fleet. 

1 Sen. Ay, so I thought. — How many, as you guess ? 

Mess. Of thirty sail ; and now do they re-stem 
Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance 
Their purposes toward Cyprus. — Signior Montano, 
Your trusty and most valiant servitor, 
With Ins free duty recommends you thus, 
And ]>rays you to believe him. 

Duke. "T is certain, then, for Cyprus. — 
Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town? 

1 Sen. He 's now in Florence. 

Duke. Write from us to him ; post, post-haste dis- 
patch. 

1 Sea. Here comes Brabantio, and the valiant Moor. 

Enter Brabantio, Othkllo, Iago, Roderigo, and 
Officers. 

Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you 
Against the general enemy Ottoman. — 
I did not see you ; welcome, gentle signior ; 

[7b Brabantio. 
We lack'd your coun.sel and your help to-night. 

Bra. So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me ; 
Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business. 
Hath rais'd me from my bed; nor doth the general care 
Take hold' of me, for my particular grief 
Is of so flood-gate and o'cr-bearing nature, 
That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, 
And it is still itself. 

Duke. Why, what 's the matter ? 

Bra. My daughter ! 0, my daughter ! 



Sen. 
Bra. 



Dead? 
Ay, to mo 

She is abus'd, stol'n from me, and corrupted 
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks ; 
For na,ture so preposterously to err, 
(Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense^) 
Sans witchcraft could not. 

Duke. Whoe'er he be that, in this foul proceeding, 
Hath thus bcguil'd your daughter of herself. 
And you of her, the bloody book of law 
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter. 
After its' o^vn sense ; yea, though our proper son 
Stood in your action. 

Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 

Here is the man, this Moor ; whom nov^-, it seems, 
Your special mandate, for the state afl'airs. 
Hath hither brought. 

Duke and Sen. We are very sorry for it. 

Duke. What, in your own part, can you say to this ? 

[To Othello. 

Bra. Nothing, but this is so. 

0th. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, 
My very noble and approv'd good masters. 
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, 
It is most true ; true, I have married her: 
The very head and front of my offending . 

Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, 
And little ble.'^s'd Avith the set* phrase of peace ; 
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, 
Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have us'd 
Their dearest action in the tented field ; 
And little of this great world can I speak. 
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; 
And, thcrelbre. little shall I grace my cause, 
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, 
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver 
Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms. 
What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
(For such proceeding I am charg'd withal) 
I won his daughter with. 

Bra. A maiden never bold ; 

Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
Blush'd at herself; and she, — in spite of nature, 
Of years, of country, credit, every thing. — 
To fall in loA^e with what she fear'd to look on ? 
It is a judgment maim'd, and most imperfect, 
That Avill confess perfection so could err 
Against all rules of nature ; and must be driven 
To find out practices of cunning hell, 
Why this should be. I, therefore, vouch again, 
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, 
Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect, 
He Avrought upon her. 

Duke. To vouch this is no proof : 

Without more evidence and overt test,' 
These are tliin habits, and poor likelihoods 
Of modern seeming, you prefer against him. 

1 Sen. But, Othello, speak : 
Did you by indirect and forced coiirses 
Subdue and poison this young maid's affections; 
Or came it by request, and such fair question 
As soul to soul affordcth. 

0th. I do beseech you, 

Send for the lady to the Sagittaiy, 
And let her speak of me before her father : 
If you do find me foul in her report. 
The trust, the office, I do hold of you,"" 



' where the aim: in f. e. = Tlii^s line is not in quarto, 1(>22. = xhe rest of the speech is not in quarto, 1G22. * Not in quarto. 1622, 



* Take any: in quartos, 1022. "Not in quarto, 1622 
'" This line is not in quarto, 1623. 



' your : in folio. 8 soft : in folio. ' more certain and more overt test : in f. e. 



806 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



ACT I. 



Not only take away, but let your sentence 
Even fall upon my life. 

Ihtlce. Fetch Desdemona hither. 

0th. Ancient, conduct them ; you best know the 
place. — \Ex€unt Iago and Attendants. 

And, till she come, as truly' as to heaven 
I do confers the vices of my blood, 
So justly to your grave ears I '11 present 
How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, 
And she in mine. 

Dvkc. Say it, Othello. 

0th. Her father lov'd me ; oft invited me ; 
Still questiond me the story of my life, 
From year to year- the battles, sieges, fortunes. 
That I had pass'd. 

I ran it through, even from my boyish days, 
To the very moment that he bade me tell it : 
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, 
Of moving accidents, by flood, and field ; 
Of hair-breadth scapes i' th' imminent deadly breach; 
Of being taken by the insolent foe. 
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, 
And portance in my travel's^ history : 
Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle,' 
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch 

. heaven. 
It was my hint to speak, such was the process ; 
And of the Cannibals that each other cat. 
The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
Do* grow beneath tlicir shoulders. This' to hear. 
Would Desdemona seriously incline : 
But still the house affairs would draw her thence ;° 
Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
She 'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
Devour up my discourse. Which I observing, 
Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means 
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 
But not iutentively : I did consent ; 
And often did beguile her of her tears. 
When I did speak of some distressful stroke. 
That my youth sufTer'd. My story being done, 
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs :' 



She swore, — in faith, 't was strange, 't was 



strange; 



passmg 



'T was pitiful, 't was wondrous pitiful : 

She wish'd she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd 

That heaven had made her such a man : she thank'd me ; 

And bade me, if T had a friend that lov'd her, 

I should but teach him how to tell my story. 

And that would woo her. — On this hint* I spake; 

She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd, 

And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. 

This only is tlje witchcraft I have us'd: 

Here comes the lady; let her witness it. 

Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants. 



tliis tale would win my daughter too. 



Duhe. I think. 
Good Brabantio, 
Take up this mangled matter at the best : 
Men do their broken weapons rather use. 
Than their bare hands. 

Bra. I pray you, hear her speak : 

If she confess that she was half the wooer. 
Destruction on my head,' if my bad blame 
Light on the man. — Come hither, gentle mistress : 
Do you perceive in all this noble 



company, 

1 faithful : in quarto, 1622. 2 travf-llei"s : in folio, 
folio. ' kisses : in folio. 8 heat : in quartos. 
quarto, 1622. '3 more : in quartos. i* more 
folio. 



Where most you owe obedience ? 

lies. My noble father, 

I do perceive here a divided duty. 
To you, I am bound for life, and education : 
My life and education both do learn me 
How to respect you ; you are the lord of" duty; 
I am hitherto your daughter : but here 's my husband • 
And so much duty as my mother show'd 
To you, preferring you before her father, 
So much I challenge that I may profess 
Due to the Moor, my lord. 

Bra. God be with you ! — I have done. — 

Please it your grace, on to the state affairs : 
I had rather to adopt a child, than get it. — 
Come hither, Moor : 

I here do give thee that with all my heart. 
Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart" 
I would keep from thee. — For your sake, jewel, 
I am glad at soul I have no other child. 
For thy escape would teach me tyranny, 
To hang clogs on them. — I have done, my lord. 

Duke. Let me speak like yourself; and say a sentence, 
Which, as a grise, or step, may help these lovers 
Into your favour.^* 

When remedies are past, the griefs are ended 
By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. 
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone 
Is the next way to draw new'^ mischief on. 
What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes, 
Patience her injury a mockery makes. 
The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the thief 
He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief. 

Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile : 
We lose it not, so long as we can smile. 
He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears 
But the free comfort which from thence he hears ; 
But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow. 
That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. 
These sentences, to sugar, or to gall. 
Being strong on both sides, are equivocal : 
But words are words ; I never yet did hear, 
That the bruis'd heart was pieced through the ear. 
Beseech you, now to the affairs of state. 

Duke. The Turk with a most mighty preparation, 
makes for Cyprus. — Othello, the fortitude of the place 
is best known to you ; and though we have there a 
substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a 
most'* sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer 
voice on you : you must, therefore, be content to 
slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with this more 
stubborn and boisterous expedition. 

0th. The t\Tant custom, most grave senators. 
Hath made the flinty and steel couch'* of war 
My thrice-driven bed of down : I do agnize 
A natural and prompt alacrity, 
I find in hardness : and do'* undertake 
These present wars against the Ottomifes. 
Most humbly, theretbre, bending to your state, 
I crave fit disposition for my wife ; 
Due reference of place, and exliibition. 
With such accommodation, and besort. 
As levels with her breeding. 

Duke. If you please. 

Be 't at her father's." 



Bra. 
0th. 
Des. 



I '11 not have it so. 



Nor I. 



3 wild : in folio, IG^'2. 



Nor I 

* Not in folio. 



I would not there reside, 



8 lisht on me : in quartos. 1" lord of all my : in quarto, 1622 
in f. e. i" coach : in old copies, i^ would : in quarto, 1622. 



' These things : in folio. * lienca : in 
ii 12 These lines are not in 
1" Why, at her father's : 



in 



SCENE III. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOE OF VENICE. 



807 



the young affects of heat,' 



To put my father in impatient thoughts, 
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, 
To my unfolding lend a prosperous' ear : 
And let me find a charter in your voice, 
T' assist my simpleness. 

Duke. What would you, Desdemona?^ 

Dcs. That I did love the Moor to live with him. 
My dowm'ight violence and storm^ of fortunes 
May trumpet to the world : my heart 's subdued 
Even to the very quality* of my lord : 
I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; 
And to his honours, and his valiant parts. 
Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. 
So th.it, dear lords, if I be left behind, 
A moth of peace, and he go to the war, 
The rites for which' I love him are bereft me, 
And I a licavy interim shall support 
By his dear absence. Let me go with him. 

0th} Your voices, lords : 'beseech you, let her will 
Have a free way. 

Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not. 
To please the palate of my appetite : 
Nor to comply wi' 

(In me defunct) and' proper satisfaction; 
But to be free and bounteous to her mind : 
And heaven defend your counsels,' that you think 
I will your serious and great business scant, 
When'" she is with me. No, when light- wing'd toys 
Of fcather'd Cupid foiP' with wanton dvilness 
]My speculative and active' '•' instruments. 
That my disports corrupt and taint my business, 
Let housewives make a skillet of my helm. 
And all indign and base adversities 
I\Iakc head against my reputation !'' 

Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine. 
Either for her stay, or going. Th' affair cries haste, 
And speed must answer it : you must hence to-night. 

Des. To-night, my lord?'* 

Dvlce. This night. 

0th. With all my heart. 

Duke. At nine i' the morning here we '11 meet again. 
Othello, leave some officer behind. 
And he shall our commission bring to you : 
With such things else of quality and respect, 
As do import you. 

0th. Please your grace, my ancient ; 

A man lie is of honesty, and trust : 
To his conveyance I assign my wife. 
With what else needful your good grace shall think 
To be scut after me. 

Duke. Let it be so. — 

Good night to every one. — And, noble signior, 

{To Brabantio. 
If virtue no delighted beauty lack, 
Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 

1 Sen. Adieu, brave Moor ! use Desdeniona well. 

Bra. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes"* to see : 
She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee. 

[Exeunt Duke, Senators, Officers, Ifc. 

0th. My life upon her faith. — Honest lago, 
My Desacmona must 1 leave to thee : 
I pr'ythce, let thy wife attend on her, 
And bring her'^ after in the best advantage. — 
Come. Desderaona; I have but an hour 
Of love, of worldly matters and direction. 
To spend with thee : we must obey the time. 

[Exeunt Othello and Desdemona. 



Rod. 
lago. 
Rod. 



lago. 

What say'st thou, noble heart ? 

What will I do. thinkest thou ? 



lago. Why, go to bed, and sleep. 

Rod. I will incontinently drown myself. 

lago. Well, if thou dost, I shall never love thee 
after it. Why, thou silly gentleman ! 

Rod. It is silliness to live, when to live is a torment 
and then have we a prescription to die, when death is 
our physician. 

lago. villainous ! I have looked upon the world 
for four times seven years, and since I could distinguish 
betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never found a man 
that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say, I 
would drown myself for the love of a Guinea-hen, I 
would change my humanity with a baboon. 

Rod. What should I do ? I confess, it is my shame 
to be so fond : but it is not in my virtue to amend it. 

lago. Virtue ? a fig ! 't is in ourselves that we are 
thus, or thus. Our bodies are" gardens, to the which, 
our wills are gardeners; so that if we will plant net- 
tles, or sow lettuce ; set hyssop, and weed up thyme ; 
supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with 
many ; either to have it steril with idleness, or manured 
with industry ; why, the power and corrigible authority 
of this lies in our wills. If the balance" of our lives 
had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensu- 
ality, the blood and baseness of our natures would con- 
duct us to most preposterous conclusions : but we have 
reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, 
our unbitted lusts, whereof I take this, that you call — 
love, to be a sect, or scion. 

Rod. It cannot be. 

lago. It is merely a lust of the blood, and a permis- 
sion of the will. Come, be a man: drown thyself? 
drown cats, and blind puppies. I profess" me thy 
friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving with 
cables of perdurable toughness ; I could never better 
stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse ; follow 
these wars ; defeat thy favour'" with an usurped beard ; 
I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be, that 
Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor, 
— put money in thy purse ; — nor he his to her : it was 
a violent commencement, and thou shalt see an answer- 
able sequestration: — put but money in thy purse. — 
These Moors are changeable in their wills ; — fill thy 
purse with money : the food that to him now is as 
luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter-' as 
coloquintida. She must change for youth : when she 
is sated with his body, she will find the error of her 
choice. — She must have change, she must : therefore, 
put money in thy purse, — If thou wilt needs damn 
thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. 
Make all the money thou canst. If sanctimony and 
a frail vow, betwixt an erring barbarian and a super- 
supple'-^ Venetian, be not too hard for my wits, and all 
the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make 
money. A pox of drowning thyself ! it is clean out 
of the way : seek thou rather to be hanged in com- 
passing thy joy, than to be drowned and go without her. 

Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, '^ if I depend on 
the i-ssue? 

lago. Thou art sure of me. — Go, make money. — I 
have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, 
I hate the Moor : my cau.se is hearted ; thine hath no 
less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge 
against him : if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost 

1 a gracions car : in quarto, -speak: in quarto, 16'22. ^ scorn : in quartos, ♦utmost pleasure : in quarto, 'why: in folio. ^ 0?/i. Let 
her have your voioe ; Vouch, &o. ; in folio. ' comply with heat the vounj; effects : in f e. " In my defunctand, &c. : in f. e. ' good souls : in 
f. e. 10 For : in quartos. '• seel : in folio. 12 offic'd : in folio. '■■ e.«timation : in folio. '* Not in folio, i* have a quick eye : in quarto, 
16'i2. !' them : in folio. " are our : in folio. '8 brain : in folio, i' have profe.ssed : in folio. 20 change thy countenance. " acerb : in 
quarto, W'2'i. -^ supcrsuhtle : in f. e. -^ The rest of the sentence is not in quarto, 1622. 



808 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF YENICE. 



ACT IT, 



thyself a pleasure, me a sport. There are many events 
in the womb of time, which will be delivered. Tra- 
verse ; go ; provide thy money. We will have more 
of this to-morrow. Adieu. 

Rod. Where shall we meet i' the morning ? 

Ittgo. At my lodging. 

Rod. I '11 be with thee betimes. 

lago. Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo ? 

Rod. What say you ?' 

Ingo. No more of dro-wning, do you hear? 

Rod. I am changed, f '11 sell all my land. 

lago. Go to : farewell : put money enough in your 
pwrse.'^ [Exit Roderigo. 

Thus do I ever make my fool my purse ; 
For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane, 
If I Avould time expend with such a snipe, 
But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor; 
And it is thought abroad that 'twixt my sheets 



He has done my office : I know not if 't be true : 
Yet' I, for mere suspicion in that kind, 
Will do as if for surety. He holds me well; 
The better shall my purpose work on him. 
Cassio 's a proper man : let me see now ; 
To get his place, and to plume* up my will 
In double knavery, — How, how? — Let's see : — 
After some time, to abuse Othello's ear 
That he is too familiar with his wife : 
He hath a person, and a smooth dispose. 
To be suspected ; fram'd to make women false. 
The Moor is of a free and open nature. 
That thinks men honest, that but seem to be so, 
And will as tenderly be led by the nose. 
As asses are. — 

I have 't ; — it is engender'd : — hell and night^ 
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light. 

[Exit. 



ACT II. 



Like a full soldier. Let 's to the sea-side, ho ! 
As well to see the vessel that 's come in. 
As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello,'* 
Even till we make the main, and th' aerial blue, 
An indistinct regard. 

3 Gent. Come, let 's do so; 

For every minute is expectancy 
Of more arrivance. 

Enter Cassio.'* and .several hlariders. 

Cas. Thanks you, the valiant of the warlike isle, 
That so approve the Moor. — ! let the heavens 
Give him defence against the elements. 
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea. 

Mon. Is he well shipp'd ? 

Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot 
Of very expert and approv'd allowance; 
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death. 
Stand in bold cure. 

[Within.] A sail, a sail, a sail ! 

Enter a Messenger. 

Cas. What noise ? 

Mess. The town is empty ; on the brow o' the sea 
Stand ranks of people, and they cry, " a sail." 

Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor. 

[Guns heard. 

2 Gent. Thay do discharge their shot of courtesy : 
Our friends, at least. 

Cas. I pay you, sir, go forth, 

And give us truth who 't is arriv'd. 

2 Gent. I shall. [Exit. 

Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv'd ? 

Cas. Most fortunately : he hath achiev'd a maid, 
That paragons description, and wild fame ; 
One that excels the quirks of" blazoning pens. 
And in th' essential vesture of creation, 
Does bear all excellency."' — How now ! who has put in ? 
Re-enter Second Ge7itleman. 

2 Gent. 'T is one lago, ancient to the general. 

Cas. He has had most favourable and happy speed : 
Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, 
The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands, 
Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel. 
As having sense of beauty, do omit 

1 This and the next two lines to "I'll" are not in folio. 2 This line is not in folio. 3 But : in folio. * make : in quarto, 1692. shaven: 
in quarto. * the huge mountain : in quarto. 'they: in quarto. 8 lords : in quarto. 'another: in quarto. i" j\^ Veronese : in f. e. 
It The rest of the speech is not in quarto, 1G22. 12 Xhe rest of tliis direction is not in f. e. '3 quirks of: not in quarto, 1622. '* tire 
the ingeniuer : in folio. 



SCENE I.— A Sea-port Town in Cyprus. A Platform. 

Enter Montano and Two Gentlemen. 

Mon. What from the cape can you discern at sea? 

1 Gent. Nothing at all : it is a high-WTought flood; 
I cannot, 'twixt the heaven* and the main, 

Descry a sail. 

Mon. Methinks, the wind hath spoke aloud at land ; 
A fuller bla.st ne'er shook our battlements: 
If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, 
What ribs of oak, when' mountains melt on them, 
Can hold the mortise? what shall we hear of this? 

2 Gent. A segregation of the Turkish fleet : 
For do but stand upon the foaming shore, 
The chidden billow seems to pelt the cloud.s. 

The wind-shak'd surge, with high and monstrous mane. 
Seems to cast water on the burning bear, 
And quench the guards of th' ever-fixed pole. 
I never did like molestation view 
On the enchafed flood. 

Mon. If that the Turkish fleet 

Be not inshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd ; 
It is impossible to' bear it out. 

Enter a Third Gentleman. 

.3 Gent. News, lads !" our wars are done. 
The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, 
That their designment halts : a noble' ship of Venice 
lUitli seen a grievous wreck and sufferance 
Oil most part of their fleet. 

I\Ion . How ! is this true ? 

3 Gent. The ship is here put in : 
A Florentine,'" Michael Cassio, 

Lieutenant to the warlike Moor, Othello, 

Is come on shore : the Moor himself 's at sea.. 

And is in full commission here for Cyprus. 

Mon. I am glad on't; 't is a worthy governor. 

3 Gent. But this same Cassio, though he speak of 
comfort, 
Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly. 
And prays the Moor be safe ; for they were parted 
With foul and violent tempest. 

Mon. Pray heaven he be ; 

For I have serv'd him, and the man commands 



SCENE I. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF YENICE. 



809 



Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
The divine Dcsdeniona. 

Mon. "What is she? 

Cos. She that I spake of, our great captain's captain, 
Ti^ft in the conduct of the bold lago ; 
Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, 
A sc'cnniglit's speed. — Great Jove ! Othello guard, 
Anl swell his sail with thine own powerful breath. 
That lie may bless this bay with his tall ship, 
I\lal<c love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, 
Give rcnew'd fire to our extincted spirits, 
And Wing all Cyprus comfort. — 0, behold ! 

jEflicr Desdemona. Emilli^, Iago, Roderigo, and 
Attendants. 
The riches of the ship is come on shore. 
Vc men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. — 

[They kneel} 
Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven, 
Before, tchind thee, and on every hand, 
En wheel thee round. 

Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio. 

What tidings can you tell me* of my lord ? 

Cas. He is not yet arriv'd ; nor know I aught 
But that he 's well, and will be shortly here. 
Des. ! but I fear. — How lost you company ? 
Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies 
Parted our fellowship. 

[Within.] A sail, a sail ! 
But, hark ! a sail. [Guns heard. 

2 Ge7it. They give their greeting to the citadel : 
This likewise is a friend. 

Cas. See for the news.' — 

[Exit Gentleman. 
Good ancient, you are welcome. — Welcome, mistress. — 

[To Emilia. 
Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, 
That I extend my manners : 't is my breeding 
That gives me this bold show of courtesy. [Xw.stng- her. 

Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips. 
As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, 
You 'd have enough. 

Des. Alas ! she has no speech. 

Iago. In faith,* too much ; 
I find it still, when I have lust' to sleep : 
Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, 
She puts her tongue a little in her heart. 
And chides with thinking. 

Emil. You have little cause to say so. 
Iigo. Come on. come on ; you are pictures out of 
doors. 
Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens, 
Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, 
Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your 
beds. 
Des. 0, fie upon thee, slanderer ! 
Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk : 
You rise to play, and go to bed to work. 
Emil. You shall not write my praise. 
Iago. No. let me not. 

Des. What wouldst thou WTiteof me, if thou shouldst 

praise me ? 
Iago. gentle lady, do not put me to 't. 
For I am nothing, if not critical. 

Des. Come on ; assay. — There's one gone to the 

harbour ? 
Cas. Ay, madam. 

Des. I am not merry; but I do beguile 
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. — 



Come ] how wouldst thou praise me ? 

Iago. I am about it, but, indeed, my invention 
Comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frizc 
It plucks out brains and all ; but my muse labours 
And thus she is deliver'd. 
If she be fair and wise, — fairness, and wit. 
The one 's for use, the other useth it. 

Des. Well prais'd ! — How, if she be black and witty ? 
Iago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit, 
She '11 find a white that shall her blackness fit.* 
Des. Worse and worse. 
Emil. How, if fair and foolish ? 
Iago. She never yet was foolish that w^as fair ; 
For even her folly helps her to an heir. 

Des. These are old fond' paradoxes, to make fools 
laugh i' the alehouse. What miserable praise hast 
thou for her that 's foul and foolisli ? 

Iago. There 's none so foul, and foolish thereunto. 
But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. 

Des. heavy ignorance ! thou praisest the worst 
best. But what praise couldst thou bestow on a de- 
serving woman indeed ? one that, in the authority of 
her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice 
itself? 

Iago. She that was ever fair, and never proud; 
Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud; 
Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay ; 
Fled from her wish, and yet said, — '• now I may :" 
She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, 
Bade her wrong stay, and her displeasure fly ; 
She that in wisdom never was so frail. 
To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail ; 
She that could think, and ne'er diselo.'^e her mind, 
See suitors following, and not look behind :^ 
She was a wight, — if ever such wight were, — 
Des. To do what ? 

Iago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer. 
Des. 0, most lame and impotent conclusion ! — Do 
not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. — 
How say you, Cassio ? is he not a most profane and 
liberal censurer?" 

Cas. He speaks home, madam : you may relish him 
more in the soldier, than in the scholar. 

[Talks apart with Desd." 
Iago. [Aside.] He takes her by the palm : ay, well 
said, whisper : with as little a web as this, will I en- 
snare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, 
do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say 
true; 'tis so, indeed : if such tricks as these strip you 
out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you had 
not kissed your tliree fingers so oft, wliich now again 
you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good : well 
kissed! an excellent courtesy! 'tis so indeed. Yet 
again your fingers to your lips ? would, they were 
elyster-])ipes for your sake. — [A Trumpet heard.] The 
Moor ! I know his trumpet. 
Cas. 'T is truly so. 

Des. Let 's meet him, and receive him. 
Cas. Lo, where he comes ! 

Enter Othello, and Attendants. 
Olh. 0, my fair warrior ! 
Des. My dear Othello ! 

0th. It gives me wonder great as my content, 
To see you here before me. 0, my soul's joy ! 
If after every tempest come such calms." 
May the winds blow, till they have wakcn'd death ; 
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas, 
Olympus-high, and duck again as low 



> Not in f. e. ' Not in folio. ' So speaks this voice : in quarto, 1022. * I know : in quarto, 1(522. ' list : in f. e. ^ hit : in quarto, 
1G22. ''Foolish. 8 J^ot in quarto, 1622. 'counsellor: in f. e. i" Not in f. e. i- calmness : in quartos. 



810 



OTHELLO, THE MOOPt OF YENICE. 



ACT IL 



I 



As hell 's from heaven. If it were now to die, 
'T were now to be most happy ; for, I fear, 
My soul hath her content so absolute. 
That not another comfort like to this 
Succeeds in unknown fate. 

Des. The heavens forbid, 

But that our loves and comforts should increase, 
Even as our days do grow ! 

0th. Amen to that, sweet powers 

I cannot speak enough of this content ; 
It stops me here ; it is too miich of joy : 
And this, and this, the greatest discords be, 

[Kissing her. 
That e'er our hearts shall make ! 

Iae:o. [Jside.] O ! you are well tun'd now; 

But I '11 set down the pegs that makes this music. 
As honest as I am. 

0th. Come, let us to the castle. — 

News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks are 

drown'd. 
How does my old acquaintance of this isle ? — 
Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus, 
I have found great love amongst them. my sweet, 
I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 
In mine own comforts. — I pr'ythee. good lago. 
Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers. 
Bring thou the master to the citadel : 
He is a good one, and his worthiness 
Does challenge much respect. — Come, Desdemona, 
Once more well met at Cyprus. 

[Exeunt Othello, Desdemona, and Attendants. 

Iiigo. Do thou meet me presently at the harboiTr. — 
Come hither.' — If thou be'st valiant — as they say base 
men, being in love, have then a nobility in their natures 
more than is native to them, — list me. The lieutenant 
to-night watches on the court of guard. — First, I must 
tell thee this — Desdemona is directly in love with him. 

Rod. With him ! why, 't is not possible. 

logo. Lay thy finger — thus, and let thy soul be in- 
structed. Mark me with what violence she first loved 
the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her fantastical 
lies ; and will she'' love him still for prating ? let not 
thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed ; and 
what delight shall she have to look on the devil ? When 
the blood is made dull with the act of sport, there 
should be. — again' to inflame it, and to give satiety a 
fresh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, 
man)iors, and beauties ; all which the Moor is defective 
in. Now, for want of these required conveniences, her 
delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to 
heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor; very 
nature will instruct her in it, and compel her to some 
second choice. Now, sir, this granted, (as it is a most 
pregnant and unforced position) who stands so emi- 
nently in the degree of this fortune, as Cassio does ? a 
knave very voluble ; no farther conscionable, than in 
putting on the mere form of civil and humane seem- 



inir, for the better 



compassmj 

9 



: of his salt 
none : why. 



most 

.4 



and 

hidden loose affection ? why, none : why, none :* a 

subtle slippery knave ; a finder out of occasions ; that 

has an eye can stamp and counterfeit advantages, though 

true advantage never present itself: a devilish knave ! 



besides, the 



knave is handsome, young, and hath all 



those requisites in him, that folly and green minds look 
alter ; a pestilent complete knave, and the woman hath 
found him already. 

Rod. I cannot believe that in her : she is full of 
most blessed condition. 



lago. 



Blessed fig's end ! the wine she drinks is made 
of grapes : if she had been blessed, she would never 
have loved the Moor : bless'd pudding' ! Didst thou 
not see her paddle with the palm of his hand ? didst 
not mark that ? 

Rod. Yes, that I did ; but that was but courtesy. 

lago. Lechery, by this hand ; an index,^ and obscure 
prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. 
They met so near with their lips, that their breaths 
embraced together. Villainous thoughts, Roderigo ! 
when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at 
hand comes the master and main exercise, the incor- 
porate conclusion. Pish ! But, sir, be you ru!ed by 
me : I have brought you from Venice. Watch you 
to-night ; for the command. I '11 lay 't upon you. Cassio 
knows you not : — I '11 not be far from you ; do you find 
some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaiving too 
loud, or tainting his discipline; or from what other 
cause you please, which the time shall more favour- 
ably minister. 

Rod. Well. 

lago. Sir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler, and, 
haply, with his truncheon may strike at you : provoke 
him, that he may ; for even out of that will I cause 
these of Cyprus to mutiny, whose qualification shall 
come into no true taste again, but by the displanting 
of Cassio. So shall you have a shorter journey to your 
desires, by the means I shall then have to prefer them; 
and the impediment most profitably removed, without 
the which there were no expectation of our prosperity. 

Rod. I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity. 

lago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the 
citadel : I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell. 

Rod. Adieu. [Exit. 

lago. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it ; 
That she loves him, 't is apt, and of great credit: 
The Moor — howbeit that I endure him not, — 
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature ; 
And, I dare think, he '11 prove to Desdemona 
A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too ; 
Not out of absolute lust, (though, peradventure^ 
I stand accountant for as great a sin) 
But partly led to diet my revenge. 
For that I do suspect the lustful' Moor 
Hath Icap'd into my seat ; the thought whereof 
Doth like a poisonous mineral gnaw my inwards. 
And nothing can, or shall, content my soul, 
Till I am even'd* with him, wife for wife ; 
Or, failing so, yet that I put the Moor 
At least into a jealousy so strong 
That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, — 
If this poor brach' of Venice, whom I trash," 
For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, — 
I '11 have our Michael Cassio on the hip; 
Abuse him to the Moor in the rank" garb, — 
For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too ; 
Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me, 
For making him egregiously an ass, 
And practising upon his peace and quiet. 
Even to madness. 'T is here, but yet confus'd : 
Knavery's plain face is never seen, till us'd. [Exit. 

SCENE II. A Street. 
Enter a Herald, with a Proclamation ; People following. 
Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant 
general, that upon certain tidings now arrived, import- 
ing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every man 
put himself into triumph; some to dance, some to 



•thither: in folio. ^ lies, 
quartos. ' Commencement. 



to : in folio. ^ ^ pame : in folio. 
' lusty : in folio. " even : in quarto, 



* why, none; -why none: not in folio. 
1622. s Small hound, i" trace : in f. e. 



* These two words are not in 
11 right : in folio. 



SCENE III. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOE OF YENICE. 



811 



make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his 
addiction' leads him ; for, besides these beneficial news, 
it is the celebration of his nuptials. So much was his 
pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices arc open : 
and there is full liberty of feasting,^ from this present 
hour of five, till the bell hath told eleven. Heaven 
bless the isle of Cyprus, and our noble general, Othello ! 

\Exeunt. 

SCENE III. A Hall in the Castle. 
Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and Attendants. 

0th. Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night: 
Let 's teach ourselves that honourable stop, 
Not to out-sport discretion. 

Cas. Tago hath direction what to do ; 
But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye 
Will I look to 't. 

0th. lago is most honest. 

Michael, good night : to-morrow, with your earliest. 
Let me have speech with you. Come, my dear love : 
The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue ; 

[To Desdemona. 
That profit 's j-et to come 'twixt me and you. — 
Good niglit. [Exeunt 0th., Des., attended. 

Enter Iago. 

Cas. Welcome, Iago : we must to the watch. 

Iago. Not this hour, lieutenant ; 't is not yet ten 
o'clock. Our general cast us thus early for the love 
of his Desdemona, whom let us not therefore blame : 
he hath not yet made wanton the night with lier, and 
she is sport for Jove. 

Cas. She 's a most exquisite lady. 

Iago. And I '11 warrant her, full of game. 

Cas. Indeed, she 's a most fresh and delicate creature. 

Iago. What an eye she has ! methinks it sounds a 
parley of ^ provocation. 

Cas. An inviting eye; and yet methinks right 
modest. 

Iago. And, when she speaks, is it not an alarum to 
love ';* 

Cas. She is, indeed, perfection. 

Iago. Well, happiness to their sheets ! Come, lieu- 
tenant, I have a stoop of wine ; and here without are a 
brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain have a mea- 
sure to the health of the black Othello. 

Cas. Not to-night, good Iago. I have very poor 
and unhappy brains for drinking : I could well wish 
courtesy would invent some other custoni of entertain- 
ment. 

Iago. ! they are our friends ; but one cup : I 'II 
drink for you. 

Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that 
was craftily qualified too, and, behold, what innovation 
it makes here. I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and 
dare not task my weakness with any more. 

Iago. What, man ! 't is a night of revels : the gallants 
desire it. 

Cas. Where are they ? 

Iago. Here at the door ; I pray you, call them in. 

Cas. I '11 do 't, but it dislikes me. [Exit Cassio. 

Iago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him, 
With that which he hath drunk to-night already, 
He 'U be as full of quarrel and offence 
As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool, Rode- 

rigo, 
Whom love has turn'd almost the wrong side outward, 
To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd 
Potations pottle deep ; and he 's to watch. 



Three elves* of Cyprus, — noble, swelling spirits, 

That hold their honours in a wary distance, 

The very elements of this warlike isle, — 

Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, 

And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of 

drunkards. 
Am I to put our Cassio in some action 
That may offend the isle. — But here they come. 
If consequence do but approve my dream, 
JNIy boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. 
Re-enter Cassio, icith him Moxtano, and Gentlemen. 
Cas. 'Fore heaven, they have given me a rouse* 
already. 

Mon. Good faith, a little one ; not past a pint, as I 
am a soldier. 



Iago. Some wine, ho ! 



[S 



nigs. 



And let me the canaJcin clink, clink; 
And let me the canakin clink; 
A soldier 's a man ; 
A life 's' hut a span ; 
Why then let a soldier drink. 
Some wine, boys ! [Wine br might. 

Cas. 'Fore heaven, an excellent song. 
Iago. I learned it in England, where (indeed) they 
are most potent in potting ; your Dane, your German, 
and your swag-bellied Hollander, — Drink, ho ! — are 
nothing to your Englishman. 

Cas. Is your Englishman so exquisite' in his drinking ? 

Iago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane 

dead drunk ; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain ; 

he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle 

can be filled. 

Cas. To the health of our general. 

Mon. I am for it, lieutenant; and I '11 do you justice. 

Iago. sweet England ! 

King Stephen was a worthy pcer^ 

His breeches cost him but a crown ; 
He held them sixpence all too dear, 

With that he calTd the tailor — lown. 
He was a icight of high renown, 

And thou art but of low degree : 
^Tis pride that pulls the country down, 
Then take thine auld cloak about thee. 
Some wine, ho ! 

Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song than the 
other. 

Iago. Will you hear it again ? 

Cas. No ; for I hold him to be unworthy of his 
place that does those things. — Well, heaven 's above 
all ; and there be souls must be saved, and there be 
souls must not be saved. 

Iago. It is true, good lieutenant. 
Cas. For mine own part, — no offence to the general, 
nor any man of quality, — I hope to be saved. 
Iago. And so do I too, lieutenant. 
Cas. Ay; but, by your leave, not before me: the 
lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. — Let 's 
have no more of this ; let 's to our affairs. — Forgive us 
our sins ! — Gentlemen, let 's look to our business. Do 
not think, gentlemen, I am drunk : this is my ancient ; 
— this is my right hand, and this is my left hand 
I am not drunk nov/ 
speak well cnougli. 
All. Excellent well. 

Cas. Why, very well, then; you must not think, 
then, that I am drunk. [Exit. 

Mon. To the platform, masters : come, let 's set the 
watch. 



I can stand well enough, and 



' mincl : in quarto. 1G22. ' of feastin^ : not in quartos, 
in quarto, 1622. 8 This ballad is in "Percy's Reliques." 



' to : in folio. * lads : in f. e. ^ Carouse. « O man's life : in folio. ' expert ' 



812 



OTHELLO, TILE MOOR OF YENICE. 



ACT II. 



lago. You see this fellow, that is gone before : 
He IS a soldier, fit to stand by Caesar 
And give direction ; and do but sec his vice. 
'T is to his virtue a just equinox, 
The one as long as tli' other : 't is pity of him. 
I fear, the trust Othello puts in him, 
On some odd time of his infirmity, 
Will shake this island. 

3Ion. But is he often thus ? 

lago. 'T is evermore the prologue to his sleep : 
He '11 watch the horologe a double set. 
If drink rock not his cradle. 

Mo7i. It were well, 

The general were put in mind of it. 
Perhaps, he sees it not : or his good nature 
Prizes' the virtue that appears in Cassio, 
And looks not on his evils. Is not this true ? 
Enter Roderigo. 

lago. How now. Roderigo ? [Aside to him. 

I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. [Exit Roderigo. 

Mon. And 't is great pity, that the noble Moor 
Should hazard such a place as his own second. 
With one of an ingraft infirmity: 
It were an honest action to say 
So to the Moor. 

lago. Not I, for this fair island : 

I do love Cassio well, and would do much 
To cure him of this evil. But hark ! what noise ? 

[Cry within, — Help ! Help ! 
Re-enter Cassio, pursuing Roderigo. 

Cas. You rogue ! you rascal ! 

Mon. What 's the matter, lieutenant ? 

Cas. A knave ! — teach me my duty ? 
I '11 beat the knave into a wicker^ bottle. 

Rod. Beat me ! 

Cas. Dost thou prate; rogue? [Striking Roderigo. 

Mon. Nay, good lieutenant ; [Staying him. 

I pray you, sir, hold your hand. 

Cas. Let me go, sir, 

Or I '11 knock you o'er the mazzard. 

Mon. Come, come; you 're drunk. 

Cas. Drunk! [They fight. 

lago. Away, I say ! [Aside to Rod.] go out, and cry 
a mutiny. [Exit Rod. 

Nay, good lieutenant, — alas, gentlemen ! — 
Help, ho ! — Lieutenant, — sir, — Montano, — sir ; — 
Help, masters ! — Here 's a goodly watch, indeed ! 

[Bdl rings. 
Who 's that that rings the bell ? — Diablo, ho ! 
The town will rise : God's will ! lieutenant, hold ! 
You will be sliam'd for ever. 

Eiiter Othello, and Attendants. 

What is the matter here ? 
'Zounds ! I bleed still : I am hurt to the death. 

[He faints. 

0th. Hold, for your lives ! 



0th. 

Mon. 



lago. Hold, hold, lieutenant ! — sir, 



Montano, — gen- 



tlemen ! — 

Have you forgot all sense of place and duty ? 
Hold, hold ! the general speaks to you : hold, for shame ! 
0th. Why, how now, ho ! from whence ariseth this ? 
Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that. 
Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites ? 
For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl : 
He that stirs next to carve for his own rage. 
Holds his soul light ; he dies upon his motion. — 
Silence that dreadful bell ! it frights the isle 
From her propriety. — What is the matter, masters? — 
Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving. 



Speak, who began this ? on thy love, I charge thee. 

lago. I do not know : — friends all but now, even now 
In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom 
Divesting them for bed; and then, but now, 
(As if some planet had unwitted them) 
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast. 
In opposition bloody. I cannot speak 
Any beginning to this peevish odds ; 
And would in action glorious I had lost 
Those legs, that brought me to a part of it. 

0th. How came^ it, Michael, you were thus forgot ? 

Cas. I pray you, pardon me ; I cannot speak. 

0th. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil ; 
The gravity and stillness of your youth 
The world hath noted, and your name is great 
In mouths of wisest censure : what 's the matter, 
That you unlace your reputation thus, 
And spend your rich opinion, for the name 
Of a night-brawler ? give me answer to it. 

Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger: 
Your officer, lago, can inform you. 
While I spare speech, which something now offends me, 
Of all that I do know ; nor know I aught 
By me that 's said or done amiss this night, 
Unless self-charity be sometime a vice, 
And to defend ourselves it be a sin. 
When violence assails us. 

0th. Now, by heaven, 

My blood begins my safer guides to rule ; 
And passion, having my best judgment quelled,* 
Assays to lead the way. If I once stir, 
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
How this foul rout began, who set it on ; 
And he that is approv'd in this offence. 
Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, 
Shall lose me. — What ! in a town of war. 
Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear. 
To manage private and domestic quarrel, 
In night, and on the court of guard and safely ? 
'T is monstrous. — lago, who began it? 

Mon. If partially afSn'd, or leagued in office, 
Thou dost deliver more or less than truth. 
Thou art no soldier. 

lago. Touch me not so near. 

I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth, 
Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio; 
Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth 
Shall nothing wrong him. — Thus it is, general. 
Montano and myself being in speech, 
There comes a fellow crying out for help. 
And Cassio following him with determin'd sword 
To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman 
Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause : 
Myself the crying fellow did pursue, 
Lest by his clamour (as it so fell out) 
The town might fall in fright : he, swift of foot, 
Outran my purpose: and I return'd, the rather 
For that I heard the clink and fall of swords. 
And Cassio high in oath, which, till to-night, 
I ne'er might say before. When I came back, 
(For this was brief) I found them close together, 
At blow and thrust, even as again they were, 
When you yourself did part them. 
More of this matter can I not report : — 
But men are men ; the best sometimes forget : — 
Though Cassio did some little wrong to him. 
As men in rage strike those that wash them best, 
Yet, surely, Cassio, I believe, received 



1 Praises : in quartos, s twiggen : in foho. ^ cornea : in folio. * collied : in f. e. 



SCENE III. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF YENICE. 



813 



From him that fled sonic strange indignity, 
Which patience could not pass. 

0th. I know, lago. 

Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, 
Making it light to Cassio. — Cassio, I love thee ; 
But never more be officer of mine. — 

Enter Desdemona, attended. 
Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up ! — 
I 'II make thee an example. 

Des. What 's the matter ?" 

0th. All 's well now, sweeting ; come away to bed. — 
Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon. — 
Lead him off. [Montano is led off. 

lago, look with care about the town. 
And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. — 
Come, Desdemona; 't is the soldier's life. 
To have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife. 

\Exeimt all but Iago and Cassio. 

logo. What, are you hurt, lieutenant? 

Ca.s. Ay, past all surgery. 

Iago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 

Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! ! I have 
lost my reputation. I have lost the immortal part of 
myself, and what remains is bestial. — My reputation, 
Iago, my reputation ! 

Iago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had 
received some bodily wound ; there is more offence' in 
that, than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and 
most false imposition : oft got without merit, and lost 
■without deserving : you have lost no reputation at all, 
unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man ! 
there are ways to recover the general again : you are 
but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy 
than in malice ; even so as one would beat his offence- 
less dog, to affright an imperious lion. Sue to him 
again, and he 's yours. 

Cas. I will rather sue to be despised, than to deceive 
so good a commander, with so light,^ so drunken, and 
so indiscreet an officer. Drunk ?^ and speak parrot? 
and squabble ? swagger ? swear ? and discourse fustian 
with one's own shadow? — thou invisible spirit of 
wine ! if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call 
thee — devil. 

laso. What was he that you follow'd with your 
What had he done to you ? 

Ca.s. I know not. 

Iago. Is 't possible ? 

Ca.'i. 1 remember a mass of things, but nothing dis- 
tinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. — God! 
that men should put an enemy in their mouths, to steal 
away their brains ! that we should, with joy, revel, 
pleasure.^ and applause, transform ourselves into 
beasts ! 

Iago. Why. but you are now well enough : how came 
you thus recovered. 

Ca.<!. It hath pleased the devil, drunkenness, to give 
place to the devil, wrath : one unperfectness shows me 
anotlier. to make me frankly despise myself. 

Iago. Come, you are too severe a moraler. As the 
lime, the place, and the condition of this country 
stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen; but, 
since it is as it is, mend it for your own good. 

Ca.";.. I will ask him for my place again : he shall tell 
me, I am a drunkard. Had I as many mouths as Hy- 
dra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now 
a sensible man. by and by a fool, and presently a beast ! 
O strange ! — Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and 
the ingredient is a devil. 



sword ? 



Iago. Come, come ; good wine is a good familiar 
creature, if it be well used : exclaim no more against it. 
And, good lieutenant, I think, you think I love you. 

Cas. I have well approved it, sir. — I drunk ! 

Iago. You, or any man living, may be drunk at some 
time, man. I '11 tell you what you shall do. Our 
general's wife is now the general : — I may say so in 
this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up 
himself to the contemplation, mark, and devotemcut" 
of her parts and graces: — confess yourself freely to 
her; importune her; she'll help to put you in your 
place again. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so 
blessed a disposition, that she holds it a vice in her 
goodness, not to do more than she is requested. This 
broken joint' between you and her husband entreat her 
to splinter, and my fortunes against any lay worth 
naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger 
than it was before. 

Cas. You advise me well. 

Iago. I protest, in the sincerity of love, and honest 
kindness. 

Cas. I think it freely ; and, betimes in the morning, 
I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake 
for me. I am desperate of my fortunes, if they check 
me here. 

Iago. You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant ; 
I must to the watch. 

Cas. Good night, honest Iago. [Exit Cassio. 

Iago. And what's he, then, that says I play the 
villain. 
When this advice is free I give, and honest. 
Probable' to thinking, and, indeed, the course 
To win the Moor again ? For 't is most easy 
The inclining Desdemona to subdue 
In any honest suit : she 's fram'd as fruitful 
As the free elements. And. then, for her 
To win the Moor, — were 't to renounce his ba,ptism, 
All seals and .symbols of redeemed sin, — 
His soul is so enfetter'd to her love, 
That she may make, unmake, do what she list, 
Even as her appetite shall play the god 
With his weak function. How am I. then, a villain, 
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, 
Directly to his good ? — Divinity of hell ! 
When devils will their blackest sins put on, 
They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, 
As I do now; for whiles this honest fool 
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes. 
And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, 
I '11 pour this pestilence into his ear. — 
That she repeals' him for her body's lust ; 
And, by how much she .strives to do him good, 
She shall undo her credit with the Moor ; 
So will I turn her virtue into pitch. ^ 

And out of her own goodness make the net, 
That shall enmesh them all. — How now, Rodcrigo? 
Enter RoDERiGO, angrily.^'' 

Rod. I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound 
that hunt.s, but one that fills up the cry. My money 
is almo.st spent : I have been to-night exceedingly well 
cudgelled ; and, I think, the issue will be — I shall 
have so much experience for my pains, and so, with no 
money at all, and a little more wit, return again to 
' Venice. 

Iago. How poor are they, that have not patience ! 
What wound did ever heal, but by degrees ? 
Thou know'st, we work by wit. and not by witchcraft; 
And wit depends on dilatory time. 



J Folio adds : dear. 3 sense : in folio, 'slight: in folio. ♦This sentence to "0" is not in quarto. 16-22. » pleasance : in folio. 
' Theobald reads ; denotement. ' brawl : in quarto, 1022. •* probal : in f. e. » Recalls. i" This word is not added in f. e. 



814 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF YENICE. 



ACT in. 



Does 't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee, 
And thou by that small hurt hast cashier'd Cassio. 
Though other things grow fair against the sun, 
Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe : 
Content thyself a while. — By the mass, 't is morning; 
Pleasure and action make the hours seem short. 
Retire thee ; go where thou art billeted : 
Away, I say ; thou shalt know more hereafter : 



Nay, get thee gone. [Exit Rod.] Two things are to 

be done. 
My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress. 
I '11 set her on : 

Myself, the while, to draw the Moor apart. 
And bring him jump where he may Cassio find 
Soliciting his wife. — Ay, that 's the way : 
Dull not device by coldness and delay. [Exit. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— Before the Castle. 
Enter Cassio, m^d some Musicians. 

Cas. Masters, play here, I will content your pains : 
Something that's brief; and bid good- morrow to the 
general. [Music. 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments been in 
Naples, that they squeak^ i' the nose thus ? 

1 Mus. How, sir, how ? 

Clo. Are these, I pray you, called* wind instruments ? 

1 Mus. Ay, marry, are they, sir. 

Clo. ! thereby hangs a tail. 

1 Mils. Whereby hangs a tale, sir ? 

Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument that I 
know. But, masters, here 's money for you ; and the 
general so likes your music, that he desires you, for 
love's sake,^ to make no more noise with it. 

1 Mus. Well, sir, we will not. 

Clo. If you have any music that may not be heard, 
to 't again ; but, as they say, to hear music the general 
does not greatly care. 

1 Mus. We have none such, sir. 

Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I '11 
away. 
Go ; vanish into air ; away ! [Exeunt Musicians. 

Cas. Dost thou hear, mine honest friend ? 

Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend ; I hear you. 

Cas. Pr'ythee, keep up thy quillets. There 's a 
poor piece of gold for thee. If the gentlewoman that 
attends the general's wife be stirring, tell her there 's 
one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech : wilt 
thou do this ? 

Clo. She is stirring, sir ; if she will stir hither. I 
shall seem so^ to notify her. [Exit. 

Enter Iago. 

Cas. Do, good my friend.' — In happy time, Iago. 

Iago. You have not been a-bed, then ? 

Cas. Why, no ; the day had broke 
Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, 
To send in to your wife : my suit to her 
Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona 
Procure me some access. 

Iago. I '11 send her to you presently ; 

And I '11 devise a mean to draw the Moor 
Out of the way, that your converse and business 
May be more free. [Exit. 

Cas. I humbly thank you for 't. I never knew 
A Florentine more kind and honest. 
Enter Emilia. 

Emil. Good-morrow, good lieutenant. I am sorry 
For your displeasure ; but all will soon^ be well. 
The general and his wife are talking of it, 
And she speaks for you stoutly : the Moor replies, 



That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus, 
And great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom 
He might not but refuse you ; but, he protests, he loves 

And needs no other suitor but his likings. 
To take the safest occasion by the front,' 
To bring you in again. 

Cas. Yet, I beseech you, — 

If you think fit, or that it may be done, — 
Give me advantage of some brief discourse 
With Desdemona alone. 

Emil. Pray you, come in : 

I will bestow you where you shall have time 
To speak your bosom freely. 

Cas. I am much bound to you.* [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— A Room in the Castle. 
Enter Othello, Iago, and Gentlemen. 
0th. These letters give, Iago. to the pilot, 
And by him do my duties to the state :' 
That done. I will be walking on the works ; 
Repair there to me. 

Iago. Well, my good lord; I '11 do 't. 

0th. This fortification, gentlemen, — shall we see't? 
Geiit. We wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Before the Ca.stle. 
Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia. 

Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do 
All my abilities in thy behalf 

Emil. Good madam, do : I know^" it grieves my hus- 
band. 
As if the case^^ were his. 

Des. O ! that 's an honest fellow. — Do not doubt, 
Cassio. 
But I will have my lord and you again 
As friendly as you were. 

Cas. Bounteous madam, 

Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
He 's never any thing but your true servant. 

Des. 0, sir ! I thank you. Yovi do love my lord; 
You have known him long, and be you well assur'd, 
He shall in strangeness stand no farther off 
Than in a politic distance. 

Cas. Ay, but, lady, 

That policy may either last so long, 
Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, 
Or breed itself so out of circumstance, 
That, I being absent, and my place supplied, 
My general will forget my love and service. 

Des. Do not doubt that : before Emilia here, 
I give thee warrant of thy place. Assure thee, 
If I do vow a friendship, I '11 perform it 
To the last article : my lord shall never rest j 



1 speak : in f. e. 
in folio. 



.-. *Not in folio. ' of all loves : in quarto, 1622. * This word is not in f. e. 

' This line is not in folio. 8 This speech is not in quarto, 1G22. ' senate : in folio. 



5 These four words are not in folio. 
10 warrant : in folio. '- cause : 



' sure ; 
in folio. 



SCENE ni. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



815 



I '11 watch him tame, and talk him out of patience ; 

His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift j 

I '11 intermingle every thing he does 

With Cassio's suit. Therefore, be merry, Cassio; 

For thy solicitor shall rather die, 

Than give thy cause away. 

Enter Othello and Iago. at a distance. 

Emil. Madam, here comes my lord. 

Cas. Madam, I '11 take my leave. 

Des. Why, stay, and hear me speak. 

Cas. Madam, not now : I am very ill at ease ; 
Unfit for mine own purpose. 



Des. Well, do your discretion. 
Iago. Ha ! I like not that. 



[Exit Oassio. 



0th. What dost thou say ? 

Iago. Nothing, my lord : or if — I know not what. 

0th. Was not that Cassio parted from my wife ? 

Iago. Cassio, my lord ? No, sure ; I cannot think it. 
That he would steaP away so guilty-like. 
Seeing you coming. 

0th. I do believe 't was he. 

Des. How, now, my lord ! 
I have been talking with a suitor here, 
A man tliat languishes in your displeasure. 

0th. Who is 't you mean? 

Des. Why. your lieutenant, Cassio. Good, my lord. 
If I have any grace, or power to move you, 
His present reconciliation take ; 
For if he be not one that truly loves you. 
That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning, 
I have no judgment in an honest face. 
I pr'ythee, call him back. 

0th. Went he hence now ? 

Des. Ay, sooth ; so humbled. 
That he hath left part of his grief with me, 
To^ suffer with him. Good love, call him back. 

0th. Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time. 

Des. But shall 't be shortly? 

0th. The sooner, sweet, for you. 

Des. Shall 't be to-night at supper ? 

0th. No, not to-night. 

Des. To-morrow dinner then ? 

0th. I shall not tline at home : 

I meet the captains at the citadel. 

Des. Why then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn; 
On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn : 
I pr'ythee, name the time, but let it not 
Exceed three days : in faith, he 's penitent ; 
And yet his trespass, in our common reason, 
(Save that, they say, the wars must make examples 
Out of our' best) is not almost a fault 
T' incur a private check. When shall he come? 
Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul, 
What you could ask me that I should deny, 
Or stand so mammering* on. What ! Michael Cassio, 
That came a wooing with you, and so many a time, 
When I have spoke of you dispraisingly. 
Hath ta'en your part, to have so much to do 
To bring him in ! Trust me,' I could do much, — 

0th. Pr'ythee, no more : let him come when he will, 
I will deny thee nothing. 

Des. Why, this is not a boon; 

'T is as I should entreat you wear your gloves. 
Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, 
Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit 
To your own person : nay, when I have a suit 
Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, 



It shall be full of poize and difficult weight,^ 
And fearful to be granted. 

0th. I will deny thee nothing : 

Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, 
To leave me but a little to myself. 

Des. Shall I deny you? no. Farewell, my lord. 

0th. Farewell, my Desdemona : I '11 come to thee 
straight. 

Des. Emilia, come. — Be it as your fancies teach you ; 
Whate'er you be, I am obedient. [jBiif, with Emilia. 

0th. Excellent wretch ! Perdition catch my soul. 
But I do love thee, and when I love thee not, 
Chaos is come again. 

Iago. My noble lord, — 

0th. What dost thou say, Iago ? 

Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady. 
Know of your love ? 

0th. He did, from first to last: why dost thou ask ? 

Iago. But for a satisfaction of my thought ; 
No farther harm. 

0th. Why of thy thought, Iago ? 

Iago. I did not think, he had been acquainted with it. 

0th. 0. yes ; and went between us very oft. 

Iago. Indeed? 

0th. Indeed ! ay. indeed : — discern'st thou aught in 
that ? 
Is he not honest ? 

Iago. Honest, my lord ? 

0th. Honest? ay, honest. 

Iago. My lord, for aught I know. 

0th. What dost thou thinlt ? 

Iago. Think, my lord ? 

0th. Think, my lord ! 

By heaven, he echoes^ me, 
As if there were some monster in his thought 
Too hideous to be shown. — Thou dost mean something. 
I heard thee say but now, — thou lik'dst not that, 
When Cassio left my wife : what didst not like? 
And, when I told thee, he was of my counsel 
In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, " Indeed !" 
And didst contract and purse thy brow together, 
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain 
Some horrible conceit.* If thou dost love me, 
Show me thy thought. 

Iago. My lord, you know I love you. 

0th. I think, thou dost; 

And, — for I know thou art full of love and honesty. 
And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them 

breath, — 
Therefore, these stops of thine fright me the more ; 
For such things, in a false disloyal knave, 
Are tricks of custom ; but in a man that 's just. 
They are close delations,' working from the heart, 
That passion cannot rule. 

Iago. For Michael Cassio. 

I dare be sworn,'" I think that he is honest. 

0th. I think so too. 

Iago. Men should be what they seem ; 

Or, tliose that be not, would they might seem none ! 

0th. Certain, men should be what they seem. 

Iago. Why, then, I think Cassio 's an honest man. 

0th. Nay, yet there 's more in this. 
I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings. 
As thou dost ruminate ; and give thy worst of thoughts 
The worst of words. 

Iago. Good my lord, pardon me : 

Though I am bound to every act of duty, 



' sneak : in quarto. * I : in quarto, 1622. ' her :' in f. e. * muttering : in quarto, 1G22. 
quarto, 1622. ' Alas, thou echoest : in folio. 8 counsel : in quarto, 1622. ^Accusations; 
quarto. 



' By 'r lady : in quarto, 
denotements : in quarto. 



* difficulty : in 
to presume : in 



816 



OTHELLO, THE MOOE OF VENICE. 



ACT III. 



I am not boimd to that all .slaves are free to. 

Utter my thoughts ? Why, say, they are vile and 

false, — 
As where 's that palace, whereinto foul things 
Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure, 
But .sometimes uncleanly apprehensions 
Keep leets,' and law-days, and in session sit 
With meditations lawful ? 

Olh. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, lago, 
If thou but think'st him wrong'd. and mak'st his ear 
A stranger to thy thoughts. 

Jcff^o. I do beseech you. — 

Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess, 
(As, I confess, it is my nature's plague 
To spy into abuses, and oft^ my jealousy 
Shapes faults that are not) — that your wisdom yet,' 
From one that so imperfectly conceits. 
Would take no notice ; nor bviild yourself a trouble 
Out of his scattering and unsure observance. 
It were not for your quiet, nor your good. 
Nor for my manhood,* honesty, or' wisdom, 
To let you know my thoughts. 

0th. What dost thou mean ? 

lago. Good name, in man. and woman, dear my lord. 
Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 
Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 't is something, 

nothing ; 
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; 
But he, that filches from me my good name, 
Robs me of that, which not enriches him. 
And makes me poor indeed. 

0th. By heaven, I '11 know thy thoughts. 

lago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand ; 
Nor shall not, whilst 't is in my custody. 

0th. Ha ! 

lago. ! beware, my lord, of jealousy ; 

It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth make' 
The meat it feeds on : that cuckold lives in bliss, 
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger ; 
But, ! what damned minutes tells he o'er, 
Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet fondly' loves ! 

0th. misery ! 

lago. Poor and content is rich, and rich enough ; 
But riches fineless is as poor as winter. 
To him that ever fears he shall be poor. — 
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend 
From jealousy ! 

0th. Why? why is this? 

Think'st thou, I 'd make a life of jealousy, 
To follow still the changes of the moon 
With fresh suspicions ? No : to be once in doubt, 
Is once* to be rcsolv'd. Exchange me for a goat, 
When I shall titrn the business of my soul 
To such exsufflicate and blown surmises. 
Matching thy inference. 'T is not to make me jealous. 
To say — my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company. 
Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well ;° 
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous : 
Nor from mine own weak merits will [ draw 
The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt ; 
For she had eyes, and chose me : no, lago ; 
I '11 see, before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; 
And. on the proof, there is no more but this. 
Away at once with love, or jealousy. 

lago. I am glad of it ;'" for now I shall have reason 
To show the love and duty that I bear you 
With franker spirit : therefore, as I am bound, 



Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. 
Look to your wife : observe her well with Cassio : 
Wear your eye — thus, not jealous, nor secure : 
I would not have your free and noble nature. 
Out of self-bounty, be abus'd ; look to 't. 
I know our country disposition well: 
In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks 
They dare not show their husbands; their best con- 
science 
Is, not to leave 't undone, but keep 't unknown. 

0th. Dost thou say so ? 

lago. She did deceive her father, marrying you ; 
And, when she seem'd to shake, and fear your looks, 
She lov'd them most. 

0th. And so she did. 

lago. Why, go to, then; 

She that, so young, could give out such a seeming. 
To seal her father's eyes up, close as oak, — 
He thoughl. 't was witchcraft. — But I am much to 

blame ; 
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon, 
For too much loving you. 

0th. I am bound to thee for ever. 

lago. I see, this hath a little dash'd your spirits. 

Oth. Not a jot, not a jot. 

lago. Trust me, I fear it has. 

I hope, you will consider what is spoke 
Comes from my love. — But, I do see you are mov'd : — 
I am to pray you, not to strain my speech 
To grosser issues, nor to larger reach. 
Than to suspicion. 

Oth. I will not. 

lago. Should you do so, my lord, 

My speech should fall into such vile success, 
As my thoughts aim not at." Cassio 's my worthy'* 

friend. 
My lord, I see you are mov'd. 

Oth. No, not much mov'd. — 

I do not think but Desdemona 's honest. 

lago. Long live she so ; and long live you to think so ! 

Oth. And yet, how nature erring from itself, 

lago. Ay, there 's the point : — as, — to be bold with 
you,— 
Not to affect many proposed matches, 
Of her own clime, complexion, and degree. 
Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends. 
Fob ! one may smell in such a will most rank, 
Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. — 
But pardon me; I do not in suspicion" 
Distinctly speak of her, though I may fear, 
Her will, recoiling to her better judgment. 
May fall to match you with her country forms, 
And happily repent. 

Oth. Farewell, farewell. 

If more thou dost perceive, let me know more ; 
Set on thy wife to observe. Leave me, lago. 

lago. My lord, I take my leave. [Going. 

Oth. Why did I marry? — This honest creature, 
doubtless, 
Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. 

lago. My lord, I would I might entreat your ho- 
nour {Returning. 
To scan this thing no farther ; leave it to time. 
Although 't is fit that Cassio have his place, 
(For, sure, he fills it up with great ability) 
Yet if you please to hold him off a while. 
You shall by that perceive him and his means. 



^ LaiB, or couTt-ilayi. »of: in folio. ' * Not in folio, 'and: in folio. ^ mock : in f. e. Hanmer also made the change, 'strongly: 
in f. e. ; Knieht, as in the text. 8 9 Not in folio. i" this : in folio. ^^ "Which my thoughts aira'd not : in folio. 12 trusty : in quarto. 
1' position : inf. e. 



SCENE III. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF YENICE. 



817 



Note, if your lady strain his entertainment 
With any strong or vehement importunity : 
Much will be seen in that. In the mean time 
Let me be thought too busy in my fears, 
(As M'orthy cause I haA'e to fear I am) 
And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. 

0th. Fear not my government. 

lago. I once more take my leave. 

0th. This fellow 's of exceeding honesty. 
And knows all qualities with a learned spirit 
Of human dealings : if I do prove her haggard,' 
Though that her jesses'' were my dear heart-strings, 
I 'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind,^ 



[Exit. 



To prey at fortune. 
And have not those 



Haply, for I am black, 
soft parts of conversation 



That which so often you did bid me steal. 

lago. Hast stolen it from her ? 

Emil. No, 'faith: she let it drop by negligence; 
And, to th' advantage, I, being here, took 't up. 
Look, here it is. 

lago. A good wench ; give it me. 

Emil. What will you do with 't, that you have been 
so earnest 
To have me filch it ? 

lago. Why, what 's that to you? [Snatching it. 

Emil. If it be not some purpose of import. 
Give 't me again : poor lady ! she '11 run mad, 
When she shall lack it. 

lago. Be not acknown" on 't ; I have use for it. 



That chamberers have ; or, for I am dcclin'd 
Into the vale of years ; — yet that 's not much 
She 's gone : I am abus'd ; and my relief 
Must be to loath her. 0, curse of marriage ! 
That we can call these delicate creatures ours, 
And not their appetites. I had rather be a toad. 
And live upon the vapour of a dungeon. 
Than keep a corner in the thing I love 
For others' uses. Yet, 't is the plague of great ones ] 
Prerogativ'd are they less than the base : 
'T is destiny unshunnable, like death : 
Even then this forked plague is fated to us. 
When we do quicken. Desdemona* comes. 
Enter Desdemona and Emilia. 
If she be false, O ! then heaven mocks itself.* — 
I '11 not believe it. 

Dcs. How now, my dear Othello ! 

Your dinner and the generous islanders, 
By you invited, do attend your presence. 

0th. I am to blame. 

Des. Why is your speech so faint ?° are you not well ? 

0th. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 

Des. Faith, that 's with watching ; 't will away again : 
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour 
It will be well. [Offers to hind his Head.'' 

0th. Your napkin is too little ; [Lets fall her Napkin.^ 
Let it alone. Come. I '11 go in with you. 

Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. 

[Exevnt 0th. and Des. 

Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin. 
This was her first remembrance from the Moor : 
My wayward hu.sband hath a hundred times 
Woo'd me to steal it ; but she so loves the token. 
(For he conjur'd her she should ever keep it) 
That she reserves it evermore about her, 



Go 
I 



leave me. 



To kiss, and talk to. I '11 have the work ta'en out,' 
And give 't lago : what he will do with it, 
Heaven knows, not 1 ; 
I nothing, but to please his fantasy.** 
Enter Tago. 
lago. How now ! what do you here alone? 
Emil. Do not you chide, I have a thing for you. 
A thing for me ? — it is a common thing. 
Ha? 

To have a foolish wife. 
Emil. ! is that all ? What will you give me now 
For that same handkerchief? 
lago. 

Emil. What handkerchief ! 
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona ; 



lago. 

Emil. 

lago. 



[Exit Emilia. 

will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin, 
And let him find it; trifles, light as air, 
Are to the jealous confirmations strong 
As proofs of holy writ!) This may do something. 
The Moor already changes with my poison :'^ 
Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons, 
Which at the first are scarce found to distaste; 
But with a little act upon the blood. 
Burn like the mines of sulphur. — I did say so : — 

Enter Othello. 
Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora, 
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world. 
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep, 
Which thou ow'dst yesterday. 

0th. Ha ! ha ! false to me ? to me ? 

lago. Why, how now, general ! no more of that. 

0th. Avaunt ! be gone ! thou hast set me on the 
rack. — 
I swear, 't is better to be much abus'd, 
Than but to know 't a little. 

iago. How now, my lord ! 

0th. What sense had I of" her stolen hours of lust? 
I saw it not, thought it not. it harm'd not me : 
I slept the next night well.** was free and merry; 
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips : 
He that is robb'd. not wanting what is stolen, 
Let him not know 't, and he 's not robb'd at all. 

lago. I am sorry to hear this. 

0th. I had been happy, if the general camp, 
Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body, 
So 1 had nothing knowni. — ! now, for ever, 
F arewell the tranquil mind : farewell content: 
r"Parewell the plumed troop, and the big wars. 
That make ambition virtue : 0. farewell ! 
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, 
The royal banner, and all quality. 
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! 
And ! you mortal engines, whose rude*' throats 
Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, 
FarewelTIJ Othello's occupation's gone. 

Jao-o.Ts it possible ? — My lord, — 

0th. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore; 
Be sure of it : give me the ocular proof, 

[Talcing him by the Throat. 
Or, by the worth of mine'* eternal soul. 



What handkerchief? 



Thou hadst been better have been born a dog, 



Than answer my wak'd wrath. 
la SCO. 



Is it come to this ? 



0th. Make me to see 't : or, at the least, so prove it 



I A wild hawk. ^ Straps., by -which the hawk's feet were fastened to the wrist. 3 The falconers always let fly the hawk against the 
wind, a?, if she flies with the wind behind her, she seldom returns. — Johnson. * Look where she : in folio. = false, heaven mock'd itself: 
in folio. 6 Why do you .'■peak so faintly : in folio. ' Not in f e. » This is taken from a MS. direction, (there being none in the old eds.) 
in the Duke of Devonshire's copy of quarto. 1G2'2 ; the usual one in mod. eds. is : He puts it from him, andit drops. ' Copied for Iago. 
'" I nothing know, but for : in quarto. 162'i. •' you known : io quarto, 1G22. ^- Not in quarto. is jq ; jn folio. >* fed well, was : in 
folio. 15 wide : in quartos, i' man's : in quarto, 1C2'2. 

52 



818 



..#v 



otiip:llo, the moor of yenice. 



ACT in. 



If there be cords, or knives, 



Thitt the probation bear no hinge, nor loop, 
To hang a doubt on, or M'oe upon thy life ! 

lago. My noble lord, — 

0th. If thou dost slander her, and torture me, 
Never pray more : abandon all remorse ; 
On horror's head horrors accumulate ; 
Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd, 
For nothing canst thou to damnation add. 
Greater than that. [Releasing him} 

lago. grace ! heaven defend^ me ! 

Are you a man? have you a soul, or sense ? — 
God be wi' you : take mine office. — wretched fool, 
That liv'st^ to make thine honesty a vice ! 

monstrous world ! Take note, take note, O world ! 
To be direct and honest, is not safe. — 

1 thank you for this profit : and, from hence. 

I "11 love no friend, since love breeds such offence. 

0th. Nay, stay. — Thou shouldst be honest. 

lago. I should be wise ; for honesty 's a fool, 
And loses that it works for. 

0th. By the world, 

I think my wife be honest, and think she is not ; 
I think that thou art just, and think thou art not. 
I '11 have some proof: her* name, that was as fresh 
As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black 
As mine own face 

Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams, 
I '11 not endure it. — Would I were satisfied I 

logo. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion : 
I do repent me that I put it to you. 
You would be satisfied ? 

0th. Would ! nay. I will. 

lago. And may; but how? how satisfied, my lord? 
Would you the supervision' ! grossly gape on ? 
Behold her topp'd ? 

0th. Death and damnation ! ! 

lago. It were a tedious difiiculty, I think. 
To bring it' to that prospect. Damn them then, 
If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster, 
More than their own ! What then ? how then ? 
What shall I say ? Where 's satisfaction ? 
It is impossible you should see this, 
Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, 
As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross 
As ignorance made drunk : but yet, I say, 
If imputation, and strong circumstances, 
Which lead directly to the door of truth. 
Will give you satislaction, you may' have it. 

0th. Give me a living reason she 's disloyal. 

lago. I do not like the office ; 
But. sith I am enter'd in this cause so far, 
Prick'd to 't by foolisli honesty and love, 
I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately, 
And being troubled with a raging tooth, 
I could not sleep. 

There are a kind of men, so loose of soul. 
That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs : 
One of this kind is Cassio. 

In sleep I heard him say. — " Sweet Desdemona, 
Let us be wary, let us hide our loves !" 
And tlien, sir, would he gripe, and wring my hand, 
Cry, — "O, sweet creature !" and then kiss me hard, 
As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots. 
That grew upon my lips : then, laid his leg 
Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd ; and then, 
Oried, — " Cursed fate, that gave thee to the Moor !" 

0th. monstrous ! monstrous ! 



7rt"o. 



Nay, this was but his dream. 



0th. But this denoted a foregone conclusion : 
'T is a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. 

lago. And this may help to thicken other proofs, 
That do demonstrate thinly. 

0th. I '11 tear her all to pieces. 

lago. Nay, but be wise : yet we see nothing done ; 
She may be honest yet. Tell me but this : 
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief. 
Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand ? 

0th. I gave her such a one : 't was my first gift. 



lago. 



I know not that : but such a handkerchief. 



(I am sure it was your wife's) did I to-day 
See Cassio wipe his beard with. 

0th. If it be that,— 

lago. If it be that, or any that* was hers, ^ 
It speaks against her with the other proofs. 

0th. 0, that the slave had forty thousand lives ! 
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. 
Now do I see 't is true. — Look here, lago ; 
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven : 't 

gone. — 
Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell !' 
Yield up, Love ! thy crown, and hearted throne, 
To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught. 
For 't is of aspics' tongues ! 

lago. Pray,'" be content. 

0th. 0, blood, lago, blood ! 

your mind, perhaps, may 



IS 



lago. 



Patience, I say : 



change. 
0th. ^^ Never. lago. 



Like to the Pontick sea. 



Whose icy current and compulsive course 

Ne'er knows'" retiring ebb, but keeps due on 

To the Propontick, and the Hellespont ; 

Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace. 

Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love. 

Till that a capable and wide revenge 

SwalloM' them up. — Now, by yond' marble heaven, 

In the due reverence of a sacred vow [Kneeling. 

I here engage my words. 

lago. Do not rise yet. — [Kneeling. 

Witness, you ever-burning lights above ! 
You elements that clip us round about ! 
Witness, tliat here lago doth give up 
The execution" of his wit, hands, heart. 
To wrong'd Othello's service. Let him command, 
And to obey shall be in me remorse, 
What bloody work''' soe'er. 

0th. I greet thy love, 

Not vrith vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous. 
And will upon the instant put thee to 't. 
Within these three days let me hear thee say. 
That Cassio 's not alive. 

lago. My friend is dead : 't is done at your request ; 
But let her live. 

0th. Damn her, lewd minx ! 0, damn her ! 

Come, go with me apart ; I will withdraw. 
To furnish me with some swift means of death 
For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. 

lago. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. 
Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown. 
Des. Do you know, sirrah, where the lieutenant 
Cassio lies ? 

Clo. I dare not say, he lies any where. 
Des. Why, man ? 



1 Not in f. e. = forgive : in folio. 3 lov'dst : in folio. ♦ my : in folio. * supervisor : in quarto, 16'32. 6 them : in f. e. ' might : 
in folio. 8 if 't: in folio, 1632. » hell : in folio. "> Yet: in folio. " This speech to " Now, by," is omitted in folio. " feels : in f. e. 
IJ excellency : in quarto, 1622. '* business : in folio. 



SCENE IV. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



819 



Clo. He is a soldier : and for one to say a soldier 
lies, is stabbing. 

Des. Go to. Where lodges he ? 

Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you 
where I lie.' 

Des. Can any thing be made of this ? 

Clo. I know not where he lodges ; and for me to 
devi.se a lodging, and say, he lies here, or he lies there, 
were to lie in mine own throat. 

Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edified to 
report ? 

Clo. T will catechize the world for him ; that is, 
make question?, and by them answer. 

Des. Seek him ; bid him come hither : tell him, I 
have moved my lord in his behalf, and hope all will 
be well. 

Clo. To do this is within the compass of man's wit : 
and therefore I will attempt the doing it. [Exit. 

Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia ? 

Emil. I know not, madam. 

Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse 
Full of cruzadoes' ; and but my noble Moor 
Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness 
As jealous creatures are, it were enough 
To put him to ill thinking. 

Emil. Is he not jealous ? 

Des. Who? he ! I think the sun, where he was born, 
Drew all such humours from him. 

Emil. Look, where he comes. 

Enter Othello. 

Des. I will not leave him now, till Cassio 
Be call'd to him. — How is 't with you, my lord? 

0th. Well, my good lady. — [^^idc] 0. hardness to 
dissemble ! — 
How do you, Desdemona ? 

Des. Well, my good lord. 

0th. Give me your hand. This hand is moist, my 
lady. 

Des. It yet^ hath felt no age, nor known no sorrow. 

0th. This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart. 
Hot, hot and moist : this hand of yours requires 
A sequester from liberty, fasting and praying,* 
Much castigation, exercise devout ; 
For here 's a young and sweating devil here, 
That commonly rebels. 'T is a good hand ; 
A frank one. 

Des. You may, indeed, say so ; 

For 't was tlftit hand that gave away my heart. 

0th. A liberal hand : the hearts of old gave hands, 
But our new heraldry is — hands, not hearts. 

Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your 
promise. 

0th. What promise, chuck ? 

Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you. 

0th. I have a salt and sudden' rheum offends me. 
Lend me thy handkerchief. 

Des. Here, my lord. [Offering it.'' 

0th. That which I gave you. 

Des. I have it not about me. 

0th. Not? 

Des. No, indeed, my lord. 

0th. That is a fault. 

That handkerchief 
Did an Egyptian to my mother give: 
She was a charmer, and could almost read 
The thoughts of people : she told her. while she kept it, 
'T would make her amiable, and subdue my father i 



Entirely to her love ; but if she lost it, 

Or made a gift of it, my father's eye 

Should hold her loathed, and his spirits should hunt 

After new fancies. She, dying, gave it me ; 

And bid me, when my fate would have me wive,' 

To give it her. I did so ; and take heed on 't : 

Make it a darling like your precious eye ; 

To lose or give 't away were such perdition. 

As nothing else could match. 

Des. p Is 't possible ? 

0th. 'T is true : rthere 's magic in the web of it. 
A sibyl, that had numbered in the world 
The sun to course* two hundred compasses, 
In her prophetic fury .sew'd the work ; 
The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk, 
And it was dyed in mummy, which the skilful 
Conserv'd' of maidens' hearts. 

Des. Indeed ! is 't true ? 

0th. Most veritable ; therefore look to 't well. 

De%. Then, would to heaven that I had never seen it ! 

0th. Ha ! wherefore ? 

Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash ? 

0th. Is 't lost ? is 't gone ? speak, is it out o' the way ? 

Des. Heaven bless us ! 

Olh. Say you ? 

Des. It is not lost ; but what an if it were ? 

0th. How? 

Des. I say, it is not lost. 

0th. Fetch 't, let me see 't. 

Des. Why, so I can. sir;'" but I will not now. 
This is a trick to put me from my suit : 
I pray, let Cassio be receiv'd again. 

0th. Fetch me that" handkerchief: my mind mis- 

Des. Come, come; [gives. 

You'll never meet a more sufficient man. 



0th. The handkerchief,- 

Des. 

0th. The handkerchief, — 

Des. 



I pray, talk me of Cassio." 



A man that, all his time, 
Hath founded his good fortunes on your love ; 
Shar'd dangers with vou ; — 

0th. The handkerchief,— 

Des. In sooth, you are to blame. 

0th. Away !" [Exit Othello. 

Emil. Is not this man jealous ? 

Des. I ne'er saw this before. 
Sure, there 's some wonder in this handkerchief : 
I am most unhappy in the loss of it. 

Emil. 'T is not a year or two shows us a man : 
They are all but stomachs, and we all bvxt food ; 
They eat us hungerly, and when they are full, 
They belch us. 

Enter Iago and Cassio. 
Look you ! Cassio. and my husband. 

lugo. There is no other way ; 't is she must do 't : 
And, lo, the happiness ! go, and importune her. 

Des. How now, good Cassio ! what 's the news with 
you ? 

Cas. Madam, my former suit. I do beseech you, 
That by your virtuous means I may again 
Exist, and be a member of his love, 
Whom I, with all the office'* of my heart, 
Entirely honour : I would not be delay'd. 
If my offence be of such mortal kind, 
That nor my service past, nor present sorrows. 
Nor purpos'd merit in futurity. 
Can ransom me into his love again, 



1 This and the next speech, are not in quarto, lfi22. ' .1 Portu!;tiesf Kolrl roin. ' Not in folio. * prayer : in folio. * sullen : in f. e. 
• Not in f. e. " wiv'd : in folio. * make : in quarto, ''i-2'2. 9 with the skilful conserves : in quarto. l" Not in folio. '^ the : in folio. 
'^ This and the next speech, are not in folio. '^ Zounds ; : in quarto, 162'J. '* duty : in quarto, 1622. 



820 



OTHFXLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



ACT IV. 



But to know so must be my benefit; 
So shall I clothe me in a forc'd content, 
And shift' myself upon* some other course. 
To fortune's alms. 

Des. Alas ! thrice-gentle Cassio; 

My advocation is not now in tune ; 
My lord is not my lord : nor should I know him, 
Were he in favour, as in humour, altcr'd. 
So help me every spirit sanctified, 
As I have spoken for you all my best, 
And stood within the blank of his displeasure. 
For my free speech. You must a while be patient : 
What I can do, I will ; and more I will, 
Than for myself I dare : let that suffice you. 

lago. Is my lord angry ? 

Einil. He went hence but now ; 

And, certainly, in strange unquietness. 

lago. Can he' be angry ? I have seen the cannon, 
When it hath blown his ranks into the air, 
And, like the devil, from his very arm 
PufTd his own brother ; — and can he be angry ? 
Something of moment, then : I will go meet him. 
There 's matter in 't, indeed, if he be angry. 

Des. I pr'ythee. do so. [Exit Iago.] — Something, 
sure, of state, — 
Either from Venice, or some unhatch'd practice, 
Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, — 
Hath puddled his clear spirit ; and, in such cases, 
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things. 
Though great ones are their object. 'T is even so ; 
For let our finger ache, and it indues 
Our other healthful members ev'n to that sense 
Of pain : nay, we must think, men are not gods ; 
Nor of them look for such observances* 
As fit the bridal. — Beshrew me much, Emilia^ 
I was (unhandsome warrior as I am) 
Arraigning his unkindness with my soul ; 
But now I find, I had suborn'd the witness, 
And he 's indicted falsely. 

Emil. Pray heaven, it be state matters, as you think. 
And no conception, nor no jealous toy, 
Concerning you. 

Des. Alas, the day ! I never gave him cause. 

Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so ; 
They are not ever jealous for a cause. 
But jealous for they are jealous : 't is a monster. 
Begot upon itself, born on itself. 

Des. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind ! 

Emil. Lady, amen. 



Des. I will go seek him. — Cassio, walk hereabout : 
If I do find him fit, I 'II move your suit, 
And seek to effect it to my uttermost. 

Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship. 

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. 
Enter Bianca. 

Bian. Save you, friend Cassio ! 

Cas. What make you from home ? 

How is it with you, my most fair Bianca? 
I' faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house. 

Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. 
What, keep a week away ? seven days and nights ? 
Eight score eight hours ? and lovers' absent hours 
More tedious than the dial eight score times ? 

weary reckoning ! ^ 
Cas. Pardon me. Bianca ; 

1 have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd: 
But I shall, in a more convenient^ time. 

Strike off" this score of ab.sence. Sweet Bianca, 

[Giving her Desdemona's Handkerchief. 
Take me this work out. 

Bian. 0, Cassio ! whence came this ? 

This is some token from a newer friend : 
To the felt absence, now, I feel a cause. 
Is it come to this ? Well, well. 

Cas. Go to, woman I 

Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth. 
From whence you have them. You are jealous, now, 
That this is from some mistress some remembrance : 
No, in good troth, Bianca. 

Bian. Why, whose is it ? 

Cas. I know not, sweet :' I found it in my chamber. 
I like the work well ; ere it be demanded. 
(As like enough it will) I 'd have it copied : 
Take it, and do 't ; and leave me for this time. 

Bian. Leave you ! wherefore? 

Cas. I do attend here on the general, 
And think it no addition, nor my wish, 
To have him see me woman'd. 

Bian. Why, I pray you ?' 

Cas. Not that I love you not. 

Bian. But that you do not love me. 

I pray you, bring me on the way a little ; 
And say, if I shall see you soon at night. 

Cas. 'T is but a little way, that I can bring you, 
For I attend here ; but I '11 see you soon. 

Bian. 'T is very good : I must be circumstanc'd. 

t [Exeunt 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— The Same. 
Enter Othello and Iago. 

Iago. Will you think so? 

0th. Think so, Iago ? 

Iago. What, 

To kiss in private ? 

0th. An unauthoriz'd kiss. 

Iago. Or to be naked with her friend abed. 
An hour, or more, not meaning any harm ? 

0th. Naked abed, Iago, and not mean harm ? 
It is hypocrisy against the devil : 
They that mean virtuously, and yet do so, 
The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven. 



Iago. If they do nothing, 't is a venial slip 
But if I give my wife a handkerchief, — 

0th. What then? 

Iago. Why. then 't is hers, my lord ; and, being hers, 
She may, I think, bestow 't on any man. 

0th. She is protectress other honour too: 
May she give that ? 

Iago. Her honour is an essence that 's not seen ; 
They have it very oft, that have it not : 
But, for the handkerchief, — 

0th. By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it. 
Thou saidst, — O ! it comes o'er my memory, 
As doth the raven o'er the infected" house, 
Boding to all, — he had my handkerchief. 



1 shut : in f. e. '■' up in : in f. e. 3 And is : in folio. * observancy : in folio, 
the next speech, are not in quarto, 1623. 8 infectious ; in folio. 



5 continuate : in folio. * neither : in folio. ' This and 



SCENE I. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



821 



lago. 

Olli. 

lago. 



Ay, what of that ? 



That 's not so good, now. 



What, if I had said, I had seen him 



do you 
wrong ? 

Or heard him say, — as knaves be such abroad, 
Who having, by their own importunate suit, 
Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, 
Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose 
But they must blab — 

Olh. Hath he said any thing ? 

lago. He hath, my lord ; but be you well as.siir'd, 
No more than he '11 unswear. 

0th. What hath he said ? 

Iiigo. 'Faith, that he did. — I know not what lie did. 

0th. What? what? 

lago. Lie — 

0th. With her? 

lago. With her, on her ; what yoii will. 

0th. Lie with her ! lie on her ! — We say, lie on her, 
when they belie her. Lie with her! that's fulsome. — 
Handkerchief, — confessions, — handkerchief ! — To con 



fess, and bo hanged for his labour.- 



-First, to be hanged, 



and then to confess : — I tremble at it. Nature would 
not invest herself in such shuddering'-* passion witliout 
some instruction. It is not words, that shake me thus : 
— Pish ! — Noses, ears, and lips. — Is it possible? — Con- 
fess ! — Handkerchief! — devil ! — [Falls in a Trance. 

lago. Work on, 
My medicine, work ! Thus credulous fools are caught ; 
And many worthy and chaste dames, even thus. 
All guiltless, meet reproach. — What, ho ! my lord ! 

Enter Cassio. 
My lord, I say ! Othello ! — How now, Cassio ! 

Cas. What 's the matter ? 

lago. My lord is fallen into an epilepsy : 
This is his second fit ; he had one yesterday. 

Cas. Rub him about the temples. 

lago. No, forbear.^ 

The lethargy must have his quiet course, 
If not, he foams at mouth ; and, by and by. 
Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs : 
Do you withdraw yourself a little while. 
He will recover straight: when he is gone, 
I would on great occasion speak with you. — 

[Exit Cassio. 
How is it. general ? have you not hurt your head ? 

0th. Dost thou mock me ? 

lago. I mock you ! no, by heaven. 

Would you would bear your fortunes like a man. 

0th. A horned man 's a monster, and a beast. 

loffo. There 's many a beast, then, in a populous city, 
And many a civil monster. 

0th. Did he confess it ? 

lago. Good sir, be a man ; 

Think, every bearded fellow, that 's but yok'd. 
May draw with you : there 's millions now alive. 
That nightly lie in those unproper beds. 
Which they dare swear peculiar : your case is better. 
! 't is the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock, 
To lip a wanton in a secure couch, 
And to suppose her chaste. No, let me know ; 
And, knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. 

Otk. ! thou art wise ; 't is certain. 

lago. Stand you awhile apart ; 
Confine yourself but in a patient list,* 
Whilst you were here, o'erwhelm'd* with your grief, 
(A passion most unfitting* such a man) 



Cassio came hither : I shifted him away. 

And laid good 'scuse upon your ecstasy ; 

Bade him anon return, and here speak viith me • 

The which he promis'd. But encave yourself, 

And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns, 

That dwell in every region of his face ; 

For I will make him tell the tale anew, 

Where, how. how oft, how long ago, and when 

He hath, and is again to cope your wife : 

I say, but mark his gesture. — Marry, patience ; 

Or I shall say, you are all-in-all in spleen, 

And nothing of a man. 

0th. Dost thou hear, lago ? 

I will be found most cunning in my patience ; 
But (dost thou hear ?) most bloody. 



Ia<ro. 



That 's not amiss : 



But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw ? 

[Othello retires. 
Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, 
A housewife, that by selling her desires, 
Buys herself bread and clothes : it is a creature. 
That dotes on Cassio, as 't is the strumpet's plague, 
To beguile many, and be beguil'd by one. 
He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain' 
From the excess of laughter : — here he comes. — 

Re-enter Cassio. 
As he shall smile. Othello shall go mad ; 
And his unbookish jealousy must construe 
Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behaviour. 
Quite in the wrong. — How do you now, lieutenant ? 

Cas. The worser, that you give me the addition. 
Whose want even kills me. 

lago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure on 't. 
Now. if this suit lay in Bianca's power, [Speaking lower. 
How quickly should you speed ? 

Cas. Alas, poor caitiff ! 

0th. Look, how he laushs already ! [Aside. 

lago. I never knew woman love man so. 

Cas. Alas, poor rogue ! I think, i' faith, she loves me. 

0th. Now he denies it faintly, and laughs it out. 

[Aside. 

lago. Do you hear, Cassio? 

0th. Now he importunes him 

To tell it o'er. Go to ; well said, well said. [Aside. 

lago. She gives it out, that you shall marry her : 
Do you intend it ? 

Cas. 

0th. 



Ha, ha, ha I 



Do you triumph o'er me ?^ do you triumph ? 

[Aside. 

Cas. I marry her ! — what, a customer ? I pr'ythee. 
bear some charity to my wit ; do not think it is so un- 
wholesome. Ha, ha, ha ! 

0th. So, so, so, so. They laugh that win. [Aside. 

lago. 'Faith, the cry goes, that you shall marry her. 

Cas. Pr'ythee, say true. 

lago. I am a very villain else. 

0th. Have you scored me ? Well. [Aside. 

Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out : she is 
persuaded I wall marry her, out of her own love and 
flattery, not out of my promise. 

0th. lago beckons me : now he begins the story. 

[Aside. 

Cas. She was here even now ; she haunts me in 
every place. I was, the other day, talking on the sea- 
bank with certain Venetians, and thither comes this 
bauble ; and, by this hand, she falls me thus about my 
neck : — 



1 The re.st of the speech is not in quarto, 1G22. 3 shadowinj : in f e. ' Thepe words are not in folio, 
quarto, 1 022. « So quarto, 1G30 ; unsuiting : in quarto, Ui22 ; resulting: in folio. ' restrain : in folio. 
in f. e. 



* Limit, s ere -while mad : in 
6 Do you triumph, Roman ? : 



822 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



ACT IV. 



0th. Crying. dear Cassio ! as it were : liis gesture 
imports it. [Aside. 

Cas. So hangs^, and lolls, and weeps upon n»e ; so 
hales, and pulls me : ha. ha, ha ! — 

0th. Now he tells, how she plueked him to my 
chamber. ! I see that nose of yours, but not that 
dog I shall throw it to. {A.^ide. 

Cas. Well, I must leave her company. 

lasxo. Before me ! look where slie comes. 
Enter Bianca. 

Cas. 'T is such another fitchew ! marry, a perfumed 
one. — "What do you mean by this haunting of me? 

Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you ! What 
did you mean by that same handkerchief, you gave me 
even now ? I was a fine fool to take it. I must take 
out the work ! — A likely piece of work, that you 
should find it in your chamber, and know not who left 
it there. This is some minx's token, and I must take 
out the work ? There, give it your hobby-horse : where- 
soever you had it, I '11 take out no work on 't. 

Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca ! how now, how 
now ! 

0th. By heaven, that should be my handkerchief ! 

[Aside. 

Bian. An you '11 come to supper to-night, you may : 
an you will not, come when you arc next prepared for. 

[Exit. 

Ingo. After her, after her. 

Cas. 'Faith, I must ; she '11 rail in the street else. 

lago. Will you sup there ? 

Cas. 'Faith, I intend so. 

lago. Well, I may chance to see you, for I would 
very fain speak with you. 

Cas. Pr'ythee, come ; will you ? 

lago. Go to; say no more. [Exit Cassio.' 

0th. [Advancing.] How shall I murder him, lago ? 

lago. Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice ? 

0th. 0, lago ! 

lago. And did you see the handkerchief? 

0th. Was that mine ? 

lago. Yours, by this hand : and to see how he prizes 
the foolish woman your wife ! she gave it him, and he 
hath given it his whore. 

0th. I would have him nine years a killing. — A fine 
woman ! a fair woman ! a sweet woman ! 

lago. Nay, you must forget that. 

0th. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned to- 
night, for she shall not live. No, my heart is turned 
to stone ; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. ! the 
world hath not a sweeter creature : she might lie by an 
emperor's side, and command him tasks. 

lago. Nay, that 's not your way. 

0th. Hang her ! I do but say what she is. — So deli- 
cate with her needle ! — An admirable musician ! O ! 
she will sing the savageness out of a bear. — Of so high 
and plenteous wit and invention ! — 

lago. She 's the worse for all this. 

0th. ! a thousand^ thousand times 
so gentle a condition. 

lago. Ay, too gentle. 

0th. Nay, that 's certain : — but yet the pity of it, 
lago ! — 0, lago ! the pity of it, lago ! 

lago. If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her 
patent to offend ; for if it touch not you, it comes near 
nobody. 

0th. I will chop her into messes. — Cuckold me ! 

lago. ! 't is foul in her. 

0th. With mine officer ! 

logo. That 's fouler. 



And then, of 



0th. Get me some poison, lago ; this night : — I '11 
not expostulate with her, lest her body and bcauly un- 
provide my mind again. This night. lago. 

lago. Do it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, 
even the bed she hath contaminated. 

0th. Good, good ; the justice of it pleases : very 
good. 

lago. And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker. 
You shall hear more by midnight. [A Trumpet within. 

0th. Excellent good. — What trumpet is that same? 

lago. Something from Venice, sure. 'T is Lodovieo, 
Come from the duke ; and, see. your wife is with him. 
Enter Lodovico, Desdewona, and Attaidants. 

Lod. 'Save you, worthy general ! 

0th. With all my heart, sir. 

Lod. The duke and senators of Venice srcet-^ou. 

[Giving him a Packet. 

0th. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. 

[Opens the Packet, and reads. 

Des. And what 's the news, good cousin Lodovico ? 

lago. I am very glad to see you, signior : 
Welcome to Cyprus. 

Lod. I thank you. How does lieutenant Cassio ? 

lago. Lives, sir. 

Dcs. Cousin, there 's fallen between him and my lord 
An unkind breach, but you shall make all well. 

0th. Are you sure of that ? 

Des. My lord ? 

0th. " This fail you not to do, as you will" — [Reading, 

Lod. He did not call ; he 's busy in the paper. 
Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio ? 

Des. A most unhappy one : I would do much 
To atone* them, for the love I bear to Cassio. 

0th. Fire and brimstone ! 

Des. My lord ? 

0th. Are you wise? 

Des. What ! is he angry ? 

Lod. May be, the letter mov'd him ; 

For, as I think, they do command him home. 
Deputing Cassio in his government. 

Des. By my troth, I am glad on 't. 

0th. Indeed. 

Des. My lord ? 

0th. I am glad to see you mad. 

Des. 

0th. Devil ! ' [Striking her 

Des. I have not deserv'd this. 

Lod. My lord, this would not be believ'd in Venice, 
Though I should swear I saw it. 'T is very much ; 
Make her amends, she weeps 



How, sweet Othello ? 



0th. 



devil, devil ! 



If that the earth could teem with woman's tears, 
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile. — 
Out of my sight ! 

Des. I will not stay to offend you. [Going. 

Lod. Truly an obedient lady. — 
I do beseech your lordship, call her back. 

0th. Mistress ! 

Des. My lord ? 

0th. What would you with her, sir ? 

Lod. Who, I, my lord ? 

0th. Ay ; you did wish, that I would make her turn : 
Sir. she can turn, and turn, and yet go on. 
And turn again ; and she can weep, sir, weep ; 
And she 's obedient, as you say, — obedient, — 
Very obedient. — Proceed you in your tears. — 
Concerning this, sir, — well-painted passion ! 
I am commanded home. — Get you away; 
I '11 send for you anon. — Sir, I obey the mandate, 



1 shakes : in folio, s Not in folio. ' Folio inserts : a. * Reconcile. 



SCENE II. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOK OF VENICE. 



823 



And will return to Venice. — Hence ! avaunt ! 

[Exit Desdemona. 
Cassio shall have my place. And. — sir, to-night, 
I do intreat that we may sup together : 
You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. — Goats and monkies ! 

[Exit. 

Lod. Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate 
Call all-in-all siithcicnt? — Thi.s the noble' nature 
Whom passion could not shake ? whose solid virtue 
The shot of accident, nor dart of chance, 
Could neither graze, nor pierce ? 

lago. He is miich chang'd. 

Lod. Are his wits safe ? is he not light of brain ? 

lago. He 's that he is : I may not breathe my censure. 
What he might be. — if, what he might, he is not, 
I would to heaven, he were. 

Lod. What ! strike his wife ? 

lago. "Faith, that was not so well ; yet would I knew, 
That stroke would prove the worst. 

Lod. Is it his use ? 

Or did the letters work upon his blood, 
And new-create this fault? 

lago. Alas:, alas ! 

It is not honesty in me, to speak , 

What I have seen and known. You shall observe him ; 
And his own courses will denote him so, 
That I may save my speech. Do but go after. 
And mark how he continues. 

Lod. I am sorry, that I am decciv'd in him. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. A Room in the Castle. 
Enter Othello and Emilia. 

Otli. You have seen nothing then? 

Eniil. Nor ever heard : nor ever did suspect. 

0th. Yes, you have seen Cassio and her together. 

Emil. But then I saw no harm; and then I heard 
Each syllable that breath made up between them. 

Oth. What ! did they never whisper ? 

Emil. Never, my lord. 

Oth. Nor send you out of the way ? 

Emil. Never. 

Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor 
nothing ? 

Emil. Never, my lord. 

Oth. That 's strange. 

Emil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, 
Lay down my soul at stake : if you think other. 
Remove your thought: it doth abuse your bosom. 
If any wretch have put this in your head. 
Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse, 
For if she be not honest, chaste, and true. 
There s no man happy; the purest of their wives^ 
Is foul as slander. 

Oth. Bid her come hither : — go. — [Exit E.milia. 
She says enough ; — yet she 's a simple bawd. 
That cannot say as much. — This is a subtle whore, 
A closet-lock-and-kcy of villainous secrets: 
And yet she '11 kneel, and pray : I have seen her do 't. 
Re-enter Emilia, icith Desdemona. 

Bes. My lord, what is your will ? 

Oth. Pray, chuck, come hither. 

Des. What is your pleasure ? 

Oth. Let me see your eyes : 

Look in my face. 

Des. W^hat horrible fancy is this ? 

Oth. Some of your function, mistress: [To E.milia. 
Leave procreants alone, and shut the door ; 



Cough, or cry hem, if any body come : 

Your mystery, your mystery; — nay, despatch. 

[Exit Emilia. 

Dcs. Upon my knee,^ what doth your speech import ? 
I understand a fury in your word.s, [Kncch.* 

But not the words.* 

Oth. Why, what art thou ? 

Des. Your wife, my lord ; your true 

And loyal wife. [Rlses.^ 

Oth. Come, swear it. damn thyself; 

Lost, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves 
Should fear to seize thee : therefore, be double-damu'd; 
Swear thou art honest. 

Des. Heaven doth truly know it. 

Oth. Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as hell. 

Des. To whom, my lord ? with whom ? How am I false? 

Oth. Desdemona ! — away, away, away ! 

Des. Alas, the heavy day ! — Why do you weep ? 
Am I the occasion' of these tears, my lord ? 
If, haply, you my father do suspect 
An instrument of this your calling back, 
Lay not your blame on me : if you have lost him, 
Why, I have lost him too. 

Oth. Had it pleas'd heaven 

To try me with affliction ; had he rain'd 
All kinds of sores, and sliames, on my bare head ; 
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips ; 
Given to captivity me and my utmost* hopes : 
I should have found in some part of my soul 
A drop of patience: but, alas ! to make me 
A fixed figure, for the hand' of scorn 
To point his slowly moving'" finger at; 
Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well : 
Bat there, where I have garner'd up my heart, 
Where either I must live, or bear no life. 
The fountain from the wliich my current runs 
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence, 
Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads 
To knot and gender in ! — turn thy complexion there, 
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd chcrubin ; 
Ay, there," look grim as hell ! 

Des. I hope, my noble lord esteems me honest. 

Oth. ! ay ; as summer flies are in the shambles, 
That quicken even with blowing. thou'- weed ! 
Who'^ art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet, 
That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst ne'er 
been born ! 

Des. Alas ! what ignorant sin have I committed ? 

Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, 
Made to write whore upon ? What committed ? 
Committed ? — thou public commoner !'* 
I should make very forges of my cheeks. 
That would to cinders burn vip modesty, 
Did I but speak thy deeds. — What committed ? 
Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon ^vinks : 
The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets, 
Is hush'd Avithin the hollow mine of earth, 
And will not hear it. What committed ? — 
Impudent strumpet !" 

Des. By heaven you do me WTong. 

Oth. Are not you a strumpet ? 

Dcs. No. as I am a Christian. 

If to preserve this vessel for my lord. 
From any other," foul, unlawful touch, 
Be not to be a strumpet, I am none. 

Oth. What, not a whore ? 

Des. No, as I shall be saved. 



1 Not in folio. ^ her sex : in quarto, IG'22. ' knees : in f. e. < Not in f. e. = This line is not in folio. « Not in f. e. ' motive : in. 
folio. 8 j\(ot in quartos. ' time : in f. e. 'O slow, unmovin;: : in f. e. " here : in old copies. '^ black weed : in quartos. '3 Why ; 
in quartos. i* This and the next two lines, are not in quarto, 162-2. »* These words are not in folio. " hated : in quarto, 1622. 



824 



OTHELLO, THE MOOE OF VENICE. 



ACT IV. 



Otk. Is it possible? 

Les. 0, heaven forgive us ! [Kneeling} 

0th. I cry you mercy, then ? 

I took you for that cunning whore of Venice, 
That married vrith Othello. — You, mistressj 

Re-enter Emilia. 
That have tlie office opposite to Saint Peter, 
And keep the gate of hell ; you, you, ay, you : 
We have done our course ; there 's money for your pains. 
I pray you, turn the key. and keep our counsel. [Exit. 

Emil. Alas! vi'hat does this gentleman conceive ? 
How do you, madam ? how do you, my good lady ? 

Des. 'Faith, half asleep. [Rising.^ 

Emil. Good madam, what 's the matter with my lord ? 

Des. With whom ? 

Emil. Why, with my lord, madam. 

Des. Who is thy lord ?' 

Einil. He that is yours, sweet lady. 

Des. I have none: do not talk to me, Emilia; 
I cannot Vv'eep ; nor answer have I none. 
But what should go by water. Pr'ythce, to-night 
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets. — remember ; — 
And call thy husband hither. 

Emil. Here is a change, indeed ! [Exit. 

Des. 'T is meet T should be us'd so, very meet. 
How have I been behav'd, that he might stick 
The small'st opinion on my least misdeed ?* 
Re-enter Emilia, ivith Iago. 

lago. What is your pleasure, madam ? How is it 
with you ? 

Des. I cannot tell. Those, that do teach young babes, 
Do it with gentle means, and easy tasks : 
He might have chid me so ; for^ in good faith, 
I am a child to chiding. 

Iago- What 's the matter, lady ? 

Emil. Alas ! Iago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her, 
Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her, 
As true hearts cannot bear. 

Des. Am I that name, Iago ? 

logo. What name, fair lady ? 

Des. Such as, she says, my lord did say I was. 

Emil. He call'd her whore : a beggar in his drink, 
Could not have laid such terms upon his callat.* 

Iago. Why did he so ? 

Des. I do not know; I am sure, I am none such. 

Iago. Do not weep, do not weep. Alas the day ! 

Emil. Has she forsook so many noble matches, 
Her father, and her country, and her friends, 
To be call'd whore ? would it not make one weep ? 

Des. It is my wretched fortune. 

Iago. Beshrew him for it ! 

How comes this trick upon him ? 

-De5. Nay. heaven doth know. 

Emil. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain, 
Some busy and insinuating rogue. 
Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office. 
Have not devis'd this slander ; I '11 be hang'd else. 

Iago. Fie ! there is no such man : it is impossible. 

Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him ! 

Emil. A halter pardon him, and hell gnaw his bones ! 
Why should he call her, whore ? who keeps her com- 
pany ? 
What place ? what time ? what form ? what likelihood ? 
The Moor 's abus'd by some most villainous' knave, 
Some base, notorious knave, some scurvy fellow. — 
0, heaven ! that such companions'' thou 'dst unfold, 
And put in every honest hand a whip, 



To lash the rascals naked through the world, 
Even from the east to the west ! 

Iago. Speak within door. 

Emil. 0. fie upon them ! some such squire he was, 
Tliat turn'd your wit the seamy side without, 
And made you to suspect me with the Moor. 

Iago. You are a fool ; go to. 

Des. good* Iago ! 

What shall I do to win my lord again ? 
Good friend, go to him ; for, by this light of heaven, 
I know not how I lost him.' Here I kneel : 
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love, 
Either in discourse of thought, or actual deed ; 
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense. 
Delighted them in any other form ; 
Or that I do not yet, and ever did, " 

And ever will, — though he do shake me off 
To beggarly divorcement, — love him dearly. 
Comfort forswear me ! Unkindness may do much ; 
And his unkindness may defeat my life. 
But never taint my love. I cannot say whore ; 
It does abhor me now I speak the word ; 
To do the act that might the addition earn, 
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me. 

Iago. I pray you, be content ; 't is but his humour : 
The business of the state does him offence. 
And he does chide with you.-" 



Des. 

laso. 'T is but so, I warrant. 



If 't were no other, — 
[Music}^ 



Hark, how these instruments summon to supper ! 

The messengers of Venice stay the meat. 

Go in, and weep not ; all things shall be well. 

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. 
Enter Roderigo. 
How now, Roderigo ! 

Rod. I do not find that thou deal'st justly with me. 

Iago. What in the contrary ? 

Rod. Every day thou doff'st me with some device, 
Iago ; and rather, as it seems to me now, keep'st from 
me all conveniency, that suppliest me with the least 
advantage of hope. I will, indeed, no longer endure 
it ; nor am I yet persuaded, to put up in peace what 
already I have foolishly suffered. 

Iago. Will you hear me, Roderigo ? 

Rod. 'Faith, I have heard too much ; for your words, 
and performances, are no kin together. 

Iago. You charge me most unjustly. 

Rod. With nought but truth. I have wasted myself 
out of my means : the jewels you have had from me, to 
deliver to Desdemona, would half have corrupted a 
votarist : you have told me, she has received them, and 
returned me expectations and comforts of sudden re- 
spect and acquaintance"; but I find none. 

Iago. Well ; go to ; very well. 

Rod. \gty well ! go to ! I cannot go to, man ; nor 
't is not very well : by this hand, I say, it is very 
scurvy ; and begin to find myself fobbed in it. 

Iago. Very vrell. 

Rod. I tell you, 't is not very well. I will make 
myself known to Desdemona: if she will return me 
my jewels, I will give over my suit, and repent my 
unlawful solicitation; if not, assure yourself, I will 
seek satisfaction of you. 

Iago. You have said now. 

Rod. Ay, and I have said nothing, but what I pro- 
test intendment of doing. 

Iago. Why, now I see there 's mettle in fhee ; and 



1 » Not in f. fl. 3 This and the next speech, are not in auarto, 1622. * least misure : in f. e. ; greatest ahuse : in quarto. 'A low woman. 
* outrageous : in quarto, 1622. ' Fellows. 8 Alas : in folio. 9 The rest of the speech is not in quarto, 1622. lo xhis line is not in folio. 
" Trumpets: in f. e. 12 acquittance : in quarto, 1622. 



SCENE III. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF YENICE. 



825 



even, from this instant, do build on tliee a better opi- 
nion than ever before. Give me thy hand, Roderigo : 
thou hast taken against me a most just exception ; but, 
yet, I protest, t have dealt most directly in thy affair. 

Rod. It hath not appeared. 

lago. I grant, indeed, it hath not appeared, and 
your suspicion is not without wit and judgment. But, 
Roderigo, if thou hast that within thee indeed, which I 
have greater reason to believe now than ever, — I mean, 
purpose, courage, and valour, — this night show it : if 
thou the next night following enjoyest not Desdemona, 
take me from this world with treachery, and devise 
engines for my life. 

Rod. Well, what is it ? is it within reason, and 
compass ? 

lago. Sir, there is especial commission come from 
Venice, to depute Cassio in Othello's place. 

Rod. Is that true ? why, then Othello and Desde- 
mona return again to Venice. 

lago. 0, no ! he goes into Mauritania, and takes 
away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode 
be lingered here by some accident ; wherein none can 
be so determinate as the removing of Cassio. 

Rod. How do you mean removing of him ? 

lago. Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's 
place ; knocking out his brains. 

Rod. And that you would have me do ? 

lago. Ay ; if you dare do yourself a profit, and a 
right. He sups to-night with a harlotry', and thither 
will I go to him : he knows not yet of his honour- 
able fortune. If you will watch his going thence, 
(which I will fashion to fall out between twelve and 
one) you may take him at your pleasure : I will be 
near to second your attempt, and he shall fall between 
us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with 
me; I will show you such a necessity in his death, that 
you shall think yourself bound to put it on him. It is 
now high supper-time, and the night grows to waste : 
about it. 

Rod. I will hear farther reason for this. 

lago. And you shall be satisfied. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Another Room in the Castle. 

Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, and 

Attendants. 

Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no farther. 

0th. ! pardon me ; 't will do me good to walk. 

Lod. Madam, good-night ; I humbly thank your 
ladyship. 

Dc;. Your honour is most welcome. 

0th. Will you walk, sir ? — 

! — Desdemona, — 

Dc!. My lord ? 

0th. Get you to bed on the instant ; I will be re- 
turned forthwith. Dismiss your attendant there : look, 
it be done. 

Des. I will, my lord. 

[Excitnt Othello. Lodovico, and Attendants. 

Emil. How goes it now ? he looks gentler than he did. 

Dcs. He says, he will return incontinent. 
He hath commanded me to go to bed, 
And bade me to dismiss you. 

Emil. Dismiss me ! 

Des. It was his bidding ; therefore, good Emilia, 
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu : 
We must not now displease him. 

Emil. I would you had never seen him. 

Des. So would not I : my love doth so approve him. 



That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns,— 
Pr'ythee, unpin me, — have grace and favour in them. 
Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the 

bed. 
Des. All 's one. — Good faitlr, how foolish are our 
minds ! — 
If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me 
In one of those same sheets. 

Emil. Come, come, you talk. 

Des. My mother had a maid call'd Barbara : 
She was in love ; and he she lov'd prov'd mad. 
And did forsake her : she had a song of — willow, 
An old thing 't was, but it express'd her fortune, 
And she died singing it : that song, to-night. 
Will not go from my mind f I have much to do, 
Not to go hang my head all at one side. 
And sing it like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee, despatch. 
Emit. Shall I go fetch your night-gown? 
Des. No, unpin me here. — 

This Lodovico is a proper man. 
Emil. A very handsome man. 
Des. He speaks well. 

Emil. I know a lady in Venice would have walked 
barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip. 
Des. A* poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, 

[Singing. 
Si)7g all a green, willow ; 
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 

Sing willow, ivillow, ii'illow : 
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmured her 
moans ; 
Sing willow, willow, willow : 
Her salt tears fell from her, and soften' d the 
stones ; 
Lay by these. — 

Sing ivillow, willow, willow. 
Pr'ythee, hie thee ; he'll come anon. — 

Sing all a green willow must be my garland. 
Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve, — 
Nay, that 's not next. — Hark ! who is it that knocks ? 
Emil. It is the wind. 

Des. I call'd my love false love ; hut what said he 
then ? 
Sing willow, willow, willoiv : 
If I court no women, you 'II couch loith no men. 
So, get thee gone ; good night. Mine eyes do itch ; 
Doth that bode weeping ? 

Emil. 'T is neither here nor there. 

Des.^ I have heard it said so. — 0, these men, these 
men ! — 
Dost thou in conscience think, — tell me, Emilia, — 
That there be women do abuse their husbands 
In such gross kind ? 

Emil. There be some such, no question. 

Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for ail the world ? 
Emil. Why, would not you ? 

Des. No, by this heavenly light. 

Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light: 
I might do 't as well i' the dark. 

Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world? 
Emil. Tlie world is a huge thing : 't is a great price 
For a small vice. 

Des. In troth, I think thou wouldst not. 

Emil. In troth, I think I should, and undo 't, when 
I had done. Marry, I would not do such a thing for 
a joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor for gowns, 
petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty exhibition ; but, for 
the whole world, — why, who would not make her hus- 



1 harlot : in quarto. 1622. -father: in folio. ' All that follows to "Hark! -who is 
ballad is in "Percy's Reliques." ' This and the next speech, are not in quarto, 1622. 



t" : is not in quarto, 1622. * The : in f. e. The 



826 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



ACT V. 



band a cuclcold, to make him a monarch ? I should 
venture purgatory for 't. 

Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for 
the whole world. 

Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i' the world ; 
and, having the world for your labour, 't is a wrong in 
your own world, and you might quickly make it right. 

Des. I do not think there is any such woman. 

Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many 
To the vantage, as would store the world they play'd 

for.^ 
But, I do think, it is their husbands' faults. 
If wives do fall. Say, that they slack their duties, 
And pour our treasures into foreign laps ; 
Or else break out in peevish jealousies. 
Throwing restraint upon us • or, say, they strike us, 



Or scant our former having in despite. 

Why, we have galls; and, though we have some grace. 

Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know. 

Their wives have sense like them: they see, and smell, 

And have their palates, both for sweet and sour. 

As husbands have. What is it that they do. 

When they change us for others ? Is it sport ? 

I think, it is ; and doth affiiction breed it ? 

I think, it doth. Is't frailty, that thus errs? 

It is so too : and have not we afTections, 

Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have ? 

Then, let them use us well ; else^ let them know. 

The ills we do, their ills instruct us to. 

Des. Good-night, good-night: heaven me such uses 
send, 
Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend. "[Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I.— A Street. 
Enter Iago and PuODerigo. 



lago. 



Here, stand behind this bulk ; straight will he 
come : 
Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home. 
Quick, quick ; fear nothing : I '11 be at thy elbow. 
It makes us, or it mars us ; think on that, 
And fix most firm tliy resolution. 

Rod. Be near at hand ; I may miscarry in 't. 
Iago. Here, at thy hand : be bold, and take thy stand.^ 
Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ; 
And yet he has given me satisfying reasons. — 
'T is but a man gone : — forth, my sword ; he dies. 

{Stands bach. 
Iago. I have rubb'd this young quat' almost to the 
sense, 
And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio, 
Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other. 
Every way makes my game :* live Roderigo, 
He calls me to a restitution large 
Of gold, and jewels, that I bobb'd from him. 
As gifts to Desdemona ; 
It must not be : if Cassio do remain. 
He hath a daily beauty in his life. 
That makes me ugly ; and, besides, the Moor 
May unfold me to him: there stand I in much peril. 
No. he must die : — be 't so ; I hear' him coming. 

[Retiring.^ 
Enter Cassio. 
Rod. I know his gait; 't is he. — Villain, thou diest. 
[Rit.shing forward., and making a pass at Cassio. 
Cas. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed. 
But that my coat is better than thou know'st : 
I will make proof of thine. 

[Draws, and wounds Roderigo. 
! I am slain. 
[Iago starts forward^ cuts Cassio behind in the 

Leg., and exit. 
I am maim'd for ever. — Light,' ho I murder ! 
murder ! [Falls. 

Enter Othello, at a distance. 
The voice of Cassio. — Iago keeps his word. 



Rod. 



Cas. 



0th. 
Rod. 
Oth. 



Cas. 0, help ! ho ! light ! a surgeon ! 
Oth. 'T is he. — brave Iago ! honest, and just, 
That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong ; 
Thou teachest me. — Minion, your dear lies dead. 
And your unblest fate hies :° — strumpet, I come. 
Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted ; 
Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood be spotted. 

[Exit Othello. 
Enter LoDovico and Gratiano, at a distance. 
Cas. What, ho ! no watch ? no passage ? murder ! 

murder ! 
Gra. 'T is some mischance; the cry is very direful. 
Cas. 0, help ! 
Lad. Hark ! 



Rod. 



0, WTctched villain ! 



0, villain that I am ! 



It is e'en so. 



Lod. Two or three groan. — It is a' heavy night. 
These may be counterfeits : let 's think 't unsafe 
To come in to the cry without more help. 

Rod. No body come ? then, shall I bleed to death. 
Enter Iago, unready j^" with a Light. 

Lod. Hark ! 

Gra. Here 's one comes in his shirt, with light and 
weapons. 

Iago. Who 's there ? whose noise is this, that cries 
out murder thus ? 

Lod. We do not know. 

Iago. Did not you hear a cry? 

Cas. Here, here ! for heaven's sake, help me. 

Iago. What 's the matter ? 

Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. 

Lod. The same indeed ; a very valiant fellow. 

Iago. What are you here, that cry so grievously ? 

Cas. Iago ? ! I am spoil'd ; undone by villains : 
Give me some help. 

Iago. me, lieutenant ! what villains have done 
this? 

Cas. I think that one of them is hereabout. 
And cannot make away. 

Iago. treacherous villains ! — 

What are you there ? come in, and give some help. 

[To LoDovico and Gratiano. 

Rod. 0, help me ! here. 

Cas. That 's one of them. 

Iago. f O murderous slave ! villain ! 

[Iago stabs Roderigo. 



1 The rest of the scene is not in quarto, 1622. 2 swrord : in quarto, 1622. ' Pimple : gnat : in quarto. * gain : in folio. 5 tut so, I 
heard : in folio. 6 f. e. give this direction before R 's last speech. ' Help : in folio. » your fate hies apace : in quarto, 1622. 9 'Xis : ia 
folio. 1* This word is not in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF YENICE. 



82T 



Rod. damn'd lago ! inhuman dog ! — 

lago. Kill men i' the dark ! — Where be these bloody 
thieves ? 
How silent is this town ! — Ho ! murder ! murder ! 
What may you be ? are you of good, or evil '? 

Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us. 

lago. Signior Lodovico ? 

Lod. He, sir. 

lago. I cry you mercy. Here 's Cassio hurt by 
villains. 

Gra. Cassio? 

lago. How is it, brother? 

Cas. My leg is cut in two. 



lago. 



Marry, heaven forbid ! — 



Light, gentlemen ! I '11 bind it with my shirt. 
Enter Bianca. 
Bian. What is the matter, ho ? who is 't that cry'd ? 
lago. Who is 't that cry'd ! 
Bian. my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio ! 

Cassio. Cassio, Ca.«sio ! 

lago. O notable strumpet ! — Cassio, may you suspect 
Who they should be, that have thus mangled you ? 

Cas. No. 

Gra. I am sorry, to find you thus : I have been to 
seek you. 

lago. Lend me a garter: — so. — 0, for a chair, 
To bear him easily hence !^ 

Bian. Alas ! he faints. — Cassio ! Cassio ! Cassio ! 

lago. Gentlemen all. T do suspect this trash 
To be a party" in this injury. — 
Patience a while, good Cassio. — Come, come. 
Lend me a light. — Know we this face, or no ? 

[Looking at Rod.' 
Alas ! my friend, and my dear countryman, 
Roderigo ? no : — yes, sure. heaven ! Roderigo. 

Gra. What, of Venice? 

lago. Even he, sir ; did you know him ? 

Gra. Know him ? ay. 

lago. Signior Gratiano? I cry you gentle pardon: 
These bloody accidents must excuse my manners. 
That so neglected you. 

Gra. I am glad to see you. 

lago. How do you, Cassio ? — 0, a chair, a chair ! 

Gra. Roderigo ! 

lago. He, he, 'tis he — 0! that 's well said;* — the 
chair. — [A chair brought. 

Some good man bear him carefully from hence; 

1 '11 fetch the general's surgeon. — For you, mistress, 

[To Bianca. 
Save you your labour. — He that lies slain here, Cassio, 
Was my dear friend. What malice was between you? 

Cas. None in the world ; nor do I know the man. 

lago. What, look you pale ? — 0, bear him out o' the 
air. — [Cassio and Rod. are borne off. 

Stay you, good gentlemen. — Look you pale, mistress? 
Do you perceive the gastness^ of her eye ? — 
Nay, an you stir :° — we shall hear more anon. — 
Behold her well ; I pray you, look upon her : 
Do you see, gentlemen ? nay, guiltiness will speak, 
Though tongues were out of use. 
Enter Emilia. 

Emil. Alas ! what 's the matter ? what 's the matter, 
husband ? 

lago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark 
By Roderigo, and fellows that are scap'd : 
He 's almost slain, and Roderigo dead.' 

Emil. Alas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio! 

Idgo. This is the fruit of whoring. — Pr'ythee. Emilia, 



Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night. 

What ! do you shake at that? 

Bian. He supp'd at my house; but I therefore shake 
not. 

lago. ! did he so ? I charge you, go with me. 

Einil. 0, fie upon tliee, strumpet ! 

Bian. I am no strumpet; but of life as honest. 
As yovx that thus abuse me. 

Emil. As I ? fie upon thee ! 



lago. 



Kind gentlemen, let 's 



go see poor Cassio 



dress'd. — 

Come, mistress, you must tell 's another tale. — 
Emilia, tun you to the citadel. 
And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd. — 
Will you go on, I pray ? — This is the night, [Aside. 
That either makes me, or fordoes me quite. [Exeunt. 

SCENE [L— A Bedchamber. 
Desdemona in Bed asleep. A Light burning. 
Enter Othello,* locking the Door after him. 
0th. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — 
Let me not name it to you. you chaste stars ! — 
It is the cause. — Yet I '11 not shed her blood; 
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, 
And smooth as monumental alabaster. 
Yet she must die, else she '11 betray more men. 
Put out the light, and then — put out the light ? 
If I quench thee, thovi flaming minister, 
I can again thy former light restore, 
Should I repent me ; but once put out thy light,' 
Thou cunniiig"st'° pattern of excelling nature, 
I know not where is that Promethean heat, 
That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd the 

rose, 
I cannot give it vital growth again, 
It needs must wither: — I '11 smell it" on the tree. — 

[Kissing her. 

balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 

Justice to break her sword ! — One more, one more. — 
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee. 
And love thee after. — One more, and this the last : 
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, 
But they are cruel tears : this sorrow 's heavenly ; 
It strikes, where it doth love. — She wakes — 

Des. Who 's there ? Othello ? 

0th. Ay, Desdemona. 

Des. Will you come to bed, my lord ? 

0th. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona? 

-Pf5. Ay, my lord, 

0th. If you bethink yourself of any crime, 
Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace. 
Solicit for it straight. 

Des. Alas, my lord ! what may you mean by that? 

0th. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by: 

1 would not kill thy unprepared spirit ; 

No, heaven forfend, I would not kill thy soul. 

Des. Talk you of killing ? 

0th. Ay, I do. 

Des. Then, heaven 

Have mercy on me ! 

0th. Amen, with all my heart. 

Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me. 

0th. Humph! 

Des. And yet I fear you : for you are fatal then, 
When your eyes roll so. Why I should fear, I know not, 
Since guiltiness I know not ; but yet, I feel I fear. 

0th. Think on thy sins. 

Des. They are loves I bear to you. 



' This speech is not in quarco, 1622. 2 bear a part : in quarto, 1622- ' Not in f. 0. * Dnne. * gestures : in quartos. « if you stare : 
in folio. ' quite dead : in folio. » The rest of this direction is not in f. e. ' thine : in quartos. 10 cunning : in quartos, 'i tliee : in folio. 



828 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



ACT V. 



0th. Ay, and for that thou diest. 

Des. That death 's unnatural, that kills for loving. — 
Alas ! why gnaw you so your nether lip ? 
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame : 
These are portents ; but yet, I hope, I hope, 
They do not point on me. 

0th. Peace, and be still ! 

Des. I will so. What 's the matter ? 

0th. That handkerchief, which I so lov'd, and gave 
thee, 
Thou gav'st to Cassio. 

Des. No, by my life and soul ! 

Send for the man, and ask him. 

0th. Sweet soul, take heed, 

Take heed of perjury; thou 'rt on thy death-bed. 

Des. Ay, but not yet to die. 

0th. Yes,^ presently : 

Therefore, confess thee freely of thy sin ; 
For to deny each article with oath, 
Cannot remove, nor choke, the strong conception, 
That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. 

Des. Then, Lord, have mercy on me ! 

0th. I say, amen. 

Des. And have you mercy too ! — I never did 
Offend you in my life ; never lov'd Cassio, 
But with such general warranty of heaven 
As I might love : I never gave him token. 

0th. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in 's hand. 

perjur'd woman ! thou dost stone my heart, 
And mak'st me call, what I intend to do, 

A murder, which I thought a sacrifice. 

1 saw the handkerchief. 

Des. He found it then ; 

I never gave it him. — Send for him hither; 
Let him confess a truth. 

0th. He hath confess'd. 

Des. What, my lord ? 

0th. That he hath-^us'd thee.'' 

Des. How? unlawfully? 

0th. Ay. 

Des. He will not say so. 

0th. No. his mouth is stopp'd ; 

Honest lago hath ta'en order for 't. 

Des. My fear interprets then. — What ! is he dead? 

0th. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge 
Hal stomach for them all. 

Des. Alas ! he is betray'd, and I undone. 

0th. Out, strumpet ! Weep'st thou for him to my 
face? 

Des. ! banish me, my lord, but kill me not. 

0th. Down, strumpet ! 

Des. Kill me to-morrow ; let me live to-night. 

0th. Nay, if you strive, — 

Des. But half an hour. 

0th. Being done. 

There is no pause.' 

Des. But while 1 say one prayer. 

0th. It is too late. 

Des. Lord. Lord, Lord !* [He smothers her. 

Emil. [ Within.] My lord, my lord ! what ho ! my 
lord, my lord ! 

0th. What noise is this ? — Not dead ! not yet quite 
dead ? 

I, that am cruel, am yet merciful ; 
I would not have thee linger in thy pain. — 
So, so. [Stabs her.'' 

Emil. [Within.] What ho ! my lord, my lord ! 

0th. Who's there? 



Emil. [Within.] 0, good my lord ! I would speak a 
word with you. 

0th. Yes ; — 't is Emilia. — By and by. — She 's dead. 
'T is like she comes to speak of Cassio's death; 
The noise was high."^ — Ha ! no more moving? 
Still as the grave. — Shall she. come in? Were 't good? 
I think she stirs again : — no. — What 's the best? 
If she come in, she '11 sure speak to my wife : 
My wife ! my wife ! what wife ? — I have no ■wdfe : 
in.supportable, heavy hour ! 
Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse 
Of sun and moon, and that th' affrighted globe 
Should' yawn at alteration. 

Emil. [ Within.] I do beseech you. I may speak with 
you. 
0, good my lord ! 

0th. I had forgot thee. ! come in, Emilia. — 
Soft, — by and by : — let me the curtains draw. — 
Where art thou ? What 's the matter with thee now? 

[Unlocks the Door. 
Enter Emilia. 

Emil. 0, good my lord ! yonder 's foul murder done. 

0th. What! now? 

Emil. But now, my lord ! 

0th. It is the very error of the moon ; 
She comes more near the earth than she was wont 
And makes men mad. 

Emil. Cassio, my lord, has kill'd a young Venetian, 
Call'd Roderigo. 

0th. Roderigo kill'd? 

And Cassio kill'd? 

Emil. No ; Cassio is not kill'd. 

0th. Not Cassio kill'd ? Then murder 's out of tune. 
And sweet revenge grows harsh. 

Des. 0, falsely, falsely murder'd ! 

Emil. Alas ! what cry is that ? 

0th. That! what? 

Emil. Out; and alas ! that was* my lady's voice : — 
Help ! Help, ho I help ! — lady, speak again ! 

[Going to the bed.^ 
Sweet Desdemona ! 0, sweet mistress, speak ! 

Des. A guiltless death I die. 

Emil. ! who hath done 

This deed? 

Des. Nobody; I myself ; farewell: 

Commend me to my kind lord. O farewell ! [Dies. 

0th. Why, how should she be murder'd ? 

Emil. Alas, who knows? 

0th. You heard'" her say herself, it was not I. 

Emil. She said so ; I must needs report a truth. 

0th. She 's like a liar gone to burning hell : 
'T was I that kill'd her. 

Emil. ! the more angel she. 

And you the blacker devil. 

0th. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. 

Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil. 

0th. She was false as water. 

Emil. Thou art rash as fire to say 

That she was false : ! she was heavenly true. 

0th. Cassio did top her ; ask thy husband else. — 
! I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell. 
But that I did proceed upon just grounds 
To this extremity. — Thy husband knew it all. 

Emil. My husband ? 

0th. Thy husband. 

Emil. That she was false to wedlock? 

0th. Ay, with Cassio. Nay,'' had she been true, 
If heaven would make me such another world 



• Not in folio. 2 Quarto. 1622 : ud's death. ' This speech is not in quarto, 1622. * This speech is not in folio. 
in quartos. ' Did : in quartos. " it is : in quarto, 1622. s Not in f. e. i" hear : in. folio, i' Not in folio. 



5 Not in f. e. « here : 



SCENE II. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



829 



Of one entire and perfect chrysolyte, 
I 'd not have sold her for it. 

Emil My husband ? 

0th. Ay, 't was he that told me* first : 

An honest man he is, and hates the slime 
That sticks on filthy deeds. 

Emil. My husband ? 

0th. What needs this iteration,^ woman? I say, thy 
husband. 

Emil. mistress ! villainy hath made mocks with 
love. — 
My husband say, that she was false ? 

0th. He, woman ; 

I say, thy husband : dost understand the word ? 
My friend, thy husband, honest, honest lago. 

E7nil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul 
Rot half a grain a day ! he lies to the heart : 
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. 

0th. Ha ! [Threatening her.^ 

Emil. Do thy worst : 

This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven, 
Than thou wast worthy her. 

0th. Peace ! you were best. 

Emil. Thou hast not half the* power to do me harm, 
As I have to be hurt. gull ! dolt ! 
As ignorant as dirt ! thou hast done a deed, — 
I care not for thy sword ; I '11 make thee known, 
Though I lost twenty lives. — Help ! help, ho ! help ! 
The Moor has kill'd my mistress ! Murder ! murder ! 
Enter Montano, Gratiano, and Iago. 

Mon. What is the matter? — How now, general ! 

Emil. ! are you come, Iago ? you have done well, 
That men must lay their murders on your neck. 

Gra. What is the matter? 

Emil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man : 
He says, thou told'st him that his wife was false. 
I know, thou didst not, thou 'rt not such a villain. 
Speak, for my heart is full. 

Iago. I told him what I thought ; and told no more 
Than what he found himself was apt and true. 

Emil. But did you ever tell him, she was false ? 

Iago. I did. 

Emil. You told a lie: an odious, damned lie; 
Upon my soul, a Ho ; a wicked lie.- — 
She fal-^e with Cassio ! — Did you say with Cassio? 

Iago. With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your 
tongue. 

Emil. I will not charm my tongue ; I am bound to 
speak. 
My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed.' 

All. 0, heaven forfend ! 

Emil. And your reports have set the murderer on. 

0th. Nay, stare not, masters : it is true, indeed. 

Gra. 'T is a strange truth. 

Mon. O monstrous act ! 

Emil. Villainy! villainy! villainy! 

I think upon 't, — I think, — I smell 't: — villainy ! 
I thought so then : — I '11 kill myself for grief. — 
villainy, villainy! 

Iago. What ! are you mad ? I charge you. get you 
home. 

Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak : 
'T is proper I obey him, but not now. — 
Perchance. Iago, I will ne'er go home. 

0th. ! ! ! [Falling on the ground.^ 

Emil. Nay, lay thee down and roar. 

For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent, 



That e'er did lift up eye. 

0th. ! she was foul — [Starting up. 

I scarce did know you, uncle : there lies your niece, 
Whof-e breath, indeed, these hands have newly stopp'd. 
I know, this act shows terrible' and grim. 

Gra. Poor Desdemona ! I am glad thy father 's dead. 
Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief 
Shore his old thread in twain : did he live now. 
This sight would make him do a desperate turn. 
Yea, curse his better angel from his side, 
And fall to reprobation.* 

0th. 'T is pitiful ; but yet Iago knows. 
That she with Cassio hath the act of shame 
A thousand times committed: Cassio confess'd it; 
And she did gratify his amorous works 
With that recognizance and pledge of love 
Which I first gave her. I saw it in his hand ; 
It was a handkerchief, an antique token 
My father gave my mother. 

Emil. heaven ! heavenly powers ! 

Iago. ■ Come, hold your peace. 

Emil. 'T will out, 't will out: — I hold my peace, 
sir ? no ; 
No, I will speak as liberal as the wind.' 
Let heaven, and men, and devils, let them all. 
All, all, cry shame against me, yet I '11 speak. 

Iago. Be wise, and get you home. [Drawing}'^ 

Emil. I will not. [Iago offers to stab Emil. 

Gra. Fie ! 

Your sword upon a woman? 

Emil. thou dull Moor ! that handkerchief thou 
speak'st of, 
I found by fortune, and did give my husband : 
For often, with a solemn earnestness, 
(More than, indeed, belong'd to such a trifle) 
He begg'd of me to steal it. 

Iago. Villainous whore ! [The ij hold him. ^'^ 

Emil. She give it Cassio ! no, alas ! I found it, 
And I did give 't my husband. 

Iago. Filth, thou liest. [Stabs her, and exit instantly. 

Emil. By heaven, I do not ; I do not, gentlemen. 
murderous coxcomb ! what should such a fool 
Do with so good a wife ?'- 

0th. Are there no stones in heaven, 

But what serve for the thunder ? — Precious villain ! 

Gra. The woman falls : sure, he has kill'd his wife. 

Emil. Ay, ay. — 0, lay me by my mistress' side ! 

Gra. He 's gone, but his wife 's killd. 

Mon. 'T is a notorious villain. Take you this weapon, 
Which I have here" recover'd from the Moor. 
Come, guard the door without : let him not pass, 
But kill him rather. I '11 after that same villain. 
For 't is a damned slave. 

[Exeunt Montano and Gratiano. 

0th. I am not valiant neither. 

But every puny whipster gets my sword. 
But why should honour outlive honesty ? 
Let it 20 all. 

Emil.^* What did thy song bode, lady? 
Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan, 
And die in music: — Willow, willow, tvillov:. — 
Moor, she was chaste ; she lov'd thee, cruel Moor : 
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true : 
So speaking as I think, I die. — I die. [Dies. 

0th. I have another weapon in this chamber. 
It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper. — 
! here it is. — Uncle, I must come forth. 



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830 



OTHELLO, THE MOOE OF VENICE. 



ACT V. 



Gra. {Within^ If thou attempt it. it will cost thee 
dear : 
Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. 

0th. Look in upon me, then, and speak to^ me. 
Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. 
Re-ei\ler Gratiano. 

Gra. What is the matter ? 

0th. Behold ! I have a weapon* 

A better never did itself sustain 
Upon a soldier's thigh : I have seen the day, 
That, with this little arm, and this good sword, 
I have made my way through more impediments 
Than twenty times your stop. — But, vain boast ! 
Who can control his fate ? 'tis not so now. — 
Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd :° 
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt. 
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 
Do you go back dismay'd ? 't is a lost fear : 
Man but a rush against Othello's brea.st, 
And he reiires. — Where should Othello go ? — 
Now, how dost thou look now ? ill-sfarr'd wench ! 
Pale as thy smock ! wlien wc shall meet at compt, 
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven. 
And trends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl : 
Even like thy chastity, — 0, cursed^ slave ! — 
Whip me, yc devils, 

From the possession of this heavenly sight ! 
Blow me about in winds ! roast me in sulphur ! 
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! 
Dcsdemona ! Desdcmona ! dead ? ! !* 
Enter LoDovico and Cassio. 

Lo(L Where is this rash and most unfortunate man ? 

0th. That 's he, that was Othello : here I am. 

Lod. Wiiere is that viper ? bring the villain forth. 
Enter MoNTANo with Iago, bound, and Officers.^ 

0th. I look down towards his feet ; — but that 's a fable : 
If that thou bc'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. 

[Othello wounds Iago. 

Lod. Wrench his sword from him. 

Iago. I bleed, sir : but not kill'd. 

0th. I am not sorry neither : I 'd have thee live ; 
For, in my sense, 't is happiness to die. 

Lod. thou Othello ! that wert once so good, 
Fall'n in the practice of a damned slave. 
What shall be said to thee ? 

0th. Why, any thing : 

An honourable murderer, if you will ; 
For nought I did in hate, but all in honour. 

Lod. This wretch hath part confess'd his villainy. 
Did vou and he consent in Cassio's death? 

0!h. Ay. 

Cfl.s. Dear general. I never gave you cause. 

0th. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. 
Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil. 
Why he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body ? 

Iago. Demand me nothing : what you know, you 
know. 
From this time forth I never will speak word. 

Lod. What ! not to pray? 

Gra. Torments will ope your lips. 

0th. Well, thou dost best. 

Lod. Sir, you .shall understand what hath befall'n, 
Which, as I think, you know not. Here is a letter, 
Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo ; [Shoicing it.^ 
And here another : the one of them imports 
The death of Cassio to be undertook 
By Roderigo. 



Olh. villain ! 

Cas. Mo.st heathenish, and most gross ! 

Lod. Now, here 's another discontented paper, 

[Producing it.^ 
Found in his pocket too ; and this, it seems, 
Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain ; 
But that, belike, Iago in the interim" 
Came in and satisfied him. 

0th. 0, the pernicious caitiff! — 

How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief, 
That was my wife's ? 

Cas. I found it in my chamber ; 

And he himself confess'd, but even now, 
That thei-e he dropp'd it. for a special purpose, 
Which wrought to his desire. 

0th. fool ! fool ! fool ! 

Cas. There is, besides, in Roderigo's letter. 
How he upbraids Iago. that he made him 
Brave me upon the watch ; whereon it came 
That I was cast : and even but now he spake, 
After long seeming dead, — Iago hurt him, 
Iago set him on. 

Lod. You must forsake this room, and go with us : 
Your power and your command is taken off. 
And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave, 
If there be any cunning cruelty 
That can torment him much, and hold him long, 
It shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest 
Till that the nature of your fault be known 
To the Venetian state. — Come : bring them' away. 

0th. Soft you ; a word or two, before yovi go. 
I have done the state some service, and they know it; 
No more of that. — I pray you, in your letters, 
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate. 
Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, 
Nor set down aught in malice : then, must you speak 
Of one that lov'd, not wi.sely, but too well : 
Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrovight, 
Perplex'd in the extreme ; of one, whose hand, 
Like the base Indian,'" threw a pearl away 
Richer than all his tribe ; of one, whose subdued eyes, 
Albeit unused to the melting mood, 
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees 
Their medicinaP' gum. Set you down this j 
And say, besides, that in Aleppo once, 
When'" a malignant and a turban'd Turk 
Beat a Venetian, and tradue'd the state, 
I took by the throat the circumcised dog. 
And smote him — thus. [Stabs himself. 

Lod. bloody period ! 

Gra. All that 's spoke is marr'd. 

0th. I kiss'd thee, ere I kill'd thee : — no way but this, 
Killing mj'self, to die upon a kiss. [Dies on the Bed. 

Cas. This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon. 
For ho was great of heart. 

Lod. Spartan dog ! 

More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea, 
Look on the tragic loading'^ of this bed ; [7b Iago. 
This is thy work : the object poisons sight : 
Let it be hid — Gratiano, keep the house. 
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, 
For they succeed on you. — To you, lord governor, 
Remains the censure of this hellish villain ; 
The time, the place, the torture : — O, enforce it ! 
Myself will .straight aboard, and to the state 
This heavy act with heavy heart relate. [Exeunt. 



1 Trith : in folio. 2 This and the six following lines, are not in quarto, 1622. ' cursed, cursed slav : in folio. * Desdemon, dead 
Desdemon. dead, 01 1: in folio. 'In f. e. these characters enter with LoDovico and Cassio. 6 7 >' ,t in f. e. 8 nick : in quarto, 1622. 
9 him : in f. e. 1" Judean : xn folio. " medicinable : in folio. 12 Where ; in f. e. '^ lodging : in .quarto. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



DEAMATIS PERSONS. 



M. Antony, 

OCTAVIUS CAESAR, 

M. JEmh. Lepidus 

Sextus Pompeius. 

DoMiTius Enobarbus, " 

Ventidius, 

Eros, 

Scarus, 

Dercetas, 

Demetrius, 

Philo, 

Mecenas, 

Agrippa, 

Dolabella, 



> Triumvirs. 



■ Friends of Antony. 



Proculeius, 

TlIVREUS, 

Gallus, 



Friends to Cecsar. 



Menas, ) 

Menecrates. > Friends to Pompey. 

Varrius, ) 

Taurus, Lieutenant-General to Caesar. 

Canidius, Lieutenant-General to Antony. 

SiLius. an Ofliccr under Ventidius. 

EupHRONius, Ambassador from Antony to Ctcsar. 

Alexas, Mardian. Seleucus, and Diomedes, 

Attendants on Cleopatra. A Soothsayer. A 

Clown. 

Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt. 

OcTAViA, Sister to Caesar, and Wife to Antony. 

J ' * ' [ Attendants on Cleopatra. 



Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. 
SCENE, in several Parts of the Roman Empire. 



ACT I. 



SCENE L — Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra's 

Palace. 

Enter Demetrius and Philo. 

Phi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's 
O'erflows the measure : those his goodly eyes, 
That o'er the files and musters of the war 
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn 
The olFice and devotion of their view 
Upon a tawny front : his captain's heart, 
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst 
The buckles on his breast, reneges' all temper, 
And is become the bellows, and the fan. 
To cool a gipsy's lust. Look, where they come. 
Flourish. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, with their 

Trains ; Eunuchs fanning her. 
Take but good note, and you shall see in him 
The triple pillar of the world transform'd 
Into a strumpet's fool : behold and see. 

Cleo. If it be love indeed, tell me liow much. 

Ant. There 's beggary in the love that can be 
reckon' d. 

Cleo. I '11 set a bourn how far to be belov'd. 

Ant. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, 
new earth. 

Enter an Attendant. 

Alt. News, my good lord, from Rome. 

Ant. Grates me : — the sum. 

Cle. Nay, hear them, Antony : 
Fulvia, perchance, is angry ; or, who knows 
If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent 
His powerful mandate to you, '■'• Do this, or this ; 

1 Denies. ' damn : in f. e. ' Know. 



Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that ; 
Perform 't, or else we doom^ thee." 

Ant. How, my love ! 

Cleo. Perchance,— nay, and most like, — 
You must not stay here longer ; your dismission 
Is come from Ccesar; therefore hear it, Antony. — 
Where's Fulvia's process? Caesar's, I would say ?- 

Both ?— 
Call in the messengers. — As I am Egypt's queen. 



Thou blushest, Antony, and that blood of thine 

, else so thy cheek pays shame, 
u'd Fulvia scolds. — The messcnaers 



Is C.Tsar'.s homager ; 
When shrill-toni 

A7it. Let Rome in Tyber melt, and tlic wide arch 
Of the rang'd empire fall ! Here is my space. 
Kingdoms are clay : our dungy earth alike 
Feeds beast as man : the nobleness of life 
Is to do thus; when such a mutual pair, [Embracing. 
And sucli a twain can do 't, in which I bind, 
On pain of punishment, the world to wcct,^ 
We stand up peerless. 

Cleo. Excellent falsehood ! 

Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her ? — 
I'll seem the fool I am not; Antony 
Will be himself. 

Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra. — 

Now, for the love of Love, and her soft hours, 
Let's not confound (he time with conference harsh : 
There 's not a minute of our lives should stretch 
Without some pleasure now. What sport to-night ? 

Cleo. Hear the ambassadors. 

Ant. Fie, WTangling queen ! 

Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh, 



832 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATKA. 



ACT I. 



To weep ; whose every fashion fitly' strives 

To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd. 

No messenger ; but thine, and all alone, 

To-night we '11 wander through the streets, and note 

The qualities of people. Come, my queen ; 

Last night you did desire it. — Speak not to us. 

[Exeunt Ant. a??c/ Cleop. with their Train. 

Bern. Is Caesar with Antonius priz'd so slight ? 

Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony, 
He corae.s too short of that great property 
Which still should go with Antony. 

Dem. I am full sorry, 

That he approves the common liar, who 
Thus speaks of him at Rome ; but I will hope 
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy. \Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. Another Room. 
Enter Charmian, Iras, Alexas, and a Soothsayer. 

Char. Lord Alexas, most sweet Alexas, most any 
thing Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where 's 
the soothsayer that you praised so to the queen ? O ! 
that I knew this husband, which, you say, must 
charge^ his horns with garlands ! 

Alex. Soothsayer ! 

Sooth. Your will ? 

Char. Is this the man? — Is 't you, sir, that know 
things ? 

Sooth. In nature's infinite book of secrecy 
A little I can read. 

Alex. Show him your hand. 

Enter Enobarbus. 

Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly ; wine enough, 
Cleopatra's health to drink. 

Cliar. Good sir, give me good fortune. 

Sooth. I make not, but foresee. 

Char. Pray, then, foresee me one. 

Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are. 

Char. He means, in flesh. 

Iras. No, you shall paint when you are old. 

Char. Wrinkles forbid ! 

Alex. Vex not his prescience ; be attentive. 

Char. Hush! 

Sooth. You shall be more beloving, than belov'd. 

Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking. 

Alex. Nay, hear him. 

Char. Good now, some excellent fortune. Let me 
be married to three kings in a forenoon, and widow 
them all : let me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod 
of Jewry may do homage : find me to marry me with 
Octavius Ca3sar, and companion me with my mistress. 

^oth. You shall outlive the lady whom you serve. 

Char. excellent ! I love long life better than figs. 

Sooth. You have seen, and proved a fairer former 
fortune, 
Than that which is to approach. 

Char. Then, belike, my children shall have no 
names. Pr'ythee, how many boys and wenches must 
I have ? 

Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb, 
And fruitful^ every wish, a million. 

Char. Out, fool ! I forgive thee for a witch. 

Alex. You think, none but your sheets are priv^' to 
your wishes. 

Char. Nay, come ; tell Iras hers. 
Alex. We '11 know all our fortunes. 
Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall 
be, drunk to bed. 

Iras. There 's a palm presages chastity, if nothing 
else. 



Char. Even as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth 
famine. 

Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay. 

Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prog- 
nostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. — Pr'ythee, tell 
her but a work-day fortune. 

Sooth. Your fortunes are alike. 

Iras. But how ? but how ? give me particulars. 

Sooth. I have said. 

Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she? 

Char. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune 
better than I, where would you choose it ? 

Iras. Not in my husband's nose. 

Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend ! Alexas, 
— come, his fortune, his fortune. — ! let him marry a 
woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I besCech thee : 
and let her die too. and give him a worse ; and let 
worse follow worse, till the worst of all follow him 
laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold. Good Isis, 
hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of 
more weight, good Isis, I beseech thee ! 

Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the 
people ; for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a hand- 
some man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow to 
behold a foul knave uncuckolded : therefore, dear Isis, 
keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly ! 

Char. Amen. 

Alex. Lo, now ! if it lay in their hands to make me 
a cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but 
they 'd do 't. 

E710. Hush ! here comes Antony. 

Char. Not he, the queen. 

Enter Cleopatra. 

Cleo. Saw you my lord? 

Eno. No, lady. 

Cleo. Was he not here? 

Char. No, madam. 

Cleo. He was dispos'd to mirth : but on the sudden, 
A Roman thought hath struck him. — Enobarbus ! — 

Eiw. Madam. 

Cleo. Seek him, and bring him hither. Where 's 
Alexas ? 

Alex. Here, at your service. — My lord approaches. 

Enter Antony, with a Messenger and Attendants. 

Cleo. We will not look upon him : go with us. 

[Exezmt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Alexas, Ikas, 
Charmian, Soothsayer, and Attendants. 

Mess. Fulvia, thy wife, first came into the field. 

Ant. Against my brother Lucius? 

3Iess. Ay: 
Rut soon that war had end, and the time's state 
Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst Caesar; 
Whose better issue in the war, from Italy 
Upon the first encounter drave them 

Ant. 

Mess. The nature of bad news infests the teller. 

Ant. When it concerns the fool, or coward. — On: 
Things, that are past, are done, with me. — 'T is thus; 
Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, 
I hear him as he flatter'd. 

3Icss. Labienus 
(This is stiff news) hath with his Parthian force 
Extended* Asia from Euphrates ; 
His conquering banner shook from Syria 
To Lydia, and to Ionia ; whilst 

Ant. Antony, thou wouldst say, — 

3Iess. 0. my lord ! 

Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general 
tongue ; 



Well, what worst ? 



1 fully : in f. e. ^ change : in folios. ^ fertile : in f. e. ; foretell : in folio. * Seized. 



SCENE III. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATEA. 



833 



Name Cleopatra as she is call'd in Rome; 
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase, and taunt my faults 
With such full license, as both truth and malice 
Have power to utter. O ! then we bring forth weeds, 
When our quick winds lie still ; and our ills told us, 
Is as our earing.' Fare thee well awhile. 

Mess. At your noble pleasure. \Exit. 

Ant. From Sieyon now the news ? Speak there. 

1 Att. The man from Sieyon! — Is there such an one? 

2 Att. He stays upon your will. 

Ai}t. Let him appear. — 

These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, 

Enter another Messenger. 
Or lose my.«elf in dotage. — What are you ? 

2 Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead. 

Ant. Where died she ? 

2 Mess. In Sieyon: 
Her length of sickness, with what else more serious 
Importeth thee to know, this bears. \Giving a Letter. 

Ant. Forbear me. — 

[Exit Messenger. 
There 's a great spirit gone. Thus did I desire it : 
What our contempts do often hurl from us, 
We wish it ours again ; the present pleasure. 
By repetition souring," does become 
The opposite of itself : she 's good, being gone : 
The hand would pluck her back, that shov'd her on. 
I must from this enchanting queen break off; 
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know. 
My idleness doth hatch. — How now !^ Enobarbus ! 
Ejiter Enobarbus. 

Eno. What 's your pleasure, sir? 

Ant. 1 must with haste from hence. 

Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women. We see 
how mortal an unkindness is to them : if they suffer 
our departure, death 's the word. 

Atit. I must be gone. 

Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let women die : 
it were pity to cast them away for nothing ; though, 
between them and a great cause, they should be 
esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least 
noise of this, dies instantly : I have seen her die twenty 
limes upon far poorer moment. I do think, there is 
mettle in death, which commits some loving act upon 
her. she hath such a celerity in dying. 

Ant. She is cunning past man's thought. 

Eno. Alack, sir! no; her passions are made of 
nothing but the finest part of pure love. We cannot 
call her winds and waters, sighs and tears ; they are 
greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report : 



this cannot be cunning in her ; if it 



be, she makes a 



shower of rain as well as Jove. 

Ant. Would I had never seen her ! 

Eno. O. sir ! you had then left unseen a wonderful 
piece of work, which not to have been blessed withal 
would have discredited your travel. 

Ant. Fulvia is dead. 

Eno. Sir? 

Ant. Fulvia is dead. 

Eno. Fulvia ! 

Ant. Dead. 

Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. 
When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a 
man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the earth : 
comforting therein, that when old robes are worn out, 
there are members to make new. If there were no 
more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, 
and the case to be lamented : this grief is crowTied with 



consolation : your old smock brings forth a new petti- 
coat; and, indeed, the tears live in an onion, that 
should water this sorrow. 

Ant. The business she hath broached in the state 
Cannot endure my absence. 

Eno. And the business you have broached here 
cannot be without you ; especially that of Cleopatra's 
which wholly depends on your abode. 

A7it. No more light answers. Let our officers 
Have notice what we purpose. I shall break 
The cause of our expedience* to the queen, 
And get her leave* to part : for not alone 
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches. 
Do strongly speak to us, but the letters, too, 
Of many our contriving friends in Rome 
Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius 
Hath given tlie dare to Casar, and commands 
The empire of the sea : our slippery people 
(Whose love is never link'd to the deserver, 
Till his deserts are past) begin to throw 
Pompey the great, and all his dignities. 
Upon his son: who, high in name and power, 
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up 
For the main soldier ; whose quality, going on. 
The sides o' the world may danger. Much is breeding, 
Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life, 
And not a serpent's poison.' Say. our pleasure. 
To such whose place is under us, requires 
Our quick remove from hence. 

Eno. I shall do it. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HI. 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. 

Cleo. Where is he ? 

Char. I did not see him since. 

Cleo. See where he is, who 's with him, what he does : 
I did not send you. — If you find him sad. 
Say, I am dancing; if in mirth, report 
That I am sudden sick : quick, and return. [Exit Alex. 

Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly, 
You do not hold the method to enforce 
The like from him. 

Cleo. What should I do, I do not? 

Char. In each thing give him way, cross him in 
nothing. 

Cleo. Thou teachest, like a fool, the way to lose him. 

Char. Tempt liim not so too far ; I wish, forbear : 
In time we hate that which we often fear. 

Enter Antony. 
But here comes Antony. 

Cleo. I am sick, and sullen. 

Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose. — 

Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fall : 
It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature 
Will not sustain it. 

Ant. Now, my dearest queen, — 

Cleo. Pray you, stand farther from me. 

Ant. What 's the niatter? 

Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there 's some good 
news. 
What says the married woman ? — You may go : 
Would, she had never given you leave to come ! 
Let her not say, 't is I that keep you here, 
I have no power upon you ; hers you are. 

Ant. The gods best know. — 

Cleo. O ! never was there queen 

So mightily betray 'd ; yet at the first 
I saw the treasons planted. 



1 PlouRhin<r our " quick winds'' which dry the soil for the plough. ^ By revolution lowering : in f. e. ' Dyce reads : Ho ! 
tion. ' love : in folio. ^ An allusion to the ancient belief, that a horso hair laid into water, turned into a snake. 

53 



4 Exjitdi- 



834 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATEA. 



ACT I. 



Ant. Cleopatra, — 

Clco. Why should I think, you can be mine, and true, 
Though you in swearing shake the throned gods. 
Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness, 
To be entangled with those mouth-made vows, 
Which break themselves in swearing ! 

Ant. Most sweet queen, — 

Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going, 
But bid farewell, and go : when you sued staying, 
Then was the time for words ; no going then : 
Eternity was in our lips, and eyes ; 
Bliss in our brows bent ; none our parts so poor. 
But was a race of heaven : they are so still. 
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, 
Art turn'd the greatest liar. 

Avt. How now, lady ! 

Cleo. I would, I had thy inches ; thou shouldst know 
There were a heart in Egypt. 

Ant. Hear me. queen. 

The strong necessity of time commands 
Our services a while, but my full heart 
Remains in use with you. Our Italy 
Shines o'er with civil swords : Sextus Pompeius 
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome ; 
Equality of two domestic powers 

Breeds scrupulous faction. The hated, grown to strength. 
Are newly grown to love : the condemn'd Pompey, 
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace 
Into the heai'ts of such as have not thriv'd 
Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten ; 
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge 
By any desperate change. My more particular, 
And that which most with you should safe my going. 
Is Fulvia's death. 

Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me 
freedom, 
It does from childishness. — Can Fulvia die ? 

A7it. She 's dead, my queen. 
Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read 
The garboils' she awak'd ; at the last, best. 
See, when, and where she died. 

Cleo. 0, most false love ! 

Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst till 
With sorrowful water ? Now I see, I see. 
In Fulvia's death, how mine receiv'd shall be. 

A7U. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know 
The purposes I bear ; which are, or cease, 
As you shall give the advice : by the fire 
That quickens Nilus' slime. I go from hence. 
Thy soldier, servant ; making peace, or war, 
As thou affect'st. 

Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come. — 

But let it be. — I am quickly ill, and well. 
So Antony loves. 

Ant. My precious queen, forbear ; 

And give true credence^ to his love, which stands 
An honourable trial. 

Cleo. So Fulvia told me. 

1 pr'ythee, turn aside, and weep for her ; 
Then bid adieu to me, and say, the tears 
Belong to Egypt : good now, play one scene 
Of excellent dissembling; and let it look 
Like perfect honour. 

-^nt. You'll heat my blood : no more. 

Clco. You can do better yet, but this is meetly. 

Ant. Now, by my sword, — 

Cleo. And target. — Still he mends ; 

But this is not the best. Look, pr'ythee, Charmian, 
How this Herculean Roman does become 



The carriage of his chafe. 

Ant. I '11 leave you, lady. 

Cleo. Courteous lord, one word. 

Sir, you and I must part, — ^but that 's not it : 
Sir, you and I have lov'd, — but there 's not it ; 
That you know well : something it is I would, — 
! my oblivion is a very Antony, 
And I am all forgotten. 

A7it. But that your royalty 

Holds idleness your subject, I should take you 
For idleness itself. 

Cleo. 'T is sweating labour 

To bear such idleness so near the heart. 
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me ; 
Since my becomings kill me, when they do not 
Eye well to you : your honour calls you hCnee ; 
Therefore, be deaf to my unpitied folly. 
And all the gods go with you ! upon your sword 
Sit laurel'd victory, and smooth success 
Be strew'd before your feet ! 

Ant. Let us go. Come ; 

Our separation so abides, and flies. 
That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me, 
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. 
Away ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Rome. An Apartment in Cesar's 
House. 

Enter Octavius Cesar, Lepidus, and Attendants. 

CcBs. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, 
It is not Crcsar's natural vice to hate 
Our^ great competitor. From Alexandria 
This is the news : he fishes, drinks, and wastes 
The lamps of night in revel ; is not more manlike 
Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy, 
More womanly than he : hardly gave audience, or 
Vouchsaf'd to think he had partners : you shall find 

there 
A man, who is the abstract of all faults 
That all men follow. 



Lep. 



I must not think, there are 



Evils enow to darken all his goodness : 
His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven, 
More fiery by night's blackness ; hereditary, 
Rather than purchas'd : what he cannot change. 
Than what he chooses. 

Cces. You are too indulgent. Let us grant, it is not 
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy, 
To give a kingdom for a mirth ; to sit 
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave : 
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet 
With knaves that smell of sweat : say, this becomes him, 
(As his composure must be rare indeed, 
Whom these things cannot blemish) yet must Antony 
No way excuse his foils.* when we do bear 
So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd 
His vacancy with his voluptuousness. 
Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones, 
Fall^ on him for 't; but, to confound such time. 
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud 
As his owni state, and ours, — 't is to be chid 
As we rate boys ; who, being mature in knowledge. 
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure. 
And so rebel to judgment. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Lep. Here' s more news. 

Me.'is. Thy biddings have been done ; and every hour, 
Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report 
How 't is abroad. Pompey is strong at sea ; 



* Commotions, s evidence : in f. e. 3 One : in f. e. * Malone reads : soils. * Call : in f. e. 



SCENE V. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



835 



And it appears, he is belov'd of those, 
That only have fear'd Cajsar: to the fleets* 
The discontents repair, and men's reports 
Give him much wrong'd. 

CcEs. I should have known no less. 

It hath been taught us from the primal state, 
That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were : 
And the ebb'd man ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth love. 
Comes lov'd'' by being lack'd. This common body, 
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream. 
Goes to, and back, and lackeying^ the varying tide, 
To rot itself with motion. 

Mess. Caesar, I bring thee word, 

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates. 
Make the sea serve them ; which they ear* and wovind 
With keels of every kind : many hot inroads 
They make in Italy ; the borders maritime 
Lack blood to think on 't, and flush youth revolt. 
No vessel can peep forth, but 't is as soon 
Taken as seen ; for Pompey's name strikes more, 
Than could his war resisted. 

Cms. Antony, 

Leave thy lascivious wassels.* When thou once 
Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st 
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel 
Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against, 
Though daintily brought up, with patience more 
Than savages could suffer : thou didst drink 
The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle, 
Which beasts would cough at : thy palate then did deign 
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge ; 
Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets, 
The barks of trees thou browsed'st : on the Alps 
It is reported, thou didst eat strange flesh, 
Which some did die to look on ; and all this 
(It wounds thine honour, that I speak it now) 
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek 
So much as lank'd not. 

Lep. 'T is pity of him. 

Cas. Let his shames quickly 
Drive him to Rome. 'T is time we twain 
Did show ourselves i' the field : and, to that end, 
A>~semble we* immediate council : Pompey 
Thrives in our idleness. 

Lep. To-morrow, Ca;sar, 

I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly 
Both what by sea and land I can be able, 
To front this present time. 

Cas. Till which encounter, 

It is my business too. Farewell. 

Lcp. Farewell, my lord. What you shall know mean 
time 
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir. 
To let me be partaker. 

CcEs. Doubt not, sir ; I knew it for my bond. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Cleopatra. Charmian, Iras, and Mardian. 

Clco. Charmian! 

Char. Madam. 

Cleo. Ha, ha ! — 
Give me to drink mandragora. 

Char. Why, madam ? 

Clco. That I might sleep out this great gap of time, 
My Antony is away. 

Char. You think of him too much. 

Cleo, 0, 'tis treason ! 



Char. 



Madam, I trust, not so. 



Cleo. Thou, eunuch, Mardian- 

Mar. What 's your highness' pleasure ? 

Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing : I take no pleasure 
In aught an eunuch has. 'T is well for thee, 
That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts 
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections ? 

Mar. Yes, gracious madam. 

Clco. Indeed? 

Mar. Not in deed, madam ; for I can do nothing, 
But what in deed is honest to be done ; 
Yet have I fierce affections, and think 
What Venus did with Mars. 

Cleo. O. Charmian ! 

Where think'st thou he is now ? Stands he, or sits he ? 
Or does he walk ? or is he on his liorse ? 
O, happy horse to bear the weight of Antony ! 
Do bravely, horse, for wot'st thou whom tliou mov'st ? 
The demi- Atlas of this earth, the arm 
And burgonet' of men. — He 's speaking now, 
Or murmuring, " Where 's my serpent of old Nile ?" 
For so he calls me. Now I feed my.self 
With most delicious poison : — think on me. 
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black. 
And wrinkled deep in time ? Broad-fronted Cresar, 
When thou wast here above the ground, I was 
A morsel for a monarch ; and great Pompey 
Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my brow ; 
There would he anchor his aspect, and die 
With looking on his life. 

Enter Alexas. 

Alex. Sovereign of Egypt, hail ! 

Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony ; 
Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath 
With his tinct gilded thee. — 
How goes it with my brave Mark Antony ? 

Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen. 
He kiss'd, — the last of many doubled kisses,-;- 
This orient pearl : — his speech sticks in my heart. 

Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence. 

Alex. Good friend, quoth he. 

Say, " the firm Roman to great Egypt sends 
This treasure of an oyster : at whose foot, 
To mend the petty present, I will piece 
Her opulent throne with kingdoms : all the east," 
Say thou, "shall call her mi.strcss." So he nodded, 
And soberly did mount an arm-girt* steed. 
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke 
Was boastfully' dumb'd by him. 

Cleo. What ! was he sad, or merry ? 

Alex. Like to the time o' the year between the ex- 
tremes 
Of hot and cold : he was nor sad, nor merry. 

Cleo. well-divided disposition ! — Note him. 
Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man; but note him: 
He was not sad, for he would shine on those 
That make their looks by his : he was not merry, 
Whicli seem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay 
In Egypt with his joy ; but between both : 
heavenly mingle ! — Be'st thou sad. or merry, 
The violence of either thee becomes. 
So does it no man else. — Met'st thou my posts ? 

Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers. 
Why do you send so thick ? 

Cleo. Who 's born that day 

When I forget to send to Antony, 
Shall die a beggar. — Ink and paper, Charmian. — 
Welcome, my good Alexas. — Did I, Charmian, 



1 ports : in f. e. * dear'd : in f. e. ; fear'd : in folio. ' lacking : in folio, 
folio ; some cds. read : rasseU. * me : in foho, 162-3. ' Helmet. * axm-gaunt : 



Theobald made the change, 
in f. e. 9 beastly : in f. c. 



♦ Plough. * vassailes : in 



836 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



ACT n. 



Ever love Caesar so ? 

Char. 0, that brave Csesar ! 

Cleo. Be chok'd with such another emj)hasis ! 
Say, the brave Antony. 

Char. The valiant Caesar ! 

Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth, 
If thou with Caesar paragon again 
My man of men. 



Char. By your most gracious pardon, 

I sing but after you. 

Cleo. My sail ad days, 

When I was green in judgment : — cold in blood, 
To say as I said then ! — But come, away : 
Get me ink and paper ; 
He shall have every day a several greeting, 



Or I '11 unpeople Egypt. 



[Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — Messina. A Room in Pompey's House. 
Enter Pompey, Menecrates, and Menas. 

Po7n. If the great gods be just, they shall assist 
The deeds of justest men. 

Mene. Know, worthy Pompey, 

That what they do delay, they not deny. 

Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays 
The thing we sue for. 

Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves. 

Beg often our o"v\ti harms, which the wise powers 
Deny us for our good ; so find we profit 
By losing of our prayers. 

Pom. I shall do well : 

The people love me, and the sea is mine j 
My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope 
Says, it will come to the full. Mark Antony 
In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make 
No wars without doors : Caesar gets money, where 
He loses hearts : Lepidus flatters both, 
Of both is flatter'd ; but he neither loves, 
Nor either cares for him. 

3Ien. Caesar and Lepidus 

Are in the field : a mighty strength they carry. 

Pom. Where have you this ? 't is false. 

Men. Prom Silvius, sir. 

Pom. He dreams : I know, they are in Rome together, 
Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love, 
Salt Cleopatra, soften thy warm' lip ! 
Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both : 
Lay* up the libertine in a flood^ of feasts, 
Keep his brain fuming ; Epicurean cooks, 
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite, 
That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour, 
Even till a Lethe'd dulness. — How now, Varrius ! 
Enter Varrius. 

Var. This is most certain, that I shall deliver. 
Mark Antony is every hour in Rome 
Expected ; since he went from Egpyt, 't is 
A space for farther travel. 

Pom. I could have given less matter 

A better ear. — Menas, I did not think, 
This amorous surfeiter would have don'd his helm 
For such a petty war : his soldiership 
Is twice the other twain. But let us rear 
The higher our opinion, that our stirring 
Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck 
The ne'er lust- wearied Antony. 

Meii. I cannot hope, 

Caesar and Antony shall well greet together : 
His wife that 's dead did trespasses to Caesar; 
His brother warr'd upon him, although, I think. 
Not mov'd by Antony, 

Pom. I know not, Menas, 

How lesser enmities may give way to greater. 
Were't not that we stand up against them all, 

I wand : in f, e. = Tie : in f. e. 3 field : in f. e. * Quarrel. " 



'T were pregnant they should square* between them- 
selves ; 
For they have entertained cause enough 
To draw their swords : but how the fear of us 
May cement their divisions, and bind up 
The petty difference, we yet not know. 
Be it as our gods will have 't ! It only stands 
Our lives upon to use our strongest hands. 
Come, Menas. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Rome. A Room in the House of Lepidus, 
Enter Enobarbus and Lepidus. 

Lep. Good Enobarbus, 't is a worthy deed, 
And shall become you well, to entreat your captain 
To soft and gentle speech. 

E710. I shall entreat him 

To answer like himself: if Caesar move him. 
Let Antony look over Caesar's head, 
And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, 
Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard, 
I would not shave 't to-day. 

Lep. 'Tis not a time 

For private stomaching. 

Eno. Every time 

Serves for the matter that is then born in 't. 

Lep. But small to greater matters must give way. 

Eno. Not if the small come first. 

Lep. Your speech is passion : 

But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes 
The noble Antony. 

Enter Antony aJid Ventidius. 

Eno. And yonder, Caesar. 

Enter CjESAR, MeCjENAs, and Agrippa. 

Ant. If we compose well here, to Parthia : 
Hark you, Ventidius, 

Cces. I do not know, 

Mecaenas ; ask Agrippa. 

Lep. Noble friends, 

That which combin'd us was most great, and let not 
A leaner action rend us. What 's amiss, 
May it be gently heard : when we debate 
Our trivial difference loud, we do commit 
Murder m healing wounds. Then, noble partners, 
(The rather, for I earnestly beseech) 
Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms. 
Nor curstness grow to the matter. 

Ant. 'T is spoken well. 

Were we before our armies, and to fight, 
I should do thus. [Shake hands.^ 

Cces. Welcome to Rome. 

Ant. Thank you. 

Cffi.s. Sit. 

Ant. Sit, sir. 

Cces. Nay, then — 

Ant. I learn, you take things ill, which are not so ; 
Or, being, concern you not. 

Not in f. e. 



SCENE 11. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



837 



C(zs. 



I must be laugh'd at, 



If, or for nothing, or a little, I 

Should say myself offended ; and with you 

Chiefly i' the world : more laugh'd at, that I should 

Once name you derogately, when to sound your name 

It not concern'd me. 

Ant. My being in Egypt, Cajsar, 

What was 't to you ? 

CcRs. No more than my residing here at Rome 
Might be to you in Egypt : yet, if you there 
Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt 
Might be my question. 

Ant. How intend you, practis'd ? 

Cms. You may be plcas'd to catch at mine intent, 
By what did here befal me. Your wife, and brother, 
Made wars upon me. and their contestation 
Was theme for you ; you were the word of war. 

Ant. You do mi.stake your business : my brother never 
Did urge me in his act : I did enquire it ; 
And have my learning from some true reports. 
That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather 
Discredit my authority with yours ; 
And make the wars alike against my stomach, 
Having alike your cause ? Of this my letters 
Before did satisfy you. If you '11 patch a quarrel, 
No matter whole you have to make it with. 
It must not be with this. 

CcEs. You praise yourself 

By laying defects of judgment to me; but 
You patch'd up your excuses. 

Ant. Not so ; not so ; 

I know you could not lack, I am certain on 't, 
Very necessity of this thought, that I, 
Your partner in the cause 'gainst which lie fought, 
Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars 
Which fronted mine own peace. As for my wife, 
I would you had her spirit in such another : 
The third o' the world is yours, which with a snaffle, 
You may pace easy, but not such a wife. 

Eno. Would we had all such wives, that the men 
might go to wars with the women ! 

Anl. So much uncurbable, her garboils, Caesar, 
Made out of her impatience, (which not wanted 
Shrewdness of policy too) I grieving grant, 
Did you too much disquiet : for that, you must 
But say, I could not help it. 

Cms. I wrote to you, 

When rioting in Alexandria ; you 
Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts 
Did gibe my missive out of audience. 

Ant. Sir, 

He fell upon me, ere admitted : then 
Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want 
Of what I was i' the morning ; but, next day, 
I told him of myself, which was as much 
As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow 
Be nothing of our strife ; if we contend. 
Out of our question wipe him. 

CcRs. You have broken 

The article of your oath, which you shall never 
Have tongue to charge me with. 

Lep. Soft, Coesar. 

Ant. No, Lepidus, let him speak : 
The honour 's sacred which he talks on now. 
Supposing that I lack'd it. But on, Coesar ; 
The article of my oath. 

CcE.^. To lend me arms and aid when I requir'd them. 
The which you both denied. 

Ant. Neglected, rather; 

1 Reconcile. ' your : in folio. ' of : in f. e. 



And then, when poison'd hours had bound me up 
From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may, 
I '11 play the penitent to you : but mine honesty 
Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power 
Work without it. Truth is, that Fulvia, 
To have me out of Egypt, made wars here ; 
For which myself, the ignorant motive, do 
So far ask pardon, as befits mine honour 
To stoop in such a case. 

Lcp. 'T is nobly spoken. 

Mec. If it might please you, to enforce no farther 
The griefs between ye : to forget them quite. 
Were to remember that the present need 
Speaks to atone' you. 

Lep. Worthily spoken, Mecsenas. 

£no. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the 
instant, you may, when you hear no more words of 
Pompey, return it again: you shall have time to 
^\Tangle in, when you have nothing else to do. 

Ant. Thou art a soldier only : speak no more. 

Eno. That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. 

Ant. You wrong this presence ; therefore, speak no 
more. 

Eno. Go to then ; you' considerate stone. 

Cces. I do not much dislike the matter, but 
The manner of his speech ; for it caimot be. 
We shall remain in friendship, our conditions 
So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew 
What hoop should hold us staunch, from edge to 

edge 
0' the world I would pursue it. 

■^gr. Give me leave, Caesar, — 

Cos. Speak, Agrippa. 

Agr. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, 
Admir'd Octavia : great Mark Antony 
Is now a widower. 

CcBs. Say not so, Agrippa : 

If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof 
Were well deserv'd for^ rashness. 

Aiit. I am not married, Oa;sar : let me hear 
Agrippa farther speak. 

Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity, 
To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts 
With an unslipping knot, take Antony 
Octavia to his wife : whose beauty claims 
No worse a husband than the best of men, 
Whose virtue and whose general graces speak 
That which none else can utter. By this marriage. 
All little jealousies, which now seem great. 
And all great fears, which now import their dangers, 
Would then be nothing : truths would be tales. 
Where now half tales be truths : her love to both, 
Would, each to other, and all loves to both, 
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke, 
For 't is a studied, not a present thought, 
My duty ruminated. 

Ant. Will Csesar speak ? 

Cces. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd 
With what is spoke already. 

Ant. What power is in Agrippa, 

If I would say, "Agrippa, be it so," 
To make this good ? 

Cas. The power of Caesar, and 

Hia power unto Octavia. 

Ant. May I never 

To this good purpose, that so fairly shows. 
Dream of impediment ! — Let me have thy hand : 
Further this act of grace, and from this hour, 
The hearts of brothers govern in our loves. 



838 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



ACT IT. 



And sway our great designs. 

CcEs. There is my hand. 

A sister I bequeath you,\vhom no brother [Ant. takes it} 
Did ever love so dearly : let her live 
To join our kingdoms, and our hearts ; and never 
Fly off our loves again ! 

Lep. Happily, amen. 

Ant. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst 
Pompey ; 
For he hath laid strange courtesies, and great, 
Of late upon mc : I must thank him, only 
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report ; 
At heel of that, defy him. 

Le-p. Time calls upon us : 

Of us must Pompey presently be sought, 
Or el.se he seeks out us. 

Ant. Where lies he ? 

Cms. About the Mount Misenum. 

Ant. What 's his strength 

By land ? 

Cas. Great, and increasing ; but by sea 
He is an absolute master. 

Ant. So is the fame. 

Would we had spoke together ! Haste we for it ; 
Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, despatch we 
The business we have talk'd of. 

Cms. With most gladness : 

And do invite you to my sister's view, 
Whither straight I '11 lead you. 

Ant. Let us, Lepidus, 

Not lack your company. 

Lep. Noble Antony, 

Not sickness should detain me. 

[Flourish. Exeunt CiESAR, Antony, and Lepidus. 

Mec. Welcome from Egypt, sir. 

Eno. Half the heart of Cjesar, worthy Mecsenas ! — 
my honourable friend, Agrippa ! — 

A^r. Good Enobarbus ! 

Mec. We have cause to be glad, that matters are so 
■well digested. You stay'd well by it in Egypt. 

Eno. Ay, sir ; we did sleep day out of countenance, 
and made the night light with drinking. 

Mec. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a breakfast, 
and but twelve persons there : is this true ? 

Eno. This was but as a fly by an eagle : we had 
much more monstrous matter of feast, which worthily 
deserved noting. 

Mec. She 's a most triumphant lady, if report be 
square to her. 

Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, she pursed 
up his heart, upon the river of Cydnus. 

Agr. There she appeared indeed, or my reporter de- 
vised well for her. 

Eno. I will tell you. 
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, 
Burn'd on the water : the poop was beaten gold ; 
Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that 
The winds were love-sick with them : the oars were 

silver ; 
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 
The water, which they beat, to follow faster. 
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, 
It beggar'd all description : she did lie 
In her pavilion, (cloth of gold and^ tissue) 
O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see. 
The fancy out-work nature : on each side her, 
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
With diver.se-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem 
To glow^ the delicate cheeks which they did cool, 

1 Not in f. e. = of : in f. e. ' glove : in folio. * Swell : in f. e. 



And what they undid, did. 

Agr. 0, rare for Antony ! 

Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides. 
So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes, 
And made their bends adornings : at the helm 
A seeming mermaid steers ; the silken tackle 
Smell* with the touches of those flower-soft hands, 
That yarely^ frame the office. From the barge 
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
Her people out upon her ; and Antony, 
Enthron'd i' the market-place, did sit alone. 
Whistling to the air ; which, but for vacancy, 
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too. 
And made a gap in nature. 

Agr. Rare Egyptian ! 

Eno. Upon her landing Antony sent to her, 
Invited her to supper : she replied. 
It should be better he became her guest, 
Which she entreated. Our courteous Antony, 
Whom ne'er the word of " No" woman heard speak, 
Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast ; 
And for his ordinary pays his heart 
For what his eyes eat only. 

Agr. Royal wench ! 

She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed ; 
He plough'd her, and she cropp'd. 

Eno. I saw her once 

Hop forty paces through the public street ; 
And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted, 
That she did make defect perfection. 
And, breathless, power breathe forth. 

Mec. Now Antony must leave her utterly. 

Eno. Never ; he will not. 
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
Her infinite variety : other women cloy 
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry. 
Where most she satisfies ; for vilest things 
Become themselves in her, that the holy priests 
Bless her when she is riggish. 

Mec. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle 
The heart of Antony. Octavia is 
A blessed lottery to him. 

Agr. Let us go. — 

Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest, 
Whilst you abide here. 

Eno. Humbly, sir, I thank you. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. A Room in Cesar's House. 

Enter C^sar, Antony, Octavia between them; 

Attendants. 

Ant. The wortd. and my great office, will sometimes 
Divide me from your bosom. 

Octa. All which time. 

Before the gods my knee shall bow with prayers 
To them for you. 

Ant. Good night, sir. — My Octavia, 

Read not my blemishes in the world's report : 
I have not kept my square, but that to come 
Shall all be done by the rule. Good night, dear lady. — 
Good night, sir. 

Cces. Good night. [Exeunt C^sar and Octavia. 

Enter a Soothsayer. 

Ant. Now, sirrah : you do wish yourself in Egypt. 

Sooth. Would I had never come from thence, nor 
you thither ! 

Ant. If you can, your reason ? 

Sooth. I see it in my motion, have it not in my 
tongue : but yet hie you to Egypt again. 

» Nimbly. 



SCENE V. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATKA. 



839 



Ant. Say to me. whose fortune shall rise higher, 
Caesar's, or mine ? 

Sooth. Caesar's. 
ThereFore, Antony ! stay not by his side : 
Thy dajmon, that 's thy spirit which keeps thee, is 
Noble, courageou.s, liigh, uninatchable, 
Where Caesar's is not ; but near him thy angel 
Becomes afeard,' as being o'erpower'd: therefore. 
Make space enough between you. 

Ant. Speak this no more. 

Sooth. To none but thee; no more, but when to thee. 
If thou dost play with him at any game, 
Thou art sure to lo.se : and, of that natural luck, 
He beats thee 'gainst the odds : thy lustre thickens, 
When ho .shines by. I say again, thy spirit 
Is all afraid to govern thee near him. 
But, he away, 't is noble. 

Ant. Get thee gone : 

Say to Vcntidius, I would speak with him. — 

[Exit Soothsayer. 
He shall to Parthia. — Be it art, or hap, 
He hath .spoken true : the very dice obey him; 
And in our sports my better cunning faints 
Under his chance : if we draw lots, he speeds: 
His cocks do win the battle still of mine, 
When it is all to nought ; and his quails ever 
Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. 1 will to Egypt: 
And though I make this marriage for my peace, 

Enter Ventidius. 
I' the east my pleasure lies. — ! come, Ventidius. 
You must to Parthia : your commission 's ready ; 
Follow me, and receive it. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. A Street. 
Enter Lepidus, Mec^nas, and Agrippa. 

Lep. Trouble yourselves no farther: pray you. hasten 
Your generals after. 

Agr. Sir, Mark Antony 

Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we '11 follow. 

Lep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress, 
Which will become you both, farewell. 

Mec. We shall, 

As I conceive the journey, be at Mount^ 
Before you, Lepidus. 

Lep. Your way is shorter ; 

My purposes do draw me much about : 
You '11 win two days upon me. 

3Iec. Agr. Sir, good success ! 

Lep. Farewell. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Cleop.\tra, Charmian, Iras, and Ale.kas. 



Cleo. Give me some music ; 
Of us that trade in love. 
Attend. 



music, moody food 



The music, ho ! 
Enter Mardian. 

Cleo. Let it alone ; let's to billiards : come, Charmian. 

Char. My arm is sore, best play with Mardian. 

Cleo. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd. 
As with a woman. — Come, you 'U play with me, sir ? 

Mar. As well as I can, madam. Ftoo short, 

Cleo. And when good will is show'd, though 't come 
The actor may plead pardon. I '11 none now. — 
Give me mine angle. — wo '11 to the river : there, 
My music playing far off, I will betray 
Tawny-finn'd' fishes ; my bended hook shall pierce 
Their slimy jaws, and as I draw them up, 
I '11 think them every one an Antony, 
And say, Ah, ha ! you 're caught. 



Char. 'T was merry, when 

You wager'd on your angling ; when your diver 
Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he 
With fervency drew up. 

Cleo. That time. — times ! — 

I laugh'd him out of patience ; and that night 
I laugh'd him into patience : and next morn. 
Ere the ninth liour, I drunk him to his bed : 
Then, put my tires and mantles on him, whilst 
I wore his sword Philippian. — 

Enter Elis, a Messenger.* 

O ! from Italy ?— 
Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, 
That long time have been barren. 

Mess. Madam, madam, — 

Cleo. Antony 's dead ? — 
If thou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress : 
But well and free, 

If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here 
My bluest veins to kiss ; a hand, that kings 
Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. 

Mess. First, madam, he is well. 

Cleo. Why, there 's more gold. 

But, sirrah, mark, we use 
To say, the dead are well : bring it to that, 
Tiie gold I give thee will I melt, and pour 
Down thy ill-uttering throat. 

Mess. Good madam, hear me. 

Cleo. Well, go to, I will : 

But there 's no goodness in thy face. If Antony 
Be free, and healthful, why so tart a favour 
To trumpet such good tidings ? if not well, 
Thou shouldst come like a fury crown'd with snakes. 
Not like a formal man. 

Mess. Will 't please you hear me ? 

Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee, ere thou speak'st : 
Yet, if thou say, Antony lives, 't is well ; 
Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him, 
I '11 set thee in a shower of gold, and hail 
Rich pearls upon thee. 

Mess. 

Cleo. ' Well said. 

Mess. And friends with Caesar. 

Cleo. Thou 'rt an honest man. 

Mess. Caesar and he are greater friends than ever. 

Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me. 

Mess. But yet, madam, — 

Cleo. I do not like "but yet," it docs allay 
The good precedence ; fie upon " but yet !" 
'• But yet" is as a gaoler to bring forth 
Some monstrous malefactor. Pr'ythee, friend, 
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear. 
The good and bad together. He 's friends with Caesar; 
In state of health, thou say'st; and, thou say'st, free. 

Mess. Free, madam ? no ; I made no such report : 
He 's bound unto Octavia. 



Madam, he 's well. 



> a fear : in f. e. ^ Mt. Misennm. * Tawney-fine : in folio. 



Cleo. For what good turn ? 

Mess. For the best turn i' the bed. 

Cleo. I am pale, Charmian. 

Mess. Madam, he 's married to Octavia. 

Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee ! 

[Strikes him down. 
Mess. Good madam, patience. 

Cleo. What say you ? — Hence, 

[Strikes him again. 
Horrible villain ! or I '11 spurn thine eyes 
Like balls before me: I '11 unhair thy head. 

[She hales him up and down. 
I Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine, 

Theobald made the change. * Enter a Messenger : in f. e. 



840 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



ACT n. 



Gracious madam, 



Smarting in lingering pickle. 

3Iess. 
I, that do bring the news, made not the match. 

Cleo. Say, 't is not so, a province I will give thee, 
And make thy fortunes proud : the blow thou hadst 
Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage ; 
And I will boot thee with what gift beside 
Thy modesty can beg. 

Mess. He 's married, madam. 

C/co. Rogue ! thou hast liv'd too long. [Draws a Knife. 

Mess. Nay, then I '11 run. — 

"What mean you, madam ? I have made no fault. [Exit. 

Char. Good madam, keep yourself within yourself: 
The man is innocent. 

Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunder-bolt. — 
Melt Egypt into Nile ! and kindly creatures 
Turn all to serpents — Call the slave again : 
Though I am mad, I will not bite him. — Call. 

Char. He is afeard to come. 

Cleo. T will not hurt him. — 

These hands do lack nobility, that they strike 
A meaner than myself ; since I myself 
Have given my.self the cause. — Come hither, sir. 

Re-enter Elis, the Messenger.^ 
Though it be honest, it is never good 
To bring bad news : give to a gracious message 
An host of tongues ; but let ill tidings tell 
Themselves, when they be felt. 

Mess. I have done my duty. 

Cleo. Is he married ? 

I cannot hate thee worser than I do, 
If thou again say, Yes. 

Mess. He 's married, madam. 

Cleo. The gods confound thee ! dost thou hold there 
still ? 

Mess. Should I lie, madam ? 

Cleo. . ! I would, thou didst, 

So half my Egypt were submerg'd, and made 
A cistern for scal'd snakes. Go, get thee hence : 
Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me 
Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married ? 

Mess. I crave your highness' pardon. 

Cleo. He is married ? 

Mess. Take no offence, that I would not offend you : 
To punisli me for what you make me do, 
Seems much unequal. He is married to Octavia. 

Cleo. ! that his fault should make a knave of thee. 
That art not ! What ! thou 'rt sure of?' — Get thee hence : 
The merchandise which thou hast brought from Rome, 
Are all too dear for me: lie they upon thy hand, 
And be undone by 'em ! [Exit Messenger. 

Char. Good your highness, patience. 

Cleo. In praising Antony, I have disprais'd Csesar. 

Char. Many times, madam. 

Cleo. I am paid for 't now. 

Lead me from hence ; 

I faint. — Iras ! Charmian ! — 'T is no matter. — 
Go to the fellow, good Alexas ; bid him 
Report the feature of Octavia, her years, 
Her inclination, let him not leave out 
The colour of her hair : bring me word quickly. — 

[Exit Alexas. 
Let him for ever go ? — let him not — Charmian, 
Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, 
The other way he 's a Mars. — Bid you Alexas 

[To Mardian. 
Bring me word, how tall she is. — Pity me, Charmian, 
But do not speak to me. — Lead me to my chamber. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE VI.— Near Misenum. 
Flourish. Enter Pompey and Menas, at one side, with 
Drum and Trumpet: at another.^ CjESar, Lepidus 
Antony, Enobarbus, Mecj.nas, with Soldiers march 
ing. 

Tom. Your hostages I have, so have yoa mine: 
And we shall talk before we fight. 

Cces. Most meet, 

That first we come to words ; and therefore have we 
Our written purposes before us sent. 
Which, if thou hast consider'd, let us know 
If 't will tie up thy discontented sword. 
And carry back to Sicily much tall youth. 
That else must perish here. 

Pom. To you all three. 

The senators alone of this great world, 
Chief factors for the gods. — I do not know, 
Wherefore my father should revengers want. 
Having a son, and friends ; since Julius Cajsar, 
Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted, 
There saw you labouring for him. What was it, 
That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire ? And what 
Made the all-honour'd, honest, Roman Brutus, 
With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom, 
To drench the Capitol, but that they would 
Have one man but a man ? And that is it 
Hath made me rig my navy, at whose burden 
The anger'd ocean foams ; with which I meant 
To scourge th' ingratitude that despiteful Rome 
Cast on my noble father. 

Cces. Take your time. 

Ant. Thou canst not fear^ us, Pompey, with thy 
sails ; 
We '11 speak with thee at sea : at land, thou know'st 
How much we do o'er-count thee. 

Tom. At land, indeed, 

Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house : 
But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself, 
Remain in 't as thou may'st. 

Lep. Be pleas'd to tell us, 

(For this is from the present) how you take 
The offers we have sent you. 

Cos. There 's the point. 

Ant. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh 
What it is worth embrac'd. 

Cas. And what may follow, 

To try a larger fortune. 

Tom. You have made me offer 

Of Sicily, Sardinia ; and I must 
Rid all the sea of pirates ; then, to send 
Measures of wheat to Rome : this 'greed upon. 
To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back 
Targes undinted. 

Cces. Ant. Lep. That 's our offer. 

Tom. Know then, 

I came before you here, a man prepar'd 
To take this offer ; but Mark Antony 
Put me to some impatience. — Though I lose 
The praise of it by telling, you must know. 
When Ctesar and your brother were at blows. 
Your mother came to Sicily, and did find 
Her welcome friendly. 

Ant. I have heard it, Pompey; 

And am well studied for a liberal thanks, 
Which I do owe you. 

Tom. Let me have your hand 

I did not think, sir, to have met you here. 

[They take Hands.* 



1 Re-enter Messenger : in f. e. ' That art not what thou 'rt sure of : in folio. 3 Alarm. ♦ Not in f. e. 



SCENE VII. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATKA. 



841 



Ant. The beds i' the east are soft ; and thanks to 
you, 
That call'd me timelier than my purpose hither, 
For I have gain'd by it. 

Cces. Since I saw you last, 

There is a change upon you. 

Pom. Well, I know not 

What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face, 
But in my bosom shall she never come. 
To make my heart her vassal. 

Lep. Well met here. 

Pom. I hope so, Lepidus. — Thus we are agreed. 
I crave, our composition may be written, 
And seal'd between us. 

Cas. That 's the next to do. 

Pom. We '11 feast each other, ere we part ; and let us 
Draw lots who shall begin. 

Ant*. That will I, Pompey. 

Pom. No, Antony, take the lot ; but, first 
Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery 
Shall have the fame. I have heard, that Julius Caesar 
Grew fat with feasting there. 

Ant. You have heard much. 

Pom. I have fair meanings, sir. 

Ant. And fair words to them. 

Pom. Then, so much have I heard : 
And I have heard, ApoUodorus carried — 

Eno. No more of that : — he did so. 

Pom. What, I pray you ? 

Eno. A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. 

Pom. I know thee now : how far'st thou, soldier ? 

Eno. ' Well ; 

And well am like to do ; I perceive, 
Four feasts are toward. 

Pom. Let me shake thy hand : 

I never hated thee. I have seen thee fight, 
When I have envied thy behaviour. 

Eno. Sir, 

I never lov'd you much ; but I have prais'd you. 
When you have well deserv'd ten times as much 
As I have said you did. 

Pom. Enjoy thy plainness. 

It nothing ill becomes thee. — 
Aboard my galley I invite you all : 
Will you lead, lords ? 

C(zs. Ant. Lep. Show us the way, sir. 

Pom. Come. 

[Exeunt Pompey, Caesar, Antony, Lepidus, 
Soldiers and Attendants. 

Men. Thy father. Pompey, would ne'er have made 
this treaty. — [ J.sw/e.] — You and I have known, sir. 

Eno. At sea, I think. 

Men. We have, sir. 

Eno. You have done well by water. 

Men. And you by land. 

Eno. I will praise any man that will praise me ; 
though it cannot be denied what I have done by land. 

Men. Nor what I have done by water. 

Eno. Yes ; something you can deny for your own 
safety : you have been a great thief by sea. 

Men. And you by land. 

Eno. There I deny my land service. But give me 
your hand, Menas : if our eyes had authority, here 
they might take two thieves kissing. 

Men. All men's faces are true, whatsoe'er their 
hands are. 

Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a true 
face. 

Men. No slander; they steal hearts. 

> Trumpet blast, s Plenty. 



Eno. We came hither to fight with you. 

Men. For my part, I am sorry it is turned to a 
drinking. Pompey doth this day laugh away his 
fortune. 

Eno. If he do, sure, he cannot weep it back again. 

Men. You have said, sir. Wc looked not for Mark 
Antony here : pray you, is he married to Cleopatra ? 

Eno. Caesar's sister is call'd Octavia. 

Men. True, sir: she was the wife of Caius Marcellus. 

Eno. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. 

Men. Pray you, sir ? 

Eno. 'T is true. 

Men. Then is Caesar, and he, for ever knit together. 

Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I 
would not prophesy so. 

Men. I think, the policy of that purpose made more 
in the marriage, than the love of the parties. 

Eno. I think so too : but you shall find, the band 
that seems to tie their friendship together will be the 
very strangler of their amity. Octavia is of a holy, 
cold, and still conversation. 

Men. Who would not have his wife so? 

Eno. Not he, that himself is not so ; which is Mark 
Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish again : then, 
shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in Caesar ; 
and, as I said before, tliat which is the strength of 
their amity, shall prove the immediate author of their 
variance. Antony will use his affection where it is : 
he married but his occasion here. 

Men. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you 
aboard ? I have a health for you. 

Eno. I shall take it, sir : we have used our throats 
in Egypt. 

Men. Come ; let 's away. \Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— On Board Pompey's Galley, lying near 

Misenum. 
Music. Enter Two or Three Servants, with a Banquet. 

1 Serv. Here they '11 be, man. Some o' their plants 
are ill-rooted already ; the least wind i' the world will 
blow them down. 

2 Serv. Lepidus is high-coloured. 

1 Serv. They have made him drink alms-drink. 

2 Serv. As they pinch one another by the disposi- 
tion, he cries out, " no more :" reconciles them to his 
entreaty, and himself to the drink. 

1 Serv. But it raises the greater war between him 
and his discretion. 

2 Serv. Why, this it is to have a name in great men's 
fellowship : I had as lief have a reed that will do me 
no service, as a partizan I could not heave. 

1 Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, and not to 
be seen to move in 't, are the holes where eyes should 
be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks. 
A Sennet^ sounded. Enter Caesar, Antony, Pompey, 

Lepidus, Agrippa, MecjEnas, Enobarbus, Menas, 

with other Captains. 

Ant. Thus do they, sir. [To Ca:sar.] They take 
the fiow o' the Nile 
By certain scales i' the pyramid : they know, 
By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth, 
Or foison^ follow. The higher Nilus swells, 
The more it promises : as it ebbs, the seedsman 
Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain. 
And shortly comes to liarvest. 

Lep. You have strange serpents there. 

Ant. Ay, Lepidus. 

Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred, now, of your 
mud by the operation of your sun : so is your crocodile. 



842 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



ACT II. 



Ant. They are so. 

Pom. Sit, — and some wine ! — A health to Lepidus. 

Lep. T am not so well as I should be, but I '11 ne'er out. 

Eno. Not till you have slept : 1 fear me, you '11 be 
in, till then. 

Lep. Nay. certainly, I have heard, the Ptolemies' 
pyramids are very goodly things' without contradic- 
tion, I have heard that. 

3Ien. [Aside] Pompey, a word. 

Pom. [Aside.] Say in mine ear : what is 't ? 

3Ien. [Aside.] Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee. 
And hear me speak a word. [captain, 

Pom. [Aside.] Forbear me till anon. — 

This wine for Lepidus. 

Lep. What manner o' thing is your crocodile ? 

Ant. ft is shaped, sir, like it.self, and it is as broad 
as it hath breadth ; it is just so high as it is, and moves 
with its own organs : it lives by that which nourisheth 
it, and the elements once out of it, it transmigrates. 

Lep. What colour is it of? 

Ant. Of its own colour too. 

Lep. T is a strange serpent. 

Ant. 'T is so ; and the tears of it are wet. 

Cces. Will this description satisfy hiin? 

Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him, else 
he is a very epicure. 

Pom. [To Menas, aside.] Go, hang, sir, hang! Tell 
me of that, away ! 
Do as I bid you. — Where 's this cup I call'd for ? 

Men. [Aside.] If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear 
Rise from thy stool. [me, 

Pom. [Aside.] I think, thou 'rt mad. The matter? 

[Walks aside. 

Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes. 

Pom. Thou hast serv'd me with much faith. What 's 
else to say ? — 
Be jolly, lords. 

Ant. These quick-sands, Lepidus, 

Keep off them, for you sink. 

Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world ? 

Pom. What say'st thou ? 

Men. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world ? That 's 
twice. 

Pom. How should that be ? 

Men. But entertain it, 

And though thou think me poor, I am the man 
Will give thee all the world. 

Pom. Hast thou drunk well ? 

Men. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. 
Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove : 
Whate'er the ocean pales,' or sky inclips,^ 
Is thine, if thou wilt have 't. 

Pom. Show me which way. 

Men. These three world-sharers, these competitors. 
Are in thy vessel : let me cut the cable ; 
And, when we are put off, fall to their throats : 
All then is thine. 

Pom. Ah ! this thou shouldst have done. 

And not have spoke on 't. In me, 't is villainy ; 
In thee, 't had been good service. Thou must know, 
'T is not my profit that does lead mine honour, 
Mine honour, it. Repent, that e'er thy tongue 
Hath so betray'd thine act : being done unknown, 
I should have found it afterwards well done, 
But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. 

Men. [Aside.] For this, 
I 'U never follow thy pall'd fortunes more. 
Who seeks, and will not take, when once 't is offer'd, 
Shall never find it more. 



Pom. This health to Lepidus. 

Ant. Bear him ashore. — I'll pledge it for him, Pompey. 

E710. Here 's to thee, Menas. 

Men. Enobarbus, welcome. 

Pom. Fill, till the cup be hid. 

Eno. There 's a strong fellow, Menas. 
[Pointing to the Attendant who carries off Lepidus. 

Men. Why ? 

Eno. He bears 

The third part of the world, man : see'st not ? 

Men. The third part, then, is drunk : would it were all, 
That it might go on wheels !^ 

Eno. Drink thou; increase the reels. 

Men. Come. 

Po7n. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. ^ 

Ant. It ripens towards it. — Strike* the vessels, ho ! 
Here is to Cajsar. 

Cces. I could well forbear it, * 

It 's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain, 
And it grows fouler. 

Ant. Be a child o' the time. 

CcBs. Profess* it, I '11 make an.swer ; but I had rather 
fast 
From all four daj's, than drink so much in one. 

Eno. Ha, my brave emperor ! [To Antony. 

Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, 
And celebrate our drink ? 

Pom. Let 's ha 't, good soldier. 

Ant. Come, let us all shake hands. 
Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense 
In soft and delicate Lethe. 

Eno. All take hands. — 

Make battery to our ears with the loud music ; 
The while I '11 place you : then, the boy shall sing; 
The holding' every man shall bear, as loud 
As his strong sides can volley. 

[Music plays. Enobarbus places them hand in hand. 
Song, by the Boy.'' 
ComCj thou monarch of the vine^ 
Plumpy Bacchus J with pink eyne : 
In thy vats our cares be drown'' d ; 
With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd; 



Cup us J till the world go round ; \ 

id! ) 



Cup us. till the world go round ! j 

Cms. What would you more ? — Pompey, good night. 
— Good brother. 
Let me request you off: our graver business 
Frowns at this levity. — Gentle lords, let 's part ; 
You see, we have burnt our cheeks. Strong Enobarbe 
Is weaker than the wine, and mine own tongue 
Splits what it speaks : the wild disguise hath almost 
Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good 

night. — 
Good Antony, your hand. 

Pom. I 'II try you on the shore. 

Ant. And shall, sir, Give 's your hand. 

Pom. O, Antony! 

You have my father's house. — But what ? we are friends. 
Come down into the boat. 

Eno. Take heed you fall not. — 

[Exeurd Pompev, Caesar, Antony, and Attendants. 
Menas, I '11 not on shore. 

Men. No, to my cabin, — 

These drums ! — these trumpets, flutes ! what ! — 
Let Neptune hear, we bid a loud farewell 
To these great fellows : sound, and be hang'd ! sound 
out ! [A Flourish. 

Eno. Ho, says 'a ! — There 's my cap. 

Men. ' Ho ! — noble captain ! come. [Exeunt 



^Encloses. ''Embraces. 3 A provertial expression. * Tap. * Possess : in f. e . ^Burden. "< by the Boy : not in t e. 



SCENE II. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



843 



ACT III. 



SCENE I.— A Plain in Syria. 
Enter Ventidius, as it ivere in triumph, with Simus, 

and other Romans, Officers, and Soldiers; the dead 

Body of Pacorus borne before him. 

Vcn. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck; and now 
Plcas'd fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death 
Make me revenger. — Bear the king's son's body 
Before our army. — Thy Pacorus. Orodes, 
Pays this for Marcus Crassus. 

Sil Noble Ventidius. 

Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm, 
The fugitive Parthians follow : spur through Media, 
Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither 
The routed fly : so thy grand captain. Antony, 
Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and 
Put garlands on thy head. 

Ven. Silius, Silius ! 

I have done enough : a lower place, note well, 
May make too great an act ; for learn this, Silius, 
Better to leave undone, than by our deeds acquire 
Too high a fame, when him we serve 's away. 
C^sar and Antony have ever won 
More in their oflieer. than person : Sossius, 
One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant, 
For quick accumulation of renown, 
Which he achiev'd by the minute, lost his favour. 
Who docs i' the wars more than his captain can, 
Becomes his captain's captain; and ambition, 
The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, 
Than gain which darkens him. 
I could do more to do Antonius good, 
But 't would otfend him ; and in his offence 
Should my performance perish. 

Sil. Thou hast, Ventidius, that 

Without the which a soldier, and his sword, 
Gains scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antony? 

Ven. I '11 humbly signify what in his name, 
That magical word of war, we have effected ; 
How, with his banners and his well-paid ranks, 
The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia 
We have jaded out o' the field. 

Sil. Where is he now ? 

Ven. He purposeth to Athens : whither, with what 
haste 
The weight we must convey with us will permit, 
Wc shall appear before him. — On, there ! pass along. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE H.— Rome. 



An Ante-Chamber in Cesar's 
House. 
E7iter Agrippa, aiul Enobarbus. meeting. 
Jgr. What ! are the brothers parted ? 
E710. They have despatch'd with Pompey: he is 
gone ; 
The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps 
To part from Rome; Ca;sar is sad; and Lcpidus, 
Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled 
With the green sickness. 

Agr. 'T is a noble Lepidus. 

Eno. A very fine one. O, how he loves Caesar! 
Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony ! 
Eno. Cajsar ? Why. he 's the Jupiter of men. 
Agr. What 's Antony? The god of Jupiter. 
Eno. Spake you of Caisar? How! the nonpareil ! 

> Scaly unngs. 



Agr. Antony ! thou Arabian bird ! 

Eno. Would you praise Ca;sar, say, — Ca;sar: — go no 
farther. 

Agr. Indeed, he ply'd them both with excellent 
praises. 

Eno. But he loves Ca3sar best; — yet he loves Antony. 
Ho ! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets cannot 
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho ! 
His love to Antony. But as for Crcsar, 
Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. 

Agr. Both he loves. 

Eno. They are his shards," and he their beetle. 
So, — [Trumpets. 

This is to horse. — Adieu, noble Agrippa. 

Agr. Good fortune, worthy soldier ; and farewell. 
Enter Caesar, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavia. 

Ant. No farther, sir. 

CcBs. You take from me a great jiart of myself; 
Use me well in 't. — Sister, prove such a wife 
As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest band 
Shall pass on thy approof. — Most noble Antony, 
Let not the piece of virtue, which is set 
Betwixt us as the cement of our love. 
To keep it builded, be the ram to batter 
The fortress of it ; for better might we 
Have loved without this mean, if on both parts 
This be not cherish'd. 

Ant. Make me not offended 

In your distrust. 

Cces. I have said. 

Ant. You shall not find, 

Though you be therein curious, the least cause 
For what you seem to fear. So, the gods keep you, 
And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends. 
We will here part. 

Cces. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well : 
The elements be kind to thee, and make 
Thy spirits all of comfort ! fare thee well. 

Oct. My noble brother ! — 

Ant. The April 's in her eyes ; it is love's spring. 
And these the showers to bring it on. — Be cheerful. 

Oct. Sir, look well to my husband's house ; and — 

Cces. Wliat, Octavia? 

Oct. I '11 tell you in your ear. 

Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can 
Her heart inform her tongue ; the swan's down feather, 
That stands upon the swell at the full of tide. 
And neither way inclines. 

E710. Will Ca;sar weep ? [Aside to Agrippa. 

Agr. He has a cloud in 's face, 

Eno. He were the worse for that, were he a horse-j 
So is he, being a man. 

Agr. ^^'Tiy, Enobarbus, 

When Antony found Julius Cajsar dead. 
He cried almost to roaring ; and he wept, 
When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. 

Eno. That year, indeed, he was troubled with a 
rheum ; 
What willingly he did confound, he wail'd : 
Believe 't, till I weep too. 

Cces. No, sweet Octavia, 

You shall hear from me still : the time shall not 
Out-go my thinking on you. 

Ant. Come, sir, come; 

I '11 wTcstle with you in my strength of love : 



844 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



ACT III. 



Look, here I have you ; thus I let you go, 
And give you to the gods. 

Cces. Adieu ; be happy. 

Lcp. Let all the number of the stars give light 
To thy fair way ! 

CcBs. Farewell, farewell. [Kisses Octavia. 

Ant. Farewell. [Trumpets sound. Exeunt. 

SCENE in. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. 

Cleo. Where is the fellow? 

Alex. Half afeard to come. 

Cleo. Go to, go to. — Come hither, sir. 
Enter Elis, the Messenger.^ 

Alex. Good majesty, 

Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you, 
But when you are well pleas'd. 

Cleo. That Herod's head 

I '11 have : but how, when Antony is gone, 
Through whom I might command it? — Come tliou near. 

Mess. Most gracious majesty, — 

Cleo. Didst thou behold 

Octavia ? 

Mess. Ay, dread queen , 

Cleo. Where ? 

Mess. Madam, in Rome. 

I look'd her in the face ; and saw her led 
Between her brother and Mark Antony. 

Cleo. Is slie as tall as me ? 

Mess. She is not, madam. 

Cleo. Didst hear her speak ? Is she shrill-tongu'd, 
or low ? 

Mess. Madam, I heard her speak : she is low-voic'd. 

Cleo. That 's not so good : he cannot like her long. 

Char. Like her? O Isis ! 'tis impossible. 

Cleo. I think so, Charmian : dull of tongue, and 
dwarfish ! — 
What majesty is in her gait ? Remember, 
If e'er thou look'dst on majesty. 

3Iess. She creeps ; 

Her motion and her station are as one : 
She shows a body rather than a life ; 
A statue, than a breather. 

Cleo. Is this certain ? 

Mess. Or I have no observance. 

Char. Three in Egypt 

Cannot make better note. 

Cleo. He 's very knowing, 

I do perceive 't. — There 's nothing in her yet. — 
The fellow has good judgment. 

Char. Excellent. 

Cleo. Guess at her years, I pr'ythee. 

Mess. Madam, 

She was a widow. 



Cleo. 



Widow ? — Charmian, hark. 



3Iess. And I do think, she 's thirty. 

Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind ? is 't long, or 
round ? 

Mess. Round, even to faultiness. 

Cleo. For the most part, too, they are foolish that 
are so. — 
Her hair, what colour? 

Mess. Brown, madam ; and her forehead 
As low as you could wish it. 

Cleo. There 's gold for thee : 

Thou mu.st not take my former sharpness ill. 
I will employ thee back again : I find thee 
Most fit for business. Go, make thee ready ; 
Our letters are prepar'd. [Exit Messenger. 

i Enter a Messenger ; in f. e. * Vexed. » not took 't : in f. e. 



Char. A proper man. 

Cleo. Indeed, he is so : I repent me much. 
That I so harry'd''' him. Why, methinks, by him, 
This creature 's no such thing. 

Char. Nothing, madam. 

Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and should 
know. 

Char. Hath he seen majesty ? Isis else defend, 
And serving you so long ! 

Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good 
Charmian : 
But 'tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me 
Where I will write. All may be well enough. 

Char. I will warrant you, madam. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Athens. A Room in Antonyms House. 
Enter Antony and Octavia. 

Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that, — 
That were excusable, that, and thousand.s more 
or semblable import, — but he hath wag'd 
New wars 'gainst Pompey ; made his will, and read it 
To public ear, 

Spoke scantly of me : when perforce he could not 
But pay me terms of honour, coldly and sickly 
He vented them ; most narrow measure lent me. 
When the best hint was given him, he but look'd,* 
Or did it from his teeth. 

Oct. O, my good lord ! 

Believe not all ; or, if you must believe, 
Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady. 
If this division chance, ne'er stood between. 
Praying for both parts : 
The good gods will mock me presently. 
When I shall pray, '• 0, bless my lord and husband !" 
Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud, 
" 0, bless my brother !" Husband win, win brother, 
Prays, and destroys the prayer ; no midway 
'Twixt these extremes at all. 

Ant. Gentle Octavia, 

Let your best love draw to that point, which seeks 
Best to preserve it. If I lose mine honour, 
I lose myself; better I were not yours, 
Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested, 
Your.self shall go between us : the mean time, lady, 
I '11 raise the preparation of a war 
Shall stay your brother. Make your soonest haste : 
So, your desires are yours. 

Oct. Thanks to my lord. 

The Jove of power make me most weak, most weak. 
Your reconciler ! Wars 'twixt you twain would be, 
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men 
Should solder up the rift. 

Ant. When it appears to you where this begins, 
Turn your displeasure that way ; for our faults 
Can never be so equal, that your love 
Can equally move with them. Provide your going; 
Choose your own company, and command what cost 
Your heart has mind to. [Exetmt. 

SCENE V. — The Same. Another Room in the Same. 
Enter Enobarbus and Eros, meeting. 

Eno. How now, friend Eros ? 

Eros. There is strange news come, sir. 

Eno. What, man? 

Eros. Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon 
Pompey. 

Eno. This is old : what is the success ? 

Eros. Caesar, having made use of him in the wars 
'gainst Pompey, presently denied him rivality, would 



SCENE VI. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



845 



not let him partake in the glory of the action ; and not 
resting here, accuses him of letters he had formerly 
wrote to Pompey • upon his own appeal, seizes him : 
so the poor third is up till death enlarge his confine. 

Eno. Then, world,' thou hast a pair of chaps, no 
more ; 
And throw between them all the food thou hast, 
They '11 grind each other. Where is Antony? 

Eros. He 's walking in the garden — thus ; and spurns 
The rush that lies before him ; cries, '• Fool, Lepidus !" 
And threats the throat of that his officer. 
That murder'd Pompey. 

Eno. Our great navy 's rigg'd. 

Eros. For Italy, and Ceesar. More, Domitius; 
My lord desires you presently : my news 
I might have told hereafter. 

Eno. 'T will be naught; 

But let it be. — Bring me to Antony. 

Eros. Come, sir. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — Rome. A Room in Cesar's House. 
Enter Caesar, Agrippa, and Mec^enas. 

Cas. Contemning Rome, he has done all this, and 
In Alexandria : here 's the manner of it. [more, 

I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, 
Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold 
Were publicly enthron'd : at their feet sat 
Cajsarion, whom they call my father's son, 
And all the unlawful issue, that their lust 
Since then hath made between them. Unto her 
He gave the 'stablishment of Egypt ; made her 
Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, 
Absolute queen. 

3Iec. This in the public eye ? 

CcEs. V the common show-place, where they exercise. 
His sons he there^ proclaim'd the kings of kings : 
Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia, 
He gave to Alexander ; to Ptolemy lie assign'd 
Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia. She 
In the habiliments of the goddess Isis 
That day appear'd ; and oft before gave audience, 
As 'tis reported, so. 

3Irc. Let Rome be thus 

Inform'd. 

Agr. Who, queasy with his insolence 
Already, will their good thoughts call from him. 

Cccs. The people know it ; and have now receiv'd 
His accusations. 

Agr. Whom does he accuse ? 

C(cs. Caisar; and that, having in Sicily 
Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him 
His part o' the isle : then does he say, he lent me 
Some sliipping unrestor'd : lastly, he frets. 
That Lepidus of the triumvirate 
Should be depos'd ; and, being, that we detain 
All his revenue. 

Agr. Sir, this should be answer'd. 

CcEs. 'T is done already, and a messenger gone. 
I have told him, Lepidus was grown too cruel ; 
That he his high authority abus'd. 
And did deserve his change : for what I have conqucr'd, 
I grant him part ; but then, in his Armenia, 
And oilier of his conqucr'd kingdoms, I 
Demand the like. 

il/ec. He '11 never yield to that. 

CcES. Nor must not, then, be yielded to in this. 
Enter Octavia, witk her Train. 

Oct. Hail, Caesar, and my lord ! hail, most dear Caesar ! 



Cces. That ever I should call thee cast-away ! 

Oct. You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause. 

CcBs. Why have you stol'n upon us thus ? You 
come not 
Like Cccsar's sister : the wife of Antony 
Should have an army for an usher, and 
The neighs of horse to tell of her approach. 
Long ere she did appear ; the trees by the way, 
Should have borne men, and expectation fainted, 
Longing for what it had not ; nay, the dust 
Should have ascended to the roof of heaven, 
Rais'd by your populous troops. But you are come 
A market-maid to Rome, and have prevented 
The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown, 
Is often held^ unlov'd : we should have met you 
By sea and land, supplying every stage 
With an augmented greeting. 

Oct. Good my lord. 

To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it 
Of my free-will. My lord, Mark Antony, 
Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted 
My grieved ear withal ; whereon, I begg'd 
His pardon for return. 

Cces. Which soon he granted, 

Being an obstruct* 'tween his lust and him. 

Oct. Do not say so, my lord. 

Cces. I have eyes upon him, 

And his affairs come to me on the wind. 
Where is he now ? 

Oct. My lord, in Athens. 

Cces. No, my most wronged sister ; Cleopatra 
Hath nodded him to her : he hath given his empire 
Up to a whore : they are now levying 
The kings o' the earth for war. He hath assembled 
Bocchus, the king of Lybia ; Archelaus, 
Of Cappadocia ; Philadelphos, king 
Of Paphlagonia ; the Thracian king, Adallas : 
King Malchas of Arabia; king of Pont; 
Herod of Jewry ; Mithridates, king 
Of Comagene ; Polemon and Amintas, 
The kings of Mede, and Lycaonia, 
With a more larger list of sceptres. 

Oct. Ah me, most wretched. 

That have my heart parted betwixt two friends, 
That do afflict each other ! 

C(Bs. Welcome hither. 

Your letters did withhold our breaking forth. 
Till we perceiv'd, both how you were wronged,^ 
And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart : 
Be you not troubled with the time, which drives 
O'er your content these strong necessities ; 
But let determin'd things to destiny 
Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome ; 
Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd 
Beyond the mark of thought ; and the high gods. 
To do you justice, make his ministers 
Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort ; 
And ever welcome to us. 

Agr. Welcome, lady. 

3Icc. Welcome, dear madam. 
Each heart in Rome does love and pity you : 
Only the adulterous Antony, most large 
In his abominations, turns you off. 
And gives his potent regiment^ to a trull. 
That noises it against us. 

Oct. Is it so, sir ? 

Cces. Most certain. Sister, welcome : pray you, 
Be ever known to patience. My dear' st sister ! [Exeunt. 



1 would : in folio. Johnson made the change. ^ hither : in folio. Steevens made the change. ' left : in f. e. 
Warburton made the change. * wrong led : in f. e. <• Government. 



* abstract : in folio. 



846 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



ACT m. 



SCENE VII. — Antony's Camp, near the Promontory 
of Actium. 
Enter Cleopatra and Enobarbus. 
Cleo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not. 
Eno. But why, why, why? 

Cleo. Thou hast forspoke^ my being in these wars. 
And say'st, it is not fit. 

Eno. Well, is it, is it ? 

Cleo. If not denounc'd against us, why should not we 
Be there in person ? 

Eiio. [A.<side.] Well, I could reply : — 
If we should serve with horse and mares together, 
The horse were merely lost ; the mares would bear 
A soldier, and his horse. 

Cleo. What is 't you say ? 

Eno. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony ; 
Take from his heart, take from his brain, from 's time. 
What should not then be spar'd. He is already 
Traduc'd for levity ; and 't is said in Rome, 
That Photinus an eunuch, and your maids, 
Manage this war. 

Cleo. Sink Rome; and their tongues rot. 

That speak against us ! A charge we bear i' the war. 
And as the president of my kingdom will 
Appear there for a man. Speak not against it ; 
1 will not stay behind. 

Eno. Nay, I have done 

Here comes the emperor. 

Enter Antony and Canidius. 
Ant. Is 't not strange, Canidius, 

That from Tarentum. and Brundusium, 
He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea. 
And take in'' Toryne ? — You have heard on 't, sweet ? 

Cleo. Celerity is never more admir'd, 
Than by the negligent. 

Ant. A good rebuke, 

Which might have well become the best of men, 
To taunt at slackness. — Canidius, we 
Will fight with him by sea. 

Cleo. By sea ! what else ? 

Can. Why will my lord do .so ? 
Ant. For that he dares us to 't. 

Eno. So hath my lord dar'd him to single fight. 
Can. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia, 
Where Ccesar fought -with Pompey ; but these offers. 
Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off. 
And so should you. 

Eno. Your ships are not well mann'd ; 

Your mariners are muliters, reapers, people 
Ingross'd by swift impress : in Cscsar's fleet 
Arc tho.«e. that often have 'gainst Pompey fought. 
Their .'^hips are yare,^ yours, heavy : no disgrace 
Shall fall you for refusing him at sea. 
Being prcpar'd for land. 

Anf. By sea, by sea. - 

Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away 
The absolute soldiership you have by land ; 
Distract your army, which doth most consist 
Of war-mark'd footmen ; leaA^e unexecuted 
Your own renowned knowledge ; quite forego 
The way which promises assurance, and 
Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard, 
From firm security. 

Ant. I '11 fight at sea. 

Cleo. I have sixty sails, CiEsar none better. 
A7it. Our overplus of shipping will we burn, 
And with the rest, fuU-mann'd, from the head of 
Actium 



Beat th' approaching Csesar : but if we fail, 

Enter a Messenger. 
We then can do't at land. — Thy business ? 

3Iess. The news is true, ray lord ; he is descried ; 
Ca;sar has taken Toryne. 

Ant. Can he be there in person ? 't is impossible ; 
Strange, that his power should be. — Canidius, 
Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, 
And our twelve thousand horse : we '11 to our ship. 

Enter a Soldier. 
Away, my Thetis ! — How now, worthy soldier ! 

Sold. 0, noble emperor ! do not fight by sea : 
Trust not to rotten planks. Do you misdoubt 
This sword, and these my wounds ? Let the Egyptians, 
And the Phcenicians, go a ducking; we 
Have used to conquer standing on the earth, '' 
And fighting foot to foot. 

Ant. Well, well. — Away ! 

[Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Enobarbus. 

Sold. By Hercules, I think, I am i' the right. 

Can. Soldier, thou art ; but his whole action grows 
Not in the power on 't : so our leader 's led. 
And we are women's men. 

Sold. You keep by land 

The legions and the horse whole, do you not ? 

Can. Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius, 
Publicola, and Calius, are for sea ; 
But we keep whole by land. This speed of Caesar's 
Carries beyond belief. 

Sold. While he was yet in Rome, 

His power went out in such distractions, as 
Beguil'd all spies. 

Can. Who 's his lieutenant, hear you ? 

Sold. They say, one Taurus. 

Can. Well I know the man. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The emperor calls Canidius. 

Can. With news the time 's with labour ; and throws 



forth 
Each minute some. 



[Exeunt. 



SCENE VIII.— A Plain near Actium. 
Enter Cesar, Taurus, Officers, and others. 
Cces. Taurus ! 
Taur. My lord. 

Cas. Strike not by land ; keep whole : 

Provoke not battle, till we have done at sea. 
Do not exceed the prescript of this scroll : [Giving it.'^ 
Our fortune lies upon this jump. [Exeunt. 

Enter Antony and Enobarbus. 
Ant. Set we our squadrons on yond' side o' the hill, 
In eye of Cresar's battle ; from which place 
We may the number of the ships behold. 
And so proceed accordingly. [Exeunt. 

Enter Canidius, marching with his Land Army one 
Way over the Stage ; and Taurus, the Lieutenant of 
CjESAR, the other Way. After their going in is 
heard the Noise of a Sea-Fight. 

Alarum. Re-enter Enobarbus. 
Eno. Naught, naught, all naught! I can behold no 
longer. 
The Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral. 
With all their sixty, fly, and turn the rudder : 
To see't, mine eyes are blasted. 

Enter Scarus. 
Scar. Gods, and goddesses, 

All the whole synod of them ! 

Eno. What 's thy passion ? 

Scar. The greater cantle* of the world is lost 



* Spoken against. ' Conquer, ' Easily managed. * Not in f. e. ' Portion, 



SCENE X. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



847 



With very ignorance : we have kiss'd away 
Kingdoms and provinces. 

Eno. How appears the fight ? 

Scar. On our side like the token'd pestilence, 
Where death is sure. Yond' ribald hag^ of Egypt, 
Whom leprosy o'ertake ! i' the midst o' the fight. — 
When vantage, like a pair of twin.=i, appcar'd 
Both as the same, or rather ours the elder ; — 
The brize^ upon her like a cow in June, 
Hoists sails, and flies. 

Eno. That I beheld : 

Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could not 
Endure a further view. 

Scar. She once being ioof 'd, 

The noble ruin of her magic. Antony, 
Claps on his sea- wing, and like a doting mallard, 
Leaving the fight in height, flies after her. 
I never saw an action of such shame : 
Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before 
Did violate so itself. 

Eno. Alack, alack ! 

Enter Canidius. 

Can. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath, 
And sinks most lamentably. Had our general 
Been what he knew himself, it had gone well : 

! he has given example for our flight, 
JVIost grossly, by his own. 

Eno. Ay, are you thereabouts ? Why then, good night 
Indeed. 

Can. Towards Peloponnesus are they fled. 

Scar. 'Tis easy to't; and there I will attend 
What farther comes. 

Can. To Caesar will I render 

My legions, and my horse : six kings already 
Show me the way of yielding. 

Eno. V II yet follow 

The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason 
Sits in the wind against me. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IX. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Antony, and Attendants. 
Ant . Hark ' the land bids me tread no more upon 't ; 
It is a.'^ham'd to bear me. — Friends, come hither, 

1 am so lated in the world, that I 

Have lost my way for ever. — I have a ship 
Laden with gold ; take that, divide it ; fly, 
And make your peace with Caesar. 

Att. Fly ! not we. 

Ant. I have fled myself, and have instructed cowards 
To run, and show their shoulders. — Friends, be gone ; 
I have myself resolv'd upon a course. 
Which has no need of you ; be gone : 
My treasure's in the harbour, take it. — ! 
I foUow'd that I blush to look upon: 
My very hairs do mutiny : for the white 
Reprove the brown for rashness, and they tliem 
For fear and doting. — Friends, be gone : you shall 
Have letters from me to .some friends, that will 
Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad, 
Nor make replies of lotlmo.fs : take the hint 
Which my despair proclaims ; let that be left 
Which leaves itself: to the sea-side straightway: 
I will possess you of that ship and treasure. 
Leave me, I pray, a little ; 'pray you now : 
Nay, do so ; for, indeed, I have lo,st command. 
Therefore, I pray you. I 'II see you by and by. 

[Sits down. 
Enter Eros, aiid Cleopatra. led iiy Charmian, and Iras. 

Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him ; comfort him. 

1 ribald-rid nag : in f. e. ' Gad fy. 



Iras. Do, most dear queen. 

Char. Do ! Why, what else ? 

CIco. Let me sit down. — O Juno ! 

A7it, No, no, no. no, no. 

Eros. See you here, sir ? 

Ant. fie, fie, fie ! 

Char. Madam, — 

Iras. Madam : good empress ! — 

Eros. Sir, sir, — 

Ant. Yes, my lord, yes. — He, at Philippi, kept 
His sword e'en like a dancer, while I struck 
The lean and wrinkled Ca.ssius; and 'twas I 
That the mad Brutus ended : he alone 
Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practice had 
In the brave squares of war ; yet now — No matter. 

Cleo. Ah ! stand by. 

Eros. The queen, my lord, the queen. 

Iras. Go to him, madam, speak to him: 
Ho is unqualitied with very shame. 

Cleo. Well then. — sustain me : — ! 

Eros. Most noble sir, arise ; the queen approaches 
Her head 's declin'd, and death will seize her ; but 
Yovir comfort makes the rescue. 

Ant. I have offended reputation 
By most vumoble swerving. 

Eros. Sir, the queen. 

Ant. ! whither hast thou led me, Egypt ? See, 
How I convey my shame out of thine eyes. 
By looking back what I have left behind 
'Stroy'd in dishonour. 

Cleo. my lord, my lord ! 

Forgive my fearful sails : I little thought, 
You would have Ibllow'd. 

Ant. Egypt, thou knew'st too well. 

My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings, 
And thou shouldst tow me after : o'er my spirit 
Thy full supremacy thou knew'st, and that 
Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods 
Command me. 

Cleo. O, my pardon ! 

Ant. Now I mTist 

To the young man send humble treaties, dodge 
And palter in the shifts of lowncss, who 
With half the bulk o' the world play'd as I pleas'd, 
Making, and marring fortunes. You did know. 
How much you were my conqueror ; and that 
My «word, made weak by my affection, would 
Obey it on all cause. 

Cleo. Pardon, pardon ! 

Ant. Fall not a tear, I say : one of them rates 
All that is won and lost. Give me a kiss ; 
Even this repays me. — We sent our schoolmaster j 
Is he coine back? — Love, I am full of lead. — 
Some wine, within there, and our viands ! — Fortune 

knows, 
We scorn her most when most she offers blows. [Exeunt. 

SCENE X.— CiESAR's Camp in Egypt. 

Enter Caesar, Dolabella, Thyreus, and others. 

Cces. Let him appear that 's come from Antony. — 
Know you him ? 

iJol. Caesar, 't is his schoolmaster : 

An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither 
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing. 
Which had superfluous kings for messengers, 
Not many moons gone by. 

Enter Euphronius. 

C(Es. Approach, and speak. 

Eup. Such as I am, I come from Antony : 



848 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



ACT III. 



I was of late as petty to his ends, 

As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf 

To his grand sea. 

Cms. Be it so. Declare thine office. 

Eup. Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and 
Requires to live in Egypt ; which not granted, 
He lessens his requests, and to thee sues 
To let him breathe between the heavens and earth, 
A private man in Athens : this for him. 
Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness, 
Submits her to thy might, and of thee craves 
The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs, 
Now hazarded to thy grace, 

CcEs. For Antony, 

I have no ears to his request. The queen 
Of audience, nor desire, shall fail ; so she 
From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend, 
Or take liis life there : this if she perform, 
She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. 

Eicp. Fortune pursue thee ! 

Cms. Bring him through the bands. 

[Exit EUPHRONIUS. 

To try thy eloquence, now 't is time ; despatch. 
From Antony win Cleopatra: promise, \To 1'hyreus. 
And in our name, what she requires ; add more, 
From thine invention, offers. Women are not 
In their best fortunes strong, but want will perjure 
The ne 'er-touch'd vestal. Try thy cunning, Thyreus ; 
Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we 
Will answer as a law. 

Thyr. Csesar, I go. 

CcBs. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw, 
And what thou think'st his very action speaks 
In every power that moves. 

Thyr. Cscsar, I shall. \Excunt. 

SCENE XI. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, and Iras. 



Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus ? 



Eno. 



Think, and die. 



Cleo. Is Antony, or we, in fault for this ? 

Eno. Antony only, that would make his will 
Lord of his reason. What though you fled 
From that great face of war, whose several ranges 
Frighted each other, why should he follow ? 
The itch of his affection should not then 
Have nick'd his captainship; at such a point. 
When half to half the world oppos'd, he being 
The mooted' question. 'T was a shame, no less 
Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, 
And leave his navy gazing. 

Cleo. Pr'ythee. peace. 

Enter Antony, with Euphronius. 

Ant. Is that his answer? 

Eup. Ay, my lord. 

Ant. The queen shall then have courtesy, so she 
Will yield us up. 

Eup. He says so. 

Ant. Let her know it. — 

To the boy Ccesar send this grizled head, 
And he will fill thy wishes to the brim 
With principalities. 

Cleo. That head, my lord ? 

Ant. To him again. Tell him, he wears the rose 
Of youth upon him, from which the world should note 
Something particular : his coin, ships, legions, 
May be a coward's ; whose ministers would prevail 
Under the service of a child, as soon 

' mered : in f. e. 2 quality : in f. e. ' measures : in 
. putation : in f. e. 



I dare him, therefore, 



As i' the command of Csesar 

To lay his gay comparisons apart, 

And answer me declin'd ; sword against sword, 

Ourselves alone. I '11 write it : follow me. 

[Exeunt Antony and Euphronius. 

Eno. Yes, like enough, high-battled Csesar will 
Unstate his happiness, and be stag'd t' the show 
Against a sworder. — I see, men's judgments are 
A parcel of their fortunes ; and things outward 
Do draw th« inward qualities^ after them. 
To suffer all alike. That he should dream, 
Knowing all miseries,' the full Ca;sar will 
Answer his emptiness! — Ca;sar, thou hast subdu'd 
His judgment too. 

Enter an Attendant. 

Ant. A messenger from Caesar. " 

Cleo. What, no more ceremony ? — See, my women ! — 
Against the blown rose may they stop their nose, 
That kneel'd unto the bud. — Admit him, sir. 

Eno. Mine honesty and I begin to square.* [Aside. 
The loyalty well held to fools does make 
Our faith mere folly : yet he, that can endure 
To follow with allegiance a fallen lord. 
Does conquer him that did his master conquer, 
And earns a place i' the story. 

Enter Thyreus. 

Cleo. Csesar's will ? 

Thyr. Hear it apart. 

Cleo. None but friends : say boldly. 

Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony. 

Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has, 
Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master 
Will leap to be liis friend : for us, you know, 
Whose he is, we are, and that 's Caesar's. 

Tliyr. So. — 

Thus then, thou most renovra'd: Caesar entreats, 
Not to consider in what case thou stand'st^ 
Farther then he is Caesar. 

Cleo. Go on : right royal. 

Thyr. He knows, that you embrace not Antony 
As you did love, but as you feard'd him. 

Cleo. ! 

Thyr. The scars upon your honour, therefore, he 
Does pity, as constrained blemishes. 
Not as dcserv'd. 

Cleo. He is a god, and knows 

What is most right. Mine honour was not yielded, 
But conquer'd merely. 

Eno. [Aside.] To be sure of that, 

I will ask Antony. — Sir, sir, thou 'rt so leaky, 
That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for 
Thy dearest quit thee. [Exit Enobarbus. 

Thyr. Shall I say to Caesar 

What you require of him ? for he partly begs 
To be desir'd to give. It much would please him, 
That of his fortunes you should make a staff 
To lean upon; but it would warm his spirits, 
To hear from me you had left Antony, 
And put yourself under his shroud, who is' 
The viniversal landlord. 

Cleo. What 's your name ? 

Thyr. My name is Thyreus. 

Cleo. Most kind messenger, 

Say to great Caesar, that^ in deputation' 
I kiss his conqu'ring hand : tell him, I am prompt 
To lay my crown at 's feet, and there to kneel : 
Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear 
The doom of Egypt. 

f. e. * Quarrel. * The words " who is," are not in f. e. ^ this : in f. e. ' dis- 



SCENE XI. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



849 



Thyr. 'T is your iioblest course. 

Wisdom and fortune combating together, 
If that the former dare but what it can, 
No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay 
My duty on your hand. 

Cleo. Your Caesar's father oft. 

When he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in, 
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, 
As it rain'd kisses. [Thyr. kisses her Hand? 

Re-enter Antony and Enobarbus. 

Ant. Favours, by Jove that thunders ! — 



What art thou, fellow ? 

Thyr. 
The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest 



One, that but performs 



You will be whipp'd. 



1 Att. Soundly, my lord. 

Ant. Cry'd he ? and begg'd he pardon ? 

1 Att. He did ask favour. 

Ant. If that thy father live, let him repent 
Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry 
To follow Ca3sar in his triumph, since 
Thou hast been whipp'd for following him : henceforth, 
The white hand of a lady fever thee ; 
Shake but to look on 't. Get thee back to Ceesar, 
Tell him thy entertainment : look, thou say, 
He makes me angry with him ■. for he seems 
Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am, 
Not what he knew I was. He makes me angry. 
And at this time most easy 't is to do 't, 
When my good stars, that were my former guides, 
Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires 
Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike 
My speech, and what is done, tell him, he has 
Hipparchus, my enfranchis'd bondman, whom 
He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture. 
As he shall like, to quit me. Urge it thou : 
Hence, with thy stripes ! begone ! [Exit Thyreus. 

Cleo. Have you done yet? 

Ant. Alack ! our terrene moon 

Is now eclips'd, and it portends alone 
The fall of Antony. 

Cleo. I must stay his time. 

Ant. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes 
With one that ties his points?^ 

Cleo. Not know me yet ? 

Ant. Cold-hearted toward me ? 

Cleo. Ah, dear ! if it be so, 

From my cold heart let heaven engender hail. 
And poison it in the source, and the first stone 
Drop in my neck : as it determines, so 
Dissolve my life ! The next Csesarion smite, 
Till by degrees the memory of my womb, 
Together with my brave Egyptians all. 
By the discandying* of this pelleted storm, 
Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile 
Have buried them for prey ! 

Ant. I am satisfied. 

Caesar sits down in Alexandria, where 
I will oppose his fate. Our force by land 
Hath nobly held ; our sever'd navy, too. 
Have knit again, a fleet threatening most sealike. 
Where hast thou been, my heart? — Dost thou hear, 

lady ? 
If from the field I shall return once more 
To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood; 
I and my sword ■w'ill earn our chronicle : 
There 's hope in 't yet. 

Cleo. That 's my brave lord ! 

Ant. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd, 
And fight maliciously : for when mine hours 
Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives 
Of me for jests ; but now I '11 set my teeth, 
And send to darkness all that stop me. — Come, 
Let's have one other gaudy^ night. — Call to me 
All my sad captains : fill our bowls j once more 
Let 's mock the midnight bell. 

Cleo. It is my birthday : 

I had thought to have held it poor ; but since my lord 
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. 

Ant. We will yet do well. 

Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord. 

Ant. Do so, we '11 speak to them ; and to-night I '11 

force [queen ; 

The wine peep through their scars. — Come on, my 

2 Tag-i to strings by which garments were fastened. * discandeiiiig : in folios. ' Latin, g'aut^tum/ festivity. 

54 



To have command obey'd. 

Eno. 

Ant. Approach, there. — Ah, you kite ! — Now gods 
and devils ! 
Authority melts from me : of late, when I cry'd, " ho !" 
Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth, 
And cry, '• Your will ?" Have you no ears ? I am 

Enter Attendants. 
Antony yet. Take hence this Jack, and whip him. 

Eno. 'T is better playing with a lion's whelp, 
Than with an old one dying. 

Ant. Moon and stars ! 

Whip him. — Were 't twenty of the greatest tributaries 
That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them 
So saucy with the hand of — .«he here, what 's her name, 
Since she was Cleopatra? — Whip him, fellows, 
Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face. 
And whine aloud for nx&rcy. Take him hence. 

Thyr. Mark Antony, — 

Ant. Tug him away: being whipp'd, 
Bring him again. — The Jack of Caesar shall 
Bear us an errand to him. — 

[Exeunt Attend, with Thyreus. 
You were half blasted ere I knew you : ha ! 
Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome, 
Forborne the getting of a lawful race, 
And by a gem of women, to be abus'd 
By one that looks on feeders ? 

Cleo. Good my lord, — 

Ant. You have been a boggier ever : — 
But when we in our viciousness grow hard, 
(0 misery on 't !) the wise gods seeP our eyes. 
In our ovn\ filth drop our clear judgments ; make us 
Adore our errors ; laugh at us, while we strut 
To our confusion. 

Cleo. ! is it come to this ? 

Ant. I found you as a morsel, cold upon 
Dead Caesar's trencher: nay, you were a fragment 
Of Cneius Pompey's ; besides what hotter hours, 
Unregistered in vulgar fame, you have 
Luxuriously pick'd out ; for, I am sure, 
Though you can guess what temperance should be. 
You know not what it is. 

Cleo. Wherefore is this ? 

Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards. 
And say, "God quit you!" be familiar with 
My playfellow, your hand ; that kingly seal. 
And plighter of high hearts ! — ! that I were 
Upon the hill of Basan, to out roar 
The horned herd, for I have savage cause ; 
And to proclaim it civilly were like 
A halter'd neck, which does the hangman thank 
For being yare about him. — 

Re-enter Attendants^ with Thyreus. 
Is he whipp'd ? 

1 Not in i. e. » Blind. 



850 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



ACT rv. 



There 's sap in 't yet. The next time I do fight, 
I '11 make death love me. for I will contend 
Even with his pestilent scythe. 

[Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Attendants. 
Eno. Now he '11 outstare the lightning. To be furious, 
Is to be frighted out of fear j and in that mood. 



The dove will peck the estridge ; and I see still, 

A diminution in our captain's brain 

Restores his heart. When valour preys on* reason, 

It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek 

Some way to leave him. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I. — Cesar's Camp at Alexandria. 

Enter C^.sar, reading a Letter ; Agrippa, Mecjenas, 

and others. 

CcBs. He calls me boy, and chides, as he had power 
To beat me out of Egypt ; my messenger 
He hath whipp'd with rods, dares me to personal 

combat, 
Cresar to Antony: let the old ruffian know 
I have many other ways to die ; mean time, 
Laugh at his challenge. 

Mec. Cajsar must think, 

When one so great begins to rage, he 's hunted 
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now 
Make boot of his distraction : never anger 
Made good guard for itself. 

Cas. Let our best heads 

Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles 
We mean to fight. Within our files there are. 
Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late. 
Enou.gh to fetch him in. See it done ; 
And feast the army : we have store to do 't, 
And they have earn'd the waste. — Poor Antony ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Antony, Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, 

Iras, Alexas, and others. 

Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius? 

Eno. No. 

Ant. Why should he not ? 

Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, 
He is twenty men to one. 

Ant. To-morrow, soldier, 

By sea and land I '11 fight : or I will live. 
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood 
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fisrht well ? 

Eno. 1 '11 strike; and cry, " Take alL" 

-^nt. Well said ; come on. — 

Call forth my household servants : let 's to-night 

Enter Servaiits. 
Be bounteous at our meal. — Give me thy hand. 
Thou hast been rightly honest : — so hast thou ; — 
Thou, — and thou. — and thou : — you have serv'd me 
And kings have been your fellows. [well, 

Cleo. What means this ? 

Eno. 'T is one of those odd tricks, which sorrow shoots 
Out of the mind. 

A7-it. And thou art honest too. 

I wish I could be made so many men. 
And all of you clapp'd up together in 
An Antony, that I might do you service. 
So good as you have done. 

Serv. The gods forbid ! 

Ant. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night; 
Scant not my cups, and make as much of me, 
As when mine empire was your fellow too, 
And suffer' d my command. 

' in : in folio. 



What mean you, sir, 
Look, they weep : 
for shame, 



, Cleo. What does he mean? 

Eno. To make his followers weep. 

Ant. Tend me to-night : 

May be. it is the period of your duty : 
Haply, you shall not see me more ; or if, " 
A mangled shadow : perchance, to-morrow 
You '11 serve another master. I look on you, 
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends, 
I turn you not away ; but, like a master 
Married to your good service, stay till death. 
Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more, 
And the gods yield you for 't ! 

Eno. 
To give them this discomfort ? 
And [, an ass, am onion-ey'd 
Transform us not to women. 

Ant. Ho, ho, ho ! 

Now, the witch take me, if I meant it thus. 
Grace grow where those drops fall ! My hearty friends. 
You take me in too dolorous a sense. 
For I spake to you for your comfort ; did desire you 
To burn this night with torches. Know, my hearts, 
I hope well of to-morrow ; and will lead you, 
Where rather I '11 expect victorious life. 
Than death and honour. Let 's to supper ; come, 
And drown consideration. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— The Same. Before the Palace. 
Enter Two Soldiers^ to their Guard. 

1 Sold. Brother, good night : to-morrow is the day. 

2 Sold. It will determine one way : fare you well. 
Heard you of nothing strange about the streets ? 

1 Sold. Nothing. What news ? 

2 Sold. Belike, 't is but a rumour. Good night to you, 

1 Sold. Well, sir, good night. 

Enter Two other Soldiers. 

2 Sold. Soldiers, have careful watch. 

3 Sold. And you. Good night, good night. 

[The first Two place themselves at their Posts. 

4 Sold. Here we: [They take their Posts.] and if to- 

morrow 
Our navy thrive., I have an absolute hope 
Our landmen will stand up. 

3 Sold. 'Tis a brave army, 

Aiid full of purpose. 

[Music of Hautboys under the Stage. 
Peace ! what noi.se ? 



4 Sold. 

1 Sold. 

2 Sold. 
1 Sold. 

3 Sold. 

4 Sold. 
3 Sold. 

1 Sold. 

2 Sold. 
Now leaves him 

1 Sold. Walk ; let ' 
Do hear what we do. 



List, list ! 

Hark ! 

Music i' the air. 

Under the earth. 

It signs well, does it not? 

No. 

Peace ! I say. What should this mean ? 

'T is the god Hercules, who Antony lov'd. 



s see if other watchmen 

[They advance to another Post. 



SCENE VI. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



851 



2 Sold. How now, masters ! 
Omnes. How now ! 

How now ! do you hear this ? [Speaking together. 

1 Sold. Ay ; Is 't not strange ? 

3 Sold. Do you hear, masters ? do you hear ? 

1 Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have quarter • 
Let 's see how it will give ofT. 

Omnes. Content : 'T is strange. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— The Same. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Antony, and Cleopatra; Charmian, and 
others, attending. 

Ant. Eros ! mine armour, Eros ! 

Cleo. Sleep a little. 

Ant. No, my chuck. — Eros, come ; mine armour, Eros ! 
Enter Eros, with Armour. 
Come, good fellow, put mine^ iron on : — 
If fortune be not ours to-day, it is 
Because we brave her. — Come. 

Cleo. Nay, I 'II help too. 

What's this for? 

Ant. Ah, let be, let be ! thou art 

The armourer of my heart : — false, false : this, this. 

3 



Cleo. 
Ant. 



Sooth 



la ! I '11 help.' 

Thus it must be.' Well, well : 



We shall thrive now. — Seest thou, my good fellow ? 
Go, put on thy defences. 

Eros. Briefly, sir. 

Cleo. Is not this buckled well ? 

Ant. Rarely, rarely : 

He that unbuckles this, till we do please 
To doff't for our repose, shall bear* a storm. — 
Thou fumblest, Eros ; and my queen 's a squire 
More tight at this, than thou. Despatch. — 0, love ! 
That thou couldst see my wars to-day, and knew'st 
The royal occupation ! thou should.st see 

Enter an armed Soldier. 
A workman in 't. — Good morrow to thee ; welcome: 
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge. 
To business that we love we rise betime, 
And go to 't with delight. 



Sold. 



A thousand, sir, 



Early though 't be. have on their riveted trim. 
And at the port expect you. [Shout. Trumpets flourish. 
Enter Captains, and Soldiers. 

Capt. The morn is fair. — Good morrow, general. 

All. Good morrov/, general. 

Ant. 'T is well blown, lads. 

This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
That means to be of note, begins betimes. — 
So so ; come, give me that : this way ; Avell said. 
Fare thee well, dame : whate'er becomes of me. 
This is a soldier's kiss. Rebukable. [Kisses her. 

And worthy shameful check it were, to stand 
On more mechanic compliment: I'll leave thee 
Now, like a man of steel. — You, that will fight. 
Follow me close : I '11 bring you to 't. — Adieu. 

[Exeunt Antony, Eros, Officers, and Soldiers. 

Char. Please you, retire to your chamber. 

Cleo. Lead me. 

He goes forth gallantly. That he and Crosar might 
Dcti-nninc this great war in single fight ! 
Then, Antony, — but now, — well, on. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Antony's Camp near Alexandria. 

Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Eros ; a Soldier 

meeting them. 

Sold. The gods make this a happy day to Antony ! 



Ant. Would thou, and those thy scars, had once 
prevaiPd 
To make me fight at land ! 



Sold. 



Hadst thou done so. 



The kings that have revolted, and the soldier 
That has this morning left thee, would have still 
Follow'd thy heels. 

Ant. Who 's gone this morning ? 

Sold. Who ? 

One ever near thee : call for Enobarbus, 
He shall not hear thee : or from Caesar's camp 
Say, " I am none of thine." 

Ant. What say'st thou ? 

Sold. Sir, 

He is with Caesar. 

Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure 

He has not with him. 

Ant. Is he gone ? 

Sold. Most certain. 

Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after ; do it ; 
Detain no jot, I charge thee. Write to him '' 

(I will subscribe) gentle adieus, and greetings: 
Say, that 1 wish he never find more cause 
To change a master. — ! my fortunes have 
Corrupted honest men: — despatch. — Enobarbus ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — CiESAR's Camp before Alexandria. 

Flourish. Enter CjEsar, with Agrippa, Enobarbus, 

and others. 

CcEs. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight. 
Our will is. Antony be took alive ; 
Make it so known. 

Agr. Cocsar, I shall. [Exit Agrippa. 

CcEs. The time of universal peace is near : 
Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world 
Shall bear the olive freely. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Antony 

Is come into the field. 

Cccs. Go ; charge Agrippa 

Plant those that have revolted in the van, 
That Antony may seem to spend his fury 
Upon himself. [Exeunt all but Enobarbus.'' 

Eno. Alexas did revolt, and went to Jewry on 
Afl'airs of Antony ; there did persuade 
Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar, 
And leave his master Antony : for this pains 
Caesar hath hang'd him. Canidius, and the rest 
That fell away, have entertainment, but 
No honourable trust. I have done ill. 
Of which I do accuse myself so sorely. 
That I will joy no more. 

Enter a Soldier of Caesar's. 

Sold. Enobarbus, Antony 

Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with 
His bounty overplus : the messenger 
Came on my guard, and at thy tent is now 
Unloading of his mules. 

Eno. I give it you. 

Sold. Mock not, Enobarbus, 
I tell you true : best you safcd^ the bringer 
Out of the host ; I must attend mine office, 
Or would have done 't myself. Your emperor 
Continues still a Jove. [Exit Soldier. 

Eno. I am alone the villain of the earth, 
And feel I am so most. — Antony ! 
Thou mine of bounty, how would.st thou have paid 



• thine : in f. e. ^ This and the previous speech, are printed as one in the folio. Hanmer made the change, 
to Cleopatra. ♦ hear : in f. e. * Exeunt CiKSAR and Train : in f. e. ' Made safe. 



' f. e. give these -words 



852 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



ACT IV. 



My better service, when my turpitude 

Thou dost so crown with gold ! Tliis blows my heart : 

If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean 

Shall outstrike thought ; but thought will do 't, I feel. 

I fight against thee ? — No : I will go seek 

Some ditch, wherein to die ; the foul'st best fits 

My latter part of life. [Exit. 

SCENE VII.— Field of Battle between the Camps. 
Alarum. Drums and Trumpets. Enter Agrippa, and 

others. 

Agr. Retire ; we have engag'd ourselves too far. 
Csesar himself has work, and our oppression 
Exceeds what we expected. [Exeunt. 

Alarum. Enter Antony, and Scakus ivounded. 

Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed ! 
Had we done so at first, we had driven them home 
With clouts about their heads. [Shouts afar off.^ 

Ant. Thou bleed' st apace. 

Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T, 
But now 't is made an H. 

Ant. They do retire. 

Scar. We 'II beat 'em into bench-holes. I have yet 
Room for six scotches more. 

Enter Eros. 

Eros. They are beaten, sir; and our advantage serves 
For a fair victory. 

Scar. Let us score their backs, 

And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind : 
'T is sport to maul a runner. 

Ant. I will reward thee 

Once for thy sprightly comfort, and ten-fold 
For thy good valour. Come thee on. 

Scar. I '11 halt after. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VIII.— Under the Walls of Alexandria. 
Alarum. Enter A'STOtfY, marching ; Scxrvs, and Forces. 
Ant. We have beat him to his camp. Rvin one before. 
And let the queen know of our gests.^ To-morrow, 
Before the sun shall see us, we '11 spill the blood 
That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all. 
For doughty-handed are you : and have fought 
Not as you serv'd the cause, but as it had been 
Each man's, like mine : you have shown all Hectors. 
Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends. 
Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears 
Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss 
The honour'd gashes whole. — Give me thy hand : 

Enter Cleopatra, attended. 
To this great fairy I '11 commend thy acts. 
Make her thanks bless thee. — 0, thou day o' the world ! 
Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all, 
Through proof of harness to my heart, and there 
Ride on the pants triumphing. 

Cleo. Lord of lords ! 

infinite virtue ! com'st thou smiling from 
The world's great snare uncaught ? 

Ant. My nightingale. 

We have beat them to their beds. What, girl ! though 

grey 
Do something mingle with our younger brown; yet 

have we 
A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can 
Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man ; 

[Pointing to Scarus.' 
Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand : — 
Kiss it, my warrior : — ^lie hath fought to-day, 
As if a god, in hate of mankind, had 



Cleo. I '11 give thee, friend, 

An armour all of gold ; it was a king's. 

Ant. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled 
Like glowing Phoebus' car. — Give me thy hand : 
Through Alexandria make a jolly march; 
Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them. 
Had our great palace the capacity 
To camp this host, we all would sup together. 
And drink carouses to the next day's fate, 
Which promises royal peril. — Trumpeters, 
With brazen din blast you the city's ear ; 
Make mingle with our rattling tabourines. 
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together, 
Applauding our approach. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IX.— Cjesar's Camp.- 
Sentinels on their Post. Enter Enobarbus. 

1 Sold. If we be not reliev'd within this hour, 
We must return to the court of guard.* The night 
Is shiny, and, they say, we shall embattle 

By the second hour i' the morn. 

2 Sold. This last day was 
A shi;pwd one to us. 

Eno. ! bear me witness, night, — 

3 Sold. What man is this ? 

2 Sold. Stand close, and list him. 
Eno. Be witness to me, thou blessed moon ! 

When men revolted shall upon record 
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did 
Before thy face repent. — 

1 Sold. Enobarbus ! 

3 Sold. Peace ! 
Hark farther. 

Eno. sovereign mistress of true melancholy ! 
The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me, 
That life, a very rebel to my will, [Lying down.^ 

May hang no longer on me : throw my heart 
Again.st the flint and hardness of my fault. 
Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder, 
And finish all foul thoughts. Antony ! 
Nobler than my revolt is infamous, 
Forgive me in thine own particular ; 
But let the world rank me in register 
A master-leaver, and a fugitive. 
Antony ! Antony ! [Dies. 

2 Sold. Let 's speak to him. 

1 Sold. Let 's hear him ; for the things he speaks 
May concern Caesar. 

3 Sold. Let 's do so. But he sleeps. 

1 Sold. Swoons rather ; for so bad a prayer as his 
Was never yet 'fore' sleep. 

2 Sold. Go we to him. 

3 Sold. Aw^ake, sir ; awake ! speak to us. 

2 Sold. Hear you, sir ? 
1 Sold. The hand of death hath raught' him. Hark ! 

the drums [Drums afar off. 

Do early wake the sleepers. Let us bear him 
To the court of guard ; he is of note. Our hour 
Is fully out. 

3 Sold. 
He may recover yet. 



Come on, then; 



[Exeunt, with the Body. 

SCENE X. — Between the two Camps. 

Enter Antony and Scarus, with Forces^ marching. 

Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea : 
We please them not by land. 

Scar. For both, my lord. 

Ant. I would, they 'd fight i' the fire, or i' the air ; 
We 'd fight there too. But this it is : our foot 

1 Not in f. e. 2 Beeds. guests : in f. e. 3 Not in f. e. * Place of mustering the guard. * Not in f. e. « for : in f. e. ' Reached. 



Destroy'd in such a shape. 



SCENE xn. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



853 



Upon the hills adjoining to the city 
Shall stay with us (order for sea is given, 
They have put forth the haven) 
Where their appointment we may best discover, 
And look on their endeavour. [Exeunt. 

Enter C^sar, and his Forces, marching. 
CcEs. But' being charg'd, we will be still by land, 
Which, as I take 't, we shall; for his best force 
Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales, 
And hold our best advantage ! [Exeunt. 

Re-enter Antony and Scarus. 
Ant. Yet they are not join'd. Where yond' pine does 
I shall discover all : I '11 bring thee word [stand, 

Straight, how 't is like to go. [Exit. 

Scar. Swallows have built 

In Cleopatra's sails their nests : the augurers- 
Say, they know not, — they cannot tell ; — look grimly, 
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony 
Is valiant, and dejected ; and by starts 
His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear. 
Of what he has. and has not. 

[Alarinn afar off, as at a Sea-Fight. 
Re-enter Antony. 
Ant. All is lost ! 

This foul EgjT)tian hath betray'd me : 
My fleet hath yielded to the foe ; and yonder 
They cast their caps up, and carouse together 
Like friends long lost. — Triple-turn'd whore ! 't is thou 
Hast sold me to this novice, and my heart 
Makes only wars on thee. — Bid them all fly; 
For when I am reveng'd upon my charm, 
I have done all. — Bid them all fly ; be gone. 

[Exit Scarus. 
sun ! thy uprise shall I see no more : 
Fortune and Antony part here ; even here 
Do we shake hands. — All come to this ? — The hearts 
That spaniel'd^ me at heels, to whom I gave 
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets 
On blossoming Caesar ; and this pine is bark'd, 
That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am. 
this false spell* of Egypt ! this great* charm, — 
Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them home 
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end. 
Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose," 
Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss. — 
What, Eros ! Eros ! 

Enter Cleopatra. 

Ah, thou spell ! Avaunt ! 
Cleo. Why is my lord enrag'd against his love? 
Ant. Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving. 
And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee, 
And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians : 
Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot 
Of all thy sex ; most monster-like, be shown 
For poor'st diminutives, for doits ;' and let 
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up 
With her prepared nails. [Exit Cleg. 

'T is well thou 'rt gone, 
If it be well to live ; but better 't were 
Thou fcU'st vmder my fury, for one death 
Might have prevented many. — Eros, ho ! — 
The shirt of Nessus is upon me : teach me, 
Alcidcs, thou mine ancestor, thy rage : 
Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' the moon ; 
And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest club. 
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die : 
To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall 
Under this plot ; she dies for 't. — Eros, ho ! [Exit. 



SCENE XL— Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Marbian. 

Cleo. Help me, my women ! O ! he is more mad 
Than Telamon for liis shield; the boar of Thessaly 
Was never so emboss'd.* 

Char. To the monument ! 

There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead. 
The soul and body rive not more in parting, 
Than greatness going off. 

Cleo. To the monument ! 

Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself; 
Say, that the last I spoke was, Antony, 
And word it, pr'ythee, piteously. Hence, 
Mardian, and bring me how he takes my death. — 
To the Monument ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE XII.— The Same. Another Room. 
Enter Antony and Eros. 

Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me. 

Eros. Ay, noble lord. 

Ant. Sometime, we see a cloud that 's dragonish, 
A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion, 
A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock, 
A forked mountain, or blue promontory 
With trees upon 't, that nod unto the world. 
And mock our eyes with air : thou hast seen these signs ; 
They are black vesper's pageants. 

Eros. Ay, my lord. 

Ant. That, which is now a horse, even with a 
thought. 
The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct. 
As water is in water. 

Eros. It does, my lord. 

Ant. My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is 
Even such a body : here I am Antony, 
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. 
I made these wars for Egypt, and the queen. 
Whose heart, I thought, I had, for she had mine, 
Which, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto 't 
A million more, now lost : she, Eros, has 
Pack'd cards with Caesar's, and false play'd my glory 
Unto an enemy's triumph. — 
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros ; there is left us 
Ourselves to end ourselves. — 0, thy vile lady ! 

Enter Mardian. 
She has robb'd me of my sword. 

Mar. No, Antony: 

My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled 
With thine entirely. 

Ant. Hence, saucy eunuch : peace ! 

She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death. 

Mar. Death of one person can be paid but once. 
And that she has discharg'd. What thou wouldst do, 
Is done unto thy hand : the last she spake 
Was, Antony ! most noble Antony ! 
Then, in the midst a tearing groan did break 
The name of Antony ; it was divided 
Between her heart and lips. She render'd life, 
Thy name so buried in her. 

Ant. Dead, then ? 

Mar. Dead. 

Ant. Unarm me, Eros : the long day's task is done. 
And we must sleep. — That thou depart'st hence safe, 
Does pay thy labour richly; go. — [Exit Mardian. 

Off, pluck off:— 
The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep 
The battery from my heart. 0, cleave, my sides ! 



' Unless. 2 auguries : in folio. ' pannelled : in folio. Hanmer made the change. ♦ soul : in f. e. 
called "pricking in the garter," in vogue with gypsies. * doits : in folio. * Foaming at the mouth. 



grave : in f e. ^ A game, no-sr 



854 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



ACT IV. 



Heart, once he stronger than thy continent, 
Crack thy frail case ! — Apace, Eros, apace. — 
No more a soldier : — bruised pieces, go ; 
You have been nobly borne. — From me a while. — 

[Exit Eros. 
I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and 
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now 
All length is torture : since the torch is out, 
Lie down, and stray no farther. Now all labour 
Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles 
Itself with strength : seal then, and all is done. — 
Eros ! — I come, my queen. — Eros ! — Stay for me : 
Where souls do couch on flowers, we '11 hand in hand, 
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze : 
Dido and her ^neas shall want troops, 
And all the haunt be ours. — Come, Eros ! Eros ! 
Re-enter Eros. 

Eros. What would my lord ? 

^"'- Since Cleopatra died 

I have liv'd in such dishonour, that the gods 
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword 
Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back 
With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack 
The courage of a woman ; less noble minded 
Than she, which by her death our CoDsar tells, 
" I am conqueror of myself." Thou art sworn, Eros, 
That when the exigent should come, (which now 
Is come indeed) when I should see behind me 
The inevitable prosecution of 
Disgrace and horror, that on my command 
Thou then wouldst kill me : do 't; the time is come. 
Thou strik'st not me, 't is Cccsar thou defeatest. 
Put colour in thy cheek. 

Eros. The gods withhold me ! 

Shall I do that, which all the Parthian darts, 
Though enemy, lost aim, and could not ? 

^nt. Eros, 

Wouldst thou be window'd in great Piome, and see 
Thy master thus wilh pleach'd' arms, bending down 
His corrigible neck, his face subdued 
To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat 
Of fortunate Csesar, drawn before him, branded 
His baseness that ensued ? 

Eros. I would not see 't. 

Ant. Come, then : for with a wound I must be cur'd. 
Draw that thy lionest sword, which thou hast worn 
Most useful for thy country. 

Eros. 0, sir ! pardon me. 

Ant. When I did make thee free, swor'st thou not 
then 
To do this when I bade thee ? Do it at once, 
Or thy precedent services are all 
But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come. 

Eros. Turn from me, then, that noble countenance, 
Wherein the worship of the whole world lies. 

Ant. Lo thee ! [Turning his face from him. 

Eros. JNIy sword is drawn. 

^^f- Then, let it do at once 

The thing why thou hast drawni it. 

Eros. ]Viy dear master, 

My captain, and my emperor, let me say, 
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell. 

Ant. 'T is said, man; and farewell. 

Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? 

^"^- Now, Eros. 

Eros. Why, there then.— [Fa?/s on his Sword.] 
Thus do I escape the sorrow 
Of Antony's death. [Dies. 

-^"'- Thrice nobler than mvself ! 



I Interwoven. = ho : in f. e. ; often, says Byce, printed, " how." = dispos'd : in f. e. 



Thou teachest me, valiant Eros ! what 

I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and Eros 

Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me 

A nobleness in record : but I will be 

A bridegroom in my death, and run into 't 

As to a lover's bed. Come then; and. Eros, 

Thy master dies thy scholar : to do thus 

[Ealling on his Sword. 
I learn'd of thee. — How ! not dead ? not dead ? — 
The guard ! — how?^ — 0, despatch me ! 

Enter Dercetas and Guard. 

1 Guard. What 's the noise ? 
Ant. I have done my work ill, friends : ! make 

an end 
Of what I have begun. 

2 Guard. The star is fallen. 
1 Guard. And time is at his period. 

All. Alas, and woe ! 

Ant. Let him that loves me, strike me dead. 

1 Guard. ' Not I. 

2 Guxird. Nor I. 

3 Guard. Nor any one. [Exeunt Guard. 
Der. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly, 

This sword but shown to Csesar, with this tidings, 
Shall enter me with him. 

Enter Diomedes. 

Dio. Where 's Antony ? 

Der. There, Diomed ; there. 

Dio. Lives lie? 
Wilt thou not answer, man ? [Exit Dercetas. 

Ant. Art thou there, Diomed ? Draw thy sword, 
and give me 
Suflicing strokes for death. 

Dio. Most absolute lord, 

My mistress, Cleopatra, sent me to thee. 

Ant. When did she send thee ? 

Dio. Now, my lord. 

Ant. Where is she ? 

Dio. Lock'd in her monument. She had a prophe- 
sying fear 
Of what hath come to pass ; for when she saw 
(Which never shall be found) you did suspect 
She had compos'd' with Csesar, and that your rage 
Would not be purg'd, she sent you word she was dead. 
But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent 
Me to proclaim the truth ; and I am come, 
I dread, too late. 

Ant. Toolate^ good Diomed. Callmyguard, Ipr'ythee, 

Dio. What, ho ! the emperor's guard ! The guard, 
what, ho ! 
Come; your lord calls. 

Enter some of the Guard. 

Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides; 
'T is the last service that I shall command you. 

1 Guard. Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to 
wear 
All your true followers out. 

All. Most heavy day ! 

Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate 
To grace it with your sorrows : bid that welcome 
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it. 
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up : 
I have led you oft ; carry me now, good friends, 
And have my thanks for all. [Exeunt, hearing Antony. 

SCENE XIII.— The Same. A Monument. 
Enter, above, Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras. 
Cleo. Charmian ! I will never go from hence. 
Char. Be comforted, dear madam. 



SCENE I. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



855 



Clco. No, I will not. 

All strange and terrible events arc welcome, 
But comforts we despise : our size of sorrow, 
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great 

Ettter, below, Diomeues. 
As ihat which makes it. — IIow now! is he dead? 

Dio. His death "s upon him, but not dead. 
Look out o' the other side your monument, 
His guard have brought him thither. 

Enter, below, Antony, borne by the Guard. 

Cleo. sun. 
Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in ! — darkling stand. 
Thou' varying shore o' th' world. Antony, Antony, 

Antony ! 
Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help : help, friends 
Below ; let 's draw him thither. 

Ant. Peace ! 

Not Cxsar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, 
But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. 

Clco. So it should be, that none but Antony 
Shonkl conquer Antony; but woe 't is so ! 

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying ; only 
I here importune death a while, nntil 
Of many thousand kisses the poor last 
I lay upon thy lips. — 

Clco. I dare not, dear, 

(Dear my lord, pardon) I dare not, 
Lest I be taken : not the imperious show 
Of the fuU-fortun'd Caesar ever shall 
Be brooch'd with me ; if knife, drugs, serpents, have 
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe. 
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes, 
And still condition, ■■' shall acquire no honour 
Dcnmring upon me. — But come, come, Antony, — 
Help me, my women, — we must draw thee up. — 
Assist; good friends. 

Ant. ! quick, or I am gone. 

Clco. Here 's port,^ indeed ! — How heav-y weighs my 
lord ! 
Oar strength is all gone into heaviness, 
That makes the weight: had I great Juno's power, 
The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up. 
And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little ; — 
Wishers were ever fools. — ! come, come, come ; 

[Tkey draw Antony up. 
And welcome, welcome ! die, where* thou hast liv'd : 
Quicken with kissing : had my lips that power, 
Thus would I wear them out. 

All. A heavy sight. 

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying. 
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. 

Clco. No. lot me speak ; and let me rail so high. 
That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel, 
Provok'd by my offence. 



Of Cxsar seek your honour with your safety. — ! 

Cleo. They do not go together. 

Ant. Gentle, hear me. 

None about Cffisar trust, but Proculeius. 

Clco. My resolution, and my hands, I '11 trust; 
None about Cccsar. 

Ant. The miserable change now at my end 
Lament nor sorrow at, but please your thoughts, 
In feeding them with those my former fortunes. 
Wherein I liv'd the greatest prince o' the world. 
The noblest : and do now not basely die, 
Nor cowardly put off my helmet to 
My countryman, a lloman by a Roman 
Valiantly vanquish'd. Now, my spirit is £ 
I can no more. 

Cleo. Noblest of men, woo't die? 

Hast thou no care of ine ? shall I abide 
In this dull world, which in thy absence i.s 
No better than a stye ? — ! see, my women. 
The crown o' the earth doth melt. — My lord ! — 
! wither'd is the garland of the war, 
The soldier's pole is fallen : young boys, and girls, 
Are level now with men ; the odds is gone, 
And there is nothing left remarkable 
Beneath the visiting moon. 

Char. 0, quietness, lady ! 



oin;; 



[Dies. 



Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. 
Char. 
Iras. 

Char. madam, madam, madam ! 
Iras. 
Empress ! 
Char. Peace, 



Lady !— 
Madam !— 

Royal Egypt 



peace. 



Iras! 



Ant. 



One word, sweet queen. 



Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman ; and commanded 
By such poor passion as the maid that milks. 
And does the meanest chares. — It were for me 
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods ; 
To tell them, that this world did equal theirs. 
Till they had stolen our jewel. All 's but naught ; 
Patience is sottish, and impatience does 
Become a dog that 's mad : then is it sin. 
To rush into the secret house of death. 
Ere death dare come to us? — How do you. women? 
What, what ! good cheer ! Why, how now, Charmian ! 
My noble girls ! — Ali, women, women ! look. 
Our lamp is spent, it 's out. — Good sirs, take heart : 

[Zb the Guard below. 
We '11 bury him ; and then, what 's brave, what 's 

noble. 
Let 's do it after the high Roman fashion, 
And make death proud to take us. Come, away : 
This case of that huge spirit now is cold. 
Ah, women, women ! come : we have no friend 
But resolution, and the briefest end. 

[Exeunt; tho.^e above bearing off Antony's Body. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — Cesar's Camp before Alexandria. 

Enter CvEsar, Agrippa, Dolabella, Mec^nas, 

Gallus, Procui.eius, and others. 

Cccs. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield; 
Being so frustrate, tell him, that he mocks 
The pauses tliat he makes.' 

' The : in f. e. ' conclusion : in f. e. ^ sport: in f. e. 



Dol. Caesar, I shall. 



[E.xit Dolabella. 



Enter Dercetas, with the Sword of Antony. 
Cas. Wherefore is that ? and what art thou, that 
dar'st 
Appear thus to us ? 

Der. I am calTd Dercetas. 

Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy 

* Chores. * in f. e. : 



* when : in folio. Pope made the change 
Tell him 
He mocks us by the pauses, &c. 



856 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



ACT V. 



He is dead, Csesar; 



behold itj stain'd 



Best to be serv'd : whilst he stood up, and spoke, 
He was my master, and I wore my life, 
To spend upon his haters. If thou please 
To take me to thee, as I was to him 
I '11 be to Caesar ; if thou pleasest not, 
I yield thee up my life. 

C(BS. What is 't thou say'st ? 

Der. I say, Caesar ! Antony is dead. 

C(Bs. The breaking of so great a thing should make 
A greater crack : the round world should have shook 
Lions into civil streets. 

And citizens to their dens. The death of Antony 
Is not a single doom : in the name lay 
A moiety of the world. 

Der. 
Not by a public minister of justice, 
Nor by a hired knife ; but that self hand, 
Which writ his honour in the acts it did, 
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it, 
Split that self noble heart. ^ This is his sword ; 
I robb'd his wound of it 
With his most noble blood. 

C<Bs. Look you sad, friends ? 

The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings 
To wash the eyes of kings. 

Agr. And strange it is, 

That nature must compel us to lament 
Our most persisted deeds. 

Mec. His taints and honours 

Weighed^ equal with him. 

Agr. A rarer spirit never 

Did steer humanity ; but you gods will give us 
Some faults to make us men. Caesar is toueh'd. 

Mec. When such a spacious mirror's set before him, 
He needs must see himself. 

CcB."!. Antony ! 

Have I follow'd thee to this ? — but we do lance 
Diseases in our bodies. I must perforce 
Have shown to thee such a declining day. 
Or look on thine : we could not stall together 
In the whole world. But yet let me lament, 
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts. 
That thou, my brother, my competitor 
In top of all design, my mate in empire, 
Friend and companion in the front of war, 
The arm of mine own body, and the heart 
Where mine his thoughts did kindle, that our stars, 
Um'econcileable should divide 
Our equalness to this. — Hear me, good friends, — 
But I will tell you at some meeter season : 

Enter a Messenger. 
The business of this man looks out of him ; 
We '11 hear him what he says. — Whence are you ? 

Mess. A poor Egyptian yet. The queen my mistress, 
Confin'd in all she has, her monument, 
Of thy intents desires instruction, 
That she preparedly may frame herself 
To the way she 's forced to. 

Cas. Bid her have good heart : 

She soon shall know of us, by some of ours, 
How honourable and how kindly we 
Determine for her ; for Caesar cannot live^ 
To be ungentle. 

Mess. So the gods preserve thee ! [Exit. 

Cces. Come hither, Proculeius. Go, and say. 
We purpose her no shame : give her what comforts 
The quality of her passion shall require. 
Lest in her greatness by some mortal stroke 
She do defeat us ; for her life in Rome 



Would be eternal in our triumph. Go, 

And with your speediest bring us what she says, 

And how you find of her. 

Pro. Caesar, I shall. \Exit Proculeius. 

Cces. Gallus, go you along. — Where 's Dolabella, 
To second Proculeius ? \Exit Gallus. 

All. Dolabella ! 

Cces. Let him alone, for I remember now 
How he 's employed : he shall in time be ready. 
Go with me to my tent, where you shall see 
How hardly I was drawn into this war, 
How calm and gentle I proceeded still 
In all my writings. Go with me, and see 
What I can show in this. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Alexandria. A Room in the Monument. 
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras. 

Cleo. My desolation does begin to make 
A better life. 'T is paltry to be Caesar : 
Not being fortune, he 's but fortune's knave, 
A minister of her will ; and it is great 
To do that thing that ends all other deeds, 
Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change ; 
Which sleeps, and never palates more the dug,* 
The beggar's nurse and Caesar's. 

Enter., to the Gates of the Monument^ Proculeius, 
Gallus, and Soldiers. 

Pro. Caesar sends greeting to the queen of Egypt ; 
And bids thee study on what fair demands 
Thou mean'st to have him grant thee. 

Cleo. What 's thy name ? 

Pro. My name is Proculeius. 

Cleo. Antony 

Did tell me of you, bade me trust you ; but 
I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd. 
That have no use for trusting. If your master 
Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him, 
That majesty, to keep decorum, must 
No less beg than a kingdom : if he please 
To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son. 
He gives me so much of mine own, as I 
Will kneel to him with thanks. 

Pro. Be of good cheer ; 

You are fallen into a princely hand, fear nothing. 
Make your full reference freely to my lord. 
Who is so full of grace, that it flows over 
On all that need. Let me report to him 
Your sweet dependancy, and you shall find 
A conqueror, that will pray in aid for kindness, 
Where he for grace is kneel'd to. 

Cleo. Pray you, tell him 

I am his fortune's vassal, and I send him 
The greatness he has got. I hourly learn 
A doctrine of obedience, and would gladly 
Look him i' the face. 

Pro. This I'll report, dear lady. 

Have comfort ; for, I know, your plight is pitied 
Of him that caus'd it. 

Gal. You see how easily she may be sarpris'd. 

[Proculeius, and two of the Guard, ascend the 
Monument by a Ladder, and come behind 
Cleopatra. Some of the Guard unbar and 
open the Gates. 
Guard her till Caesar come. 

[To Proculeius and the Guard. Exit Gallus. 

Iras. Royal queen ! 

Char. Cleopatra ! thou art taken, queen ! — 

Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands. [Drawing a Dagger . 

Pro. Hold, worthy lady, hold ! [Disarms her. 



1 Sphtted the heart : in f. e. 2 Waged : in folio, 1623. 3 leave : in folio. Pope made the change. * dung : in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



857 



Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this 
Reliev'd, but not betray'd. 

Cleo. "What, of death, too, 

That rids our dogs of languish ? 

Pro. Cleopatra, 

Do not abuse my master's bounty, by 
Th' undoing of yourself : let the world sec 
His nobleness well acted, which your death 
Will never let come forth. 

Cleo. Where art thou, death ? 

Come hither, come ! come, come, and take a queen 
Worth many babes and beggars ! 

Pro. ! temperance, lady. 

Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I '11 not drink, sir ; 
If idle talk will once be accessary,^ 
I '11 not sleep neither. This mortal house I '11 ruin, 
Do Csesar what he can. Know, sir, that I 
Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court. 
Nor once be chasti.s'd with the sober eye 
Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up, 
And show me to the shouting varletry 
Of censuring Rome ? Rather a ditch in Egypt 
Be gentle grave to me ! rather on Nilus' mud 
Lay me stark nak'd, and let the water flies 
Blow me into abhorring ! rather make 
My country's high pyramides my gibbet, 
And hang me up in chains ! 

Pro. You do extend 

These thoughts of horror farther, than you shall 
Find cause in Ctesar. 

Enter Dolabella. 

Bol. Proculeius, 

What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows, 
And he hath sent for thee : for the queen, 
I '11 take her to my guard. 

Pro. So, Dolabella, 

It shall content me best : be gentle to her. — 
To Caesar I will speak what you shall please, 

[To Cleopatra. 
If you '11 employ me to him. 

Cleo. Say, I would die. 

[Exeunt Proculeius. and Soldiers. 

Dot. Most noble empress, you have heard of me ? 

Cleo. I cannot tell. 

Dol. Assuredly, you know me. 

Cleo. No matter, sir, what I have heard or known. 
You laugh, when boys, or women, tell their dreams : 
Is 't not your trick ? 

Dol. I understand not, madam. 

Cleo. I dream'd, there was an emperor Antony : 
0, such another sleep, that I might see 
But such another man ! 

Dol. If it might please you, — 

Cleo. His face was as the heavens : and therein stuck 
A sun, and moon, which kept their course, and lighted 
The little 0, the earth. 

Dol. Most sovereign creature, — 

Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean ; his rear'd arm. 
Crested the world ; his voice was propertied 
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends : 
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, 
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty. 
There was no winter in 't ; an autumn' 't was, 
That grew the more by reaping : his delights 
Were dolphin-like ; they show'd his back above 
The element they liv'd in : in his livery 
Walk'd crowns, and crownets ; realms and islands were 
As plates^ dropp'd from his pocket. 



Dol. Cleopatra, — 

Cleo. Think you, there was, or might be, such a man 
As this I dream'd of ? 

Dol. Gentle madam, no. 

Cleo. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods : 
But, if there be, or ever were one such. 
It 's past the size of dreaming : nature wants stuff 
To vie* strange forms with fancy : yet, to imagine 
An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy. 
Condemning shadows quite. 

Dol. Hear me, good madam. 

Your loss is as yourself, great ; and you bear it 
As answering to the weight : would I might never 
O'ertake pursu'd success, but I do feel. 
By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites' 
My very heart at root. 

Cleo. I thank you, sir. 

Know you, what Cajsar means to do with me ? 

Dol. I am loath to tell you what I would you knew. 

Cleo. Nay, pray you, sir, — 

Dol. Though he be honourable, — 

Cleo. He '11 lead me, then, in triumph ? 

Dol. Madam, he will ; I know 't. 

Within. Make way there ! — Ctesar ! 
Enter Caesar, Gallus, Proculeius, Mecjenas, 
Seleucus, a?irf Attendants. 

Cces. Which is the queen of Egypt ? 

Dol. It is the emperor, madam. [Cleopatra kneels. 

Cms. Arise, you shall not kneel. 
I pray you, rise ; rise, Egypt. 

Cleo. Sir, the gods 

Will have it thus : my master and my lord 
I must obey. 

Cces. Take to you no hard thoughts : 

The record of what injuries you did us. 
Though wTilten in our flesh, we shall remember 
As things but done by chance. 

Cleo. Sole sir o' the world, 

I cannot project mine own cause so well 
To make it clear ; but do confess I have 
Been laden with like frailties, which before 
Have often sham'd our sex. 

Cces. Cleopatra, know. 

We will extenuate rather than enforce : 
If you apply yourself to our intents, 
(Which towards you are most gentle) you shall find 
A benefit in this change: but if you seek 
To lay on me a cruelty, by taking 
Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself 
Of my good purposes, and put your children 
To that destruction which I '11 guard them from, 
If thereon you rely. I '11 take my leave. 

Cleo. And may through all the world : 't is yours ; 
and we 
Your scutcheons, and your signs of conquest, shall 
Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord. 

Cces. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. 

Cleo. This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels, 
I am possess'd of : 't is exactly valued ; 

[Showing a Paper. ^ 
Not petty things admitted. — ^W'here 's Seleucus? 

Sel. Here, madam. 

Cleo. This is my treasurer : let him speak, my lord. 
Upon his peril, that I have reserv'd 
To myself notiiing. — Speak the truth, Seleucus. 

Sel. Madam, 

I had rather seal my lips, than to my peril 
Speak that which is not. 



• necessary : in 
■"Not in f. e. 



f e. ' Antony : in folio. Theobald made the change. ' Silver coins. * A term at cards, to stake. * suites : in folio. 



858 



antointy and cleopatka. 



ACT y, 



Cleo. What have I kept back ? 

Sel. Enough to purchase what you have niado known. 
Cces. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve 
Your wisdom in the deed. 

Cleo. See, Caesar ! 0. behold, 

How pomp is follow'd ! mine will now be yours, 
And should we shift estates, yours would be mine. 
The ingratitude of this Seleucus does 
Even make me wild. — slave, of no more trust 
Than love that 's hir'd ! — What ! goestthou back ? thou 

shalt 
Go back, I warrant thee; but I '11 catch thine eyes, 
Though they had wings. Slave, soul-less villain, dog ! 
rarely base ! 

Cces. Good queen, let us entreat you. 

Cleo. Cajsar ! what a wounding shame is this ; 
That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me, 
Doing the honour of thy lordliness 
To one so meek, that mine own servant should 
Parcel the sum of my disgraces by 
Addition of his envy! Say, good Caesar, 
That I some lady trifles have reserv'd, 
Immoment toys, things of such dignity 
As we greet modern^ friends withal ; and say. 
Some nobler token I have kept apart 
For Livia, and Octavia, to induce 
Their mediation, must I be unfolded 
With one that I have bred ? Ye^ gods ! it smites me 
Beneath the fall I have. Pr 'ythee, go hence ; 

\To Seleucus. 
Or I shall show the cinders of my spirit' 
Through th' ashes of mischance.* — Wert thou a man. 
Thou wouldst have mercy on me. 

Cas. Forbear, Seleucus. {Exit Seleucus. 

Cleo. Be it known, that we. the greatest, are mis- 
thought 
For things that others do ; and when we fall, 
We answer others' merits in our name, 
And' therefore to be pitied. 

Cces. Cleopatra, 

Not what you have reserv'd, nor what acknowledg'd, 
Put we i' the roll of conquest: still be it yours, 
Bestow it at your pleasure ; and believe, 
Cajsar's no merchant, to make prize with you 
Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd ; 
Make not your thoughts your prisons: no, dear queen; 
For we intend so to dispose you, as 
Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and sleep : 
Our care and pity is so much upon you. 
That we remain your friend ; and so, adieu. 
Cleo. My master, and my lord ! 
Cces. Not so. Adieu. 

[Flotirish. Exeunt Cjesar, and his Train. 
Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, that I sliould 
not 
Be noble to myself: but hark thee, Charmian. 

[Whispers Charmian. 
Iras. Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, 
And we are for tlie dark. 

Cleo. Hie thee again : 

I have spoken already, and it is provided ; 
Go, put it to the haste. 

Char. ISIadam, I will. 

Re-enter Dolabella. 
Dol. Where is the queen ? 

Char. Behold, sir. [Exit Charmian. 

Cleo. Dolabella? 

Dol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command. 
Which my love makes religion to obey, 

I Common. 2 The : in f. e. 3 spirits : in f. e. * my change . in 



I tell you this : Csesar through Syria 
Intends his journey, and within three days 
You with your children will he send before. 
Make your best use of this ; I have perform'd 
Your pleasure, and my promise. 

Cleo. Dolabella, 

I shall remain your debtor. 

Dol. I your servant. 

Adieu, good queen ; I must attend on Csesar. 

Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. [Exit Dol.] Now, Iras, 
what think'st thou ? 
Thou, an Egyption puppet, shalt be sho-ftii 
In Rome, as well as I : mechanic slaves 
With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall 
Uplift us to tlie view : in their thick breaths, ^ 
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, 
And forc'd to drink their vapour. 

Iras. The gods forbid ! 

Cleo. Nay, 't is most certain. Iras. Saucy lictors 
Will catch at us, like strumpets ; and scald rhymers 
Ballad us out 0' tune : the quick comedians 
Extemporally will stage us, and present 
Our Alexandrian revels : Antony 
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see 
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness 
I' the posture of a whore. 

Iras. 0, tlie good gods ! 

Cleo. Nay, that is certain. 

Iras. I '11 never see it ; for, I am sure, my nails 
Are stronger than mine eyes. 

Cko. Why, that 's the way 

To foil^ their preparation, and to conquer 
Their most assur'd' intents. — Now, Charmian ? — 

Re-enter Charmian. 
Show me, my women, like a queen : — go fetch 
My best attires ; — I am again for Cydnus, 
To meet Mark Antony. — Sirrah, Iras, go. — 
Now, noble Charmian, we '11 despatch indeed ; 



And, when 



thou hast done this chare, I '11 



give thee 



leave 

To play till dooms-day. — Bring our cro\'\'n and all. 
Wherefore 's this noise ? [Exit Iras. A noise ivithin. 
Enter one of the Guard. 

Guard. Here is a rural fellow, 

Tliat will not be denied your highness' presence : 
He brings you tigs. 

Cleo. Let him come in. — How poor an instrument 

[Exit Guard. 
May do a noble deed ! he brings me liberty. 
My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing 
Of woman in mo : now from head to foot 
I am marble-constant ; now the fleeting moon 
No planet is of mine. 
Re-enter Guard, with a Clown bringing in a Basket. 

Guard. This is the man. 

Cleo. Avoid, and leave him. — [Exit Guard. 

Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there. 
That kills and pains not ? 

Clown. Truly I have him ; but I would not be the 
party that should desire you to touch him, for his biting 
is immortal : those that do die of it do seldom or never 
recover. 

Cleo. Remember' st thou any that have died on 't ? 

Clown. Very many, men and women too. I heard 
of one of them no longer than yesterday : a very 
honest woman, but something given to lie. as a woman 
should not do but in the way of honesty, hoAv she died 
of the biting of it, what pain she felt. — Truly, she 
makes a very good report o' the worm ; but ho that 

f. e. * Are : in f. e. * fool : in f. e. ' absurd : in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



859 



will believe all that they say, shall never be saved by 
half that they do. But this is most fallible, the worm 's 
an adder-worm. 

Cleo. Get thee hence : farewell. 

Clown. I wish you all joy of the worm. 

Cleo. Farewell. [Cloiim sets down the Basket. 

Clown. You must think this, look you, that the 
worm will do his kind. 

Cleo. Ay, ay ; farewell. 

Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be tru.sted but 
in the keeping of wise people ; for, indeed, there is no 
goodness in the worm. 

Cleo. Take thou no care : it shall be heeded. 

Clown. Very good. Give it nothing, I pray you. for 
it is not worth the feeding. 

Cleo. Will it cat me? 

Cloum. You must not think I am so simple, but I 
know the devil himself will not eat aM^oman : I know, 
that a woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress 
her not ; but, truly, these same whoreson devils do 
the gods great harm in their women, for in every ten 
that they make, the devils mar nine. 

Cleo. Well, get thee gone: farewell. 

Clown. Yes, forsooth ; I wish you joy of the worm. 

[Exit. 
Re-enter Iras, unth a Robe^ Croion^ Sfc. 

Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown ; I have 
Immortal longings in me. Now. no more 
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip. — 
Yare, yare, good Iras ; quick. — Methinks, I hear 
Antony call : I see him rouse himself 
To praise my noble act ; I hear him mock 
The luck of Ctesar. which the gods give men 
To excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come: 
Now to that name my courage prove my title. 
I am fire, and air ; my other elements 
I give to baser life. — So, — have you done ? 
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. 
Farewell, kind Charmian : — Iras, long farewell. 

[Kis.ses them. Iras falls, and dies. 
Have I the aspick in my lips ? Dost fall ? 
If thou and nature can so gently part. 
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, 
Which hurts, and is desir'd. Dost thou lie still ? 
If thus tliou vanishest, thou tell'st the world 
It is not worth leave-taking. 

Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain, that I may say, 
The gods themselves do weep. 

Cleo. This proves me base : 

If she first meet the curled Antony, 
He '11 make demand of her, and spend that kiss, 
Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou mortal ^VTctch, 
[She applies the Asp to her Breast. 
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate 
Of life at once untie : poor venomous fool. 
Be aniiry, and despatch. ! couldst thou speak, 
That I might hear thee call great Cscsar ass 
Unpolicied ! 

Char. eastern star ! 

Cleo. Peace, peace ! 

Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, 
That sucks the nurse asleep ? 

Char. • 0, break ! 0, break ! 

Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle. — 
Antony ! — Nay, I will take thee too. — 

[Applying another At^p to her Arm. 
Why' should I stay — [Falls, and dies. 

Char. In this wild^ world ? — So, fare thee well. — 
Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies 



rushing in. 



this 



[Dies. 



A lass unparallel'd. — Downy windows, close ; 
And golden Phoebus never be beheld 
Of eyes again so royal ! Your crown 's awry' : 
I '11 mend it, and then play — 
Enter the Guard, 

1 Guard. Where is the queen ? 

Char. Speak softly; wake her not. 

1 Guard. Cocsar hath sent — 

Char. Too slow a messenger. [Applies the A.'^p. 

! come ; apace ; dcspatcli : I partly feel thee. 

1 Guard. Approach, ho ! All 's not well : Caisar 's 

beguil'd. 

2 Guard. There 's Dolabella sent from Caesar : call 

him. 

1 Guard. What work is here ? — Charmian, is 

well done? 
Char. It is well done, and fitting for a princess 
Descended of so many royal kings. 
All, soldier ! 

Enter Dolabella. 
Bol. How goes it here ? 

2 Guard. All dead. 

Dol. Ca3sar, thy thoughts 

Touch their effects in this : thyself art coming 
To see perforni'd the dreaded act, which thou 
So sought'st to hinder. 

Within. A way there ! a way for Csesar ! 
Enter C^sar, and all his Train. 

Dol. 0, sir ! you are too sure an augurer : 
That you did fear, is done. 

CcEs. Bravest at the last : 

She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal, 
Took her own way. — The manner of their deaths ? 

1 do not see them bleed. 

Dol. Who was last with them ? 

1 Guard. A simple countryman that brought her figs : 
This was his basket. 

Cces. Poison' d, then. 

1 Guard. Caesar! 

This Charmian lived but now ; she stood, and spake. 
I found her trimming up the diadem 
On her dead mistress : tremblingly she stood, 
And on the sudden dropp'd. 

Cces. noble weakness ! — 

If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear 
By external swelling ; but she looks like sleep, 
As she would catch another Antony 
In her strong toil of grace. 

Dol. Here, on her breast, 

There is a vent of blood, and something blown : 
The like is on her arm. 

1 Guard. This is an aspick's trail ; and these fig- 
leaves 
Have slime upon them, such as the aspick leaves 
Upon the caves of Nile. 

C(Es. Most probable, 

That so she died ; for her physician tells me, 
She hath pursu'd conclusions infinite 
Of easy ways to die. — Take up her bed, 
And bear her women from the monument. 
She shall be buried by her Antony ; 
No grave upon tlie earth shall clip in it 
A pair so famous. High events as these 
Strike those that make them ; and their story is 
No less in pity, than his glory, which 
Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall, 
In solemn show, attend this funeral, 
And then to Rome. — Come, Dolabella, see 
High order in this great solemnity. [Exeu7it. 



> "What : in f. e. ^ Steevens reads : vild (the old form of vile). 3 away : in folio. Pope made the change. 



CYMBELINE. 



♦ ♦ 



DEAMATIS PERSONS. 



Cymbeline, King of Britain. 
Cloten, Son to the Queen by a former Husband. 
Leonatus Posthumus, Husband to Imogen. 
Belarius, a banished Lord, 
name of Morgan. 



disguised 



under the 



guiderius, 
Arviragus, " 



Caius Lucius, General of the Roman Forces. 
A Roman Captain, 
Two British Captains. 
PisANio, Servant to Posthumus. 
Cornelius, a Physician. ^ 

Two Gentlemen. 
Two Jailors. 

Queen, Wife to Cymbeline. 

Imogen, Daughter to Cymbeline by a former 

Queen. 
Helen, Woman to Imogen. 

Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, Apparitions, a Soothsayer, a Dutch Gentleman, a Spanish Gentle- 
man, Musicians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. 

SCENE, sometimes in Britain, sometimes in Italy. 



Sons to Cymbeline, disguised under 
the names of Polydore and Cad- 
wal, supposed Sons to Belarius. 



Philario. Friend to Posthumus, 



[ Italians. 
A French Gentleman. Friend to Philario. 



Iachimo, Friend to Philario, 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— Britain. The Garden of Cymbeline's 

Palace. 

Enter Two Gentlemen. 



1 



a man, but frowns : 



our 



Gent. You do not meet 
bloods 

No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers 
Still seem as does the king. 

2 Gent. But what 's the matter? 

1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of 's kingdom, 

whom 
He purpos'd to his wife's sole son, (a widow 
That late he married) hath referr'd herself 
Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She 's wedded ; 
Her husband banish'd ; she imprison'd : all 
Is outward sorrow, though. I think, the king 
Be touch'd at very heart. 

2 Gent. None but the king ? 

1 Gent. He that hath lost her, too : so is the queen. 
That most desir'd the match ; but not a courtier, 
Although they wear their faces to the bent 

Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not 
Glad at the thing they scowl at. 

2 Gent. And why so ? 

1 Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing 
Too bad for bad report ; and he that hath her, 

(I mean, that married her. — alack, good man ! — 
And therefore banish'd) is a creature such 
As, to seek through the regions of the earth 
For one his like, there would be something failing 
In him that should compare. I do not think. 
So fair an outward, and such stuff within, 
Endows a man but he. 

2 Gent. You speak him far. 

1 Ge7it. I do extend him, sir, within himself; 
Crush him together, rather than unfold 
His measure duly. 

lof: in f. e. ^ Made them fine. 



2 Gent. What 's his name, and birth ? 

1 Gent. I cannot delve him to the root. His father 
Was called Sicilius, who did join his honour 
Against the Romans with Cassibelan, 

But had his titles by Tenantius, whom 

He serv'd with glory and admir'd success ; 

So gain'd the sur-addition, Leonatus : 

And had, besides this gentleman in question, 

Two other sons, who, in the wars o' the time. 

Died with their swords in hand ; for which their father, 

Then old and fond of 's' issue, took such sorrow, 

That he quit being ; and his gentle lady. 

Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd 

As he was born. The king he takes the babe 

To his protection; calls him Posthumus Leonatus j 

Breeds him. and makes him of his bed-chamber. 

Puts him to all the learnings that his time 

Could make him the receiver of; which he took, 

As we do air, fast as 't was ministcr'd ; and 

In his spring became a harvest : liv'd in court, 

(Which rare it is to do) most prais'd, most lov'd ; 

A sample to the youngest, to the more mature, 

A glass that feated' them ; and to the graver, 

A child that guided dotards : for his mistress. 

For whom he now is banish'd. her own price 

Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue ; 

By her election may be truly read 

What kind of man he is. 

2 Gent. I honour him, 

Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell mo, 
Is she sole child to the king ? 

1 Gent. His only child. 

He had two sons, (if this be worth your hearing. 
Mark it) the eldest of them at three years old, 
I' the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery 
Were stol'n; and to this hour no guess in knowledge 
Which way they went. 



SCENE II, 



CYMBELINE. 



861 



2 Gent. How long is this ago ? 

1 Gent. Some twenty years. 

2 Gent. Strange a king's children should be so con- 

vey d, 
So slackly guarded, and the search so slow, 
That could not trace them ! 

1 Ge7it. Howsoe'er 't is strange. 
Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, 
Yet is it true, sir. 

2 Gent. I do well believe you. 

1 Gent. We must forbear. Here comes the gentle- 
man, the queen, and princess. \Exeunt. 

SCENE H.— The Same. 
Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen. 

Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, 
daughter. 
After the slander of most step-mothers, 
Evil-ey'd unto you : you are my prisoner, but 
Your jailor shall deliver you the keys 
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, 
So soon as I can win th' offended king, 
I will be known your advocate : marry, yet 
The fire of rage is in him ; and 't were good. 
You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience 
Your wisdom may inform you. 

Post. Please your highness, 

I will from hence to-day. 

Queen. You know the peril. 

I 'II fetch a turn about the garden, pitying 
The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king 
Hath charg'd you should not speak together. 

[Exit Queen. 

Imo. dissembling courtesy ! How fine this tyrant 
Can tickle where she wounds ! — My dearest hu.sband, 
I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing 
(Always reserv'd my holy duty) what 
His rage can do on me. You must be gone ; 
And 1 shall here abide the hourly shot 
Of angry eyes; not comforted to live, 
But that there is this jewel in the world. 
That I may see again. • 

Po.'it. My queen ! my mistress ! 

0, lady ! weep no more, lest I give cause 
To be suspected of more tenderness 
Than doth become a man. I will remain 
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth : 
My residence in Rome at one Philario's; 
Who to my father was a friend, lo me 
Known but by letter. Thither write, my queen, 
And with mine eyes I '11 drink the words you send, 
Though ink be made of gall. 

Re-enter Queen. 

Queen. Be brief. I pray you : 

If the king come, I shall incur I know not 
How much of his displeasure. [ Jsu/c] Yet I '11 move 

liim 
To walk this way. I never do him wrong. 
But he does buy my injuries to be friends. 
Pays dear for my offences. [Exit. 

Po.<;t. Should we be taking leave 

As long a term as yet we have to live. 
The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu ! 

Imo. Nay. stay a little : 
Were you but riding forth to air yourself, 
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love : 
This diamond was my mother's; take it, heart : 
But keep it till you woo another wife. 
When Imogen is dead. 

* Hawk of a worthless breed. » a beggar ; wouldst, &c. : in f. e. 



Post. How ! how ! another ? — 

You gentle gods, give me but this I have. 
And sear up my embracements from a next 
With bonds of death ! — Remain, remain thou here 

[Putting on the Ring. 
While sense can keep it on. And sweetest, fairest, 
As I my poor self did exchange for you, 
To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles 
I still win of you : for my sake, wear this : 
It is a manacle of love ; I '11 place it 
Upon this fairest prisoner. 

[Putting a Bracelet on her Arm. 

Imo. O, the gods ! 

When shall we see again ? 

Enter Cymbeline and Lords. 

Post. Alack, the king ! 

Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid ! hence, from ray sight ! 
If after this command thou fraught the court 
With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away ! 
Thou 'rt poison to my blood. 

Post. The gods protect you, 

And bless the good remainders of the court ! 
I am gone. [Exit. 

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death 

More sharp than this is. 

Cym. disloyal thing ! 

That shouldst repair my youth, thou heapest 
A year's age on me. 

Imo. I beseech you, sir, 

Harm not yourself with your vexation ; 
I am senseless of your wrath : a touch more rare 
Subdues all pangs, all fears. 

Cym. Past grace ? obedience ? 

Imo. Past hope, and in despair ; that way, past grace. 

Cym. That mightst have had the sole son of my queen. 

Imo. bless'd, that I might not ! I chose an eagle. 
And did avoid a puttock.' 

Cym. Thou took'st a beggar would^ have made my 
throne 
A seat for baseness. 

Imo. No; I rather added 

A lustre to it. 

Cym. thou vile one ! 

Imo. Sir, 

It is yovir fault that I have lov'd Posthumus. 
You bred him as my play-fellow ; and he is 
A man worth any woman ; overbuys me 
Almost the sum he pays. 

Cym. What ! art thou mad ? 

Imo. Almost, sir : heaven restore me ! — Would I 
were 
A neatherd's daughter, and my Leonatus 
Our neighbour shepherd's sen ! 

Re-enter Queen. 

Cym. Thou foolish thing ! — 

They w^ere again together : you have done [7b the Queen. 
Not after our command. Away with her, 
And pen her up. 

Queen. Beseech your patience. — Peace ! 

Dear lady daughter, peace ! — Sweet sovereign. 
Leave us to ourselves ; and make yourself some comfort 
Out of your best advice. 

Cym. Nay, let her languish 

A drop of blood a day ; and, being aged, 
Die of this folly. [Exit. 

Enter Pisanio. 

Queen. Fie ! — You must give way : 

Here is your servant. — How now, sir! What news? 

Pis. My lord your son drew on my master. 



862 



CYMBELINE. 



ACT I. 



Queen. Ha ! 

No harm, I trust, is done ? 

Pis. There might have heen, 

But that my master rather play'd than fought. 
And had no help of anger : they were parted 
By gentlemen at hand. 

Queen. I am very glad on 't. 

Imo, Your son 's my father's friend ; he takes his 
part. — 
To draw upon an exile ! — brave sir ! — 
I would they were in Afric both together, 
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick 
The goer back. — Why came you from your master? 

Pis. On his command. He would not suffer me 
To bring him to the haven : left these notes 
Of what commands I should be subject to, 
When 't pleas'd you to employ me. 

Queen. This hath been 

Your faithful servant : I dare lay mine honour. 
He will remain so. 

Pis. I humbly thank your highness. 

Queen. Pray, walk a while. 

Imo. About some half hour hence, 

Pray you, speak with me. You shall, at least, 
Go sec my lord aboard : for this time, leave me. \Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— A Public Place. 
Enter Cloten, and Two Lords. 

1 Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt' : the 
violence of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice. 
Where air comes out, air comes in ; there 's none abroad 
so wholesome as that you vent. 

Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it — Have 
I hurt him ? 

2 Lord. [Aside."] No, faith ; not so much as his pa- 
tience. 

1 Lord. Hurt liim? his body's a passable carcass, if 
he be not hurt : it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it be 
not hurt. 

2 Lord. [Aside^ His steel was in debt ; it went o' 
the backside the town. 

Clo. The villain would not stand me. 
2 Lord. {Aside. \ No ; but he fled forward still, to- 
ward your face. 

1 Lord SfauQ you ! You have land enough of your 
own : but he added to your having, gave you some 
ground. 

2 Lord. [Aside.] As many inches as you have oceans. 
— Puppies ! 

Ch. I would they had not come between us. 

2 Lord. [Aside.] So would I, till you had measured 
how long a fool you were upon the ground. 

Clo. And that she should love this fellow, and refuse 
me ! 

2 Lord. [Aside.] If it be a sin to make a true elec- 
tion, she is damned. 

1 Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her 
brain go not together : she 's a good sign, but I have 
seen small reflection of her wit. 

2 Lord. [Aside.] She shines not upon fools, lest the 
I reflection should hurt her. 

Clo. Come, I '11 to my chamber. Would there had 
been some hurt done ! 

2 Lord. [Asidc^ I wish not so : unless it had been 
the fall of an ass, which is no great hurt. 

Clo. You '11 go with us? 

1 Lord. I '11 attend your lordship. 
Clo. Nay. come, let 's go together. 

2 Lord. Well, my lord. [Exeunt. 



Be assur'd, madam, 



S.CENE IV. — A Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 
Enter Imogen and Pisanio. 

Imo. I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the haven, 
And question'dst every sail : if he should write, 
And I not have it, 't were a paper lost 
As offer'd mercy is. What was the last 
That he spake to thee ? 

Pis. It was, his queen, his queen ! 

Tmo. Then wav'd his handkerchief ? 

Pis. And kiss'd it, madam, 

Imo. Senseless linen, happier therein than I ! — 
And that was all ? 

Pis. No, madam ; for so long 

As he could make me with this eye or ear 
Distinguish him from others, he did keep " 
The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, 
Still waving, as the fits and stirs of his mind 
Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on. 
How swift his ship. 

Imo. Thou shouldst have made him 

As little as a crow, or less, ere left 
To after-eye him. 

Pis. Madam, so I did. 

Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings, crack'd 
them, but 
To look upon him, till the diminution 
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle ; 
Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from 
The smallness of a gnat to air: and then 
Have turn'd mine eye, and wept. — But. good Pisanio, 
When shall we hear from him ? 

Pis. 
With his next vantage. 

Imo. I did not take my leaA^e of him, but had 
Most pretty things to say : ere I could tell him, 
How I would think on him, at certain hours, 
Such thoughts, and such : or I could make him swear 
The shcs of Italy should not betray 
Mine interest, and his honour ; or have charg'd him, 
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, 
T' encoiyiter me with orisons, for then 
I am in heaven for him : or ere I could 
Give him that parting kiss, which I had set 
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father. 
And. like the tyrannous breathing of the north, 
Shakes all our buds from growing. 
Enter a Lady. 

The queen, madam, 
Desires your highness' company. 

Imo. Those things I bid you do, get them de- 
spatch'd. — 
I will attend the queen. 

Pis. Madam, I shall. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Rome. An Apartment in Puilario's 

Hou.se. 

Enter Philario, Iaciiimo, a Frenchman, a Dutchman, 
and a Spaniard. 

lack. Believe it, sir. I have seen him in Britain : 
he was then of a crescent note ; expected to prove so 
worthy, as since he hath been allowed the name of; 
but I could then have looked on liim without the help 
of admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments 
had been tabled by his side, and I to peruse him by 
items. 

Phi. You speak of him when he was less furnished, 
than now he is, with that which makes him both with- 
out and within. 

French. I have seen him in France: we had very 



SCENE y. 



CYMBELmE. 



863 



many there could behold the sun ■with as firm eyes as 
be. 

lach. This matter of marrying his king's daughter, 
(wherein he must be weighed rather by her value, than 
his own) words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the 
matter. 

French. And, then, his banishment. — 



lack. Ay, and the approbations' of those that weep 
this lamentable divorce and her dolours.^ are wout^ 
wonderfully to extend him; be it but to fortify her 
judgment, which else an easy battery might lay flat, 
for taking a beggar without more* quality. But how 
comes it, he is to sojourn "vvith you ? How creeps 
acquaintance ? 

Phi. His father and I were soldiers together; to whom 
I have been often bound for no less than my life. — 

Enter Posthumus. 
Here comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained 
amongst you, as suits with gentlemen of your knowing 
to a stranger of his quality. — I beseech you all, be 
better known to this gentleman, whom I commend to 
you, as a noble friend of mine : how worthy he is, I 
will leave to appear hereafter, rather than story him 
iu his o\n\ hearing. 



French. Sir, we have known together in Orleans. 
Post. Since when I have been debtor to vou 



for 



courtesies, which I will be ever to pa}', and vet pay 
still. 

French. Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness. I was 
glad I did atone' my countryman and you : it had been 
pity, you should have been put together with so mortal 
a purpose, as then each bore, upon importance of so 
slight and trivial a nature. 

Post. By your pardon, sir, I was then a young tra- 
veller; rather shunned to go even with what I heard, 
than in my every action to be guided by others' ex- 
periences : but, upon my mended judgment, (if I not* 
offend to say it is mended) my quarrel was not alto- 
gether slight. 

French. Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitremcnt of 
swords ; and by such two, that would, by all likelihood, 
have confounded one the other, or have fallen both. 

lach. Can we, with manners, ask what was tlie dif- 
ference ? 

French. Safely, I think. 'T was a contention in 
public, which may. without contradiction, suffer the 
report. It was much like an argument that fell out 
last night, where each of us fell in praise of our coimtry 
mistresses ; this gentleman at that time vouching, (and 
upon warrant of bloody afiirmation) his to be more 
fair, virtuous, w'ise, cha.^tc. constant, qualified, and less 
attemptable, than any the rarest of our ladies in France. 

lach. That lady is not now living ; or this gentle- 
man's opinion, by this, worn out. 

Post. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind. 

lach. You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours of 
Italy. 

Post. Being so far provoked as I was in France, I 
would abate her nothing ; though I profess myself her 
adorer, not her friend. 

lach. As fair, and as good, (a kind of hand-in-hand 
comparison) had been something too fair, and too good, 
for any lady in Britany. If she went before others I 
havi) seen, as that diamond of yours outlustres many I 
have beheld, I could not but believe' she excelled 
many: but I have not seen the most precious diamond 
that is, nor you the lady. 

Post. I praised her as I rated her; so do I my stone. 



lach. What do you esteem it at? 
Post. More than the world enjoys. 
lach. Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, or 
she 's out prized by a trifle. 

Post. You are mistaken : the one may be sold, or 
given ; or if there were wealth enough for the pur- 
chase, or merit for the gift : the other is not a thing 
for sale, and only the gift of the gods. 
lach. Which the gods have given you ? 
Post. Wliich, by their graces, I will keep. 
lach. You may wear her in title yours ; but, you 
know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. 
Your ring may be stolen, too : so, of your brace of un- 
prizeable estimations, the one is but frail, and the other 
casual ; a cunning thief, or a that way accomplished 
courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and 
last. 

Post. Your Italy contains none so accomplished a 
courtier to convince" the honour of my mistress, if in 
the holding or loss of that you term her frail.' I do 
nothing doubt, you have store of thieves ; notwith- 
standing, I fear not my ring. 

Phi. Let us leave here, gentlemen. 
Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I 
thank him, makes no stranger of me ; we are faiTiiliar 
at first. 

lach. With five times so much conversation, I should 
get ground of your fair mistress : make her go back, 
even to the yielding, had I admittance, and opportunity 
to friend. 

Post. No, no. 

lach. I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate 
to your ring, which, in my opinion, o'ervalues it some- 
thing, but I make my wager rather against your con- 
fidence, than her reputation : and, to bar your offence 
herein too, I durst attempt it against any lady in the 
world. 

Post. You are a great deal abused in too bold a 
persuasion : and I doubt not you '11 sustain what you 're 
wortliy of by your attempt. 
lach. What 's that ? 

Post. A repulse ; though your attempt, as you call 
it, deserve more, — a punishment too. 

Phil. Gentlemen, enough of this ; it came in too 
suddenly : let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, be 
better acquainted. 

lach. Would I had put my estate, and my neigh- 
bour's, on the approbation' of what I have spoke. 
Post. What lady would you choose to assail ? 
lach. Yours ; whom in constancy, you think, stands 
so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats ito your 
ring, that, commend me to the court where your lady 
is, with no more advantage than the opportunity of a 
second conference, and I will bring from thence that 
honour of hers, wliich you imagine so reserved. 

Post. I will wage against your gold, gold to it : my 
ring I hold dear as my finger; 't is part of it. 

lach. You are afeard,'" and therein the wiser. If 
you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot 
preserve it from tainting. But I see, you have some 
religion in you, that you fear. 

Post. This is but a custom in your tongue : you bear 
a graver purpose, I hope. 

lach. I am the master of my speeches ; and would 
undergo wliat 's spoken, I swear. 

Po.<it. Will you? — I shall but lend my diamond till 
your return. Let there be covenants drawn between 
us. My mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of 



1 approbation : in f. e. 2 under her colours : in f. e. ' Thi.s word is not in f. e. * less 
liove : in folio. Malone made the change. » Overcome. ' Proof. lO a friend : in f. e. 



in f. e. ^Reconcile. 'Not in folio. ' not be- 



864: 



CYMBELmE. 



ACT I. 



your unworthy thinking : I dare you to this match. 
Here 's my ring. 

Phil. I will have it no lay. 

lack. By the gods, it is one. — If I bring you no suf- 
ficient testimony, that I have enjoyed the dearest bodily 
part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats are 
yours ; so is your diamond too : if I come off, and 
leave her in such honour as you have trust in, she your 
jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are yours ; — pro- 
vided, I have your commendation, for my more free 
entertainment. 

Post. I embrace these conditions ; let us have arti- 
cles betwixt us. — Only, thus far you shall answer : if 
you make good' your vauntage'-* upon her, and give me 
directly to understand you have prevail'd, I arn no 
farther your enemy ; she is not worth our debate : if 
she remain unseduccd, (you not making it appear 
otherwise) for your ill opinion, and the assault you 
have made to her chastity, you shall answer me with 
your sword. 

lack. Your hand : a covenant. We will have the.«e 
things set down by lawful counsel, and straight away 
for Britain, lest the bargain should catch cold, and 
starve. I will fetch my gold, and have our two wagers 
recorded. 

Post. Agreed. [Exeunt Posthumus and Iachimo. 

French. Will this hold, think you ? 

Phi. Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray, let 
us follow 'em. [Eij^unt. 

SCENE VI. — Britain. A. Room in Cymbeline's 
Palace. 
E72ter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius. 
dew ' 



the 



s on ground, gather 



Queen. Whiles yet 
those flowers : 
Make haste. Who has the note of them ? 

1 Lady. I^ madam. 

Queen. Despatch.^- [Excrmt Ladies. 

Now, master doctor, have you brought those drugs? 

Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay : here they arc, 
madam : [Presetiting a small Box. 

But I beseech your grace, without offence, 
(My conscience bids me ask) wherefore you have 
Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds, 
Which are the movers of a languishing death ; 
But though slow, deadly ? 



Queen. 



I wonder, doctor, 



Thou ask'st me such a question : have I not been 
Thy pupil long ? Hast thou not learn'd me how 
To make perfumes ? distil ? preserve ? yea, so, 
That our great king himself doth woo me oft 
For my confections ? Having thus far proceeded, 
(Unless thou think'st me devilish) is 't not meet 
That I did amplify my judgment in 
Other conclusions ? [ will try the forces 
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as 
We count not worth the hanging, (but none human) 
To try the vigour of them, and apply 
AUaymcnts to their act ; and by them gather 
Their several virtues, and effects. 

Cor. Your highness 

Shall from this practice but make hard your heart : 
Besides, the seeing these effects will be 
Both noisome and infectious. 

Queen. ! content thee. — 

Enter Pisanio. 
[Aside.] Here comes a flattering rascal ; upon him 
Will I first work : he 's for his master, 
And enemy to my son. — How now, Pisanio ! — 

» Not in f. e. 2 voyage : in f. e. 3 To Pisanio : in f. e. 



Doctor, your service for this time is ended : 
Take your own way. 

Cor. [Aside.] I do suspect you, madam ; 

But you shall do no harm. 

Queen. Hark thee, a word. — 

[She talks apart to Pisanio.' 

Cor. I do not like her. She doth think, she has 
Strange lingering poisons : I do know her spirit, 
And will not trust one of her malice with 
A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has 
Will stupify and dull the sense awhile; 
Which first, perchance, she '11 prove on cats, and dogs, 
Then afterward up higher; but there is 
No danger in what show of death it makes 
More than the locking up the spirits a time, 
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd 
With a most false effect ; and I the truer, 
So to be false with her. 

Queen. No farther service, doctor, 

Until I send for thee. 

Cor. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. 

Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou ? Dost thou 
think, in time 
She will not quench, and let instruction enter 
Where folly now possesses ? Do thou work : 
When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son, 
I '11 tell thee on the instant thdu art, then, 
As great as is thy master : greater ; for 
His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name 
Is at last gasp : return he cannot, nor 
Continue where he is : to shift his being. 
Is to exchange one misery M'ith another, 
And every day that comes comes to decay 
A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect, 
To be depender on a thing that leans ? 
Who cannot be new-built ; nor has no friends, 

[The Queen drops the Box : Pisanio takes it 
up arul presents it. 
So much as but to prop him. — Thou tak'st up 
Thou know'st not what ; but take it for thy labour. 
It is a thing I made, which hath the king 
Five times redeem'd from death : I do not know 
What is more cordial : — nay, I pr'ythee, take it ; 
It is an earnest of a farther good 
That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how 
The case stands with her : do 't as from thyself. 
Think what a chance thou chancest on ; but think 
Thou hast thy mistress still ; to boot, my son, 
Who shall take notice of thee. I '11 move the king 
To any shape of thy preferment, such 
As thou 'It desire ; and then myself, I chiefly. 
That set thee on to this desert, am bound 
To load thy merit richly. Call my women : 
Think on my words. [Exit Pis.] — A sly and constant 

knave. 
Not to be shak'd ; the agent for his master. 
And the remembrancer of her, to hold 
The hand fast to her lord. — I have given him that, 
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her 
Of liegers for her suite; and which she after, 
Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd 

Re-enter Pisanio, and Ladies. 
To taste of too. — So, so ; — well done, well done. 
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses, 
Bear to my closet. — Fare thee well, Pisanio ; 
Think on my words. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 

Pis. And shall do ; 

But when to my good lord I prove untrue, 
I '11 choke myself : there 's all I '11 do for you. [Exit. 



SCENE VII. 



CYMBELINE. 



865 



SCENE VII.— Another Room in the Same. 

Enter Imogen. 

Imo. A father cruel, and a step-dame false ; 
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady, 
That hath her husband banish'd : — 0, that husband ! 
My supreme crown of grief, and those repeated 
Vexations of it ! Had I been thief-stolen, 
As my two brothers, happy ! but most miserable 
Is the desire that 's glorious : blessed be those, 
How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills, 
Which seasons comfort. — Who may this be ? Fie ! 

Enter PisANio and Iachimo. 

Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome 
Comes from my lord with letters. 

lach. Change you, madam? 

The worthy Leonatus is in safety, 
And greets your highness dearly. [Gives a Letter. 

Imo. Thanks, good sir : 

You are kindly welcome 



lack. All of her, 



that is out of door, most rich ! 



If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare. 



[Aside. 



She is alone the Arabian bird, and I 

Have lost the wager. Boldness, be my friend : 

Arm me, audacity, from head to foot, 

Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight ; 

Rather, directly fly. 

Imo. [Reads.] " He is one of the noblest note, to 
whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect 
upon him accordingly, as you value your truest — 

" Leonatus." 
So far I read aloud ; 
But even the very middle of my heart 
Is warmM by the rest, and takes it thankfully. — 
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I 
Have words to bid you • and shall find it so 
In all that I can do. 

lack. Thanks, fairest lady. — 

What ! are men mad ? Hath nature given them eyes 
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich cope' 
O'er^ sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt 
The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones 
Upon th' unnumber'd^ beach ; and can we not 
Partition make with spectacles so precious 
'Twixt fair and foul ? 

Imo. What makes your admiration ? 

lack. It cannot be i' the eye ; for apes and monkeys, 
'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and 
Contemn with mows the other : nor i' the judgment ; 
For idiots, in this case of favour, would 
Be wisely definite : nor i' the appetite ; 
Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd, 
Should make desire vomit to emptiness, 
Not so allur'd to feed. 

Imo. What is the matter, trow ? 

lack. The cloyed will, 

(That satiate yet unsatisfied desire. 
That tub both fiU'd and running) ravening first 
The lamb, longs after for the garbage. 

Imo. What, dear sir. 

Thus raps you ? Are you well ? 

lach. Thanks, madam, well. — Beseech you, sir, desire 

[To PlSANIO. 

My man's abode where I did leave him ; he 
Is strange and peevish. 

Pis. I was going, sir. 

To giA'e him welcome. 



[Exit PiSANIO. 



Imo. Continues well my lord ? His health, 'beseech 
you? 

Inch. Well, madam. 

Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth ? I hope, he is. 

lach. Exceeding pleasant ; none, a stranger there, 
So merry and so gamesome : he is call'd 
The Briton reveller. 

hno. When he was here, 

He did incline to sadness; and oft-times 
Not knowing why. 

lach. I never saw him sad. 

There is a Frenchman his companion, one. 
An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves 
A Gallian girl at home ; he furnaces 
Tlie thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly Briton 
(Your lord. I mean) laughs from 's free lungs, cries, " ! 
Can my sides hold, to think, that man, — who knows 
By history, report, or his own proof. 
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose 
But must be, — will his free hours languish 
For assur'd bondage ?" 

Imo. Will my lord say so ? 

lach. Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter: 
It is a recreation to be by. 

And hear him mock the Frenchman; but, heavens know, 
Some men are much to blame. 

Imo. Not he, I hope. 

lach. Not he ; but yet heaven's bounty towards him 
might 
Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 't is much ; 
In you, — which I account beyond all talents, — 
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound 
To pity too. 

Imo. ' What do you pity, sir ? 

lach. Two creatures, heartily. 



Imo. 



Am I one, sir ? 



You look on me : what wreck discern you in me, 
Deserves your pity ? 

lach. Lamentable ! What ! 

To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace 
I' the dungeon by a snuff? 

Imo. I pray you, sir, 

Deliver with more openness your answers 
To my demands. Why do you pity me? 

lach. That others do, 
I was about to say, enjoy your — But 
It is an office of the gods to venge it. 
Not mine to speak on 't. 

Imo. You do seem to know 

Something of me, or what concerns me : pray you. 
(Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more 
Than to be sure they do ; for certainties 
Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing, 
The remedy then born) discover to me 
What both you spur and stop. 

lach. Had I this cheek 

To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch, 
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul 
To the oath of loyalty ; this object, which 
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye. 
Fixing it only here ; should I (damn'd then) 
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs 
That mount the Capitol : join gripes with hands 
Made hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood as 
With labour), then bo-pceping* in an eye, 
Base and illustrous as the smoky light 
That's fed with stinking tallow, it were fit, 
Tliat all the plagues of hell should at one time 
Encounter such revolt. 



crop : in f. o. ^ Of : in f. e. ^ the number'd : in f. e. 



< by peeping : in f. e. 

55 



866 



CYMBELmE. 



ACT II. 



Imo. My lord, I fear, 

Has forgot Britain. 

lack. And himself. Not I, 

Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce 
The beggary of his change ; but 't is your graces 
That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue 
Charms this report out. 

Imo. Let me hear no more. 

lach. dearest soul ! your cause doth strike my 
heart 
With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady 
So fair, and fasten'd to an empery 
Would make the great'st king double, to be partner'd 
With tomboys, hir'd with that self exhibition 
Which your own coffers yield ! with diseas'd ventures, 
That pay' with all infirmities for gold 
Which rottenness can lend nature ! such boil'd stuff. 
As well might poison poison ! Be reveng'd, 
Or she that bore you was no queen, and you 
Recoil from your great stock. 

Imo. Reveng'd ! 

How should I be reveng'd ? If this be true, 
(As I have such a heart, that both mine ears' "• 
Must not in haste abuse) if it be true, 
How should I be reveng'd ? 

lach. Should he rnake me 

Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets', 
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps, 
In your despite, upon your purse ? Revenge it. 
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure. 
More noble than that runagate to your bedj 
And will continue fast to your affection, ^ 
Still close, as sure. 

Imo. What ho, Pisanio ! ' • 

lach. Let me my service tender on your lips. 

Imo. Away ! — I do contemn" mine ears, that have . 
So long attended thee.^If thou wert honourable, 
Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not" ' 
For such an end thou seek'st, as base, as strange. . ^- • 
Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far 
From thy report, as thou from honour; and 
Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains 
Thee and the devil alike. — What ho, Pisanio ! — 
The king my father shall be made acquainted 
Of thy assault : if he shall think it fit, 
A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart 
As in a Romish stew, and to expound 
His beastly mind to us. he hath a court 
He little cares for, and a daughter whom 
He not respects at all . — What ho, Pisanio ! — 

lach. happy Leonatus ! I may say • 
The credit, that thy lady hath of thee. 
Deserves thy trust ; and thy most perfect goodness 
Her assur'd credit. — Blessed live you long ! 
A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever 
Country cali'd his : and you his mistress, only 
For the most vrorthiest fit. Give me your pardon. 
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance 



Were deeply rooted ; and shall make your lord, 
That which he is, new o'er : and he is one 
The truest manner'd ; such a holy witch. 
That he enchants societies unto him : 
Half all men's hearts are his. 

Imo. You make amends. 

lach. He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god : 
He hath a kind of honour sets him off. 
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, 
Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd 
To try your taking of a false report ; which hath 
Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment 
In the election of a sir so rare. 

Which, you know, cannot err. The love I bear him 
Made me to fan you thus ; but the gods made you, 
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon. 

Imo. All 's well, sir. Take my power i' the court 
for yours. 

lack. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot 
T' entreat your grace but in a small request, 
And yet of moment too, for it concerns 
Your lord ; myself, and other noble friends, 
Are partners in the business. 

Imo. Pray, what is 't ? 

lach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord, 
(The best feather of our wing) have mingled sums,^ 
To buy a present for the emperor ; 
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done • 

In France : 't is plate of rare device, and jewels 
Of rich and exquisite form. Their value's great, 
And I am something curious, being strange, ' 

To. have them in safe stowage : may it please you 
To take them in protection ? " 

Imo. ■ ;• "' Willingly, 

And pawn mine honour for their safety ; since 
My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them 
In my bed»chamber. 

lach. They are in a trunk,- 

Att«iided by my men ; I will make bold 
To send them to you, only for this night, 
I must' aboard to-morrow. 

Imo. ! no, no. 

lach. Yes, I beseech ; or I shall short my word, 
By lengthening my return. From Gallia 
I cross'd the seas on purpose, and on promise 
To see your grace. 

Imo. I thank you for your pains ; 

But not away to-morrow. 

lach. 0! I must, madam: 

Therefore, I shall beseech you, if you please 
To greet your lord with writing, do 't to-night : 
I have outstay'd^ my time, which is material 
To the tender of our present. 

Imo. I will write. 

Send your trunk to me : It shall safe be kept. 
And truly yielded you. You 're very welcome. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — Court before Cymbeline's Palace. 
Enter Cloten, and Two Lords,* as from the Bowling- 
alley. 

Clo. Was there ever man had such luck ! when I 
kissed the jack upon an up-cast, to be hit away ! I 



had a hundred pound on 't : and then a whoreson 
jackanapes must take me up for swearing; as if I 
borrowed mine oaths of him, and might not spend 
them at my pleasure. 

1 Lord. What got he by that ? You have broke his 
pate with the bowl. 



1 play : in f. e. ' condemn : in f. e. ^ outstood : in f. e. * The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 



SCENE III. 



CYMBELINE. 



867 



2 Lord. [Aside.] If his wit had been like him that 
broke it, it would have run all out. 

Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is 
not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha ? 

2 Lord. No, my lord ; {Aside. \ nor crop the ears of 
them. 

Clo. Whoreson dog ! — I give him satisfaction ? 
Would he had been one of my rank ! 

2 Lord. [Aside.\ To have smelt like a fool. 

Clo. I am not vexed more at any thing in the earth. 
— A pox on 't ! I had rather not be so noble as I am : 
they dare not fight with me, because of the queen my 
mother. Every jack-slave hath his belly full of fight- 
ing, and I must go up and down like a cock that no 
body can match. * 

2 Lord. \Aside.] You are cock and capon too; and 
yoii crow, cock, with your comb on. 

Clo. Sayest thou ? 

2 Lord. It is not fit your lordship' should undertake 
every companion that you give offence to. 

Clo. No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit 
offence to my inferiors. 

2 Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. 

Clo. Why, so I say. 

1 Lord. Did you hear of a stranger, that 's conle to 
court to-night ? 

Clo. A stranger ! and I not know on 't? 

2 Lord. [Aside.] He 's a strange fellow himself, and 
knows it not. 

1 Lord. There's an Italian come: and 't is thought, 
one of Leonatus' friends. 

Clo. Leonrftus ! a banished rascal ; and he 's another, 
whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?, 

1 Lord. One of your lordship's pages. 

Clo. Is it fit I went to look upon him ? Is there no 
derogation in 't ? . 
, 1 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. 
Clo. Not easily. I think. 

2 Lord. [Aside^ You are a fool granted ; therefore, 
your issues being foolish do not derogate. 

Clo, Come, I '11 go see this Italian. What I have lost 
to-day a*t bowls, I '11 win to-night of him. Come, go. 

2 Lord. I '11 attend your lordship. 

[Exeunt Cloten and first Lord. 
That such a crafty devil as is his mother 
Should yield the Wor'ld this ass ! a woman, that 
Bears all down with her brain ; and this her son 
Cannot take two from twenty for his heart, 
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess ! 
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endurest. 
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd; 
A mother hourly coining plots ; a wooer, 
More hateful than the foul expulsion is 
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act 
Of the divorce he 'd make ! The heavens hold firm 
The walls of thy dear honour : keep unshak'd 
That temple, thy fair mind : that thou may'st stand 
T' enjoy thy banish'd lord, and this great land ! [Exit. 

SCENE II. — A Bed-Chamber; in one part of it. a 
great Trunk. 
Imogen reading in her Bed ; Helen attending. 
Imo. Who's there? my woman, Helen? 
Lady. Please you, madam. 

Imo. What hour is it ? 

Lady. Almost midnight, madam. 

Imo. I have read three hours, then. Mine eyes are 
weak ; 
Fold down the leaf where I have left : to bed. 

» The covering of floors. ' ' Not in f. e. * bare : in f. e. 



Take not away the taper, leave it burning ; 

And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock, 

I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly. 

[Exit Helen. 
To your protection I commend me, gods ! 
From fairies, and the tempters of the night. 
Guard me, beseech ye ! [Sleeps. 

Enter Iachimo /rom the Trunk, 
lach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense 
Repairs itself by rest : our Tarquin thus 
Did softly press the rushes,* ere he waken'd 
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea, 
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed ! fresh lily, 
And whiter than the sheets ! That I might touch ! 
But kiss; one kiss! — Rubies unparagon'd, [Kissingher.^ 
How dearly they do 't. — 'T is her breathing that 
Perfumes the chamber thus : the flame o' the taper 
Bows toward her. and would under-peep her lids, 
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied 
Under the windows ; white and azure, lac'd 
With blue of heaven's own tinct. — But my design, 
To note the chamber : I will write all down : — 

[Takes out his tables.' 
Such, and such, pictures : — there the window ; — such 
Th' adornment of her bed : — the arras, figures. 
Why, such, and such ; — and the contents o' the story. — 
Ah ! but some natural notes about her body, 
Above ten thousand meaner moveables 
Would testify, t' enrich mine inventory: 

sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her, 
And be her sense but as a monument. 

Thus in a chapel lying ! — Come off, come off; — 

[ Taking off her Bracelet. 
^s slippery, as the Gordian knot was hard. — 
'T is mine; and this Avill witness outwardly, 
As strongly as the conscience does within. 
To the madding of her lord.r— On her left breast 
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops 
I' the bottom of a cowslip : here 's a voucher. 
Stronger than ever law could make : this secret 
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and ta'en 
The treasure of her honour. No more. — To what end? 
Why should I write this down, that 's riveted, 
Screw'd to my memory ? She hath 'been reading late 
The tale of Tereus ; here the leaf 's turn'd down, 
Where Philomel gave up. — I have enough : 
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. 
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawTiing 
May dare the raven's eye : I lodge in fear ; 
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. 

[Clock .strikes. 
One, two, three, — time, time ! [Exit into the Trunk. 

SCENE III. — An Ante-Chamber adjoining Imogen's 
Apartment. 

Enter Cloten and Lords. 

1 Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man in 
loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace. 

Clo. It would make any man cold to lose. 

1 Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble 
temper of your lordship. You are most hot, and 
furious, when you win. 

Clo. Winning will put any man into courage. If 

1 could get this foolish Imogen. I should have gold 
enough. It 's almost morning, is 't not ? 

1 Lord. Day, my lord. 

Clo. I would this music would come. I am advised 
to give her music o' mornings ; they say, it will pene- 
trate. 



868 



CYMBELINE. 



ACT II. 



Enter Musicians. 
Come on ; tune : if you can penetrate her with your 
fingering, so ; we '11 try with tongue too : if none will j 
do, let her remain : but I '11 never give o'er. First, a 
very excellent good conceited thing : after, a wonderful 
sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, — and then 
let her consider. 

SONG. 

Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven^ s gate sings. 

And Fhmhus ''gins arise., 
His steeds to water at those springs 

On chalic'' d flowers that lies; 
And winking Mary-huds begin 

To ope their golden eyes ; 
With every thing that pretty is. 
My lady sweet, arise ; 
Arise, arise ! 
So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider 
your music the better : if it do not, it is a fault' in her 
ears, which horse-hairs, and calves'-guts, nor the voice 
of an unpav'd eunuch to boot, can never amend. 

[Exeunt Musicians. 
Enter Cymbeline and Queen. 
2 Lord. Here comes the king. 

Clo. I am glad I was up so late, for that 's the rea- 
son I was up so early : he cannot choose but take this 
service I have done, fatherly. — Good morrow to your 
majesty, and to my gracious mother. 

Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter ? 
Will she not forth? 

Clo. I have assailed her with music, but she vouch- 
safes no notice. 
Cym. The exile of her minion is too new ; 
She hath not yet forgot him : some more time 
Must wear the jifint of his remembrance out, 
And then she 's yours. 

Queen. You are most bound to the king ; 

Who lets go by no vantages, that may 
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself 
To orderly solicits, and be friended 
With aptness of the season: make denials 
Increase your services : so seem, as if 
You were inspir'd to do those duties which 
You tender to her ; that you in all obey her, 
Save when command to your dismission tends. 
And therein you are senseless. 

do. Senseless ? not so. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome : 
The one is Caius Lucius. 

Cym. A worthy fellow. 

Albeit he comes on angry purpose now ; 
But that 's no fault of his : we must receive him 
According to the honour of his sender ; 
And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us, 
We must extend our notice. — Our dear son, 
When you have given good morning to your mistress, 
Attend the queen, and us ; we shall have need 
To employ you towards this Roman. — Come, our queen. 
[Exeunt Cym., Queen, Lords, and Mess. 
Clo. If she be up, I '11 speak with her ; if not. 
Let her lie still, and dream. — By your leave, ho ! — 
I know her women are about her : what [Calls.'^ 

If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold 
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; and makes 
Diana's rangers, false themselves, yield up 
Their deer to the stand o' the stealer ; and 't is gold 
Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief ; 
Nay, sometime, hangs both thief and true man : what 



Can it not do, and undo? I will make- 



[Knocks. 



One of her women lawyer to me ; for 
I yet not understand the case myself. 
By your leave. 

Enter a Lady. 

Lady. Who 's there, that knocks ? 

Clo. A gentleman. 

Lady. No more ? 

Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. 

Lady. That 's more 

Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours. 
Can justly boast of. What 's your lordship's pleasure ? 

Clo. Your lady's person : is she ready ? 

Lady. Ay, 

To keep her chamber. 

Clo. There 's gold for you : sell me your got5d report. 

Lady. How ! my good name ? or to report of you 

What I shall think is good ? — the princess 

Enter Imogen. 

Clo. Good morrow, fairest : sister, your sweet hand. 

Imo. Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains 
For purchasing but trouble : the thanks I give, 
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks. 
And scarce can spare them. 

Clo. Still, I swear, I love you. 

Lno. If you but said so, 't were as deep with me : 
If you swear still, your recompense is still 
That I regard it not. 

Clo. This is no answer. 

Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent, 
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me : faith, 
I shall unfold equal discourtesy 
To your best kindness. One of your great knowing 
Should learn, being taught, forbearance. 

Clo. To leave you in your madness ? 't were my sin : 
I will not. 

Imo. Fools are not mad folks. 

Clo. Do you call me fool ? 

Imo. As I am mad, I do : 
If you '11 be patient, I '11 no more be mad ; 
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, 
You put me to forget a lady's manners, 
By being so verbal : and learn now, for all, 
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce. 
By the very truth of it, I care not for you ; 
And am so near the lack of charity. 
(To accuse myself) I hate you ; which I had rather 
You felt than make 't my boast. 

Clo. You sin against 

Obedience, which you owe your father. For 
The contract you pretend with that base wretch, 
(One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes, 
With scraps o' the court) it is no contract, none : 
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties, 
(Yet who than he more mean ?) to knit their souls 
(On whom there is no more dependency 
But brats and beggary) in self-figur'd knot, 
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by 
The consequence o' the crown, and mvist not foiP 
The precious note of it with a base slave, 
A hilding* for a livery, a squire's cloth, 
A pantler, not so eminent. 

Imo. Profane fellow ! 

Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more 
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base 
To be his groom : thou wert dignified enough, 
Even to the point of envy, if 't were made 
Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd 
The under hangman of his kingdom, and hated 



' vice : in f. e. ^ Knocks : in f. e. ' Most mod. eds. read : soil. * A low wretch. 



SCENE IV. 



CYMBELINE. 



869 



For being preferr'd so well. 

Clo. The sontli-fog rot him ! 

Irno. He never can meet more mischance, than come 
To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment, 
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer 
In my respect than all the hairs above thee, 
Were they all made such men. — How now, Pisanio ! 
Enter Pisanio. 

Clo. His 2;arment ? Now, the devil — 

Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently. — 

Clo. His garment ? 

Imo. I am sprited with a fool ; 

Frighted, and anger'd worse. — Go, bid my woman 
Search for a jewel, that too casually 
Hath left mine arm : it was thy master's ; 'shrew me 
If I would lose it for a revenue 
Of any king's in Europe. I do think, 
I saw 't this morning : confident I am. 
Last night 't was on mine arm ; I ki.^s'd it. 
I hope, it be not gone to tell my lord 
That I kiss aught but he. 



Pi. 



IS. 



'T will not be lost. 



Imo. I hope so : go, and search. [E.vit Pis. 

Clo. You have abus'd me. — 

His meanest garment ? 

Imo. Ay ; I said so, sir. 

If you will make 't an action, call witness to 't. 

Clo. I will inform your father. 

Imo. Your mother too : 

She 's my good lady ; and will conceive, I hope, 
But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, 
To the worst of discontent. [Exit. 

Clo. I '11 be reveng'd. — 

His meanest garment ? — Well. [Exit. 

SCENE IV. — Rome. An Apartment in Philario's 

House. 
Enter Posthumus and Philario. 

Post. Fear it not, sir : I would, [ were so sure 
To win the king, as I am bold, her honour 
Will remain hers. 

Phi. What means do you make to him ? 

Post. Not any ; but abide the change of time ; 
Quake in the present winter's state, and wish 
That warmer days would come. In these fcar'd hopes, 
I barely gratify your love ; they failing, 
I must die much your debtor. 

Phi. Your very goodness, and your company, 
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king 
Hath heard of great Augustus : Caius Lucius 
Will do 's commission throughly ; and, I think, 
He '11 grant the tribute, send the arrearages. 
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance 
Is yet fresh in tlieir grief. 

Post. I do believe, 

(Statist though I am none, nor like to be) 
That this will prove a war ; and you shall hear 
The legion, now in Gallia, sooner landed 
In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings 
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen 
Are men more order'd, than when Julius Casar 
Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage 
Worthy his frowning at : their discipline 
(Now mingled^ with their courages) will make known 
To their approvers, they are people, such 
That mend upon the world. 

Enter Iachimo. 

Phi. See! Iachimo? 

Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land. 



And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails, 
To make your vessel nimble. 

Phi. Welcome, sir. 

Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made 
The speediness of your return. 

lach. Your lady 

Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon. 

Post. And, therewithal, the best ; or let her beauty 
Look through a casement to allure false hearts, 
And be false with them. 

lach. Here are letters for you. 

Post. Their tenor good, I trust. 

lach. 'T is very like. 

Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court. 
When you were there ? 

lach. He was expected then, 

But not approach'd. 

Post. All is well yet.— 

Sparkles this stone as it was wont ? or is 't not 
Too dull for your good wearing? 



lach. 



If I had lost," 



I should have lost the worth of it in gold. 
I '11 make a journey twice as far, t' enjoy 
A second night of such sweet shortness, which 
Was mine in Britain ; for the ring is won. 

Post. The stone 's too hard to come by. 

lach. Not a whit, 

Your lady being so easy. 

Post. Make not, sir, 

Your loss your sport : I hope, you know that we 
Must not continue friends. 

lach. Good sir, we must, 

If you keep covenant. Had I not brought 
The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant 
We were to question farther : but I now 
Profess myself the winner of her honour, 
Together with your ring ; and not the wronger 
Of her, or you, having proceeded but 
By both your wills. 

Post. If you can make 't apparent 

That you have tasted her in bed, my hand 
And ring are yours : if not, the foul opinion 
You had of her pure lionour, gains, or loses, 
Your sword, or mine ; or masterless leaves both 
To who shall find them. 

lach. Sir, my circumstances, 

Being so near the truth, as I will make them, 
Must first induce you to believe : whose strength 
I will confirm with oath ; which, I doubt not, 
You ^11 give me leave to spare, when you shall find 
You need it not. 

Post. Proceed. 

lach. First, her bedchamber, 

(Where, I confess, I slept not, but, profess. 
Had that was well worth watching) it was hang'd 
With tapestry of silk and silver ; the story. 
Proud Cleopatra, when .she met her Roman, 
And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for 
The press of boats, or pride : a piece of work 
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive 
In workmanship, and value; which, I wondcr'd. 
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, 
Since the true life on 't 'twas.^ 

Po.st. This is most* true : 

And this you might have heard of here, by me. 
Or by some other. 

lach. More particulars 

Must justify my knowledge. 

Post. So they must. 



1 wing-led : in first folio ; second folio, as in text. 2 If I have lost it : in f. e. 3 y,^ ^ ;„ f g. 4 Not in f. e. 



870 



CYMBELINE. 



ACT n. 



Or do your honour injury. 

lack. The chimney 

Is south the chamber ; and the chimney-piece, 
Chaste Dian, bathing : never saw I figures 
So likely to report themselves : the cutter 
Was as another nature, dumb ; outwent her, 
Motion and breath left out. 

Post. This is a thing, 

Which you might from relation likewise reap. 
Being, as it is, much spoke of. 

lack. The roof o' the chamber 

With golden cherubins is fretted : her andirons 
(I had forgot them) were two winged' Cupids 
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely 
Depending on their brands. 

Post. This is her honour. — 

Let it be granted, you have seen all this, (and praise 
Be given to your remembrance) the description 
Of what is in her chamber nothing saves 
The wager you have laid. 

lack. Then, if you can. 

Be pale : I beg but leave to air this jewel ; see ! — 

[Producing the Bracelet. 
And now 't is up again : it must be married 
To that your diamond; I 'II keep them. 

Post. Jove ! — 

Once more let me behold it. Is it that 
Which Heft with her? 

lach. Sir, (I thank her) that : 

She stripp'd it from her arm ; I see her yet ; 
Her pretty action did outsell her gift, 
And yet enrich'd it too. She gave it me, 
And said, she priz'd it once. 

Post. May be, she pluck'd it off. 

To send it me. 

lack. She writes so to you, doth she ? 

Here, take this too ; 
[Giving the Ring. 
It is a basilisk unto mine eye, 
Kills me to look on 't. — Let there be no honour. 
Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love, 
Where there 's another man : the vows of women 
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made. 
Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing. — 
0, above measure false ! 

Phi. Have patience, sir, 

And take your ring again; 't is not yet won : 
It may be probable she lost it ; or. 
Who knows, if one of her women, being corrupted, 
Hath stolen it from her ? 

Post. Very true ; 

And so, I hope, he came by 't. — Back my ring. — 
Render to me some corporal sign about her. 
More evident than this, for this was stolen. 

lach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. 

Post. Hark you, he swears ; by Jupiter he swears. 
'T is true ; — nay, keep the ring — 't is true. I am sure. 
She would not lose it : her attendants are 
All sworn, and honourable : — they induc'd to steal it ! 
And by a stranger ! — No, he hath enjoy'd her : 
The cognizance of her incontinency 
Is this : — she hath bought the name of whore thus 

dearly. — 
There, take thy hire ; and all the fiends of hell 
Divide themselves between you ! 

Phi. Sir, be patient. 

This is not strong enough to be believ'd 
Of one persuaded well of. 



Post. 



Never talk on 't : 



Post. 0! no. no, no; 'tis true. 



She hath been colted by him. 

lach. If you seek 

For farther satisfying, under her breast 
(Worthy the^ pressing) lies a mole, right proud 
Of that most delicate lodging; by my life, 
I kiss'd it. and it gave me present hunger 
To feed again, though full. You do remember 
This stain upon her ? 

Post. Ay, and it doth confirm 

Another stain, as big as hell can hold, 
Were there no more but it. 

Inch. Will you hear more ? 

Post. Spare your arithmetic : never count the turns ; 
Once, and a million ! 

lach. 1 'II be sworn, 

Post. No swearing. 

If you will swear you have not done 't, you lie ; 
And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny 
Thou 'st made me cuckold. 

lach. I will deny nothing. 

Post. O. that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal ! 
I will go there, and do 't; i' the court; before 
Her father. — I '11 do something. [Exit. 

Phi. Quite besides 

The government of patience ! — You have won : 
Let 's follow him, and pervert the present wrath 
He hath against himself. 

lach. With all my heart. [Exeunt. 

SCENE v.— The Same. Another Room in the Same. 
Enter Posthumus. 
Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women 
Must be half- workers ? We are all bastards; 
And that most venerable man, which I 
Did call my father, was I know not where 
When I was stamped ; some coiner with his tools 
Made me a counterfeit : yet my mother seemed 
The Dian of that time ; so doth my wife 
The nonpareil of this. — vengeance, vengeance ! 
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd. 
And pray'd me oft forbearance ; did it with 
A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on 't 
Might well have warm'd old Saturn ; that I thought her 
As chaste as unsunn'd snow : — 0, all the devils ! — 
This yellow lachimo, in an hour, — was 't not ? — 
Or less, — at first ; perchance he spoke not, but. 
Like a full-acorn'd boar, a foaming' one, 
Cry'd "oh !" and mounted; found no opposition 
But what he look'd for should oppose, and she 
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out 
The woman's part in me ! For there 's no motion 
That tends to vice in man, but I affirm 
It is the woman's part ; be it lying, note it, 
The woman's ; flattering, hers ; deceiving, hers ; 
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers ; revenge.'^, hers ; 
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, 
Nice longings, slanders, mutability. 
All faults that may be nam'd ; nay, that hell knows, 
Why, hers, in part, or all ; but, rather, all ; 
For even to vice 

They are not constant, but are changing still 
One vice, but of a minute old, for one 
Not half so old as that. I '11 write against them, 
Detest them, curse them. — Yet 't is greater skill, 
In a true hate, to pray they have their will ; 
The very devils cannot plague them better. [Exit. 



* •winking : in f. e. ' her : in folio. Rowe made the change. ' German : in f. e. 



SCENE II. 



CYMBELINE. 



871 



ACT III. 



And, to kill the marvel, 



SCENE I.— Britain. A Room of State in Cym- 
beline's Palace. 

Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten. and Lords, at 
one Door ; at another, Caius Lucius, aiid Attend- 
ants. 

Cym. Now say. what would Augustus Caesar with us ? 

Luc. When Julius Csesar (whose remembrance yet 
Lives in men's eye.*, and will to ears, and tongues, 
Be theme, and hearing ever) was in this Britain, 
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, 
(Famous in Csesar's praises, no whit less 
Than in his feats deserving it) for him 
And his succession, granted Rome a tribute. 
Yearly three thousand pounds ; which by thee lately 
Is left untender'd. 

Queen. 
Shall be so ever 

Clo. There be many Caesars, 

Ere such another Julius. Britain is 
A world by itself ; and we will nothing pay, 
For wearing our own noses. 

Queen. That opportunity. 

Which then they had to take from us, to resume 
We have again. — Remember, sir, my liege, 
The kings your ancestors, together with 
The natural bravery of your isle ; which stands 
As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in 
With rocks' unscaleable, and roaring waters : 
With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats. 
But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of conquest 
Ca-sar made here ; but made not here his brag 
Of '"came," and "saw," and "overcame:" with shame 
(The first that ever touch'd him) he was carried 
From off our coast, twice beaten ; and his shipping, 
(Poor ignorant baubles !) on our terrible seas, 
Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd 
As easily 'gainst our rocks. For joy whereof 
The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point 
(0. giglot fortune !) to master Ctesar's sword, 
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright. 
And Britons strut with courage. 

Clo. Ccme, there 's no more tribute to be paid. Our 
kingdom is stronger than it was at that time ; and, as 
I said, there is no more such Caesars : other of them 
may have crooked noses ; but, to owe such straight 
arms, none. 

Cym. Son, let your mother end. 

Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard 
as Cassibelan : I do not say, I am one : but I have a 
hand. — Why tribute? why should we pay tribute ? If 
Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put 
the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for 
light ; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now. 

Cym. You must know, 
Till the injurious Romans did extort 
This tribute from us, we were free : Caesar's ambition, 
(Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch 
The sides o' the world) against all colour, here 
Did put the yoke upon us ; which to shake off, 
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon 
Ourselves to be. 

Clo. We do." 

Cym. Say, then, to Caesar, 



> oaks : in folio. Ilanmer made the change. 
quer. ' Accotnplice. 



»f. e 



Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which 
Ordain'd our laws ; whose use the sword of Cajsar 
Hath too much mangled ; whose repair, and franchise, 
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed. 
Though Rome be therefore angry. Mulmutius made 

our laws, 
Who was the first of Britain which did put 
His brows within a golden crown, and call'd 
Himself a king. 

Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline, 

That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar 
(Caesar, that hath more kings his servants, than 
Thyself domestic officers) tliine enemy. 
Receive it from me, then. — War, and confusion, 
In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee : look 
For fury not to be resisted. — Thus defied, 
I thank thee for myself. 

Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. 

Thy Caesar knighted me ; my youth I spent 
Much under him ; of him I gather'd honour ; 
Which he, to seek of me again, perforce. 
Behoves me keep at utterance.^ I am perfect, 
That the Pannonians and Dalmations, for 
Their liberties, are now in arms ; a precedent 
Which not to read would show the Britons cold : 
So Caesar shall not find them. 

Luc. ' Let proof speak. 

Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime 
with us a day or two, or longer : if you seek us after- 
wards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt- 
water girdle : if you beat us out of it, it is yours. If 
you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the 
better for you j and there 's an end. 

Luc. So, sir. 

Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine : 
All the remain is, welcome \Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another Room in the Same. 
Enter Pis.iNio. 

Tis. How ! of adultery ? Wherefore "write you not 
What monsters here accuse ? — Leonatus ! 
O. master ! what a strange infection 
Is fallen into thy ear ! What false Italian 
(As poisonous tongued, as handed) hath prevail'd 
On thy too ready hearing ? — Disloyal ? No : 
She 's punish'd for her truth ; and undergoes. 
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults 
As would take in* some virtue. — 0, my master ! 
Thy mind to her is now as low. as were 
Thy fortunes. — How ! that I should murder her ? 
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I 
Have made to thy command? — I, her? — her blood? 
If it be so to do good service, never 
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, 
That I should seem to lack humanity. 
So much as this fact comes to ? " Do 't. The letter 

\Reajding. 
That I have sent her, by her own command 
Shall give thee opportunity:" — 0, damn'd paper ! 
Black as the ink that 's on thee. Senseless bauble, 
Art thou a feodary' for this act, and look'st 
So virgin-like without ? Lo ! here she comes. 

Enter ImogIen. 
I am ignorant in what I am commanded. 

make these t-vro words part of Ctmbelink's speech. ' Tight to extremity. ♦ Con- 



872 



CYMBELINE. 



ACT in. 



Imo. How now, Pisanio ! 

Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. 

Imo. Who ? thy lord ? that is my lord : Leonatus. 
! learn'd indeed were that astronomer, 
That knew the stars, as I his characters ; 
He'd lay the future open. — You good gods, 
Let what is here contain'd relish of love, 
Of my lord's health, of his content, — yet not. 
That we two are asunder, — let that grieve him : 
Some griefs are medicinable ; that is one of them, 
For it doth physic love ; — of his content. 
All but in that ! — Good wax, thy leave. — Bless'd be. 
You bees, that make these locks of counsel ! Lovers, 
And men in dangerous bonds, pray not alike : 
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet 
You clasp young Cupid's tables. — Good news, gods ! 

[Reads. 

" Justice, and your father's "v^Tath, should he take me 
in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as you, 
the dearest of creatures, would even renew me with 
your eyes. Take notice, that I am in Cambria, at 
Milford-Havcn : what your own love will out of this 
advise you follow. So, he wishes you all happiness, 
that remains loyal to his vow, and your, increasing in 
love, 

" Leonatus Posthumus." 
0, for a horse with wings ! — Hear'st thou, Pisanio ? 
He is at Milford-Haven : read, and tell me 
How far 't is thither. If one of mean affairs 
May plod it in a week, why may not I 
Glide thither in a day ? — Then, true Pisanio, 
(Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord ; who long'st, — 
O, let me 'bate ! — but not like me ; — yet long'st, — 
iBut in a fainter kind : — ! not like me, 
For mine 's beyond beyond) say, and speak thick,^ 
(Love's counsellor should fill tlie bores of hearing, 
To the smothering of the sense) how far it is 
To this same blessed Milford : and, by the way, 
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as 
T' inherit such a haven : but, first of all. 
How we may steal from hence ; and, for the gap 
That we shall make in time, from our hence-going. 
And our return, to excuse : — but first, how get hence. 
Why should excuse be born, or e'er begot ? 
We '11 talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak, 
How many score of miles may we well ride 
'Twixt hour and hour ? 

Pis. One score 'twixt suu a,nd sun, 

Madam, 's enough for you, and .too much, too. 

Imo. Why, one that rode to 's execution, man. 
Could never go so slow : I have heard of riding wagers, 
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands 
That run i' the clocks by half.= — But this is foolery. — 
Go, bid my woman feign a sickness ; say 
She '11 home to her father ; and provide me, presently, 
A riding suit, no costlier than would fit 
A franklin's housewife. 

Pis. Madam, you 're beet consider. 

Imo. I see before me, man : nor here, nor here, 
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them. 
That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee : 
Do as I bid thee. There 's no more to say ; 
Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HL — ^Wales. A mountainous Country, 
with a Cave. 
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 
Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, vfith. such 



Whose roof's as low as ours. Stoop,^ boys : this gate 
Instructs you how t' adore the heavens, and bows you 
To a morning's holy office : the gates of monarchs 
Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet* through 
And keep their impious turbands on, without 
Good-morrow to the sun. — Hail, thou fair heaven ! 
We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly 
As prouder livers do. 



Crui. 
Arv. 



Hail, heaven ! 



Hail, heaven ! 



Bel. Now, for our mountain sport. Up to yond' 

hill: 
Your legs are young; I '11 tread these flats. Consider, 
When you above perceive me like a crow, 
That it is place which lessens and sets off"; 
And you may then revolve what tales I have' told you, 
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war : 
That service is not service, so being done, 
But being so allow'd : to apprehend thus. 
Draws us a profit from all things we see ; 
And often, to our comfort, shall we find 
The sharded beetle in a safer hold 
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. ! this life 
Is nobler, than attending for a check ; 
Richer, than doing nothing for a bob f 
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk : 
Such gain the cap of him, that makes him fine, 
Yet keeps his book uncross'd.' No life to ours. 

Ghxi. Out of your proof you speak : we, poor un- 

fledg'd, 
Have never wing'd from view o' the nest : nor know 

not 
What air 's from home. Haply this life is best. 
If quiet life be best ; sweeter to you. 
That have a sharper known, well corresponding 
With your stiff" age; but unto us it is 
A cell of ignorance, travelling abed, 
A prison for' a debtor, that not dares 
To stride a limit. 

Arv. What should we speak of, 

When we are old as you ? when we shall hear 
The rain and wind beat dark December, how 
In this our pinching cave shall we discourse 
The freezing hours away ? — We have seen nothing : 
We are beastly : subtle as the fox for prey ; 
Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat : 
Our valour is to chase what flies ; our cage 
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird, 
And sing our bondage freely. 

Bel. How you speak ! 

Did you but know the city's usuries, 
And felt them knowingly : the art o' the court, 
As hard to leave, as keep ; whose top to climb 
Is certain falling, or so slippery, that 
The fear 's as bad as falling : the toil of the war, 
A pain that only seems to seek out danger 
I' the name of fame, and honour ; which dies i' the 

search, 
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph. 
As record of fair act ; nay, many times. 
Doth ill deserve by doing well ; what 's worse, 
Must court'sy at the censure. — 0, boys ! this story 
The world may read in me : my body 's mark'd 
With Roman swords, and my report was once 
First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me ; 
And when a soldier was the theme, my name 
Was not far off": then, was I as a tree. 
Whose boughs did bend with fruit ; but, in one night. 



i Rapidly 2 the clock's behalf : in f. e. = giggp ; j^ folio. Hanmer made the change. ^ Strut. tribe : in f. e. Dyce reads : Jraie, 
an expression of contempt. « His accounts unpaid. ■> or : in folio. Pope made the change. 



SCENE IV. 



CYMBELINE. 



873 



A storm, or robbery, call it what you will; 
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, 
And left me bare to weather. 

Gui. Uncertain favour ! 

Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft) 
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd 
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline, 
I was confederate with tlie Romans : so. 
Followed my banishment ; and this twenty years 
This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world ; 
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom, paid 
More pious debts to heaven, than in all 
The fore-end of my time. — But, up to the mountains ! 
This is not hunter's language. — He that strikes 
The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast ; 
To him the other two shall minister, 
And we will fear no poison, which attends 
In place of greater state. I '11 meet you in the valleys. 

[Exeunt Gui. and Arv. 
How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature ! 
These boys know little, they are sons to the king ; 
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. 
They think, they are mine ; and, though train'd up 

thus meanly 
1' the cave wherein they bow,' their thoughts do hit 
The roofs of palaces ; and nature prompts theraj 
In simple and low things, to prince it, much 
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, — 
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom 
The king his father call'd Guiderius, — Jove ! 
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell 
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out 
Into my story : say, — '' Thus mine enemy fell ; 
And thus I set my foot on 's neck ;" even then 
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, 
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in' posture 
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, 
(Once Arviragus) in as like a vigour,'' 
Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more 
His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rous'd. — 

[Horns ivind.^ 
Cymbeline ! heaven, and my conscience, knows. 
Thou didst unjustly banish me ; whereon 
At three, and two years-old, I stole these babes, 
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as 
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile, 
Thou wast their nurse : they took thee for their mother, 
And every day do honour to her grave : 
Myself. Belarius. that am Morgan call'd, 
They take for natural father. [Horn.] — The game is 

up. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— Near Milford-Haven. 
Enter PiSANio and Imogen. 
hno. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, 
the place 
Was near at hand. — Ne'er long'd my mother so 
To see me first, as I have now. Pisanio ! Man ! 
Where is Posthumus ? What is in thy mind 
That makes thee stare thus ? Wherefore breaks that 

sigh 
From th' inward of thee ? One, but painted thus, 
W^ould be interpreted a thing perplex'd 
Beyond self-explication : put thyself 
Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness 
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter? 
Why teuder'st thou that paper to me, with 

[Pis. offers a Letter.* 



A look untender ? If it be summer news. 

Smile to 't before; if winterly, thou need'st 

But keep that countenance still. — My husband's hand ! 

That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him, 

And he 's at some hard point. — Speak, man : thy 

tongue 
May take off some extremity, which to read 
Would be even mortal to me. 

Pis. Please you, read ; [Giving it.^ 

And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing 
The most disdain'd of fortune. 

Imo. [Reads.] " Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played 
the strumpet in my bed ; the testimonies whereof lie 
bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises, 
but from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as 
I expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio, must 
act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach 
of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life ] 
I shall give thee opportunity at Milford-Havcn ; she 
hath my letter for tlie purpose : where, if lliou fear to 
strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the 
pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal." 

Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword ? the paper 
Hath cut her throat already. — No ; 't is slander. 
Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue 
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile ; whose breath 
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states, 
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 
This viperous slander enters. — What cheer, madam? 

Imo. False to his bed ! What is it to be false ? 
To lie in watch there, and to think on him ? 
To weep 'twixt clock and clock ? if sleep charge nature, 
To break it with a fearful dream of him, 
And cry myself awake ? that 's false to his bed. 
Is it? 

Pis. Alas, good lady ! 

Imo. I false ? Thy conscience witness. — lachimo, 
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency ; 
Tliou then look'dst like a villain ; now, methinks, 
Thy favour 's good enough. Some jay of Italy, 
Who smothers her with painting,' hath betray'd him : 
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion; 
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, 
I nuist be ripp'd : — to pieces with me ! — ! 
Men's vows are women's traitors. All good seeming, 
By thy revolt, husband ! shall be thought 
Put on for villainy ; not born where 't grows. 
But worn a bait for ladies. 

Pis. Good madam, hear me. 

Imo. True honest men being heard, like false ^neas, 
Were in liis time thought false ; and Sinon's weeping 
Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity 
From most true wretchedness : so thou. Posthumus, 
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men : 
Goodly, and gallant, shall be false, and perjur'd. 
From thy great fall. — Come, fellow, be thou honest : 
Do thou thy master's bidding. When thou seest him, 
A little witness my obedience : look ! 
I draw the sword myself : take it ; and hit 
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart. 
Fear not ; 't is empty of all things, but grief: 
Thy master is not there, who Avas, indeed, 
The riches of it. Do his bidding; strike. 
Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause, 
But now thou seem'st a coward. 

Pis. Hence, vile instrument ! 

Thou shalt not damn my hand. 



1 where on the how : in folio, 
in f. e. 



"Warburton made the change. * figure : in f. e. 3 * & ^fot in f. e. « "WTiose mother was her painting : 



874 



CYMBELINE. 



ACT m. 



Imo. Why, I must die • 

And if I do not by thy hand, thou art 
No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter 
There is a prohibition so divine, 

That cravens my weak hand. Come, here 's my heart : 
Something 's afore 't :' — Soft, soft ! we '11 no defence ; 
Obedient as the scabbard. — What is here? 
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, 
All turn'd to heresy ? Away, away. 
Corrupters of my faith ! you shall no more 
Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools 
Believe false teachers : tliough those that are betray'd 
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor 
Stands in worse case of woe. 
And thou, Posthumus, that didst !=et up 
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father, 
And make me put into contempt the suits 
Of princely followers,^ shalt hereafter find 
It is no act of common passage, but 
A strain of rareness : and I grieve myself. 
To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her 
That now thou tir'st^ on, how thy memory 
Will then be pangM by me. — Pr'ythee, despatch: 
The lamb entreats the butcher : where 's thy knife ? 
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, 
When I desire it too. 

Pis. O gracious lady ! 

Since I receiv'd command to do this business, 
I have not slept one wink. 

Imo. Do 't, and to bed, then. 

Pis. I '11 crack mine eye-balls first.* 

Imo. And' wherefore, then. 

Didst undertake it ? Why hast thou abus'd 
So many miles with a pretence ? this place ? 
Mine action, and thine own ? our horses' labour ? 
The time inviting thee ? the perturb'd court, 
For my being absent ; whereunto I never 
Purpose return ? Why hast thou gone so far. 
To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand, 
Th' elected deer before thee ? 

Pis. But to win time, 

To lose so bad employment ; in the which 
I havp consider'd of a course. Good lady. 
Hear me with patience. 

Imo. Talk thy tongue weary ; speak : 

I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear, 
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound. 
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. 

Pis. 
I thought you would not back again. 

Imo. 
Bringing me here to kill me. 



Then, madam, 



Most like. 



Pis. 



Not so, neither : 



But if I were as wise as honest, then 

My purpose would prove well. It cannot be, 

But that my master is abus'd : 

Some villain, ay. and singular in his art, 

Hath done you both this cursed injury. 

Imo. Some Roman courtezan. 

Pis. No. on my life. 

I '11 give but notice you are dead, and send him 
Some bloody sign of it ; for 't is commanded 
I should do so : you shall be miss'd at court, 
And that will well confirm it. 

Imo. Why, good fellow. 

What shall I do the while ? where bide ? how live ? 
Or in my life what comfort, when I am 
Dead to my husband ? 



Pis. If you '11 back to the court, — 

Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado 
With that harsh, noble, simple, empty' nothing. 
That Clot en, whose love-suit hath been to me 
As fearful as a siege. 

Pis. If not at court. 

Then not in Britain must you bide. 

Imo. Where then? 

Hath Britain all the sun that shines ? Day, night, 
Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume 
Our Britain seems as of it. but not in it ; 
In a great pool, a swan's nest : pr'ythee, think 
There 's livers out of Britain. 

Pis. I am most glad 

You think of other place. Th' ambassador,-- 
Lucius the Ptoman, comes to Milford-Haven 
To-morrow : now, if you could wear a mind 
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise 
That, which, t' appear itself, must not yet be. 
But by self-danger, you should tread a course 
Privy, yet' full of view : yea, haply, near 
The residence of Posthumus ; so nigh, at least, 
That though his actions were not visible, yet 
Pi,eport should render him hourly to your ear, 
As truly as he moves. 

Imo. 0, for sucli means ! 

Though peril to my modesty, not death on 't, 
I would adventure. 

Pis. Well then, here 's the point. 

You must forget to be a woman ; change 
Command into obedience; fear, and niceness, 
(The handmaids of all women, or more truly. 
Woman it pretty self) into a waggish carriage :* 
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and 
As quarrelous as the weasel : nay, you must 
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek. 
Exposing it (but, 0, the harder heart ! 
Alack, no remedy !) to the greedy touch 
Of common-kissing Titan ; and forget 
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein 
You made great Juno angry. 

Imo. Nay, be brief: 

I see into thy end, and am almost 
A man already. 

Pis. First, make yourself but like one. 

Forethinking this, I have already fit 
('T is in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hose, all 
That answer to them : would you. in their serving, 
And with what imitation you can borrow 
From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius 
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him 
Wherein you are happy, (which you' will make him know. 
If that his head have ear in music) doubtless. 
With joy he will embrace you ; for he 's honourable. 
And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad. 
You have me, rich ; and I will never fail 
Beginning nor supplyment. 

Imo. Thou art all the comfort 

The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away : 
There 's more to be consider'd, but we '11 even 
All that good time will give us. This attempt 
I 'm soldier to, and will abide it with 
A prince's courage. Away, 1 pr'ythee. 

Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell 
Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of 
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress. 
Here is a box ; I had it from the queen : 
What 's in 't is precious ; if you are sick at sea, 



1 a-foot ; in folio. Rowe made the change. ' fellows : in f. e. ' Feed on, like a hird of prey. * I '11 wake mine eye-balls blind first : 
in f. e. * « This word is not in f. e. ' Pretty, and full, &c. : in f. e. » courage : in f. e. 9 Not in folio. 



SCENE V. 



CYMBELINE. 



875 



Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this 
Will drive away distemper. — To some shade, 
And fit you to your manhood. — May the gods 
Direct you to the best ! 

Imo. Amen. I thank thee. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — A Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 
Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords. 

Cym. Thus far; and so farewell. 

Luc. Thanks, royal sir. 

My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence ; 
And am right sorry that I must report ye 
My master's enemy. 

Cym. Our svibjects, sir, 

Will not endure his yoke : and for ourself. 
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs 
Appear unkinglike. 

Luc. So, sir. I desire of you 

A conduct over land to Milford-Haven.' — 
Madam, all joy befall your grace, and you ! 

Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office; 
The due of honour in no point omit. 
So, farewell, noble Lucius. 

Luc. Your hand, my lord. 

Clo. Receive it friendly ; but from this time forth 
I wear it as your enemy. 

Luc. Sir, the event 

Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well. 

Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords. 
Till he have cross'd the Severn. — Happiness ! 

[Exeunt Lucius and Lords. 

Queen. He goes hence frowning- but it honours us. 
That we have given him cause. 

Clo. 'T is all the better : 

Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. 

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor 
How it goes here. It fits us,, therefore, ripely, 
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness : 
The powers that he already hath in Gallia 
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves 
His war for Britain. 

Qiieen. 'T is not sleepy business, 

But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly. 

Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus 
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, 
Where is our daughter ? She hath not appear'd 
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd 
The duty of the day. She looks us like 
A thing more made of malice, than of duty: 
We have noted it. — Call her before us, for 
We have been too slight in sufferance. [Exit an Attendant. 

Queen. Royal sir, 

Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd 
Hath her life been ; the cure whereof, my lord, 
'T is time must do. Beseech your majesty, 
Forbear sharp speeches to her : she 's a lady 
So tender of rebuke, that words are strokes, 
And strokes death to her. 

Re-enter an Attendant. 

Cym. Where is she, sir ? How 

Can her contempt be answer'd ? 

Atten. Please you, sir. 

Her chambers are all lock'd ; and there 's no answer 
That will be given to the loud'st' noise we make. 

Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her, 
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close ; 
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity, 
She should that duty leave unpaid to you, 
Which daily she was bound to proffer : this 

1 loud of : in folio. 



She wish'd me to make known, but our great court 
Made me to blame in memory. 

Cym. Her doors lock'd ? 

Not seen of late ? Grant, heavens, that which I 
Fear prove false ! [Exit. 

Queen. Son, I say, follow the king. 

Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, 
I have not seen these two days. 

Queen. Go. look after. — [Exit Cloten. 

Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus, 
He hath a drug of mine : I pray, his absence 
Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes 
It is a thing most precious. But for her, 
Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her; 
Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she 's flown 
To her desir'd Posthumus. Gone she is 
To death, or to dishonour ; and my end 
Can make good use of either : she being doAvn, 
I have the placing of the British crown. 

Re-enter Cloten. 
How now, my son ! 

Clo. 'T is certain, she is fled. 

Go in, and cheer the king : he rages ; none 
Dare come about him. 

Queen. All the better : may 

This night forestal him of the coming day ! [Exit Queen. 

Clo. I love, and hate her, for she 's fair and royal ; 
And that she hath all courtly parts, more exquisite 
Than lady, ladies, woman : from every one 
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded. 
Outsells them all. I love her therefore ; but, 
Disdaining me, and throwing favours on 
The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment. 
That what 's else rare is chok'd ; and in that point 
I will conclude to hate her ; nay, indeed, 
To be reveng'd upon her : for, when fools shall — 

Enter Pisanio. 
Who is here ? — What ! are you packing, sirrah ? 
Come hither. Ah, you precious pandar ! Villain, 
Where is thy lady ? In a word, or else 
Thou art straightway with the fiends. 

Pis. 0, good my lord ! 

Clo. Where is thy lady ? or, by Jupiter — 
I will not ask again. Close villain, 
I '11 have this secret from thy heart, or rip 
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus ? 
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot 
A dram of worth be drawn. 

Pis. Alas, my lord ! 

How can she be with him ? When was she miss'd ? 
He is in Rome. 

Clo. Where is she, sir ? Come nearer ; 

No farther halting : satisfy me home 
What is become of her ? 

Pis. 0, my all-worthy lord ! 

Clo. All-worthy villain ! 

Discover where thy mistress is, at once. 
At the next word. — No more of worthy lord, — 
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is 
Thy condemnation and thy death. 

Pis. Then sir, 

This paper is the history of my knowledge 
Touching her flight. [Presenting a Letter 

Clo. Let 's see 't. — I will pursue her 

Even to Augustus' throne. 

Pis. [Aside.] Or this, or peri.sh. 

She 's far enough ; and what he learns by this, 
May prove his travel, not her danger. 

Clo. Humph ! 



876 



CYMBELINE. 



ACT in. 



Pis. [Aside.] I '11 write to my lord she 's dead. 
Imogen, 
Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again ! 

Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true ? 

Pis. Sir, as I think. 

Clo. It is Posthumus' hand ; I know 't. — Sirrah, if 
thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service, 
undergo those employments, wlierein I should have 
cause to use thee, with a serious industry, — that is, 
what villany so'er I bid thee do. to perform it directly 
and truly. 1 would think thee an honest man : thou 
shouldst neither want my means for thy relief, nor 
my voice for thy preferment. 

Pis. Well, my goodjord. 

Clo. Wilt thou serve me ? For since patiently and 
constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that 
beggar Posthumus, thou canst not. in the course of 
gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt 
thou serve me ? 

Pis. Sir, 1 will. 

Clo. Give me thy hand : here 's my purse. Hast 
any of thy late master's garments in thy possession ? 

Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit 
he wore when he took leaA^e of my lady and mistress. 

Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit 
hither: let it be thy first service; go. 

Pis. I shall, my lord. [Exit. 

Clo. Meet thee at Mil ford-Haven. — I forgot to ask 
him one thing; I '11 remember 't anon. — Even there thou 
villain, Posthumus, will I kill thee. — I would, these 
garments w^ere come. She said upon a time (the bit- 
terness of it I now belch from my lieart) that she held 
the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than 
my noble and natural person, together with the adorn- 
ment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back, 
will I ravish her : first kill him, and in her eyes ; 
there shall she see my valour, which will then be a 
torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my 
speech of insultment ended on his dead body, — and 
when my lust hath dined, (which, as I say, to vex 
her, I will execute in the clothes that she so praised) 
to the court I '11 knock her back, foot her home again. 
She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I '11 be merry 
in my revenge. 

Re-enter Pisanio, with the Clothes. 
Be those the garments ? 

Pis. Ay, my noble lord. 

Clo. How long is 't since she went to Milford-Haven ? 

Pis. She can scarce be there yet. 

Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the 
second thing that I have commanded thee ; the third 
is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. 
Be but duteous- and true preferment shall tender itself 
to thee. — My revenge is now at Mil ford : would I had 
wings to follow it. — Come, and be true. [Exit. 

Pis. Thou bidd'st me to thy loss : for true to thee 
Were to prove false, which I will never be 
To him that is most true. — To Milford go. 
And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow, 
You heavenly blessings, on her ! This fool's speed 
Be cross'd with slowness : labour be his meed ! [Exit. 

SCENE VI.— Before the Cave of Belarius. 
Enter Imogen, attired like a Boy. 
Tmo. I see a man's life is a tedious one : 
I have 'tir'd' myself, and for two nights together 
Have made the ground my bed : I should be sick, 
But that my resolution helps me. — Milford, 
When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee, 

1 tired : in f. e. 2 Not in f. e. ' Rusty. 



Thou wast within a ken. Jove ! I think, 
Foundations fly the wretched ; such, I mean. 
Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me 
I could not miss my way : will poor folks lie, 



knowing 't is 
; no wonder, 



That have afflictions on them, 

A punishment, or trial ? Yes 

When rich ones scarce tell true : to lapse in fvilness 

Is sorer, than to lie for need ; and falsehood 

Is worse in kings, than beggars. — My dear lord ! 

Thou art one o' the false ones : now I think on thee, 

My hunger 's gone ; but even before, I was 

At point to sink for food. — But what is this? 

[Seeing the Cave.- 
Here is a path to it : 't is some savage hold : 
I were best not call ; I dare not call ; yet famine. 
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valTant. 
Plenty, and peace, breed cowards ; hardness ever 
Of hardiness is mother. — Ho ! Who 's here ? 
If any thing that 's civil, speak ; if savage, 
Take, or lend. — Ho ! — No answer ? then, I '11 enter. 
Best draw my sword ; and if mine enemy 
But fear the sword like me, he '11 scarcely look on 't. 
Such a foe, good heavens ! [Exit into the Cave. 

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Bel. You, Polydore. have prov'd best woodman, and 
Are master of the feast : Cadwal. and I, 
Will play the cook and servant ; 't is our match : 
The sweat of industry would dry, and die. 
But for the end it works to. Come ; our stomachs 
Will make what 's homely, savoury : weariness 
Can snore upon the flint, ■when resty^ sloth 
Finds the down pillow hard. — Now, peace be here, 
Poor house, that keep'st thyself ! 

Gui. I am thoroughly weary. 

Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. 

Gui. There is cold meat i' the cave : we '11 browze 
on that, 
Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd. 

Bel. Stay : come not in. [Looking in. 

But that it eats our victuals, I should think 
Here were a fairy. 

Gtii. What 's the matter, sir ? 

Bel. By Jupiter, an angel ! or, if not, 
An earthly paragon ! — Behold divineness 
No elder than a boy ! 

Enter Imogen. 

Imo. Good masters, harm me not : 
Before I enter'd here, I call'd ; and thought 
To have begg'd. or bought, what I have took. Good troth, 
I have stolen nought ; nor would not. though I had 

found 
Gold strew'd i' the floor. Here 's money for my meat: 
I would have left it on the board, so soon 
As I had made my meal, and parted 
With prayers for the provider. 

Gui. Money, youth ? 

Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt ; 
As 't is no better reckon'd. but of those 
Who worship dirty gods. 

Imo. I see, you are angry. 

Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should 
Have idled, had I not made it. 

Bel. Whither bound ? 

Imo. To Milford-Haven. 

Bel. What 's your name ? 

Imo. Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman, who 
Is bound for Italy : he embark'd at Milford ; 
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, 
I am fallen in this oflTence. 



SCENE II. 



CYMBELINE. 



877 



Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youth, 

Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds 
By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd. 
'T is almost night : you shall have better cheer 
Ere you depart ; and thanks, to stay and eat it. — 
Boys, bid him welcome. 

Gui. Were you a woman, youth, 

I should woo hard, but be your groom. — In honesty, 
I bid for you, as I do buy. 

Arv. I '11 make 't my comfort, 

He is a man : I '11 love him as my brother ; 
And such a welcome as I 'd give to him 
After long absence, such is yours. — Most welcome. 
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. 

Imo. 'Mongst friends ! 

If brothers ? — [Aside.] Would it had been so, that they 
Had been my father's sons : then, had my prize 
Been less ; and so more equal ballasting 
To thee, Posthumus. 

Bel. He wrings at some distress. 

Gui. Would I could free 't ! 

Arv. Or I ; what'er it be, 

What pain it cost, what danger. Gods ! 

Bel. Hark, boys. [Whispering. 

Imo. Great men, 
That had a court no bigger than this cave, 
That did attend themselves, and had the virtue 
Which their own conscience seal'd them, (laying by 
That nothing gift of differing' multitudes) 
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods ! 
I 'd change my sex to be companion with them, 
Since Leonatus false. 



Bel. It shall be so. 

Boys, we '11 go dress our hunt. — Fair youth, come in : 
Discourse is heavy, fasting ; when we have supp'd, 
We '11 mannerly demand thee of thy story. 
So far as thou wilt speak it. 

Gui. Pray, draw near. 

Arv. The night to the owl, and morn to the lark, 
less welcome. 

Lno. Thanks, sir. 

Arv. I pray, draw near. [Exeunt,^ into the Cave. 

SCENE VII.— Rome. 
Enter Two 'Senators and Tribunes. 

1 Sen. This is the tenour of the emperor's writ : 
That since the common men are now in action 
'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians; 

And that the legions now in Gallia are 
Full weak to undertake our wars against 
The fallen-off Britons, that we do incite 
The gentry to this business. He creates 
Lucius pro-consul ] and to you, the tribunes. 
For this immediate levy he commends 
His absolute commission. Long live Cassar ! 
Tri. Is Lucius geiieral of the forces ? 

2 Sen. Ay. 
Tri. Remaining now in Gallia ? 

1 Sen. With those legions 

Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy 
Must be suppliant : the words of your qpmmission 
Will tie you to the numbers, and the time 
Of their despatch. 

Tri. We will discharge our duty. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— The Forest, near the Cave. 
Enter Cloten. 
Clo. I am near to the place where they should meet, 
if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his garments 
serve me ! Why should his mistress, who was made 
by him that made the tailor, not be fit too ? the rather 
(saving reverence of the word) for 't is said, a woman's 
fitness comes by fits. Therein I must play the work- 
man. I dare speak it to myself, (for it is not vain- 
glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own 
chamber) I mean, the lines of my body are as well- 
drawn as his ; no less young, more strong, not beneath 
him in fortunes, beyond him in tlie advantage of the 
time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general 
services, and more remarkable in single oppositions : 
yet this perverse errant' thing loves him in my despite. 
What mortality is ! Posthumus, thy head, which now 
is growing upon thy shoulders, shall within this hour 
be off, thy mistress enforced, thy garments cut to 
pieces before thy face ; and all this done, spurn her 
home to her father, who may, haply, be a little angry 
for my so rough usage, but my mother, having power 
of his tcstincss, shall turn all into my commendations. 
My horse is tied up safe : out, sword, and to a sore 
purpose. Fortune, put them into my hand ! This is 
the very description of their meeting-place, and the 
fellow dares not deceive me. [Exit. 



SCENE II.— Before the Cave. 

Enter, from the Cave., Belarius, Guiderius, 
Arviragus, and Imogen. 

Bel. You are not well: [To Lmogen.] remain here 
in the cave : 
We '11 come to you after hunting. 

Arv. Brother, stay here: [To Imogen. 

Are we not brothers ? 

Imo. So man and man should be ; 

But clay and clay differs in dignity. 
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. 

Gui. Go you to hunting; I '11 abide with him. 

Imo. So sick I am not, — yet I am not well • 
But not so citizen a wanton, as 
To seem to die, ere sick. So please you, leave me ; 
Stick to yovir journal course : the breach of custom 
Is breach of all. I am ill ; but your being by me 
Cannot amend me : society is no comfort 
To one not sociable. I am not very sick, 
Since I can reason of it : pray you, trust me here : 
I '11 rob none but myself, and let me die. 
Stealing so poorly. 

Gui. I love thee ; I have spoke it : 

How much the quantity, the weight as much, 
As I do love my father. 

Bel. What ! how? how? 

Arv. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me 
In my good brother's fault : I know not why 



» Discordant. 2 The rest of this direction is not in f. e. ' this imperseTerant thing : in f. e. 



878 



CYMBELINE. 



ACT IV. 



I love this youth ; and I have heard you say, 
Love's reason's without reason : the bier at door, 
And a demand who is 't shall die, I 'd say, 
My father, not this youth. 

Bel. [Aside.] noble strain ! 

worthiness of nature ! breed of greatness ! 
Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base : 
Nature hath meal and bran : contempt and grace. 

1 am not their father ; yet who this should be 
Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me. — 

'T is the ninth hour o' the morn. 

Arv. Brother, farewell. 

Imo. I wish ye sport. 

Arv. You health. — So please you, sir. 

Imo. [Aside.] These are kind creatures. Gods, what 
lies I have heard ! 
Our courtiers say, all 's savage but at court : 
Experience, ! thou disprov'st report. 
Th' imperious seas breed monsters ; for the dish, 
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. 
I am sick still ; heart-sick. — Pisanio, 
I '11 now taste of thy drug. 

Gui. I could not stir him : 

He said, he was gentle, but unfortunate ; 
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. 

Arv. Thus did he answer me ; yet said, hereafter 
I might know more. 

Bel. To the field, to the field !— 

We '11 leave you for this time ; go in, and rest. 

Arv. We'll not be long.away. 

Bel. Pray, be not sick, 

For you must be our house-wife. 

Imo. Well, or ill, 

I am bound to you. » . ■ 

Bel. And shalt be ever. [Exit Imogen. 

This youth," howe'er distress'd, appears he hath had 
Good ancestors. _. 

Arv. How angel-like he sings, [characters; 

Gui. But his neat cookery : he cut our roots in 
And saue'd our broths, as Juno had been sick, 
And he her dieter. 

Arv. Nobly he yokes 

A.smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh 
■Was that it was. for not being such a smile; 
The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly 
From so divine a temple, to commix 
With winds that sailors rail at. 

Gui. I do note, 

That grief and patience, rooted in him' both, 
Mingle their spurs' together. 

Arv. Grow, patience ! 

And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine 
His perishing root with the increasing vine ! 

Bel. It is great morning. Come ; away ! — Who 's 
there? [They stand back. ^ 

Enter Cloten. 
Clo. I cannot find those runagates : that villain 
Hath mock'd me. — I am faint. 

Bel. Those runagates ! 

Means he not us ? I partly know him ; 't is 
Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush, 
I saw him not these many years, and yet 
I know 't is he. — We are held as outlaws : hence ! 

Gui. He is but one. You and my brother search 
What companies are near : pray you, away ; 
Let me alone with him. 

[Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus. 
Clo. Soft ! Avhat are you 

That fly me thus ? some villain mountaineers ? 



I have heard of such. — What slave art thou ? 

Gui. A thing 

More slavish did I ne'er, than answering 
A slave without a knock. 

Clo. Thou art a robber, 

A law-breaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief. 

Gui. To whom ? to thee ? What art thou ? Have 
An arm as big as thine ? a heart as big ? [not I 

Thy words, I grant, are bigger ; for I wear not 
My dagger in my mouth. Say, what thou art, 
Why I should yield to thee. 

Clo. Thou villain base, 

Know'st me not by my clothes ? 

Gui. No, nor thy tailor, rascal. 

Who is thy grandfather : he made those plotlj/es, ■ 
Which, as it seems, make thee. 

Clo. Thou precious varlet, 

My tailor made them not. 

Gui. Hence then, and thank 

The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool; 
I am loath to beat thee. 

Clo. Thou injurious thief. 

Hear but my name, and tremble. 

Gui. What 's thy name ? 

Clo. Cloten, thou villain. 

Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy. name, • 
I cannot tremble at it : were it toad, or adder, spi(fer, , 
'T would move me sooner. . . . 

Clo. To thy farther fear, 

Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know 
I 'm son to the queen. 

Ghti. I am sorry for 't, not seeming 

So worthy as thy birth. 

Clo. Art not afear'd ? 

Gui. Those that I reverence, those I fear, the wise : 
At fools I laugh, not fear them. 

Clo. Die the death. 

When I have slain thee with my proper hand, 
I '11 follow those that even now fled hence. 
And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads. 
Yield, rustic, mountaineer. [Exeunt^ fighting. 

Enter Belarius and Arviragus. 
Bel. No company 's abroad. 

Arv. None in the world. You did mistake him. sure. 
Bel. I cannot tell : long is it since I saw him. 
But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour 
Which then he wore : the snatches in his voice. 
And burst of speaking, were as his. I am absolute 
'T was very Cloten. 

Arv. In this place -we left them : 

I wish my brother make good time with him, 
You say he is so fell. 

Bel. Being scarce made up, 

I mean, to man, he had not apprehension 
Of roaring terrors ; for th' effect* of judgment 
Is oft the cause of fear. But see, thy brother. 

Re-enter Guiderius, with Cloten's Head. 
Gui. This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse. 
There was no money in 't. Not Hercules 
Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none ; 
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne 
My head, as I do his. 

Bel. What hast thou done ? 

Gui. I am perfect what : cut off" one Cloten's head 
Son to the queen after his own report; 
Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer ; and swore. 
With his own single hand he 'd take us in. 
Displace our heads, where (thank the gods !) they grow. 
And set them on Lud's town. 



1 them : in folio. ' Projecting roots. ' Not in f. e. * for defect : in folio. Theobald made the change. 



SCENE II. 



CYMBELINE. 



879 



Bel. We are all undone. 

Gtii. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose, 
But that he swore to take, our lives ? The law 
Protects not us ; then, why should we be tender, 
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us ; 
Play judge, and executioner, all himself. 
For we do fear the law ? What company 
Discover you abroad ? 

Bel. No single soul 

Can we set eye on, but in alf safe reuson 
He must have some attendants. 'Th»ugh his humpur', 
Was nothing but mutation ; ay, and that 
From one bad thing to worse ; not frenzy, not 
Absolute madness, could, so far have rav'd. 
To bring him here alone. Although, perhaps, 
It may be heard at court, 'that such as we " 
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and iii time 
May make some stronger head ; the which he hearing, 
(As it is like him) might break out; and swear 
He.'d fetch us in, yet is 't not probable 
To come alone, either he so .undertaking, 
Or they so sufTering : then, on good ground we fear, 
If we do/ear this body hath a tail. 
More' perilous than the head. , 

Arv.^. .. ■ . Let ordinance 

Come as the gods foresay it : howsoe'er, 
* My brother hath done- well. 
■ Bel. . • . I had no mind 

To hunt this day : the* boy Fidele's sickness 
Did make" my way long forth. 

Gui. . With his own sword, 

WJiich he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en 
His head Trom him : I '11 throw 't into the creek 
Behind our rock ; and let it to the sea, 
And tell the fishes he 's the queen's son, Cloten : 
That 's all I reck. . [Exit. 



Bel. 



T fear, 't will be reveng'd. 



Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done 't, though valour 
Becomes thee well enough. 

Art}. 'Would I had done 't, 

So the revejige alone pursued me. — Polydore, 
I love thee brotherly, but envy much, 
Thou hast robb'd me of this deed : I would revenges. 
That possible strength might meet, would seek us 

through, 
And put us to our answer. 

Bel. Well, 't is done. 

We '11 hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger 
Where there 's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock : 
You and Fidel e play the cooks ; I'll stay 
Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him 
To dinner presently. 

Arv. Poor sick Fidele ! 

I '11 willingly to him : to gain his colour, 
I 'd let a parish of such Clotens blood, 
And praise myself for charity. [Exit. 

Bel. thou goddess, 

Thovi divine Nature, how' thyself thou blazon'st 
In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle 
As zephyrs blowing below the violet, 
Not wagging his sweet head ; and yet as rough, 
Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind. 
That by the top doth take the mountain pine. 
And make him stoop to the vale. 'T is wonder, 
That an invisible instinct should frame them 
To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught, 
Civility not seen from other, valour 
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 



As if it had been sow'd ! Yet still it 's strange, 
' What Cloten's being here to us portends. 
Or what his death will bring us. 

Re-enter Guiderius. 

Gui. Where 's my brother ? 

I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream 
In embassy to his mother : his body 's hostage — 

For his return. ♦ [Solemn Mu.%ic: 

Bel. My ingenious instrument ! 

Hark, Polydore, it sounds ; but what occasion 
Hath Cadwal now to give it. motion ? Hark ! 

Gui. Is he at home? 
,Bel. . He went hence even now. 

Qui. What does he mean? since death of my dear'st 
mother 
It did not speak before. '' All solemn -things 
Should answer solemir accidents. The matter? 
Triumphs for hothiug, and lamenting toys,' 
Is jollity for apes, and gpief for boys. 
Is Cadwal mad ? ." 

Re-enter Arviragus^ bearing in his Arms Imogen, as 
. • dead. ; 

Bel. Look ! here he ^omes. 

And brings the dire occasion iri his arms 
Of what we blame hijTi fbr. " 

Arv.\ •. . The bird is dead, 

That we have made so. much on.' I had rather . 
Have skipp'd frpiu sixteen years o,f"age to sixty. 
To ha\fe turn'd my leaping .time into a crutch, ' 
Than nave seen this. ", 

Gui. sweetest', fairest lily ! 

My brotlier wears'lhee not the one half so well, 
As when thou grew'st thyself. . .' ' 

Bel. ,0, melancholy ! 

Who ever yet could sound thy bottom ? find 
The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare' 
Might easiliest harbour in ?— ^Thou blessed thing ! 
Jove knows what man thou mightsfhave made ; but I, 
Thou diedst a most rare boy, of melancholy. — 
How found you him ? 

Arv. Stark, as you see : 

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber. 
Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at ; his right cheek 
Reposing on a cushion. 

Gui. Where ? 

Arv. 0' the floor ; 

His arms thus leagu'd : I thought he slept, and put 
My clouted brogues* from off" my feet, whose rudeness 
Answer'd my steps too loud. 

Gui. Why, he but sleeps ; 

If he be gone, he '11 make his grave a bed : 
With female fan-ies will his tomb be haunted, 
And worms will not come to thee. 

Arv. With fairest flowers 

Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, 
I '11 sweeten thy sad grave : thou shalt not lack 
The flower, that 's like thy face, pale primrose ; nor 
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor 
The leafy eglantine.' whom not to slander. 
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath : the ruddock^ would. 
With charitable bill (0 bill, sore-shaming 
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie 
Without a monument !) bring thee all this ; 
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, 
To winter-guard' thy corse. 

Gui. Pr'ythee, have done ; 

j And do not play in wench-like words with that 
I Which is so serious. Let us biirv him, 



> honour : in folio. Theobald made the change. " thou : in folio. Malone made the change. ' A small vessel. 
5 leaf of eglantine : in f. e, ' Red-breast. ' winter-ground : in f. e. 



* Irish, brog, a shoo 



880 



CYMBELmE. 



ACT IV. 



And not protract with admiration "what 
Is now due debt. — To the grave ! 

Arv. Say, where shall 's lay him ? 

Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. 

Arv. Be'tso: 

And let us, Polydore, though now our voices 
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground, 
As once^ our mother : use like note, and words. 
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. 

Gt(i. Cadwal, 
I cannot sing : I '11 weep, and word it with thee ; 
For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse 
Than priests and fanes that lie. 

Arv. We '11 speak it, then. 

Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less ; for Cloten 
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys ; 
And, though he came our enemy, remember, 
He was paid for that : though mean and mighty, rotting 
Together, have one dust, yet revesrence, 
(That angel of the world) doth make distinction 
Of place 'twixt high and low. Our foe was princely, 
And though you took his life, as being our foe, 
Yet bury him as a prince. 

Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither. 

Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, 
When neither is alive. 

Arv. If you'll go fetch him, 

We '11 say our song the whilst. — Brother, begin. 

[Exit Belarius. 

Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east; 
My father hath a reason for 't. 

^rv. 'T is true. 



Gui. Come on then, and remove him. 



irv. 



So. — Begin. 



SONG. 

Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun, 
Nor the furioics winters rages ; 

Thou thy ivorld/y task hast done, 

Home art gone, and ta^en thy wages : 

Golden lads and las.'ies must,'' 
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great, 
Thou art past the tyranfs stroke ; 

Care no more to clothe, and eat ; 
To thee the reed is as the oak : 

The sceptre, learning, physic, must 

All follow this, and come to dust. 

Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, 
Arv. Nor th^ all-dreaded thtmder-stane; 
Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash; 
Arv. Thou ha.^t finish' d joy and moan : 
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must 
Consign to thee, and come to dust. 

Gui. No exorci^er harm thee ! 
Arv. Nor no uitchcraft charm thee! 
Gui. Ghost un In id fo rbea r thee ! 
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee ! 
Both. Quiet consummation have ; 
And renoicned be thy grave ! 

Re-enter Belarius, with the Body o/ Cloten. 
Gui. We have done our obseqiiies. Come, lay him 
down. [They place him beside Imogen.^ 

Bel. Here 's a few flowers, but about midniglit more : 
The herbs that have on thetn cold dew o' the night, 
Are stre wings fitt'st for graves. — Upon their faces. — 
You were as flowers, now wither'd ; even so 
These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strew. — 

1 to our : in folio. = an;! girls all must 



Come on, away ; apart upon our knees. 

The ground that gave them first has them again : 

Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. 

[Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 
Imo. [Awaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; which 
is the way ? — 
[I thank you. — By yond' bush ? — Pray, how far thither? 
'Ods pittikins ! — can it be six miles yet? — 
I have gone all night : — 'faith, I '11 lie down and sleep. 
But. soft ! no bedfellow. — O, gods and goddesses ! 

[Seeing the Body. 
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world ; 
This bloody man, the care on 't. — I hope I dream. 
For lo* ! I thought I was a cave-keeper, 
And cook to honest creatures ; but 't is not so : 
'T was but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, " 
Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes 
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith, 
I tremble still with fear ; but if there be 



felt 



it IS 



Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity 

As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it ! 

The dream 's here still : even when I wake 

Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, 

A headless man ! — The garment of Posthumus ! 

I know the shape of 's leg: this is his hand; 

His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh; 

The brawns of Hercules : but his JoviaP face — 

Murder in heaven ! — How? — 'T is gone. — Pisanio, 

All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, 

And mine to boot, be darted on thee ! Thou, 

Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten, 

Hast here cut off" my lord. — To write, and read, 

Be henceforth treacherous ! — Damn'd Pisanio 

Hath with his forged letters, — damn'd Pisanio — 

Fi'om this most bravest vessel of the world 

Struck the main-top ! — 0, Posthumus ! alas ! 

Where is thy head? where 's that? Ah me! where 's that? 

Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, 

And left thy head on. — How should this be ? Pisanio ! 

'T is he, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them 

Have laid this woe here. ! 't is pregnant, pregnant. 

The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious 

And cordial to me, have I not found it 

Murderous to the senses ? That confirms it home : 

This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's : ! — 

Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood. 

That we the horrider may seem to those 

Which chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord ! 

Enter Lucius, a Captain, and other Officers, and a 
Soothsayer. 

Cap. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia, 
After your will, have cross'd the sea; attending 
You. here at Milford-Haven, with your ships: 
They are in readiness. 

Luc. But what from Rome ? 

Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners, 
And gentlemen of Italy ; most willing spirits, 
That promise noble service, and they come 
Under the conduct of bold lachimo, 
Sienna's brother. 

Luc. When expect you them ? 

Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind. 

Luc. This forwardness 

Makes our hopes fair. Command, our present nvimbers 
Be muster'd ; bid the captains look to 't. — Now, sir. 
What have you dream'd of late of this war's purpose ? 

Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision, 
(I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence) thus : — 
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd 



in f. e. s Not in f. e. * so : in f. e. * Like Jove. 



SCENE IV. 



CYMBELINE. 



881 



From the spungy south to this part of the west, 
There vanish'd in the sunbeams : which portends, 
(Unless my sins abuse my divination) 
Success to the Roman host. 

Luc. Dream often so, 

And never false. — Soft, ho ? what trunk is here, 
Without his top ? The ruin speaks, that sometime 
It was a worthy building. — How ? a page ! — 
Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather; 
For nature doth abhor to make his bed 
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. — 
Let 's see the boy's face. 

Cap. He is alive, my lord. 

Luc. He "11 then instruct us of this body. — Young 
one. 
Inform us of thy fortunes ; for, it seems. 
They crave to be demanded. Who is this. 
Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow ? Or who was he. 
That, otherwise than noble nature did, 
Hath alter'd that good picture ? What 's thy interest 
In this sad wreck ? How came it ? Who is it ? 
What art thou ? 

Imo. I am nothing : or if not, 

Nothing to be were better. This was my master, 
A very valiant Briton, and a good. 
That here by mountaineers lies slain. — Alas ! 
There are no more such masters : I may wander 
From east to Occident, cry out for service. 
Try many, all good, serve truly, never 
Find such another master. 

Luc. 'Lack, good youth ! 

Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than 
Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend. 

Imo. Richard du Champ [^sic?c.] If I do lie, and. do 
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope 
They '11 pardon. — Say you, sir ? 

Luc. Thy name ? 

Imo. Fidele. sir. 

Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same : 
Thy name well fits thy faith ; thy faith, thy name. 
Wilt take thy chance with me ? I will not say. 
Thou shalt be so well mastered, but, be sure. 
No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters. 
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner. 
Than thine o■w^l worth, prefer thee : go with me. 

Imo. I '11 follow, sir. But fir^t, an 't please the gods, 
f '11 hide my master from the flies, as deep 
As these poor pickaxes can dig : and when 
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have strew'd his 

grave, 
And on it said a century of prayers. 
Such as I can, twice o'er, I '11 weep, and sigh ; 
And, leaving so his service, follow you, 
So please you entertain me. 

Luc. Ay, good youth ; 

And rather father thee, than master thee. — My friends. 
The boy hath taught us manly duties : let us 
Find out tlie prettiest daisied plot we can, 
And make him with our pikes and partisans 
A grave : come, arm him. — Boy, he is preferr'd 
By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd, 
As soldiers can. Be cheerful ; wipe thine eyes : 
Some falls are means the happier to arise. \^Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — A Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 

Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio. 

Cym. Again : and bring me word how 't is with her. 
A fever with the absence of her son ; 
A madness, of which her life 's in danger. — Heavens, 
How deeply you at once do touch me ! Imogen, 



Tlie great part of my comfort, gone _: my queen 
Upon a desperate bed, and in a time 
When fearful wars point at me : her son gone. 
So needful for this present : it strikes me past 
The hope of comfort. — But for thee, fellow, 
Wlio needs must know of her departure, and 
Dost seem so ignorant, we '11 enforce it from thee 
By a sharp torture. 

Pis. Sir, my life is yours, 

I humbly set it at your will ; but, for my mistress, 
I nothing know where she remains, why gone, 
Nor when she purposes to return. Beseech your highness, 
Hold me your loyal servant. 

1 Lord. Good my liege, 

The day that she was missing he was here : 
I dare be bound he 's true, and shall perform 
All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten, 
There wants no diligence in seeking him. 
And will, no doubt, be found. 

Cyvi. The time is troublesome 

We '11 slip you for a season ; but with jealousy 

[To Pisanio 
You yet depend. 

1 Lord. So please your majesty, 

The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn. 
Are landed on your coast, with a supply 
Of Pboman gentlemen by the senate sent. 

Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and queen ! — 
I am amaz'd with matter. 

1 Lord. Good my liege, 

Your preparation can affront no less 
Than what you hear of: come more, for more you 're 

ready. 
The want is, but to put these powers in motion. 
That long to move. 

Cym. I thank you. Let 's withdraw, 

And meet the time, as it seeks us : we fear not 
What can from Italy annoy us, but 
We grieve at chances here. — Away ! [Exeunt. 

Pis. I had no letter from my master, since 
I wrote him Imogen was slain. 'T is strange : 
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise 
To yield me often tidings : neither know I 
What is betid to Cloten, but remain 
Perplex'd in all : the heavens still must work. 
Wherein I am fal,«e, I am honest; not true, to be true: 
These present wars shall find I love my country. 
Even to the note o' the king, or I '11 fall in them. 
All other doubts by time let them be clear'd ; 
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd. [Exit. 

SCENE IV.— Before the Cave. 
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Gui. The noise is round about us. 

Bel. Let us from it. 

Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it 
From action and adventure ? 

Gui. Nay, what hope 

Have we in hiding us? this way the Romans 
Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us 
For barbarous and unnatural revolts 
During their use, and slay us after. 

Bel. Sons, 

We '11 higher to the mountains ; there secure us. 
To the king's party there 's no going : newness 
Of Cloten's death (we being not known, not muster'd 
Among the bands) may drive us to a render 
Where we have liv'd ; and so extort from 's that 
Which we have done, whose answer would be death 
Drawn on with torture. 



56 



882 



CYMBELINE. 



ACT V. 



Gui. This is, sir, a doubt, 

In such a time nothing becoming you, 
Nor satisfying us. 

Arv. It is not likely, 

That when they hear the' Roman horses neigh, 
Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes 
And ears so cloy'd importantly as now. 
That they will waste their time upon our note. 
To know from whence we are. 

Bel. O ! I am known 

Of many in the army : many years. 
Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore 
From my remembrance : and, be.«ides, the king 
Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves. 
Who find in my exile the want of breeding. 
The certainty of this hard life ; aye, hopeless 
To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd, 
But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and 
The shrinking slaves of winter. 

Gui. Than be so, 

Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army: 
I and my brother are not known ; yourself. 
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown, 
Cannot be question'd. 



him 



Arv. By this sun that shines, 

I 'II thither. What thing is 't, that I never 
Did see man die ? scarce ever look'd on blood, 
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison ? 
Never bestrid a horse, save one that had 
A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel, 
Nor, iron, on his heel ? I am asham'd 
To look upon the holy sun, to have 
The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining 
So long a poor unknown. 

Gui. By heavens, I '11 go. 

If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, 
I '11 take the better care ; but if you will not, 
The hazard therefore due fall on me by 
The hands of Romans. 

Arv. So say I. Amen. 

Bel. No reason I, since of your lives you set 
So slight a valuation, should reserve 
My crack'd one to more care. Have with you. boys. 
If in your counti-y wars you chance to die. 
That is my bed too, lads, and there I '11 lie : 
Lead, lead ! The time seems long; their blood thinks 

scorn. 
Till it fly out, and show them princes born. [Exetmt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — A Field between the British and Roman 

Camps. 
Enter Posthumus, with a bloody Handkerchief. 
Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I 'U keep thee ; for I wish'd" 
Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones, 
If each of you should take this course, how many 
Must murder wives much better than themselves. 
For wrying but a little ? — O, Pisanio ! 
Every good servant does not all commands; 
No bond, but to do just ones. — Gods ! if you 
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never 
Had liv'd to put on^ this : so had you saved 
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck 
Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But, alack ! 
You snatch some hence for little faults ; that 's love. 
To have them fall no more : you some permit 
To second ills with ills, each later* worse. 
And make men^ dread it, to the doer's thrift. 
But Imogen is your own : do your best wills. 
And make me bless'd to obey ! — I am brought hither 
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight 
Against my lady's kingdom : 't is enough 
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress : peace ! 
I '11 give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens. 
Hear patiently my purpose. I '11 disrobe me 
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself 
As does a Briton peasant : so I '11 fight 
Against the part I come with ; so I '11 die 
For thee, Imogen ! even for whom my life 
Is, every breath, a death : and thus unknown, 
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril 
Myself I 'U dedicate. Let me make men know 
More valour in me, than my habits show. 
Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me ! 
To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin 
The fashion, less without, and more within. [Exit. 



SCENE II.— The Same. 
Trumpets and Drums. Enter at one Side. Lucius, 
Iachimo, and the Roman Army : at the other Side, 
the British Army : Leonatus Posthumus following 
like a poor Soldier. They march over and go out. 
Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish, Iachimo 
and Posthumus : he vanquisheth and disarmeth 
Iachimo, a7id then leaves him. Alarums on both sides. 

lack. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom 
Takes off my manhood : I have belied a lady. 
The princess of this country, and the air on 't 
Revengingly enfeebles me ; or could this carl,* 
A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me 
In my profession ? Knighthoods and honours, borne 
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. 
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before 
This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds 
Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. [Exit. 
Alarums. The Battle continues: the Britons fly ; 

Cymbeline is taken : then enter, to his rescue, Be- 

larius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 

Bel. Stand, stand ! We have the advantage of the 
ground. 
The lane is guarded : nothing routs us, but 
The villainy of our fears. 

Gui. Arv. Stand, stand, and fight ! 

Alarums. Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons ; 

they rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt : then, enter Lu- 
cius, Iachimo, and Imogen. 

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself, 
For friends kill friends, and the disorder 's such 
As war were hood-wink'd. 

lach. 'T is their fresh supplies. 

Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely : or betimes 
Let 's re-enforce, or fly. [Exeunt. 



1 tlieir : in folio. 2 am -wish'd : in folio. Pope made the change. 3 Instigate. * elder : in f e. ' them : in f. e. « Churl. 



SCENE IV. 



CYMBELINE. 



883 



SCENE III.— Another Part of the Field. 
Enter Posthumus and a Briton Lord. 
Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand ? 
Post. I did ; 

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. 

Lord. I did. 

Post. No blame be to you, sir ; for all was lost, 
But that the heavens fought. The king himself, 
Of his wings destitute, the army broken, 
And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying 
Through a strait lane : the enemy full-hearted, 
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work 
More plentiful than tools to do 't, struck down 
Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling 
Merely through fear ; that the strait pass was damm'd 
With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living 
To die with lengthen'd shame. 

Lord. Where was this lane? 

Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wali'd with 
turf; 
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier. 
An honest one, I warrant ; who deserv'd 
So long a breeding, as his white beard came to, 
In doing this for 's country : athwart the lane, 
He. with two striplings, (lads more like to run 
The country base,^ than to commit such slaughter ; 
With faces fit for masks, or, rather, fairer 
Than those for preservation eas'd, or shame) 
Made good the passage ; cried to those thtit fled, 
" Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men : 
To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards ! Stand ; 
Or we are Romans, and will give you that 
Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save. 
But to look back in frown : stand, stand !" — These three. 
Three thousand confident, in act as many, 
(For three performers are the file, when all 
The rest do nothing) with this word, '• stand, .stand !" 
Accommodated by the place, more charming 
With their own nobleness (which could have turn'd 
A distaff to a lance) gilded pale looks, 
Part shame, part spirit renew'd ] that some, turn'd 

coward 
But by example (0, a sin in war, 
Damn'd in the first beginners !) 'gan to look 
The way that they did, and to grin like lions 
Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began 
A stop i' the chaser, a retire ; anon, 
A rout, confusion thick : forthwitli they fly. 
Chickens, the way which they stopp'd eagles : slaves, 
The strides they victors made. And now our cowards 
(Like fragments in hard voyages) became 
The life o' the need : having found the back-door open 
Of the unguarded hearts. Heavens, how they wound ! 
Some slain before ; some dying ; some, their friends, 
Oer-borne i' the former wave : ten chac'd by one. 
Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty : 
Those that would die or ere resist are grown 
The mortal bugs^ o' the field. 

Lord. This was strange chance : 

A narrow lane, an old man. and two boys ? 

Post. Nay. do not wonder at it : you are made 
Rather to wonder at the things you hear 
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon 't, 
And vent it for a mockery ? Here is one : 
"Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane, 
Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane." 
Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. 
Post. 'Lack! to what end? 



Who dares not stand his foe, I '11 be his friend • 
For if he '11 do, as he is made to do, 
I know, he '11 quickly fly my friendship too. 
You have put me into rhyme. 

Lord. Farewell ; you are angry. [Exit. 

Post. Still going ? — This is a lord. noble misery ! 
To be i' the field, and ask, what news, of ifie. 
To-day, how man^ would have given their honours 
To have sav'd their carcasses ? took heel to do 't. 
And yet died too ? I, in mine own woe charm'd. 
Could not find death where I did hear him groan. 
Nor feel him where he struck : being an ugly monster, 
'T is strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, 
Sweet words ; or hath more ministers than we 
That draw his knives i' the war. — Well, \ will find him j 
For being now a favourer to the Briton, 
No more a Briton, I have resum'd again 
The part I came in. Fight I will no more. 
But yield me to the veriest hind, that shall 
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is 
Here made by the Roman ; great the answer be 
Britons must take ; for me. my ransom 's death : 
On either side I come to spend my breath. 
Which neither here I '11 keep, nor bear again. 
But end it by some means for Imogen. 

Enter two Briton Captains, and Soldiers. 

1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd ! Lucius is taken. 
'T is thought, the old man and his sons were angels. 

2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, 
That gave th' affront with them. 

1 Cap. So 't is reported ; 
But none of them can be found. — Stand ! who is there ? 

Po.st. A Roman, 
Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds 
Had answer'd him. 

2 Cap. Lay hands on him : a dog ! 
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell 

What crows have peck'd them here. He brags his 

service. 
As if he were of note. Bring him to the king. 



Enter Cymbeline, attended; Belarius, Guiderius, 
Arviragus, Pisanio, and Roman Captives. The 
Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who de- 
livers him over to a Jailor ; after which., all go out. 

SCENE IV.— A Prison. 
Enter Posthumus, and Two Jailors. 

1 Jail. You shall not now be stolen : you have locks 

upon you : 
So, graze as you find pasture. 

2 Jail. Ay, or a stomach. [Exeunt Jailors. 
Post. Most welcome, bondage, for thou art a way, 

I think, to liberty. Yet am I better 

Than one that 's sick o' the gout ; since he had rather 
I Groan bo in perpetuity, than be cur"d 
I By the svu'c physician, death, who is the key 
j T' unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd 
i More than my shanks, and wrists : you good gods, 

I give me 

The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, 
Then, free for ever ! is 't enouirh. I am sorry ? 

'. So children temporal fathers do ajipcase : 
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent? 
I cannot do it better than in gj'ves, 
Desir'd, more than constrain'd : to satisfy, 
If of my freedom 't is the main part, take 

J No stricter render of me than my all. 

I I know, you are more clement than vile men, 
Who of their broken debtors take a third, 



1 The rustic game of prisoti base, or bars, consisting of a race. ' TerrJTS. 



8S4 



CYMBELINE. 



ACT V. 



A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again 
On their abatement : that 's not my desire. 
For Imogen's dear life, take mine ; and though 
'T is not so dear, yet 't is a life ; you coin'd it : 
'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp. 
Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake : 
You rather mine, being yours ; and so, great powers, 
If you will take this audit, take this life. 
And cancel these cold bonds. Imogen ! 
I '11 speak to thee in silence. [He sleeps. 

Solemn Music. Enter., as an Apparition, Sicilius 
Leonatus. Father to Posthumus, an old Man at- 
tired like a Warrior ; leading in his Hand an ancient 
Matron, his Wife and Mother to Posthumus, with 
Music before them : then, after other Music, follow 
the Two young Leonati. Brothers to Posthumus, 
with Wounds as they died in the Wars. They circle 
Posthumus round as he lies sleeping. 

Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, show 
Thy spite on mortal flies : 
With Mars fall out. with Juno chide, 
That thy adulteries 

Rates and revenges. 
Hath my poor boy done aught but well ? 

Whose face I never saw ; 
I died, whilst in the womb he stay'd 

Attending nature's law. 
Whose father, then, (as men report. 

Thou orphans' father art) 
Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him 
From this earth-vexing smart. 
3Ioth. Lucina lent not me her aid, 
But took me in my throes ; 
That from me was Posthumus ript, 
Came crying 'mongst his foes, 
A thing of pity. 
Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry. 
Moulded the stuff so fair, 
That he deserv'd the praise o' the world, 
As great Sicilius' heir. 

1 Bro. When once he was mature for man, 
In Britain where was he. 

That could stand up his parallel, 

Or fruitful object be 
In eye of Imogen, that best 

Could deem his dignity ? 
Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd, 

To be exil'd, and thrown 
From Leonati' seat, and cast 

From her his dearest one, 
Sweet Imogen ? 
Sici. Why did you suffer lachimo. 

Slight thing of Italy, 
To taint his nobler heart and brain 

With needless jealousy ; 
And to become the geek' and scorn 

O' the other's villainy ? 

2 Bro. For this from stiller seats we came. 
Our parents, and we twain. 

That striking in our country's cause 

Fell bravely, and were slain; 
Our fealty, and Tenantius' right. 

With honour to maintain. 

1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath 
To Cymbeline perform'd : 
Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, 
Why hast thou thus adjourn'd 

' Fool. 2 look, look : in folio. 



The graces for his merits due, 
Being all to dolours turn'd ? 
Sici. Thy crystal window ope ; look* out : 
No longer exercise, 
Upon a valiant race, thy harsh 
And potent injuries. 
Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, 

Take off his miseries. 
Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion ; help ! 
Or we poor ghosts will cry, 
To the shining synod of the rest, 
Against thy deity. 

2 Bro. Help, Jupiter ! or we appeal. 
And from thy justice fly. 
Jupiter descends in Thunder and Lightning, sitting 

upon an Eagle : he throivs a Thunderbolt ; the Ghosts 

fall on their Knees. 
Jup. No more, you petty spirits of regions low, 

Offend our hearing : hush ! — How dare you ghosts 
Accuse the thundercr, who.«e bolt you know. 

Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts ? 
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence ; and rest 

Upon your never-withering banks of flowers : 
Be not with mortal accidents opprest ; 

No care of yours it is ; you know, 't is ours. 
Whom best I love, I cross ; to make my gift, 

The more delay'd, delighted. Be content; 
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift : 

His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. 
Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in 

Our temple was he married. — Rise, and fade ! — 
He shall be lord of lady Imogen, 

And happier much by his affliction made. 
This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein 

Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine ; 
And so, away : no farther with your din 

Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. — 

Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Ascends. 

Sici. He came in thunder : his celestial breath 
Was sulphurous to smell : the holy eagle 
Stoop'd, as to foot us : his ascension is 
More sweet than our blcss'd fields. His royal bird 
Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, 
As when his god is pleas'd. 

All. Thanks, Jupiter. 

Sici. The marble pavement closes ; he is enter'd 
His radiant roof. — Away ! and, to be blest. 
Let us with care perform his great behest. [Ghosts vanish 

Post. [Waking.] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, 
and begot 
A father to me ; and thou hast created 
A mother, and two brothers. But (() scorn !) 
Gone ! they went hence so soon as they were born. 
And so I am awake. — Poor wretches, that depend 
On greatness' favour, dream as I have done ; 
Wake, and find nothing. — But, alas, I swerve : 
Many dream not to find, neither deserve. 
And yet are steep'd in favours ; so am I, 
That have this golden chance, and know not why. 

[Finding the Tablet. 
What fairies haunt this ground ? A book ? 0, rare one ! 
Be not, as in our fangled world, a garment 
Nobler than that it covers : let thy effects 
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers. 
As good as promise. 

[Reads.] '• When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself 
unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a 
piece of tender air ; and when from a stately cedar 



SCEJTE V. 



CYMBELINE. 



885 



shall be lopp'd branches, which, being dead many 
years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, 
and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end his mis- 
eries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and 
plenty." 

'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen 
Tongue, and brain not ; either both, or nothing : 
Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such 
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, 
The action of my life is like it, which 
I 'II keep, if but for sympathy. 

Re-enter Jailors. 

Jail. Come, sir, are you ready for death ? 

Post. Over-roasted, rather; ready long ago. 

Jail. Hanging is the word, sir: if you be ready for 
that, you are well cooked. 

Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, 
the dish pays the shot. 

Jail. A heavy reckoning for you, sir ; but the com- 
fort is, you shall be called to no more payments, fear 
no more tavern bills, which are often the sadness of 
parting, as the procuring of mirth. You come in faint 
for want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink ; 
sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you 
arc paid too much ; purse and brain both empty : the 
brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too 
light, being drawn of heaviness. ! of this contradic- 
tion you shall now be quit. — 0, the charity of a penny 
cord ! it sums up thousands in a trice : you have no 
true debitor and creditor but it ; of what 's past, is, and 
to come, the discharge. — Your neck, sir, is pen, book, 
and counters ; so the acquittance follows. 

Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live. 

Jail. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth- 
ache ; but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a 
hangman to help him to bed, I think, he would change 
places with his otTicer ; for, look you, sir, you know not 
which way you shall go. 

Post. Yes, indeed do I, fellow. 

Jail. Your death has eyes in 's head, then ; I have 
not seen him so pictured : you must cither be directed 
by some that take upon them to know, or take upon 
yourself that, which I am sure you do not know, or 
jump' the after-inquiry on your own peril : and how 
you shall speed in your journey's end. I think, you '11 
never return to tell one. 

Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to 
direct them the way I am going, but such as wink, and 
will not use them. 

Jail. What an infinite mock is this, that a man 
should have the best use of eyes to see the way of 
blindness! I am sure, hanging's the way of winking. 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Knock off his manacles : bring your prisoner 
to the king. 

Post. Thou bring'st good news. I am called to be 
made free. 

Jail. I'll be hang'd, then. 

Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a jailor ; no bolts 
for the dead. [Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger. 

Jail. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and be- 
get young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, 
on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to 
live, for all he be a Roman ; and there be some of 
them too, that die against their wills : so should I, if I 
were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one 
mind good : 0, there were desolation of jailors, and 
gallowses ! I speak against my present profit, but my 
wish hath a preferment in 't. [Exeunt. 

1 Risk. 2 Pretended 



SCENE v.— Cymbeline's Tent.. 

Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, 

PiSANio. Lords. Officers^ and Attendants. 

Cym. Stand by my side you, whom the gods have made 
Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart, 
That the poor soldier, that so richly fought, 
Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast 
Stepp'd before targe of proof, cannot be found : 
He shall be happy that can find him, if 
Our grace can make him so. 

Bel. I never saw 

Such noble fury in so poor a thing ; 
Such precious deeds in one, that promis'd nought 
But beggary and poor looks. 

Cy7n. No tidings of him ? 

Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead and living, 
But no trace of him. 



Cym. 



To my grief, I am 



The heir of his reward ; which I will add 
To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain, 
By whom, I grant, she lives. 'T is now the time 
To ask of whence you are : report it. 

Bel. Sir, 

In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen. 
Farther to boast, were neither true nor modest, 
Unless I add, we are honest. 

Cym. Bow your knees. — 

Arise, my knights o' the battle : I create you 
Companions to our person, and will fit you 
With dignities becoming your estates. 

Enter Cornelius and Ladies. 
There 's business in these faces. — Why so sadly 
Greet you our victory ? you look like Piomans, 
And not o' the court of Britain. 



Cor. 



Hail, great king ! 



To sour your happiness, I must report 
The queen is dead. 

Cym. Whom worse than a physician 

Would this report become ? But I consider, 
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death 
Will seize the doctor too. — How ended she ? 

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life ; 
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded 
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd, 
I will report; so please you : these her women 
Can trip me, if I err, who. with wet cheeks. 
Were present when she finish'd. 

Cym. Pr'ythee, say. 

Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you ; only 
Affected greatness got by you, not you : 
Married your royalty, was wife to your place, 
Abhorr'd your person. 

Cym. She alone knew this ; 

And, but she spoke it dying, I would not 
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. 

Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand* to love 
With such integrity, she did confess 
Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, 
But that her flight prevented it, she had 
Ta'en off by poison. 

Cym. most delicate fiend ! 

Who is 't can read a woman? — Is there more ? 

Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess, she had 
For you a mortal mineral; which, being took. 
Should by the minute feed on life, and lingering 
By inches waste you : in which time she purpos'd, 
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to 
O'ercome you with her show; and in time 



8S6 



CYMBELINE. 



ACT V. 



Bel. Peace 



(When she had fitted you with her craft) to work 
Her son into th' adoption of the crown : 
But failing of her end by his strange absence. 
Grew slianieless-desperate ; open'd, in despite 
Of heaven and men. her purposes ; repented 
The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so, 
Despairing died. 

Cym. Heard you all this, her women ? 

Lady. We did so, please your highness. 
Cym. Mine eyes 

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful ; 
Mine ears, that heard her flattery ; nor my heart, 
That thought her like her seeming : it had been vicious, 
To have mistrusted her : yet. my daughter ! 
That it was folly in me, thou may'st say, 
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all ! 
Enter Lucius, Iachimo. the Soothsayer, and other Roman 
Prisoners, guarded ; Posthumus behind, and Imogen. 
Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute : that 
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss 
Of many a bold one ; whose kinsmen have made suit, 
That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter 
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted. 
So, think of your estate. 

Luc. Consider, sir. the chance of war : the day 
Was yours by accident ; had it gone with us. 
We should not. when the blood was cool, have threaten'd 
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods 
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives 
May be call'd ransom, let it come : sufficeth, 
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer. 
Augustus lives to think on 't ; and so much 
For my peculiar care. This one thing only 
I will entreat : my boy, a Briton born, 
Let him be ransom'd : never master had 
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, 
So tender over his occasions, true. 
So feat,' so nurse-like. Let his virtue join 
With my request, which, I '11 make bold, your highness 
Cannot deny : he hath done no Briton harm, 
Though he have serv'd a Roman 
And spare no blood beside. 

Cym. I have surely seen him : 

His favour' is familiar to me. — Boy, 
Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace. 
And art mine own. — I know not why, nor' wherefore, 
To .say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master; live. 
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt. 
Fitting my bounty and thy state, I '11 give it : 
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, 
The noblest ta'en. 

Into. I humbly thank your highness. 

Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad, 
And yet I know thou wilt. 

Imo. No, no ; alack ! 

There 's other work in hand. — I see a thing 
Bitter to me as death. — Your life, good master, 
Must shuflie for itself. 

Luc. The boy disdains me, 

He leaves me. scorns me : briefly die their joys. 
That place them on the truth of girls and boys. — 
Why stands he so perplex'd ? 

Cym. What wouldst thou, boy ? 

I love thee more and more : think more and more 
What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? 

speak ; 
Wilt have him live ? Is he thy kin ? thy friend ? 

Imo. He is a Roman : no more kin to me, 
Than I to your highness, who, being born your vassal, 

I Ready. 2 Countenance. = Not in folio. Added by Rowe. * Placed upright. 



Save him, sir, 



Am something nearer. 

Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so ? 

Imo. I '11 tell you, sir, in private, if you please 
To give me hearing. 

Cym. Ay, with all my heart. 

And lend my best attention. What 's thy name ? 

Imo. Fidele, sir. 

Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page ; 

I '11 be thy master : walk with me ; speak freely. 

[Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart. 

Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death ? 

Arv. • One sand anothei 

Not more resembles : that sweet rosy lad. 
Who died, and was Fidele. — What think you ? 

Ghti. The same dead thing alive. 



, peace 
forbear. 



see farther : he ey6s us not : 



Creatures may be alike : were 't he, 1 am sure 
He would have spoke to us. 

Gui. But we saw him dead. 

Bel. Be silent ; let 's see farther. 

Pis. [Aside.l It is my mistress ! 

Since she is living, let the time run on. 
To good, or bad. 

[Cymbeline and Imogen come forward. 

Cym. Come, stand thou by our side : 

Make thy demand aloud. — Sir, [To Iachimo.] step 

you forth : 
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely. 
Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it, 
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall 
Winnow the truth from falsehood. — On, speak to him. 

Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render 
Of whom he had this ring. 

Post. [Aside^ What 's that to him ? 

Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say. 
How came it yours ? 

lach. Thou 'It torture me to leave unspoken that 
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. 

Cym. How ! me ? 

lach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that, which 
Torments me to conceal. By villainy 
I got this ring : 't was Leonatus' jewel ; 
Whom thou didst banish ; and (which more may grieve 

thee, 
As it doth me) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd 
'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my 
lord? 

Cym. All that belongs to this. 

lach. That paragon, thy daughter. 

For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits 
Quail to remember, — Give me leave ; I faint. 

Cym. My daughter ! what of her ? renew thy 
strength : 
I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will, 
Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man. and speak. 

lach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock 
That struck the hour) it was in Rome, (accurs'd 
The mansion where) 't was at a feast, (O ! would 
Our viands had been poison'd, or at least 
Those which I heav'd to head) the good Posthumus, 
(What should I say ? he was too good to be 
Where ill men were, and was the best of all 
Amongst the rar'st of good ones) sitting sadly. 
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy 
For beauty, that made barren the swell'd boast 
Of him that best could speak : for feature, laming 
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight* Minerva. 
Postures beyond brief nature ; for condition, 



SCENE V. 



CYMBELINE. 



887 



A shop of all the qualities that man 

Loves woman for ; besides, that hook of wiving, 

Fairness, which strikes the eye : 

Cym. I stand on fire. 

Come to the matter. 

Inch. All too soon I shall, 

Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. — This Posthumus, 
(Most like a noble lord in love, and one 
That had a royal lover) took his hint ; 
And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, (therein 
He was as calm as virtue) he began 
His mistress' picture ; which by his tongue being made. 
And then a mind put in 't, either our brags 
Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description 
Prov'd us unspeaking sots. 

Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose. 

lack. Your daughter's chastity — there it begins. 
He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams. 
And she alone were cold : whereat, I, wretch, 
Made scruple of his praise ; and wager'd with him 
Pieces of gold 'gainst this, which then he wore 
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain 
In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring 
By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight, 
No lesser of her honour confident 
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring ; 
And would so. had it been a carbuncle 
Of Phcebus' wheel ; and might so safely, had it 
Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain 
Post I in this design : well may you, sir, 
Remember me at court, where I was taught 
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference 
'Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench'd 
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 
'Gan in your duller Britain operate 
Most vilely ; for my vantage, excellent ; 
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd. 
That I return'd with simular proof, enough 
To make the noble Leonatus mad. 
By wounding his belief in her renown 
With tokens thus, and thus ; averring notes 
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet, 
(0 cunning, how I got it !) nay, some marks 
Of secret on her person, that he could not 
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, 
I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon, — 
Methinks, I see him now, — 
Post. Ay, so thou dost, 

[Coming forward. 
Italian fiend ! — Ah me ! most credulous fool, 
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing 
That 's due to all the villains past, in being, 
To come ! — 0, give me cord, or knife 
Some upright justicer ! Thou, 
For torturers ingenious : it is I 
That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend. 
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, 
That kill'd thy daughter : — villain-like, I lie : 
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, 
A sacrilegious thief, to do 't. — The temple 
Of virtue was she : — yea, and she herself 
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me ; set 
The dogs o' the street to bay me : every villain 
Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus, and 
Be villainy less than 't was !— O Imogen ! 
My queen, my life, my wife ! Imogen, 
Imogen, Imogen ! 

Imo. • Peace, my lord ! hear, hear ! — 

Post. Shall 's have a play of this ? Thou scornful 
page, ' 



^, or poison, 
king, send out 



There lie thy part. [Striking her : she falh. 

Pis. 0, gentlemen ! help 

Mine, and your mistress. — O, my lord Posthumus ! 
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now. — Help, help ! — 
Mine honour'd lady ! 

Cym. Does the world go round ? 

Post. How come these staggers on me ? 

Pis. Wake, iny mistress ! 

Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me 
To death with mortal joy. 

Pis. How fares my mistress ? 

Imo. ! get thee from my sight : 
Thou gav'st me poison : dangerous fellow, hence ! 
Breathe not where princes are. 

Cym. The tune of Imogen ! 

Pis. Lady, 
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if 
That box I gave you was not thought by me 
A precious thing : I had it from the queen. 

Cym. New matter still ? 

Imo. It poison'd me. 

Cor. 
I left out one thing which the queen confess'd. 
Which must approve thee honest : if Pisanio 
Have, said she, given his mistress that confection 
Which I gave him for a cordial, she is serv'd 
As I would serve a rat. 

Cym. What 's this, Cornelius ? 

Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me 
To temper poisons for her; still pretending 
The satisfaction of her knowledge, only 
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs 
Of no esteem : I, dreading that her purpose 
Was of more danger, did compound for her 
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en. would cease 
The present power of life : but, in short time, 
All offices of nature should again 
Do their due functions. — Have you ta'en of it ? 

Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead. 

Bel. My boys, 

There was our error. 



gods ! 



Gni. 



This is, sure, Fidele. 



Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from you ? 
Think, that you are upon a rock ; and now 
Throw me again. [Embracing Posthumus. 

Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul, 

Till the tree die ! 

Cym. How now ! my flesh, my child ? 

What ! mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? 
Wilt thou not speak to me? 

Imo. Your blessing, sir. [Kneeling. 

Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not ; 
You had a motive for 't. [To Guiderius and Arviragus. 

Cym. My tears that fall. 

Prove holy water on thee ! Imogen, 
Thy mother 's dead. 

Imo. I am sorry for 't. my lord. 

Cym. ! she was naught ; and 'long of her it was, 
That we meet here so .strangely : but her son 
Is gone, we know not how. nor where. 

Pis. My lord, 

Now fear is from me, I '11 speak troth. Lord Clotcn, 
Upon my lady's missing, came to me 
With his sword drawn : foam'd at the mouth, and swore, 
If I discover'd not which way she was gone, 
It was my instant death. By accident, 
I had a feigned letter of my master's 
Then in my pocket, which directed him 
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford ; 
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments 



888 



CYMBELmE. 



ACT V. 



Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts 
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate 
My lady's honour : what became of him, 
I farther know not. 

Gui. Let me end the story. 

I slew him there. 

Cym. Marry, the gods forefend ! 

I would not thy good deeds should from my lips 
Pluck a hard sentence : pr'ythee, valiant youth, 
Deny 't again. 

Gtd. I have spoke it, and I did it. 

Cym. He was a prince. 

Gui. A most uncivil one. The wrongs he did me 
Were nothing prince-like ; for he did provoke me 
With language that would make me spurn the sea, 
If it could so roar to me. I cut off 's head : 
And am right glad, he is not standing here 
To tell this tale of mine. 

Cym. I am sorry for thee : 

By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must 
Endure our law. Thou art dead. 

Imo. That headless man 

I thought had been my lord. 

Cym. Bind the offender. 

And take him from our presence. 

Bel. Stay, sir king. 

This man is better than the man he slew, 
As well descended as thyself ; and hath 
More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens 
Had ever scar for. — Let his arms alone ; 

[To the Guard. 
They were not born for bondage. 

Cym. Why, old soldier, 

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for. 
By tasting of our wrath V How of descent 
As good as we ? 

Arv. In that he spake too far. 

Cym. And thou shalt die for 't. 

Bel. We will die all three; 

But I will prove that two on 's are as good 
As I have given out him. — My sons, I must 
For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech. 
Though, haply, well for you. 

Arv. Your danger 's ours. 

Gui. And our good his. 

Bel. Have at it, then, by leave. 

Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who was call'd 
Belarius. 

Cym. What of him ? he is 

A banish'd traitor. 

Bel. He it is that hath 

Assum'd this age : indeed, a banish'd man ; 
I know not how. a traitor. 

Cym. Take him hence. 

The whole world shall not save him. 

Bel. Not too hot : 

First pay me for the nursing of thy sons; 
And let it be confiscate all, so soon 
As I have receiv'd it. 

Cym. Nursing of my sons ? 

Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy ; here 's my knee : 
Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons ; 
Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir, 
These two young gentlemen, that call me father, 
And think they are my sons, are none of mine : 
They are the issue of your loins, my liege, 
And blood of your begetting. 

Cym. How ! my issue ? 

Bel So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan, 

1 we : in folio. Bowe made the change. 



Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd : 
Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment 
Itself, and all my treason ; that 1 suffer'd 
Was all the harm I did. The.se gentle princes 
(For such, and so they are) these twenty years 
Have I train'd up ; those arts they have, as I 
Could put into them : my breeding was, sir, as 
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, 
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children 
Upon my banishment : I mov'd her to 't ; 
Having receiv'd the punishment before. 
For that which I did then : beaten for loyalty 
Excited me to treason. Their dear loss. 
The more of you 't was felt, the more it shap'd 
Unto my end of stealing them. But. gracious sir. 
Here are your sons again ; and I must lose 
Two of the sweet'st companions in flie world. — 
The benediction of these covering heavens 
Fall on their heads like dew ! for they are worthy 
To inlay heaven with stars. 

Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st. 

The service, that you three have done, is more 
Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children : 
If these be they, I know not how to wish 
A pair of worthier sons. 

Bel. Be pleas'd a while. — 

This gentleman, whom I call Polydore. 
Most worthy prince, as yours is true Guiderius : 
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, 
Your younger princely son : he, sir, was lapp'd 
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand 
Of his queen mother, which, for more probation, 
I can with ease produce. 

Cym. Guiderius had 

Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star : 
It was a mark of wonder. 

Bel. This is he. 

Who hath upon him still that natural stamp. 
It was wise nature's end in the donation. 
To be his evidence now. 

Cym. ! what am I 

A mother to the birth of three ? Ne'er mother 
Rejoie'd deliverance more. — Bless'd pray you be, 
That after this strange starting from your orbs, 
You may reign in them now. — Imogen ! 
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. 

Imo. No, my lord ; 

I have got two worlds by 't. — 0, my gentle brothers ! 
Have we thus met ? O ! never say hereafter. 
But I am truest speaker : you call'd me brother. 
When I was but your sister ] I you brothers, 
When you' were so indeed. 

Cym. Did you e'er meet ? 

Arv. Ay, my good lord. 

Gui. And at first meeting lov'd ; 

Continued so, until we thought he died. 

Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. 

Cym. rare instinct : 

When shall I hear all through ? This fierce abridgment 
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which 
Distinction should be rich in. — Where ? how liv'd you ? 
And when came you to serve our Roman captive ? 
How parted with your brothers ? how first met them ? 
Why fled you from the court, and whither '^ These, 
And your three motives to the battle, with 
I know not how much more, should be demanded. 
And all the other by-dependencies, 
From chance to chance ; but nor the time, ndr place. 
Will serve our long inter' gatories. See, 



SCENE V. 



CYMBELINE. 



889 



Posthumus anchors upon Imogen ; 
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye 
On him, her brothers, me. her master, hitting 
Each object with a joy : the counterchange 
Is severally in all. Let 's quit this ground, 
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. — 
Thou art my brother : so we '11 hold thee ever. 

[To Belarius. 
Imo. You are my father, too : and did relieve me, 
To see this gracious season. 



Cym. 



All erjoy'd, 



Save these in bonds : let them be joyful too, 
For they shall taste our comfort. 

Imo. My good master, 

I will yet do you service. 

Luc. Happy be you ! 

Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, 
He would have well become' this place, and grac'd 
The thankings of a king. 

Post. I am, sir. 

The soldier that did company these three 
In poor beseeming : 't was a fitment for 
The purpose I then follow'd. — That I was he, 
Speak, lachimo : I had you down, and might 
Have made you finish. 

lach. I am down again ; [Kneeling. 

But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee. 
As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you, 
Which I so often owe ; but your ring first, 
And here the bracelet of the truest princess 
That ever swore her faith. 

Post. Kneel not to me : 

The power that I have on you is to spare you ; 
The malice towards you to forgive you. Live, 
And deal with others better. 

Cyin. Nobly doom'd. 

We '11 learn our freeness of a son-in-law : 
Pardon 's the word to all. 

Arv. You holp us, sir. 

As you did mean indeed to be our brother ; 
Joy'd are we, that you are. 

Post. Your servant, princes. — Good my lord of 
Ptome, 
Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought, 
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd, 
Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows 
Of mine own kindred : when I wak'd, I found 
This label on my bosom ; whose containing 
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can 
Make no collection of it : let him show 
His skill in the construction. 

Luc. Pliilarmonus ! 

Sooth. Here, my good lord. [Coming forward. 

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. 

Sooth. [Reads.] " When as a lion's whelp shall, to 



himself unknown, without seeking find, and be em- 
braced by a piece of tender air ; and when from a 
stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which being 
dead many years shall after revive, be jointed to the 
old stock, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end 
his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace 
and plenty." 

Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp ; 
The fit and apt construction of thy name. 
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much. 
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, 

[To Cymbeline. 
Which we call mollis aer ; and mollis acr 
We term it miilicr : which mulier, I divine, 
Is this most constant wife ; who, even now. 
Answering the letter of the oracle, 
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about 
With this most tender air. 

Cym. This hath some seeming. 

Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, 
Personates thee ; and thy lopp'd branches point 
Thy two sons forth ; who. by Belarius stolen. 
For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, 
To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue 
Promises Britain peace and plenty. 

Cym. Well, 

My peace we will begin. — And, Caius Lucius, 
Although the victor, we submit to Csesar, 
And to the Roman empire ; promising 
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which 
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen : 
Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers 
Have laid most heavy hand. 

Sooth. The fingers of tlie powers above do tune 
The harmony of this peace. The vision. 
Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke 
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant 
Is full accomplish'd ; for the Roman eagle, 
From south to west on wing soaring aloft, 
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun 
So vanish'd : which foreshow'd our princely eagle, 
Th' imperial Caesar, should again unite 
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, 
Which shines here in the west. 

Cym. Laud we the gods ; 

And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils 
From our bless'd altars. Publish we this peace 
To all our subjects. Set we forward. Let 
A Roman and a British ensign wave 
Friendly together ; so through Lud's town march, 
And in the temple of great Jupiter 
Our peace we '11 ratify; seal it with feasts. — 
Set on there ! — Never was a war did cease, 
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. 

[Exeunt. 



1 becom'd : in folio. 



PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 



DEAMATIS PKRSON^. 



Antiochus, King of Antioch. 

Pericles, Prince of Tyre. 

Helicanus, ) , T A r rr 
T^ ' > two Lords of Tyre. 

Escanes, ) •' 

SiMONiDES, King of Pentapolis. 

Cleon, Governor of Tharsus. 

Lysimachus, Governor of Mitylene. 

Cerimon, a Lord of Ephesus. 

Thaliard, a Lord of Antioch. 

Philemon, Servant to Cerimon. 

Leonine, Servant to Dionyza. 

Lords, Ladies, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors 

SCENE, dispersedly in 



Marshal. 

A Pander, and his Wife. 
BouLT, their Servant. 
GowER, as Chorus. 

The Daughter of Antiochus. 

Dionyza, Wife to Cleon. 

Thaisa, Daughter to Simonides. 

Marina, Daughter to Pericles and Thaisa. 

Lychorida. Nurse to Marina. 

Diana. 

, Pirates, Fishermen, Messengers, &c. 

various Countries. 



ACT I. 



H.nter Gower. 
Before the Palace of Antioch. 
To sing a song that old was sung, 
From ashes ancient Gower is come ; 
Assuming man's infirmities. 
To glad your ear, and please your eyes. 
It hath been sung at festivals, 
On ember-eves, and holy ales,* 
And lords and ladies in their lives 
Have read it for restoratives : 
The purpose* is to make men glorious ) 
Et bonum quo antiquius^ eo melius. 
If you, born in these latter times. 
When wit 's more ripe, accept my rhymes, 
And that to hear an old man sing. 
May to your wishes pleasure bring, 
I life would wish, and that I might 
Waste it for you, like taper-light. — 
This Antioch, then : Antiochus the great 
Built up this city for his chiefest seat, 
The fairest in all Syria ; 
I tell you what my authors say : 
This king unto him took a feere,^ 
Who died and left a female heir. 
So buxom, blithe, and full of face, 
As heaven had lent her all his grace ; 
With whom the father liking took, 
And her to incest did provoke. 
Bad child, worse father, to entice his own 
To evil, should be done by none. 
By* custom what they did begin 
Was with long use account no sin. 
The beauty of this sinful dame 
Made many princes thither frame, 
To seek her as a bed-follow. 
In marriage pleasures play-fellow : 
Which to prevent he made a law. 



To keep her still and men in awe, 

That whoso ask'd her for his wife, 

His riddle told not, lost his life : 

So, for her many a wight did die. 

As yond' grim looks* do testify. 

What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye 

I give, my cause who best can justify. \^Exit. 

SCENE I. — Antioch. A Ptoom in the Palace. 
Enter Antiochus, Pericles, and Attendants. 

Ant. Young prince of Tyre, you have at large receiv'd 
The danger of the task you undertake. 

Per. I have, Antiochus, and with a soul 
Embolden'd with the glory of her praise. 
Think death no hazard in this enterprise. [Music. 

Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride, 
For the embracements even of Jove himself; 
At whose conception, (till Lucina reign'd) 
Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence, 
The senate-house of planets all did sit. 
To knit in her their best perfections. 

Enter the Daughter of Antiochus. 

Per. See, where she comes, apparel I'd like the spring, 
Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king 
Of every virtue gives renown to men ! 
Her face, the book of praises, where is read 
Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence 
Sorrow were ever ras'd." and testy wrath 
Could never be her mild companion. 
Ye gods, that made me man, and sway in love, 
That have inflam'd desire in my breast, 
To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree, 
Or die in the adventure, be my helps. 
As I am son and servant to your will. 
To compass such a boundless' happiness ! 

Ant. Prince Pericles, — 

Per. That would be son to great Antiochus. 

Ant. Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, 



> Festivals; days : in old copies. 'Farmer made the change. * purchase : in old copies. ' Mate * But : in old copies. 5 of the decap- 
itated heads over the city gate. * rack'd : in old copies. ' bondless : in old copies. Rowe made the change. 



SCKXE I. 



PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 



S91 



With golden fruit, but dangerous to be toueh'd ; 
For dealJi-like dragons here affright thee liard : 
Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view 
Her countless glory, which desert must gain ; 
And which, without desert, because thine eye 
Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die. 
Yond' sometime famous princes, like thyself, 
Drawn by report, adventurous by desire. 
Tell thee with speechless tongues, and semblance pale, 
That, without covering, save yond' field of stars, 
They here stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars; 
And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist, 
For going on death's net, whom none resist; 

Per. Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught 
My frail mortality to know itself, 
And by those fearful objects to prepare 
This body, like to them, to what I must : 
For death remember"d should be like a mirror, 
Who tells us, life 's but breath ; to trust it, error. 
I '11 make my will, then ; and as sick men do, 
Who know the world, see heaven, but feeling woe, 
Gripe not at earthly joys, as erst they did : 
So, I bequeath a happy peace to yoi\. 
And all good men, as every prince should do : 
My riches to the earth from whence they came, 
But my unspotted fire of love to you. 

[To the Daughter 0/ Antiochus. 
Thus, ready for the way of life or death, 
I wait the sharpest blow. 

Ant. Scorning advice, read the conclusion, then ; 
Which read and not expounded, 't is decreed, 
As these before thee, thou thyself shalt bleed. 

Dcnigh. Of all, 'say'd }"et. may'st thou prove pros- 
perous ! 
or all, 'say'd yet, I wish thee happiness. 

Per. Like a bold champion, I assume the lists, 
Nor ask advice of any other thought 
But faithfulness, and courage. 

The Riddle. 
I am no viper, yet I feed 
On 7nother' .s Jleshj ivhich did me breed; 
I .sought a husband, in u'hich labour., 
I found that kindness in a father : 
He 's father, son, and husband mild, 
I mother, wife, and yet his child. 
How they may be, and yet in two, 
As you will live, resolve it you. 
Sharp physick is the last : but, ! you powers, 
That give heaven countless eyes to view men's acts, 
Wliy cloud they not their sights perpetually, 
If this be true, which makes me pale to read it ? 
Fair glass of light, I lov'd you, and could still. 
Were not this glorious casket stor'd with ill; 
But [ must tell you. — now, my thoughts revolt, 
For he 's no man on whom perfections wait, 
That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate. 
You 're a fair viol, and your sense the strings, 
Who, fingcrd to make man his lawful music. 
Would draw heaven down and all the gods to hearken; 
But being play'd upon before your time, 
Hell only danceth to so harsh a chime. 
Good sooth, I care not for you. 

Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life, 
For that 's an article within our law, 
As dangerous as the rest. Your time 's cxpir'd : 
Either expound now, or receive your sentence. 

Per. Great king, 
Few love to hear the sins they love to act; 
' T would 'braid yourself too near for me to tell it. 

1 shew : in old copies. Malone made the change. 



Who has a book of all that monarchs do, 
He 's more secure to keep it shut, than shown; 
For vice repeated is like the wandering wind, 
Blows dust in others' eyes, to spread itself: 
And yet the end of all is bought thus dear, 
The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear : 
To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts 
Copp'd hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is throng'd 
By man's oppression ; and the poor worm doth die for 't. 
Kings are earth's gods; in vice their law 's their will, 
And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill ? 
It is enough you know ; and it is fit, 
What being more known grows worse, to smother it. 
All love the womb that their first beings bred. 
Then, give my tongue like leave to love my head. 
Ant. [Aside.\ Heaven, that 1 had thy head ! he has 

found the meaning : 
But T will glozc with him. [To Am.] Young prince of 

Tyre, 
Though by the tenour of our strict edict, 
Your exposition misinterpreting, 
We might proceed to cancel of your days ; 
Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree 
As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise. 
Forty days longer we do respite you ; 
If by which time our secret be undone, 
This mercy shows, we '11 joy in such a son : 
And until then your entertain shall be, 
As doth befit our honour, and your worth. 

[Exeunt Antiochus, his Daughter, and Attendants. 
Per. How courtesy would seem to cover sin, 
When w'hat is done is like an hypocrite. 
The which is good in nothing but in sight. 
If it be true that I interpret false, 
Then were it certain, you were not so bad, 
As with foul incest to abuse your soul ; 
Where now you 're both a father and a son, 
By your untimely claspings with your child, 
(Which pleasure fits a husband, not a father) 
And she an eater of her mother's flesh, 
By the defiling of her parent's bed; 
And both like serpents are, who though they feed 
On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed. 
Antioch, farewell ! for wisdom sees, those men 
Blush not in actions blacker than the night. 
Will shun' no course to keep them from the light : 
One sin, I know, another doth provoke ; 
Murder 's as near to lust, as flame to smoke. 
Poison and treason are the hands of sin, 
Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame : 
Then, lest my life be cropped to keep you clear, 
By flight I '11 shun the danger which I fear. [Exit. 
Re-enter Antiochus. 
Ant. He hath fotind the meaning, for the which we 

mean 
To have his head. 

He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy, 
Nor tell the world, Antiochus doth sin 
In such a loathed manner : 
And therefore instantly this prince must die ; 
For by his fall my honour must keep high 
Who attends us there ? 

Enter Thali.\kd. 
Tlutl. Doth your highness call ? 

Ant. Thaliard, 
You 're of our diambcr, and our mind partakes 
Her private actions to your secrecy ; 
And for your faithfulness we will advance you. 
Thaliard, behold, here 's poison, and here 's gold ; 



892 



PEEICLES, PKmCE OF TYEE. 



ACT I. 



We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him : 
It fits thee not to ask the reason "why, 
Because we bid it. Say, is it done ? 

Thai. My lord, 

'T is done. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Ant. Enough. — 
Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste. 

Mess. My lord, prince Pericles is fled. 

\Exit Messenger. 

Ant. As thou 

Wilt live, fly after : and, as* an arrow, shot 
From a well-experienc'd archer, hits the mark 
His eye doth level at, so ne'er return. 
Unless thou say Prince Pericles is dead. 

TM. My lord, if I 
Can get him once within my pistol's length, 
I "11 make him sure : so, farewell to your highness. \Exit. 

Ant. Thaliard, adieu. — Till Pericles be dead. 
My heart can lend no succour to my head. [Exit. 

SCENE II.— Tyre. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Pericles, Helicanus. and other Lords. 

Per. Let none disturb us : why should this change 
of thoughts ? 
The sad companion, duU-ey'd melancholy, 
By me so us'd a guest is, not an hour, 
In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night, 
The tomb where grief should sleep, can breed me quiet. 
Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun 

them. 
And danger, which I fear'd, is at Antioch, 
Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here \ 
Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits, 
Nor yet the other's distance comfort me. 
Then, it is thus : that passions of the mind, 
That have their first conception by mis-dread, 
Have after-nourishment and life by care ; 
And what was first but fear what might be done, 
Grows elder now, and cares it be not done : 
And so with me : — the great Antiochus 
('Gainst whom I am too little to contend. 
Since he 's so great, can make his will his act) 
Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence : 
Nor boots it me to say, I honour, 
If he suspect I may dishonour him : 
And what may make him blush in being kno"v\ai. 
He '11 stop the course by which it might be known. 
With hostile forces he '11 o'erspread the land. 
And with the ostent^ of war will look so huge. 
Amazement shall drive courage from the state ; 
Our men be vanquish'd ere they do resist. 
And subjects punish'd that ne'er thought ofTence : 
Which care of them, not pity of myself, 
(Wlio am' no more but as the tops of trees. 
Which fence the roots they grow by, and defend them) 
Makes both my body pine, and soul to languish. 
And punish that before, that he would punish. 

1 Lord. Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast. 

2 Lord. And keep your mind, till you return to us. 
Peaceful and comfortable. 

Hel. Peace, peace ! and give experience tongue. 
They do abuse the king, that flatter him : 
For flattery is the bellows blows up sin ; 
The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark, 
To which that blasf gives heat' and stronger glowing ; 
Whereas reproof, obedient and in order. 
Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err : 



When signior Sooth, here, does proclaim a peace^ 
He flatters you, makes war upon your life. 
Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please } 
I cannot be much lower than my knees. 

Per. All leave us else ; but let your cares o'er-look 
What shipping, and what lading 's in our haven. 
And then return to us. [Exeunt Lords.] Helicanus, 

thou 
Hast moved us : what seest thou in our looks ? 

Hel. An angry brow, dread lord. 

Per. If there be such a dart in prince's frowns. 
How durst thy tongue move anger to our face ? 

Hel. How dare the plants look up to heaven, from 
whence 
They have their nourishment ? ^ 

Per. Thou know'st I have power 

To take thy life from thee. 

Hel. I have ground the axe myself; 

Do you but strike the blow. 

Per. Rise, pr'ythee rise. 

Sit down ; thou art no flatterer : 
I thank thee for it ; and heaven forbid. 
That kings should let their ears hear their faults hid. 
Fit counsellor, and servant for a prince, 
Who by thy wisdom mak'st a prince thy servant, 
What wouldst thou have me do ? 

Hel. To bear with patience 

Such griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself. 

Per. Thou speak'st like a physician, Helicanus, 
That ministers a potion unto me, 
That thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself. 
Attend me, then : 1 went to Antioch, 
Where, as thou know'st, against the face of death 
I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty. 
From whence an issue I might propagate. 
Are arms to princes, and bring joys to subjects. 
Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder : 
The rest (hark in thine ear) as black as incest : 
Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father 
Seem'd not to strike, but smooth ; but thou know'st this, 
'T is time to fear, when tyrants seem to kiss. 
Which fear so grew in me, I hither fled 
Under the covering of a careful night, 
Who seem'd my good protector ; and being here. 
Bethought me what was past, what might succeed. 
I knew him tyrannous ; and tyrants' fears 
Decrease not, but grow faster than the years. 
And should he doubt' it, (as no doubt he doth) 
That I should open to the listening air. 
How many worthy princes' bloods were shed. 
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope. 
To lop that doubt he '11 fill this land with arms, 
And make pretence of wrong that I have done him; 
When all, for mine, if I may call 't, oflTence, 
Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence : 
Which love to all, of which thyself art one, 
Who now reprov'st me for it — 

Hel. - Alas, sir ! 

Per. Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my 
cheeks. 
Musings into my mind, a thousand doubts 
How I might stop this tempest ere it came ; 
And finding little comfort to relieve them, 
I thought it princely charity to grieve them. 

Hel. Well, my lord, since you have given me leave 
to speak. 
Freely will I speak. Antiochus yovi fear, 
And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant. 



1 like : in quartos, ^stjnt; in old copies. Tyrwhitt made the change. ^ once : in old copies. Steevens made the change. * spark : 
in old copies. Mason made the change. * heart : in old copies. * doo 't : in old copies. Malone made the change. 



SCENE IV. 



PERICLES, PRmCE OF TYRE. 



893 



Who either by public war, or private treason, 
Will take away your life. 
Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while, 
• Till tliat his rage and anger be forgot. 
Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life. 
Your rule direct to any; if to me, 
Day serves not light more faithful than I '11 be. 

Per. I do not doubt thy faiih ; 
But sliould he wrong my liberties in my absence ? 

Hel. We '11 mingle our bloods together in the earth, 
From whence we had our bemg and our birth. 

Per. Tyre, I now look from thee, then : and to Tharsus 
Intend my travel, where I '11 hear from thee. 
And by whose letters I '11 dispose myself. 
The care I had, and have, of subjects' good. 
On thee I lay, whose wisdom's strength can bear it. 
I '11 take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath ; 
Who shuns not to break one, will sure' crack both. 
But in our orbs we live so round and safe, 
That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince,^ 
Thou show'dst a subject's shine, I a true prince. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE ITI.— Tyre. An Ante-chamber in the 
Palace. 
Enter Thaliard. 

Thai. So, this is Tyre, and this is the court. Here 
must I kill king Pericles ; and if I do not, I am sure to 
be hang'd at home : 't is dangerous, — Well, I perceive 
he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, that 
being bid to ask what he would of the king, desired he 
might know none of his secrets : now do I see he had 
some reason for it ; for if a king bid a man be a villain, 
he is bound by the indenture of his oath to be one. — 
Hush ! here come the lords of Tyre. 

Enter Helicanus. Escanes. and other Lords. 

Hel. You shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre, 
Farther to question me of your king's departure : 
His seal'd commission, left in trust with me, 
Doth speak sufficiently, he 's gone to travel. 

Thai. [Aside.] How ! the king gone ? 

Hel. If farther yet you will be satisfied, 
Why, as it were unlicens'd of your loves, 
He would depart, I '11 give some light unto you. 
Being at Antioch — 

Thai. [Aside.] What from Antioch ? 

Hel. Royal Antiochus (on what cause I know not) 
Took some displeasure at him : at least, he judg'd so ; 
And doubting lest that he had err'd or sinn'd, 
To .show his sorrow he 'd correct himself; 
So puts himself unto the .shipman's toil, 
With whom each minute threatens life or death. 

Thai. [A.mle.] Well, I perceive 
I shall not be hang'd now, although I would ; 
But since he 's gone, the king's seas must please : 
He 'scap'd the land, to perish at the sea. — 
I '11 present myself. — [To them.] Peace to the lords of 
Tyre. 

Hel. Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome. 

Thai. From him I come. 
With message unto princely Pericles : 
But since my landing I have understood. 
Your lord hath betook himself to unknown travels, 
My message must return from whence it came. 

Hel. We have no reason to desire it, 
Commended to our master, not to us : 
Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire, 
As friends to Antioch we may feast in Tyre. [Exeunt. 



SCENE IV.— Tharsus. A Room in the Governor's 
House. 

Enter Cleon, Dionyza, and Attendants. 

Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, 
And by relating tales of other's griefs, 
See if 't will teach us to forget our own ? 

Dio. That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it ; 
For who digs hills because they do aspire. 
Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher. 

my distressed lord ! even such our griefs ; 

Here they 're but lelt. and seen with mischief's eyes, 
But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise. 

Cle. Dionyza, 
Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it, 
Or can conceal his hunger, till he famish ? 
Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep 
Our woes into the air ; our eyes do weep. 
Till tongues fetch breath that may proclaim them louderj 
That if heaven slumber, while their creatures want, 
They may awake their helps to comfort them. 

1 '11 then discourse our woes, felt several years, 
And, wanting breath to speak, help me with tears. 

Dio. I '11 do my best, sir. 

Cle. This Tharsus, o'er which I have the government, 
A city, on whom plenty held full hand, 
For riches strew'd herself even in the streets, 
Whose towers bore heads so high, they kiss'd the clouds. 
And strangers ne'er beheld, but wonder'd at ; 
Whose men and dames so jetted^ and adorn'd, 
Like one another's glass to trim them by : 
Their tables were stor'd full to glad the eight, 
And not so much to feed on as delight ; 
All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great. 
The name of lielp grew odious to repeat. 

Dio. ! 't is too true. 

Cle. But see what heaven can do ! By this our change, 
These mouth.s, whom but of late, earth, sea, and air, 
Were all too little to content and please, 
Although they gave their creatures in abundance. 
As houses are defil'd for want of use. 
They arc now starv'd for want of exercise : 
Those palates, who not yet two summers* younger, 
Must have inventions to delight the taste. 
Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it : 
Those mothers who to nousle up their babes 
Thought nought too curious, are ready now 
To eat those little darlings whom they lov'd. 
So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife 
Draw lots, who fir.st shall die to lengthen life. 
Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping ; 
Here many sink, yet those which see them fall, 
Have scarce strength left to give them burial. 
Is not this true ? 

Dio. Our checks and hollow eyes do witness it. 

Cle. ! let those cities, that of plenty's cup 
And her prosperities so largely taste, 
With their su{)crlluous riots, hear these tears : 
The misery of Tharsus may be theirs. 
Enter a Lord. 

Lord. Where 's the lord governor ? 

Cle. Here. 
Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring'st in haste, 
For comfort is too far for us to expect. 

Lord. We have descried, upon our neighbouring shore, 
A portly sail of ships make hitherward. 

Cle. I thought as much. 
One sorrow never comes, but brings an heir 
That may succeed as his inheritor ; 



1 Not in quartos. - OvercoKte. ' Strutted. * savers : in old copies. Steevens made the change. 



894 



PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 



ACT n. 



And so in ours. Some neighbouring nation, 

Taking advantage of our misery, 

Hath' stuff'd these hollow vessels with their power, 

To beat us down, the which are down already; 

And make a conquest of unhappy me. 

Whereas no glory 's got to overcome. 

Lord. That 's the least fear ; for by the semblance 
Of their white flags display'd, they bring us peace. 
And come to us as favourers, not as foes. 

Cle. Thou speak'st like him's'"' untutor'd to repeat; 
Who makes the fairest show means most deceit. 
But bring they what they will, and what they can, 
What need Me fear ? 

The ground 's the low'st, and we are half way there. 
Go, tell their general we attend him here, 
To know for what he comes, and whence he comes, 
And what he craves. 

Lord. I go, my lord. • [Exit. 

Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist f 
If wars, we are unable to resist. 

Enter Pericles, with Attendants. 

Per. Lord governor, for so we hear you are, 
Let not our ships and number of our men. 
Be, like a beacon fir'd. to amaze your eyes. 



We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, 

And seen the desolation of your streets ; 

Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears. 

But to relieve them of their heavy load : 

And these our ships you happily may think 

Are like the Trojan horse, was stuff"'d within 

With bloody veins, expecting overthrow, 

Are stor'd with corn to make your needy bread, 

And give them life whom hunger starv'd half dead. 

All. The gods of Greece protect you ! 
And we '11 pray for you. 

Per. Arise, I pray you, arise: 

We do not look for reverence, but for love, 
And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men. 

Cle. The which when any shall not gratify, " 
Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought. 
Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves, 
The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils ! 
Till when, (the which, I hope, shall ne'er be seen) 
Your grace is welcome to our town and us. 

Per. Which welcome we '11 accept ; feast here a 
while. 
Until our stars that frown lend us a smile. [Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



Enter Gower. 
Gow. Here have you seen a mighty king 

His child, I wis, to incest bring ; 

A better prince, and benign lord. 

That will prove awful both in deed and word. 

Be quiet, then, as men should be. 

Till he hath pass'd necessity. 

I '11 show you those in trouble's reign, 

Losing a mite, a mountain gain. 

The good in conversation 

(To whom I give my benizon) 

Is still at Tharsus. where each man 

Thinks all is writ he spoken can : 

And to remember what he does, 

Build hi.s statue to make him glorious : 

But tidings to the contrary 

Are brought your eyes ; what need speak I ? 
Dumb shoiv. 
Enter at one door Pericles, talking with Cleon ; all 
the Train with them. Enter at another door., a 
Gentleman., u-ith a Letter to Pericles : Pericles 
shows the Letter to Cleon: then gives the Messenger 
a reward, and knights him. Exeunt Pericles, 
Cleon, Sfc. severally. 

Gow. Good Helicane hath* stay'd at home, 
Not to eat honey like a drone, 
From others' labours; for though he strive 
To killen bad, keep good alive ; 
And, to fulfil his prince' desire, 
Sends word of all that haps in Tyre : 
How Thaliard came full bent with sin, 
And hid intent, to murder him ; 
And that in Tharsus was not best 
Longer for him to make his rest. 
He knowing so,^ put forth to seas, 
Where when men been, there 's seldom ease, 
For now the wind begins to blow ; 
Thunder above, and deeps below. 



Make such unquiet, that the ship. 

Should house him safe, is wreck'd and split ; 

And he, good prince, having all lost, 

By waves from coast to coast is tost. 

All perishen of man, of pelf. 

Ne aught escapen but himself; 

Till fortune, tired with doing bad, 

Threw him ashore, to give him glad : 

And here he comes. What shall be next. 

Pardon old Gower; this 'longs" the text. [Exit. 

SCENE I. — Pentapolis. An open Place by the 
Sea-side. * 
Enter Pericles, wet. 

Per. Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven ! 
Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man 
Is but a substance that must yield to you ; 
And I, as fits my nature, do obey you. 
Alas ! the sea hath cast me on the rocks, 
Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath 
Nothing to think on, but ensuing death : 
Let it sufTice the greatness of your powers. 
To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes ; 
And having thrown him from your watery grave, 
Here to have death in peace is all he '11 crave. 
Enter three Fishermen. 

1 Fish. What, ho, Pilch!' 

2 Fish. Ho ! come, and bring away the nets. 
1 Fish. What, Patch-breech, 1 say! 

3 Fish. What say you, master? 

1 Fish. Look how thou stirrest now. Come away, 
or I '11 fetch thee with a wannion. 

3 Fish. 'Faith, master. I am thinking of the poor 
men, that were ca.st away before us even now. 

1 Fish. Alas, poor souls ! it grieved my heart to hear 
what pitiful cries they made to us to help them, when, 
well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves. 

3 Fish. Nay, master, said not T as much, when I saw 
the porpus, how he bounced and tumbled ? they say, 



I 



I That : in old copies. 2 jjim who is. 
6 Belongs to. ' A leather, or covering. 



3 Stand. * that : in old copies. * doing so : in old copies. Steevens made the change. 



SCENE I, 



PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 



895 



they are half fish, half flesh : a plague on them ! they 
ne'er come, but I look to be washed. Master, I marvel 
how the fishes live in the sea. 

1 Fish. Why as men do a-land : the great ones eat 
up the little ones. I can compare our rich misers to 
nothing so fitly as to a whale ; a' plays and tumbles, 
driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours 
them all at a mouthful. Such whales have I heard on 
the land, who never leave gaping, till they 've swallowed 
the whole pari.sh, church, steeple, bells and all. 

Per. A pretty moral. 

3 Fish. But, master, if I had been the sexton, I 
would have been that day in the belfry. 

2 Fish. Why, man? 

3 Fish. Because he should have swallowed me too ; 
and when I had been in his belly, I would have kept 
such a jangling of the bells, 
left, till he cast bells 



But, master, I '11 go draw up the 

[Exeunt Two of the Fishermen. 

this honest mirth becomes their 



steeple, ^..^i^... 
But if the good king Simonides 



that he should never have 

church, and parish, iip 

were of ray 



agam. 
mind- 

Per. Simonides ? 

3 Fish. W^c would purge the land of these drones, 
that rob the bee of her honey. 

Per. How from the finny' subject of the sea 
These fishers tell the infirmities of men ; 
And from their watery empire recollect 
All that may men approve, or men detect ! — 
Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen. 

2 Fish. Honest ! good fellow, what 's that ? if it be 
a day fits you, search out of the calendar, and no body 
look after it. 

Per. Y' may see, the sea hath cast me upon your 



coast 

Fish. What a drunken 



knave was the sea, to cast 



thee in our way. 

Per. A man whom both the waters and the wind, 
In that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball 
For them to play upon, entreats you pity him ; 
He asks of you. that never us'd to beg. 

1 Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg? here 's them in 
our country of Greece, gets more with begging, than 
we can do with working. 

2 Fish. Canst thou catch any fishes, then? 
Per. I never practis'd it. 

2 Fish. Nay, then thou wilt starve, sure : for here 's 
nothing to be got now a-days, unless thou canst fish 
for't. 

Per. What I have been I have forgot to know, 
But what I am want teaches me to think on ; 
A man throng'd up with cold : my veins are chill, 
And have no more of life, than may suffice 



than to be beadle, 
net. 

Per. How well 
labour ! 

1 Fish. Hark you, sir: do you know where you are ? 

Per. Not well. 

1 Fish. Why, I '11 tell you : this is called Pentapolis, 
and our king the good Simonides. 

Per. The good king Simonides, do you call him' 

1 Fish. Ay, sir ; and he deserA'es to be so called, for 
his peaceable reign, and good government. 

Per. He is a happy king, since he gains from his 
subjects the name of good by his government. How 
far is his court distant from this shore ? 

1 Fish. Marry, sir, half a day's journey : and I '11 
tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow is lier 
birth-day; and there are princes and knights come 
from all parts of the world, to joust and tourney for 
her love. 

Per. Were my fortunes equal to my desires. I could 
wish to make one there. 

1 Fish. O, sir ! things must be as they may ; and 
what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for. His 
wife's soul — 

Re-enter the Two Fishermen^ drawing up a Net. 

's a fish hangs in 
the law ; 't will 



To give my tongue that heat to ask your help ; 
Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead, 
For that I am a man, pray see me buried. 

1 Fish. Die quoth-a ? Now, gods forbid it ! I have 
a gown here ; come, put it on ; keep thee warm. Now, 
afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt go 
home, and we '11 have flesh for holiday.'^, fish for fasting- ' good on 't ! 

days, and moreo'er puddings and flap-jacks ;■■* and thou 2 Fish. Ay. but hark you, my friend : 
shalt be welcome. 



2 Fish. Help, master, help ! here 
the net, like a poor man's right in 
hardly come out. Ha ! bots on't; 't is come at last, 
and 't is turned to a rusty armour. 

Per. An armour, friends ! I pray you, let me see it. 
Thanks, fortune, yet, that after all crosses 
Thou giv'st me somewhat to repair myself: 
And though it was mine own. part of mine heritage, 
Which my dear father did bequeath to me. 
With this strict charge (even as he left his life) 
"Keep it, my Pericles, it hath been a shield 
'Twixt me and death ;" (and pointed to this brace) 
•• For that it sav'd me, keep it ; in like necessity. 
The which the gods protect thee from, it may defend 

thee." 
It kept where I kept, I so dearly lov'd it, 
Till the rough seas, that spare not any man. 
Took it in rage, though calm'd. have given 't again. 
I thank thee for 't: my shipwreck now 's no ill, 
Since I have here my father's gift in 's will. 

1 Fish. What mean you, sir ? 

Per. To beg of you. kind friends, this coat of worth, 
For it was sometime target to a king; 
I know it by this mark. He lov'd me dearly, 
And for his sake I wish the having of it : 
And that you 'd guide me to your sovereign's court, 
Where with it I may appear a gentleman: 
And if that ever my low fortunes better, 
I '11 pay your bounties ; till then, rest your debtor. 

1 Fish. Why, wilt tliou tourney for tlic lady ? 

Per. I '11 show the virtue I have borne in arms. 

1 Fish. Why, do ye take it ; and the gods give thee 



't was we that 

made up this garment through the rough ?eams of the 

waters : there are certain condolcments. certain vails. 

Hark you, my friend, you said you could I hope, sir, if you thrive, you '11 remember from whence 

you had it. 



Per. I thank you, sir. 



2 Fish 
not beg. 

Per. I did but crave. 

2 Fish. But crave ? Then I '11 turn craver too, and 
so I shall 'scape whipping. 

Per. Why, are all your beggars whipped, then? 

2 Fish. ! not all, my friend, not all ; for if all your 



Per. Believe it, I will. 
By your furtherance I am cloth'd in steel ; 
And spite of all the rapture' of the sea. 
This jewel holds his biding* on my arm : 
Unto thy value will I mount myself 



beggars were whipped, I would wish no better office i Upon a courser, whose delightful steps 

I feuny : in old copies. Steevens made the change. ' Pancakes, or fritters. ^lajitaTe: in old copies. ♦building: in old copies 



896 



PEKICLES, PKINCE OF TYKE. 



ACT II. 



Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread. — 
Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided 
Of a pair of bases.' 

2 Fish. We '11 sure provide : thou shalt have my 
best gown to make thee a pair, and I '11 bring thee to 
the court myself. 

Per. Then honour be but a goal to my will ! 
This day I '11 rise, or else add ill to ill. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— The Same. A Platform leading to the 
Lists. A Pavilion near it, for the reception of the 
King, Princess, Ladies, Lords, &c. 

Enter Simonides. Thaisa, Lords, and Attendants. 

Sim. Are the knights ready to begin the triumph? 

1 Lord. They are, my liege ; 
And stay your coming to present themselves. 

Sim. Return them, we are ready; and our daughter, 
In honour of whose birth these triumphs are, 
Sits here, like beauty's child, whom nature gat 
For men to see, and seeing wonder at. [Exit a Lord. 

Thai. It pleaseth you, my royal father, to express 
My commendations great, whose merit 's less. 

Sim. 'T is fit it should be so ; for princes are 
A model, which heaven makes like to itself: 
As jewels lose their glory if neglected, 
So princes their renown, if not respected. 
'T is now your honour, daughter, to explain' 
The labour of each knight in his device. 

Thai. Which, to preserve mine honour, I '11 perform. 
Enter a Knight: he passes over the Stage, and his Squire 
presents his Shield to the Princess. 

Sim. Who is the first that doth prefer himself? 

Thai. A knight of Sparta, my renowned father ; 
And the device he bears upon his shield 
Is a black ^thiop, reaching at the sun ; 
The word, Lux tua vita mihi. 

Sim. He loves you well that holds his life of you. 

[The second Knight passes over. 
Who is the second that presents himself ? 

Thai. A prince of Macedon. my royal father ; 
And the device he bears upon his shield 
Is an arin'd knight, tliat 's conquer'd by a lady : 
The motto thus, in Spanish. Pia per didzura que per 
fuerza. [The third Knight passes over. 

Sim. And what the third ? 

Thai. The third of Antioch ; 

And his device, a wreath of chivalry : 
The word, 3Ie pompce provexit apex. 

[The fourth Knight passes over. 

Shn. What is the fourth ? 

Thai. A burning torch, that 's turned upside down; 
The word, Quod me alit, me extinguit. 

Sim. Which shows that beauty hath his power and 
will, 
Which can as well inflame, as it can kill. 

[The fifth Knight passes over. 

Thai. The fifth, a hand envn-oned with clouds, 
Holding out gold that 's by the touchstone tried ; 
The motto thus. Sic spectanda fides. 

[The sixth Knight passes over. 

Sim. And what's the sixth and last, the which the 
knight himself 
With sxich a graceful courtesy deliver'd ? 

Thai. He seems to be a stranger ; but his present is 
A wither'd branch, that 's only green at top : 
The motto, Li hac spe vivo. 

Sim. A pretty moral : 
From the dejected state wherein he is, 
He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish. 

I A mantle, hanging from the middle to the knees. » entertain : 



1 Lord. He had need mean better, than his outward 

show 
Can any way speak in his just commend ; 
For by his rusty outside he appears 
To have practis'd more the whipstock,' than the lance. 

2 Lord. He well may be a stranger, for he comes 
To an honour'd triumph strangely furnished. 

3 Lord. And on set purpose let his armour rust 
Until this day, to scour it in the dust. 

Sim. Opinion 's but a fool, that makes us scan 
The outward habit by the inward man. 
But stay, the knights are coming : we '11 withdraw 
Into the gallery. [Exeunt. 

[ Great Shouts, and all cry, The mean knight ! 

SCENE III.— The Same. A Hall of State. "A Ban- 
quet prepared. 

Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Ladies, Lords, Knights, 
and Attendants. 

Sim. Knights, 
To say you are welcome were superfluous. 
To place upon tlie volume of your deeds, 
As in a title-page, your worth in arms. 
Were more than you expect, or more than 's fit, 
Since every worth in show commends itself. 
Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast : 
You arc princes, and my guests. 

Thai. But you, [To Per.] my knight and guest; 
To whom this wreath of victory I give. 
And crown you king of this day's happiness. 

Per. 'T is more by fortune, lady, than my merit. 

Sim. Call it by what you will, the day is yours ; 
And here, I hope, is none that envies it. 
In framing an artist art hath thus decreed, 
To make some good, but others to exceed ; 
And you 're her labour'd scholar. Come, queen o' the 

feast, 
(For, daughter, so you are) here take your place : 
Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace. 

Knights. We are honour'd much by good Simonides. 

Sim. Your presence glads our days : honour we love. 
For who hates honour hates the gods above. 

Marshal. Sir. yond 's your place. 

Per. Some other is more fit. 

1 Knight. Contend not, sir ; for we are gentlemen, 
That neither in our hearts, nor outward eyes, 
Envy the gi-eat, nor do the low despise. 

Per. You are right courteous knights. 

Sim. Sit, sir; sit. 

By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts. 
These cates resist me, he not thought upon. 

Thai. By Juno, that is queen 
Of marriage, all the viands that I eat 
Do seem imsavoury, wishing him my meat. 
Sure, he 's a gallant gentleman. 

Sim. He's but a country gentleman : 
He has done no more than other knights have done. 
He has broken a staff, or so : so, let it pass. 

Thai. To me he seems like diamond to glass. 

Per. Yond' king 's to me like to my father's picture, 
Which tells me in that glory once he was; 
Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne, 
And he the sun for them to reverence. 
None that beheld him, but like lesser lights 
Did vail their crowns to his supremacy ; 
Where now his son, like a glow-worm in the night, 
The which hath fire in darkness, none in light : 
Whereby I see that Time 's the king of men ; 
He 's both their parent, and he is tlieir grave, 

in old copies. Steevens made the change. ^ W/iip handle. 



SCENE IV. 



PEEICLES, PKINCE OF TYRE. 



897 



And gives them what he will, not what they crave. 

Sim. What ! are you merry, knights ? 

1 Knight. Who can be other, in this royal presence? 

Sim. Here, with a cup that 's stor'd unto the brim, 
(As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips) 
We drink this health to you. 

Knights. We thank your grace. 

Si7n. Yet pause a while : 
Yond' knight doth sit too melancholy, 
As if the entertainment in our court. 
Had not a show might countervail his worth. 
Note it not you, Thaisa ? 

Thai. What is it 

To me, my father ? 

Sim. ! attend, my daughter: 

Princes, in this, should live like gods above, 
Who freely give to every one that comes 
To honour them ; and princes, not doing so. 
Are like to gnats, which make a sound, but kill'd 
Are wonder'd at. Therefore, 
To make his entrance more sweet, here say. 
We drink this standing-bowl of wine to him. 

Thai. Alas, my father ! it befits not me 
Unto a stranger knight to be so bold : 
He may my proffer take for an offence, 
Since men take women's gifts for impudence. 

Sim. How ! 
Do as I bid you, or you'll move me else. 

Thai. [Aside.] Now, by the gods, he could not please 
me better. 

Sim. And farther tell him, we desire to know, 
Of whence he is, his name, and parentage. 

Thai. The king my father, sir, has drunk to you. 

Per. I thank him. 

Thai. Wishing it so much blood unto your life. 

Per. I thank both him and you, and pledge him freely. 

Thai. And, farther, he desires to know of you, 
Of whence you are, your name and parentage. 

Per. A gentleman of Tyre (my name, Pericles, 
My education been in arts and arms) 
Who looking for adventures in the world. 
Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men, 
And after shipwreck driven upon this shore. 

Thai. He thanks your grace ; names himself Pericles, 
A gentleman of Tyre, 
Who only by misfortune of the seas 
Bereft of ships and men, cast on the shore. 

Sim. Now by the gods, I pity his misfortune, 
And will awake him from his melancholy. 
Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles. 
And waste the time which looks for other revels. 
Even in your armours, as you are address'd, 
Will very well become a soldier's dance. 
I will not have excuse, with saying, this 
Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads. 
Since they love men in arms, as well as beds. 

[The Knights dance. 
So, this was well ask'd, 't was so well perform'd. 
Come, sir ; 

Hero is a lady that wants breathing too : 
And I have often heard, you knights of T>to 
Are excellent in making ladies trip. 
And that their measures are as excellent. 

Per. In those that practise them, they arc, my lord. 

Sim. ! that 's as much, as you would be denied 
[The Knights and Ladies dance. 
Of your fair courtesy. — Unclasp, unclasp : 
Thanks, gentlemen, to all ; all have done well, [duct 
But you tlie best. [2b Pericles.] Pages and lights, to con- 



These knights unto their several lodgings ! — Yours, sir, 
We have given order to be next our own. 

Per. I am at your grace's pleasure. 

Sim. Princes, it is too late to talk of love, 
And that 's the mark I know you level at : 
Therefore, each one betake him to his rest ; 
To-morrow all for speeding do their best. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Tyre. A Room in the Governor's House. 
Enter Helicanus and Escanes. 

Hel. No, Escanes ; know this of me, 
Antiochus from incest liv'd not free :, 
For which the most high gods, not minding longer 
To withhold the vengeance, that they had in store, 
Due to this heinous capital ofl^ence, 
Even in the height and pride of all his glory, 
When he was seated, and his daughter with him. 
In a chariot of inestimable value, 
A fire from heaven came, and shrivell'd up 
Those bodies, even to loathing : for they so stunk, 
That all those eyes ador'd them ere their fall. 
Scorn now their hand should give them burial. 

Esca. 'T was very strange. 

Hel. And yet but just ; for though 

This king were great, his greatness was no guard 
To bar heaven's shaft, but sin had his reward. 

Esca. 'T is very true. 

Enter Three Lords. 

1 Lord. See ! not a man, in private conference 
Or council, has respect with him but he. 

2 Lord. It shall no longer grieve without reproof. 

3 Lord. And curs'd be he that will not second it. 

1 Lord. Follow me, then. — Lord Helicanc, a word. 

Hel. With me ? and welcome. — Happy day, my lords. 

1 Lord. Know, that our griefs are risen to the top. 
And now at length they overflow their banks. 

Hel. Your griefs ! for what ? wrong not the prince 
you love. 

1 Lord. Wrong not yourself, then, noble Helicane ; 
But if the prince do live, let us salute him. 
Or know what ground 's made happy by his breath. 
If in the world he live, we '11 seek him out ; 
If in his grave he rest, we '11 find him there; 
And be resolved, he lives to govern us. 
Or dead, gives cause to mourn his funeral, 
And leaves us to our free election. 



2 Lord. Whose death 's. 



indeed, the strongest in our 



censure : 
And knowing this kingdom is without a head, 
Like goodly buildings left without a roof, 
Soon fall to ruin, your noble self. 
That best know'st how to rule, and how to reign, 
We thus submit vuito, our sovereign. 

All. Live, noble Helicane ! 

Hd. Try^ honour's cause; forbear your suffrages : 
If that you love prince Pericles, forbear. 
Take I your wish, I leap into the seas. 
Where 's hourly trouble for a minute's ease. 
A twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you 
To forbear the absence of your king; 
If in which time expir'd he not return, 
I shall witii aged patience bear your yoke. 
But if I cannot win you to this love. 
Go search like nobles, like noble subjects, 
And in your search spend your adventurous worth ; 
Whom if you find, and win unto return. 
You shall like diamonds sit about his crown. 

1 Lord. To wisdom he 's a fool that will not yield 
And since lord Helicane enjoineth us, 



1 Dyce reads : For. 



57 



898 



PERICLES, PRmCE OF TYRE. 



ACT in. 



We with our travels "will endeavour. 

Hel. Then, you love us, we you, and we '11 clasp 
hands : 
When peers thus knit a kingdom ever stands. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Pentapolis. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Simonides, reading a Letter : the Knights meet 

him. 

1 Knight. Good morrow to the good Simonides. 
Sim. Knights, from my daughter this I let you know : 

That for this twelvemonth she '11 not undertake 

A married life. 

Her reason to herself is only known, 

Which yet from her by no means can I get. 

2 Knight. May we not get access to her, my lord ? 
Sim. 'Faith, by no means : she hath so strictly tied her 

To her chamber, that it is impossible. 
One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's livery ; 
This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd. 
And on her virgin honour will not break it. 

3 Knight. Though loath to bid farewell, we take our 

leaves. [Exeunt. 

Sim. So, 
They 're well despatch'd ; now to my daughter's letter. 
She tells me here, she'll wed the stranger knight. 
Or never more to view nor day nor light. 
'T is well, mistress ; your choice agrees with mine ; 
I like that well : — nay, how absolute she 's in 't, 
Not minding whether I dislike or no. 
Well, I commend her choice. 
And will no longer have it be delay'd. 
Soft ! here he comes : I must dissemble it. 
Enter Pericles. 

Per. All fortune to the good Simonides ! 

Sim. To you as much, sir. I am beholding to you 
For your sweet music this last night : I do 
Protest, my ears were never better fed 
With such delightful pleasing harmony. 

Per. It is your grace's pleasure to commend, 
Not my desert. 

Sim. Sir, you are music's master. 

Per. The worst of all her scholars, my good lord. 

Sim. Let me ask one thing. 
What do you think of my daughter, sir ? 

Per. As of a most virtuous princess. 

Sim. And she is fair too, is she not ? 

Per. As a fair day in summer ; wondrous fair. 

Sim. My daughter, sir, thinks very well of you ; 
Ay, so well, sir, that you must be her master, 
And she'll your scholar be : therefore, look to it. 

Per. I am unworthy for her schoolmaster. 

Sim. She thinks not so ; peruse this writing else. 

Per. [Aside.] What 's here ? 
A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre ? 
'T is the king's subtilty, to have my life. 



[To him.] ! seek not to entrap me, gracious lord, 
A stranger and distressed gentleman. 
That never aim'd so high to love your daughter, 
But bent all offices to honour her. 

Sim. Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and thou art 
A villain. 

Per. By the gods, I have not, 
Never did thought of mine levy offence ; 
Nor never did my actions yet commence 
A deed might gain her love, or your displeasure. 

Sim. Traitor, thou liest. 

Per. Traitor ! 

Sim. Ay, traitor. 

Per. Even in his throat, unless it be the king, 
That calls me traitor, I return the lie. ^ 

Sim. [Aside.] Now, by the gods, I do applaud his 
courage. 

Per. My actions are as noble as my thoughts. 
That never relish'd of a base descent. 
I came unto your court for honour's cause, 
And not to be a rebel to her state ; 
And he that otherwise accounts of me. 
This sword shall prove he 's honour's enemy. 

Sim. No ! — 
Here comes my daughter, she can witness it. 
Enter Thaisa. 

Per. Then, as you are as virtuous as fair. 
Resolve your angry father, if my tongue 
Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe 
To any syllable that made love to you ? 

Thai. Why, sir, if you had. 
Who takes offence at that would make me glad? 

Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory ? — 
[Aside.] I am glad on 't with all my heart. 
[7b her.] I '11 tame you ; I'll bring you in subjection. 
Will you, not having my consent, 
Bestow your love and your affections 
Upon a stranger ? [A.sidc] who, for aught I know, 
May be, (nor can I think the contrary) 
As great in blood as I myself. 

[To her.] Therefore, hear you, mistress ; either frame 
Your will to mine ; and you, sir, hear you. 
Either be rul'd by me, or I will make you — 
Man and wife. — Nay, come ; your hands. 
And lips must seal it too; 

And being join'd, I '11 thus your hopes destroy ; 
And for farther grief. — God give you joy ! — 
What, are you both pleas'd ? 

Thai. Yes, if you love me, sir. 

Per. Even as my life, my blood that fosters it. 

Sim. What ! are you both agreed ? 

Both. Yes, if 't please your majesty. 

Sim. It pleaseth me so well, I '11 see you wed ; 
Then, with what haste you can, get you to bed. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



Enter Gower. 
Gow. Now sleep yslaked hath the rout ; 
No din but snores the house about. 
Made louder by the o'er-fed breast 
Of this most pompous marriage feast. 
The cat with eyne of burning coal. 
Now couches 'fore the mouse's hole ; 



And crickets sing at the oven's mouth. 

Are the blither for their drouth. 

Hymen hath brought the bride to bed, 

Where, by the loss of maidenhead, 

A babe is moulded. — Be attent. 

And time that is so briefly spent. 

With your fine fancies quaintly echei ; 

What 's dumb in show, I '11 plain with speech. 



> Eke. 



SCENE I. 



PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 



899 



Dumb Show, 
Enter Pericles and Simonides at one door, with At- 
tendants ; a Messenger meets them, kneels, and gives 
Pericles a Letter : Pericles shows it to Simonides ; 
the Lords kneel to Pericles. Then, enter Thaisa 
with child, and Lyciiorida : Simonides shows his 
Daughter the Letter ; she rejoices : she and Pericles 
take leave of her Father, and all depart. 

Gow. By many a dern and painful perch 
Of Pericles the careful search 
By the four opposing coignes, 
Which the world together joins, 
Is made, with all due diligence, 
That horso, and sail, and high expence, 
Can stand the quest. At last from Tyre 
(Fame answering the most strange inquire.) 
To the court of king Simonides 
Are letters brought the tenour these : — 
Antiochus and his daughter dead: 
The men of Tyrus on the head 
Of Helicanus would set on 
The crown of Tyre, but he will none : 
The mutiny he there hastes t' oppress ; 
Says to them, if king Pericles 
Come not home in twice six moons, 
He, obedient to their dooms, 
Will take the crown. The sum of this, 
Brought hither to Pentapolis, 
Yravished the regions round, 
And every one with claps 'gan sound, 
" Our heir apparent is a king ! 
Who dream'd, who thought of such a thing ?" 
Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre : 
His queen, with child, makes her desire 
(Which who .shall cross ?) along to go. 
Omit we all their dole and woe : 
Lychorida, her nurse, she takes. 
And so to sea. Then, vessel shakes 
On Neptune's billow : half the flood 
Hath their keel cut ; but fortune's mood 
Varies again : the grizzly north 
Disgorges such a tempest forth 
That, as a duck for life that dives, 
So up and down the poor ship drives. 
The lady shrieks, and well-a-near, 
Does fall in travail with her fear : 
And what ensues in this self storm 
Shall for itself itself perform. 
I nill relate, action may 
Conveniently the rest convey, 
Which might not what by me is told. 
In your imagination hold 
This stage the ship, upon whose deck 
The seas-tost Pericles appears to speak. 

SCENE I. 
Enter Pericles, on shipboard. 
Per. Thou God of this great vast, rebuke these surges, 
Which wash both heaven and hell ; and thou, that hast 
Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, 
Having call'd them from the deep. O ! still 
Thy deafening, dreadful thunders ; duly' quench 
Thy nimble, sulphurous flashes ! — ! how, Lychorida, 
How does my queen ? — Thou storm, venomously 
Wilt thou spit all thyself? — The seaman's whistle 
Is as a whisper in the cars of dcatli, 
Unheard. — Lychorida ! — Lucina, O ! 



[Exit. 



Divinest patroness and midwife, gentle 

To those that cry by night, convey thy deity 

Aboard our dancing boat; make .swift the pangs 

Of my queen's travails !— Now, Lychorida ~ 

Enter Lychorida, with an Infant. 

Lye. Here is a thing too young for such a place, 
Who, if it had conceit, would die as I 
Am like to do. Take in your arms this piece 
Of your dead queen. 

Per. How ! how, Lychorida ! 

Lye. Patience, good sir ; do not assist the storm. 
Here 's all that is left living of your queen, 
A little daughter : for the sake of it. 
Be manly, and take comfort. 

■P^''- O you gods ! 

Why do you make us love your goodly gifts. 
And snatch them straight away ? We, here below, 
Recall not what we give, and therein may 
Use honour with you. 

Lye. Patience, good sir, 

Even for this charge. 

Per- Now, mild may be thy life ; 

For a more blust'rous birth had never babe : 
Quiet and gentle thy conditions ; 
For thou 'rt the rudeliest welcome to this world, 
That e'er was prince's child. Happy what follows ! 
Thou hast as chiding a nativity. 
As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make. 
To herald thee from the womb : even at the first, 
Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit. 
With all thou canst find here. — Now the good gods 
Throw their best eyes upon it ! 

Enter Two Sailors. 

1 Sail. What, courage, sir ! God save you. 

Per. Courage enough. I do not fear the flaw= ; 
It hath done to me the worst : yet, for the love 
Of this poor infant, this fresh new sea-farer, 
I would it would be quiet. 

1 Sail. Slack the bowlines there ; thou wilt not, 
wilt thou ? — Blow, and split thyself. 

2 Sail. But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy billow 
kiss the moon, I care not. 

1 Sail. Sir. your queen must overboard ; the sea 
works high, the wind is loud, and will not lie till the 
ship be cleared of the dead. 

Per. That 's your superstition. 

1 Sail. Pardon us, sir : with us at sea it hath been 
still observed, and we are strong in earnest.-' There- 
fore briefly yield her, for she must overboard straight. 

Per. As you think meet. — Most wretched queen ! 

Lye. Here she lies, sir. 

Per. A terrible child-bed hast thou had, my dear ; 
No light, no fire : the unfriendly elements 
Forgot thee utterly ; nor have I time 
To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight 
Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze ; 
Where, for a monument upon thy bones. 
And aye*-remaining lamps, the belching whale. 
And humming water must o'erwhclm thy corpse. 
Lying with simple shells. — O Lychorida ! 
Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper. 
My casket and my jewels ; and bid Nicander 
Bring me the satin cofier' : lay the babe 
Upon the pillow. Hie thee, whiles I say 
A priestly farewell to her : suddenly, woman. 

[Exit Lychorida. 

2 Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the liatches, 
caulk'd and bitumed ready. 



- daily : in old copies. 
Malono made the change. 



2 Bla.^t. * eastern : in old copies. 
& cotUn : in old copies. 



M. Mason made the change. Bos-vrell reads : custom. * ayre : in old copies 



900 



PERICLES, PRmCE OF TYRE. 



ACT m. 



Ter, I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this ? 

2 Sail. Wc are near Tharsus. 

Ter. Thither, gentle mariner, 
Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it ? 

2 Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease. 

Ver. ! make for Tharsus. — 
There will I visit Cleon, for tlie babe 
Cannot hold out to Tyrus : there I 'U leave it 
At careful nursing. — Go thy ways, good mariner : 
I'll bring the body presently. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon's 
House. 

Enter Cerimon, a Servant, and some Persons who 

have been Shipwrecked. 
Cer. Philemon, ho ! 

Enter Philemon. 
Phil. Doth my lord call ? 
Cer. Get fire and meat for these poor men : 
It has been a turbulent and stormy night. 

Serv. 1 have been in many ; but such a night as this, 
Till now I ne'er endur'd. 

Cer. Your master will be dead ere you return : 
There 's nothing can be mini.^ter'd to nature. 
That can recover him. Give this to the 'pothecary. 
And tell me how it works. [Jb Philemon. 

[Exeunt Philemon, Servant, and the rest. 
Enter Two Gentlemen. 

1 Gent. Good morrow, sir. 

2 Gent. Good morrow to your lordship. 
Cer. Gentlemen, 

Why do you stir so early ? 

1 Gent. Sir, 

Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea. 
Shook, as the earth did quake ; 
The very principals did seem to rend. 
And all to topple. Pure surprise and fear 
Made me to quit the hou.se. 

2 Gent. This is Ihe cause we trouble you so early; 
'T is not our husbandry. 

Cer. ! you say well. 

1 Ge77t. But I much marvel that your lordship, having 
Ptich tire about you, should at these early hours 
Shake off the golden slumber of repose. 

'T is most strange. 

Nature should be so conversant with pain, 

Being thereto not compell'd. 

Cer. I hold it ever. 

Virtue and cunning' were endowments greater 
Than nobleness and riches : careless heirs 
May the two latter darken and expend ; 
But immortality attends the former, 
Making a man a god. 'T is known, I ever 
, Have studied physic, through which secret art. 
By turning o'er authorities, I have 
(Together with my practice) made familiar 
To me and to my aid, the blest infusions 
That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones; 
And can speak of the disturbances that nature 
Works, and of her cures ; which doth give me 
A more content, in course of true delight, 
Than to be thirsty after tottering honour, 
Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, 
To please the fool and death. 

2 Gent. Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd forth 
Your charity, and hundreds call themselves 

Your creatures, who by you have been restor'd : 

And not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even 

Your purse, still open, hath built lord Cerimon 

^ Knowledge. 



Such strong renown as time shall never — 
Enter Two Servants with a Chest. 



Serv. 

Cer. 

Serv. 



So : lift there. 



What is that ? 



Sir, even now 
Did the sea toss upon our shores this chest : 
'T is of some wreck. 

Cer. Set it down ; let 's look upon 't. 

2 Gent. 'T is like a coflin, sir. 

Cer. Whate'er it be, 

'T is wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight : 
If the sea's stomach be o'ercharg'd with gold, 
'T is a good constraint of fortune it belches tipon us. 

2 Gent. 'T is so, my lord. 

Cer. How close 't is caulk'd and,bitum'd. 

Did the sea cast it up ? 

Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir. 
As toss'd it upon shore. 

Cer. Come, wrench it open. 

Soft, soft ! it smells most sweetly in my sense. 

2 Gent. A delicate odour. 

Cer. As ever hit my nostril. So, up with it. 
0, you most potent gods ! what 's here ? a corse ? 

1 Gent. Most strange ! 

Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state ; balm'd and eu- 
treasured 
With full bags of spices ! A passport too : 
Apollo, perfect me i' the characters ! [ Unfolds a Scroll. 
'■'■ Here I give to understand, [Reads. 

{If e'er this coffin drive a-land) 
J, king Pericles, have lo.^t 
This queen, worth all our mundane cost. 
Who finds her, give her burying ; 
She was the daughter of a king : 
Besides this treasure for a fee, 
The gods requite his charity."' 
If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart 
That even cracks for woe ! — This chanc'd to-night. 

2 Gent. Most likely, sir. 

Cer. Nay, certainly to-night ; 

For look, how fresh she looks. — They were too rough, 
That threw her in the sea. Make fire within : 
Fetch hither all the boxes in my closet. 
Death may usurp on nature many hours, 
And yet the fire of life kindle again 
The overpressed spirits. I heard 
Of an Egyptian, that had nine hours lien dead. 
Who was by good appliance recovered. 

Enter a Servant, with Boxes, Napkins, and Fire. 
Well said, well said ; the fire and the cloths. — 
The rough and woful music that we have, 
Cause it to sound, 'beseech you. 

The vial once more : — how thou stirr'st, thou block ! — 
The music there ! — I pray you. give her air. 
Gentlemen, 

This queen will live : nature awakes a warm 
Breath out of her : she hath not been entranc'd 
Above five hours. See, how she 'gins to blow 
Into life's flower again ! 

1 Gent. The heavens 

Through you increase our wonder, and set up 
Your fame for ever. 

Cer. She is alive ! behold, 

Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels 
Which Pericles hath lost. 
Begin to part their fringes of bright gold : 
The diamonds of a most praised water 
Do appear to make the world twice rich. Live, 
And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature. 



SCENE IV. 



PEKICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 



901 



Rare as you seem to be ! [She moves. 

Thai. dear Diana ! 

Wlicre am I ? Where 's my lord ? What \Yorld is this? 

2 Gent. Is not this strange ? 

1 Gent. IMost rare. 

Cer. Hush, gentle neighbours ! 

Lend me your hands ; to the next chamber bear her. 
Get linen: now this matter mu.st be look'd to, 
For her relapse is mortal. Come, come- 
xVnd ^Esculapius guide us ! 

[Exeunt, carrying Thaisa out. 

SCENE III. — Tharsus. A Room in Cleon's House. 

Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza, Lychorida, and 
Marina. 

Per. Most honour'd Cleou, I must needs be gone : 
I\Iy twelve months are expir'd, and Tyrus stands 
In a litigious peace. You, and your lady, 
Take from my heart all thankfulness ; the gods 
Make up the rest upon you ! 

Cle. Your shafts' of fortune, though they hurt* you 
Yet glance full wanderingly^ on us. [mortally, 

Dion. 0, your sweet queen ! 

That the strict fates had pleas'd you had brought her 
To have bless'd mine eyes ! [hither, 

Per. We cannot but obey 

The powers above us. Could I rage and roar 
As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end 
Mui-t be as 't is. My gentle babe Marina (whom, 
For she was born at sea, I have nam'd so) here 
I charge your charity withal, and leave her 
Tlie infant of your care ; beseeching you 
To give her princely training, that she may 
Be manncr'd as she is born. 

Cle. Fear not, my lord, but think 

Your grace, that fed my country with your corn, 
(For which the people's prayers still fall upon you) 
Must in your child be thought on. If neglection 
Should therein make me vile, the common body, 
By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty ; 
But if to that my nature need a spur, 
The gods revenge it upon me and mine, 
To the end of generation. 



Per. I believe you ; 

Your honour and your goodness teach me to 't, 
Without your vows. Till she be married, madam. 
By bright Diana, whom we honour all, 
Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain, 
Though I show will* in 't. So I take my leave. 
Good madam, make me blessed in your care 
In bringing up my child. 

Dion. I have one myself, 

Who shall net be more dear to my respect. 
Than yours, my lord. 

Per. Madam, my thanks and prayers. 

Cle. We '11 bring your grace even to the edge o' the 
shore • 
Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune, and 
The gentlest winds of heaven. 

Per. I will embrace 

Your offer. Come, dear'st madam. — ! no tears, 
Lychorida, no tears : 

Look to your little mistress, on whose grace 
You may depend hereafter. — Come, my lord. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Ephcsus. A Room in Cerimon's House. 
Enter Cerimon and Thaisa. 

Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels. 
Lay with you in your coffer, which are 
At your command. Know you the character? 

Thai. It is my lord's. 
That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember, 
Even on my yearning time ; but whether there 
Delivered or no, by the holy gods, 
I cannot rightly say. But since king Pericles, 
My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again, 
A vestal livery will I take me to, 
And never more have joy. 

Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as you speak, 
Diana's temple is not distant far. 
Where you may abide till your date expire. 
Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine 
Shall there attend you. 

Thai. My recompense is thanks, that 's all : 
Yet my good will is great, though the gift small.' [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



Would ever with Marina be : 

Be 't when she weav'd the sleided* silk 

With fingers, long, small, white as milk; 

Or when she would with sharp needle wound 

The cambric, which she made more sound 

By hurting it ; or when to the lute 

She sung, and made the night-bird mute. 

That still records with moan; or when 

She would with rich and constant pen 

Vail to her mistress Dian ; still 

This Philoten contends in skill 

With absolute Marina : so 

With the dove of Paphos might the crow 

Vie feathers white. Marina gets 

All praises, which are paid as debts, 

And not as given. This so darks 

In Philoten all graceful marks. 

That Cleon's wife, with en%'y rare, 

A present murderer docs .prepare 

For good INIarina, that her daughter 

Might stand peerless by this slaughter. 

I shakes : ' haunt : ^ wondringly : in old copies. Steevcns made the changes. * Dyce reads : ill. * sight : in old copies. • Raio 



Enter Gower. 

Goiv. Imagine Pericles arriv'd at Tyre, 
Welcom'd and settled to his owti desire : 
His woful queen we leave at Ephesus, 
Unto Diana there a votaress. 
Now to Marina bend your mind. 
Whom our fast-growing scene must find 
At Tharsus, and by Cleon train'd 
In music, letters ; who hath gain'd 
Of education all the grace. 
Which makes her both the heart and place 
Of general wonder. But alack ! 
That monster envy, oft the wrack 
Of earnest praise, Marina's life 
Seeks to take off by treason's knife. 
And in this kind hath our Cleon 
One daughter, and a wench full grown, 
Even ripe for marriage rite :* this maid 
Hight Philoten ; and it is said 
For certain in our story, she 



902 



PEKICLES, PKINCE OF TYRE. 



ACT rv. 



The sooner her vile thoughts to stead, 

Lychorida, our nurse, is dead : 

And cursed Dionyza hath 

The pregnant instrument of wrath 

Prest' for this blow. The unborn event 

I do commend to your content : 

Only I carried winged time 

Post on the lame feet of my rhyme ; 

Which never could I so convey, 

Unless your thouglits went on my way. — 

Dionyza doth appear. 

With Leonine, a murderer. 



[Exit. 



What ! I m^ist have care of you. 

3Iar. Thanks, sweet madam. — [Exit Dionyza. 

Is the wind westerly that blows ? 

Leon. South-west. 

3Iar. When I was bom, the wind was north. 

Leon. Was 't so? 

3Iar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear. 
But cry'd "good seamen !" to the sailors, galling 
His kingly hands hauling ropes ; 
And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea 
That almost burst the deck. 

Leon. When was this ? 

Mar. When I was born : 
Never were waves nor wind more violent ; 
And from the ladder-tackle washes off 
A canvass-climber. " Ha !" says one, " wilt out?" 
And with a dropping industry they skip 
From stem to stern : the boatswain whistles, and 
The master calls, and trebles their confusion. 



SCENE I. — Tharsus. An open Place near the Sea- 
shore. 
Enter Dionyza and Leonine. 

Dion. Thy oath remember : thou hast sworn to do 't : 
'T is but a blow, which never shall be known. 
Thou canst not do a thing i' the world so soon. 
To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience. 
Which is but cold, inflaming love in thy bosom, 
Inflame too nicely ; nor let pity, which 
Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be 
A soldier to thy purpose. 

Leon. I '11 do 't : but yet she is a goodly creature. 

Dion. The titter then the gods should have her. Here 
She comes weeping for her old nurse's^ death. 
Thou art resolv'd ? 

Leon. I am resolv'd. 

Enter Marina, ivith a Basket of Flowers. 

Mar. No. I will rob Tellus of her weed, 
To strew thy grave' with flowers : the yellows, blues. 
The purple violets, and marigolds, 
Shall, as a carpet, hang upon thy grave. 
While summer days do last. Ah me, poor maid ! 
Born in a tempest, when my mother died. 
This world to me is like a lasting storm. 
Whirring me from my friends. 

Dio7i. How now, Marina ! why do you weep* alone ? 
How chance my daughter is not with you ? Do not 
Consume your blood with sorrowing : you have 
A nurse of me. Lord ! how your favour 's^ chang'd 
With this unprofitable woe. Come^ come; 
Give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it. 
Walk with Leonine ; the air is quick there. 
And it pierces and sharpens the stomach. Come, 
Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her. 

3Iar. No, I pray you : 
I '"11 not bereave you of your servant. 

Dion. Come, come; 

I love the king your father, and yourself, 
With more than foreign heart. We every day 
Expect him here : when he shall come, and find 
Our paragon to all reports thus blasted. 
He will repent the breadth of his great voyage ; 
Blame both my lord and me, that we have taken 
No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you ; 
Walk, ai^d be cheerful once again : reserve 
That excellent complexion, which did steal 
The eyes of young and old. Care not for me; 
I can go home alone. 

Mar. Well, I will go ; 

But yet I have no desire to it. 

Dion. Come, come, I know 't is good for you. — 
Walk half an hour, Leonine, at least. 
Remember what I have said. 

Leon. I warrant you, madam. 

Dion. I '11 leave you, my sweet lady, for a while. 
Pray you walk softly, do not heat your blood : 

1 Ready. ^ onely mistresse : in old copies. ^ green : in old copies. * Some editions read : keep. <• Face. 



Leon. Come; say your prayers. 

Mar. What mean you ? 

Leon. If you require a little space for prayer, 
I grant it. Pray : but be not tedious, 
For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn 
To do my work with haste. 

Mar. Why will you kill me ? 

Leon. To satisfy my lady. 

Mar. Why would she have me kill'd ? 
Now as I can remember, by my troth, 
I never did her hurt in all my life. 
I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn 
To any living creature : believe me, la, 
I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly : 
I trod upon a worm against my will, 
But I wept for it. How have I offended, 
Wherein my death might yield her profit, or 
My life imply her any danger ? 

Leon. My commission 

Is not to reason of the deed, but do it. 

3Iar. You will not do 't for all the world, I hope. 
You are well favour'd, and your looks foreshow 
You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately. 
When you caught hurt in parting two that fought : 
Good sooth, it show'd well in you : do so now : 
Your lady seeks my life; come you between, 
And save poor me. the weaker. 

Leon. I am sworn, 

And will despatch. 

Enter Pirates, whilst Marina is struggling. 

1 Pirate. Hold, villain ! [Leonine runs aivay, 

2 Pirate. A prize ! a prize ! 

3 Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. Gome, let 'shave 
her aboard suddenly. [Exei(7it Pirates with Marina. 

SCENE 11.— Near the Same. 
Enter Leonine. 
Leon. These roguing thieves serve tlie gi'cat pirate 
Valdes ; 
And they have seiz'd Marina. Let her go : 
There 's no hope she '11 return. I '11 swear she 's dead. 
And thrown into the sea. — But I '11 see farther ; 
Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her. 
Not carry her aboard. If she remain. 
Whom they have ravish'd must by me be slain. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— Mitylene. A Room in a Brothel. 

Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult. 
Pand. Boult. 
Boult. Sir. 



SCENE in. 



PEKICLES, PRIiSrCE OF TYRE. 



903 



Pand. Search the market narrowly ; Mitylene is full 
of gallants : we lost too much money this mart, by 
being too wenchless. 

Bawd. We were never so much out of creatures. 
We have but poor three, and they can do no more 
than they can do : and they with continual action are 
even as good as rotten. 

Pand. Therefore, let 's have fresh ones, whate'er we 
pay for them. If there be not a conscience to be used 
in every trade, we shall never prosper. 

Baicd. Thou say'st true : 't is not the bringing up 
of poor bastards, as I think, I have brought up some 
eleven 

Boidt. Ay, to eleven ; and brought them down again. 
But, shall I search the market ? 

Bawd. What else, man? The stuff we have, a 
strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are so pitifully 
sodden. 

Pand. Thou say'st true ; they're too unwholesome o' 
conscience. The poor Transilvanian is dead, that lay 
with the little baggage. 

Bonlt. Ay, she quickly pooped him ; she made him 
roast-meat for worms. But I '11 go search the market. 

[Exit BouLT. 

Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were as 
pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give over. 

BaiL'd. Why, to give over, I pray you ? is it a shame 
to got when we are old ? 

Pand. ! our credit comes not in like the com- 
modity ; nor the commodity wages not with the danger : 
therefore, if in our youths we could pick up some 
pretty estate, 't were not amiss to keep our door hatched. 
Besides, the sore terms we stand upon with the gods 
will be .strong with us for giving over. 

Baivd. Come ; other sorts offend as w^ell as we. 

Pund. As well as we ? ay, and better too ; we offend 
worse. Neither is our profession any trade ; it 's no 
calling. But here comes Boult. 

Enter Boult, and the Pirates with Marina. 

Boult. Come your ways. My masters, you say she 's 
a virgin ? 

1 Pirate. O, sir ! we doubt it not. 

Boult. Master. I have gone thorough for this piece, 
you see : if you like her, so : if not, I have lost my 
earnest. 

Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities ? 

Boult. She has a good face, speaks well, and has ex- 
cellent good clothes : there 's no farther necessity of 
qualities can make her be refused. 

Bawd. What 's her price, Boult ? 

Boult. I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand pieces. 

Pand. Well, follow me, my masters, you shall have 
your money presently. Wife, take her in : instruct 
her what she has to do, that she may not be raw in her 
entertainment. [Exeunt Pander and Pirates. 

Bau'd. Boult, take you the marks of her : the colour 
of her hair, complexion, height, her age, with warrant 
of her virginity, and cry, '• He that will give most, 
shall have her first." Such a maidenhead w^ere no 
cheap thing, if men were as they have been. Get this 
done as I command you. 

Boult. Performance shall follow. [Exit Boult. 

Mar. Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so slow ! 
He should have struck, not spoke ; or that these pirates, 
(Not enough barbarous) had not o'erboard thrown me 
For to .^^eek my mother ! 

Bawd. W^hy lament you, pretty one? 

Mar. That I am pretty. 

Bawd. Come, the gods have done their part in you. 

' Misfortune. 2 Absolute 



Mar. I accuse them not. 

Bawd. You are lit into my hands, where you are 
like to live. 

Mar. The more my fault,^ 
To 'scape his hands where I was like to die. 

Bawd. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure. 

Mar. No. 

Baiod. Yes, indeed, shall you, and taste gentlemen 
of all fashions. You shall fare well : you shall have 
the difference of all complexions. What ! do you ^top 
your ears ? 

Mar. Are you a woman ? 

Bawd. What would you have me be, an I be not a 
woman ? 

Mar. An honest woman, or not a woman. 

Bau'd. Marry, whip thee, gosling: I think I shall 
have something to do with you. Come, you are a 
young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would 
have you. 

Mar. The gods defend me ! 

Bawd. If it please the gods to defend you by men, 
then men must comfort you, men must feed you, men 
stir you up. — Boult 's returned. 

Re-enter Boult. 
Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market? 

Boult. I have cried her almost to the number of her 
hairs : I have drawn her picture with my voice. 

Bawd. And I pr'ythee, tell me, how dost thou find 
the inclination of the people, especially of the younger 
sort ? 

Boult. Faith, they listened to me, as they would 
have hearkened to their father's testament. There was 
a Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went to bed to 
her very description. 

Bawd. We shall have him here to-morrow with his 
best ruff on. 

Boult. To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do you 
know the French knight that cowers i' the hams ? 

Bawd. Who ? monsieur Veroles ? 

Boult. Ay : he offered to cut a caper at the pro- 
clamation ; but he made a groan at it, and swore he 
would see her to-morrow. 

Bawd. Well, well ; as for him, he brought his disease 
hither : here he does but repair it. I know, he will 
come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in the sun. 

Boult. Well, if we had of every nation a traveller, 
we should lodge them with this sign. 

Bawd. Pray you, come hither awhile. You have 
fortunes coming upon you. Mark me : you must seem 
to do that fearfully, which you commit willingly; to 
despise profit, where you have most gain. To weep 
that you live as you do makes pity in your lovers: 
seldom, but that pity begets you a good opinion, and 
that opinion a mere^ profit. 

Mar. I understand you not. 

Boult. ! take her home, mistress, take her home : 
these blu.shes of hers mi;st be quenched with some 
present practice. 

Bawd. Thou say'st true, i' faith, so they must ; for 
your bride goes to that with shame, which i.s her way 
to go with warrant. 

Boult. Faith, some do, and some do not. But, niis-^ 
tress, if I have bargained for the joint, — 

Bawd. Thou may'st cut a morsel off the spit,. 

Boult. I may so ? 

Bawd. Who should deny it ? Comcy youn<T one, I 
like the manner of your garments well; 

Boult. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet. 

BaxL'd. Boult, spend thou that in tlie towTi : report 



904 



PERICLES, PEINCE OF TYEE. 



ACT rv. 



what a sojourner we have ; you '11 lose nothing by 
custom. When nature framed this piece, she meant 
thee a good turn; therefore, say what a paragon she is, 
and thou hast the harvest out of thine own report. 

Boult. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so 
awake the beds of eels, as my giving out her beauty stir 
up the lewdly inclined. I '11 bring home some to-night. 

Bawd. Come your ways ; follow me. 

Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep, 
Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. 
Diana, aid my purpose ! 

Baivd. What have we to do with Diana ? Pray you, 
will you go with us ? [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Thar.sus. A Room in Cleon's House. 
Enter Cleon and Dionyza. 

Bion. Why, are you foolish ? Can it be undone? 

Cle. Dionyza ! such a piece of slaughter 
The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon. 

Dion. I think, 

You '11 turn a child again. 

Cle. Were I chief lord of all this spacious world. 
I 'd give it to undo the deed. lady ! 
Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess 
To equal any single crown o' the earth, 
r the justice of compare ! villain Leonine ! 
Whom thou hast poison'd too. 
If thou hadst drunk to him, it had been a kindness 
Becoming well thy face :' what canst thou say, 
When noble Pericles shall demand his child ? 

Dion. That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates. 
To foster it, nor ever to preserve. 
She died at night ; I '11 say so. Who can cross it, 
Unless you play the pious innocent. 
And for an honest attribute, cry out, 
'• She died by foul play ?" 

Cle. ! go to. Well, well ; 

Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods 
Do like this worst. 

Dion. Be one of those, that think 

The pretty wrens of Tharsus will fly hence, 
And open this to Pericles. 1 do shame 
To think of what a noble strain you are, 
And of how coward a spirit. 

Cle. To such proceeding 

Who ever but his approbation added. 
Though not his pre'-consent, he did not flow 
From honourable courses. 



Dion. 



Be it so, then 



Yet none does know, but you, how she came dead. 

Nor none can know. Leonine being gone. 

She did disdain^ my child, and stood between 

Her and her fortunes : none would look on her, 

But cast their gazes on Marina's face ; 

Whilst ours was blurted at, and held a malkin,* 

Not worth the time of day. It pierc'd me thorough j 

And though you call my course unnatural, 

You not your child well loving, yet I find, 

It greets me as an enterprise of kindness, 

Perform'd to your sole daughter. 

Cle. Heavens forgive it ! 

Dion. And as for Pericles, 
What should he say ? We wept after her hearse, 
And even yet we mourn : her monument 
Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs 
In glittering golden characters express 
A general praise to her, and care in us 
At whose expense 't is done. 

1 Dyce reads : fact. 2 prince : in old copies. 3 Steevens reads : distain. (Sully by contrast.— Dyce.) ^ A low wench. 
in which the Acts are first marked, Act IV. commences. 



Cje. Thou art like the harpy, 

Which, to betray, doth with thine angel's face. 
Seize with thine eagle's talons. 

Dio7i. You arc like one, that superstitiously 
Doth swear to the god.';, that winter kills the flies : 
But yet, I know, you '11 do as I advise. [Exeunt. 

Enter Gower, before the Monument of Marina at 
Tharsus.^ 
Gow. Thus time we waste, and longest leagues 
make short ; 
Sail seas in cockles, have, and wish but for 't ; 
Making (to take your imagination) 
From bourn to bourn, region to region. 
By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime 
To use one language, in each several clime, 
Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you. 
To learn of me, who stand i' the gaps to teach you. 
The stages of our story. Pericles 
Is now again thwarting the wayward seas. 
Attended on by many a lord and knight, 
To see his daughter, all his life's delight. 
Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late 
Advanc'd in time to great and high estate. 
Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind. 
Old Helicanus goes along behind. 
Well-sailing ships, and bounteous winds, have 

brought 
This king to Tharsus, (think this pilot thouglit. 
So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on) 
To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone 
Like motes and shadows see them move awhile ; 
Your ears unto your eyes I '11 reconcile. 
Dumb show. 
Enter Pericles icith his Train, at one door ; Cleon 
and Dionyza at the other. Cleon shou-s Pericles 
the Tomb of Marina; ivhereat Pericles 7nake.^ 
lamentation, puts on Sackcloth, and in a mighty 
passion departs. 

Gow. See, how belief may suffer by foul show. 
The borrow'd passion stands for true old woe ; 
And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd, 
With sighs shot through, and biggest tears o'er- 

show'r'd. 
Leaves Tharsus, and again embarks. He swears 
Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs ; 
He put.s on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears 
A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears, 
And yet he rides it out. Now, please you. wit 
The epitaph is for Marina writ 
By wicked Dionyza. 
'■'• The fairest, sweet' st, arul best, lies here, 
Who wither'' d in her spring of year : 
She was of Tyrus, the king^s daughter, 
On whom foul death hath made this slaughter. 
Marina was she caWd ; and at her birth, 
Thetis, being proud, .swallow' d some part o' the earth. 
Therefore the earth, fearing to be overflow' d, 
Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bcstow'd: 
Wherefore she does (and swears she Ul never stint) 
Make raging battery upon shores of flint.'' 
No visor does become black villainy. 
So well as soft and tender flattery. 
Let Pericles believe his daughter 's dead. 
And bear his courses to be ordered 
By lady fortune : while our scene must play 
His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day, 
In her unholy service. Patience then. 
And think you now are all in Mitylen. [Exit. 



» In folio, 16G4, 



SCENE VI. 



PEKICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 



905 



SCENE v.— Mitylene. A Street before the Brothel. 
Enter from the Brothel, two Gentlemen. 

1 Gent. Did you ever hear the like ? 

2 Gent. No : nor never shall do in such a place as 
this, she being once gone. 

1 Gent. But to have divinity preach'd there, did 
you ever dream of such a thing ? 

2 Gent. No, no. Come. I am for no more bawdy- 
houses. Shall w"c go hear the vestals sing ? 

1 Gent. I '11 do any thing now that is virtuous ; but 
I am out of the road of rutting for ever. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — The Same. A Room in the Brothel. 
Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult. 

Band. Well, I had, rather than twice the worth of 
her, she had ne'er come here. 

Bawd. Fie, fie upon her ! she is able to freeze the 
god Priapus, and vmdo a whole generation : we must 
either get her ravished, or be rid of her. When she 
should do for clients her fitment, and do me the kind- 
ness of our profession, she has me her quirks, her 
reasons, her master reasons, her prayers, her knees, 
that she would make a puritan of the devil, if he 
should cheapen a kiss of her. 

Boult. Faith. I must ravish her, or she '11 disfurnish 
us of all our cavaliers, and make all our swearers priests. 

Band. Now, the pox upon her green-sickness for me ! 

Bawd. 'Faith, there 's no way to be rid on 't, but by 
the way to the pox. Here comes the lord Lysimachus, 
disguised. 

Boult. We should have both lord and lown, if the 
peevish baggage would but give way to customers. 
Enter Lysimachus. 

Lys. How now ! How a dozen of virginities ? 

Baivd. Now, the gods to-bless your honour ! 

Boult. I am glad to see your honour in good health. 

Lys. You may so ; 't is the better for you that your 
resortei's stand upon sound legs. How now, whole- 
some iniquity ! have you that a man may deal withal, 
and defy the surgeon ? 

Bated. We have here one, sir, if slie would — but 
there never came her like in Mitylene. 

Lys. If she 'd do the deeds of darkness, thou wouldst 
say. 

Bawd. Your honour knows what 't is to say, well 
enough. 

Lys. Well ; call forth, call forth. 

Boult. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you 
shall see a rose ■ and she were a rose indeed, if she had 
but — 

Lys. What, pr'ythee? 

Boult. 0, sir ! I can be modest. 

Lys. That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less 
than it gives a good report to a number to be chaste. 
Enter Marina. 

Baicd. Here comes that which grows to the stalk ; — 
never pluck'd yet, I can assure you. — Is she not a fair 
creature ? 

Lys. Faith, she would serve after a long voyage at 
sea. Well, there 's for you : leave us. 

Bawd. I beseech your honour, give me leave : a 
word, and I '11 have done presently. 

Lys. I beseech you, do. 

Bawd. First, I would have you note, this is an ho- 
noiu-able man. [To Marina. 

Mar. I desire to find him so, that I may worthily 
note him. 

Bau'd. Next, he 's the governor of this country, and 
a man whom I am bound to. 



your 



Mar. If he govern the country, you are bound to him 
indeed ; but how honourable he is in that, I know not. 

Bawd. 'Pray you, without any more virginal fenc* 
ing, will you use him kindly? He will line 
apron with gold. 

Mar. What he will do graciously. I will thankfully 
receive. 

Lys. Have you done ? 

Bavxl. My lord, she 's not paced yet ; you must take 

some pains to work her to your manage. — Come, we 

will leave his honour and her together. Go thy ways. 

[Exeunt Bawd, Pander, and Boult. 

Lys. Now, pretty one. how long have you been at 
this trade ? 

Mar. What trade, sir ? 

Lys. Why, I cannot name but I shall ofi'end. 

Mar. I caimot be offended with my trade. Please 
you to name it. 

Lys. How long have you been of this profession? 

Mar. Ever since I can remember. 

Lys. Did you go to it so young? Were you a 
gamester at five, or at seven ? 

Mar. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one. 

Lys. Why, the house you dwell in proclaims you to 
be a creature of sale. 

Mar. Do you know this house to be a place of such 
resort, and will come into it? I hear say, you are 
of honourable parts, and are the governor of this place. 

Lys. Why, hath your principal made known unto 
you who I am? 

Mar. W^ho is my principal ? 

Lys. Why, your herb-woman; she that sets seed 
and roots of shame and iniquity. ! you have heard 
something of my power, and so stand aloof for more 
serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, my 
authority shall not see thee, or else, look friendly upon 
thee. Come, bring me to some private place : come, 
come. 

Mar. If you were born to honour, show it now; 
If put upon you, make the judgment good 
That thought you worthy of it. 



Lys. How 's this ? how 's 



-Some more; — be 



sage. 

Mar. For me, 
That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune 
Hath plac'd me in this sty, where, since I came, 
Diseases have been sold dearer than physic, — 
That the gods 

Would set me free from this unhallow'd place. 
Though they did change me to the meanest bird 
That flies i' the purer air ! 

Lys. I did not think 

Thou couldst have spoke so well ; ne'er dream'd thou 

couldst. 
Had I brought hither a corrupted mind, 
Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here 's gold for thee: 
Persevere in that clear way thou goest, 
And the gods strengthen thee. 

Mar. The gods preserve you ! 

Lys. For me, be you thoughten 

That I came with no ill intent ; for to me 
The very doors and windows savour vilely. 
Farewell. Thou art a piece of virtue, and 
I doubt not but thy training hath been noble. 
Hold, here 's more gold for thee. 
A curse upon him, die he like a thief, 
That robs thee of thy goodness ! If thou dost hetu 
From me, it shall be for thy good. 

Enter Boult. 
Boult. I beseech your honour, one piece for nie. 



906 



PEKICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 



ACT V. 



Lys. Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper ! Your house, 
But for this virgin that doth prop it, would 
Sink, and overwhelm you. Away ! 

[Exit Lysimachus. 

Boult. How's this? We must take another course 
with you. If your peevish chastity, which is not worth 
a breakfast in the cheapest country under the cope,^ 
shall undo a whole household, let me be gelded like a 
spaniel. Come your ways. 

Blar. Whither would you have me ? 

Boult. I miist have your maidenhead taken off, or 
the common hangman shall execute it. Come your 
way. We '11 have no more gentlemen driven away. 
Come your ways, I say. 

Re-enter Bawd. 

Bau'd. How now ! what 's the matter ? 

Boult. Worse and worse, mistress : she has here 
spoken holy words to the lord Lysimachus. 

Bawd. 0, abominable ! 

Bovlt. She makes our profession as it were to stink 
afore the face of the gods. 

Bawd. Marry, hang her up for ever ! 

Boult. The nobleman would have dealt with her like 
a nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as a snow- 
ball ; saying his prayers, too. 

Baivd. Boult, take her away ; use her at thy pleasure : 
crack the glass of her virginity, and make the rest 
malleable. 

Boult. An if she were a thornier piece of ground 
than she is, she shall be ploughed. 

Mar. Hark, hark, you gods ! 

Bawd. She conjures : away with her. Would she 
had never come within my doors. — Marry, hang you ! — 
She 's born to undo us. — Will you not go the way of 
women-kind ? Marry come up, my dish of chastity 
with rosemary and bays ! \Exit Bawd. 

Boidt. Come, mistress; come your way with me. 

Mar. Whither wilt thou have me ? 

Boult. To take from you the jewel you hold so dear. 

Mar. Pr'ythee, tell me one thing first. 

Boult. Come now, your one thing. 

Mar. What canst thou wish thine enemy to be ? 



Boult. Why, I could wish him to be my master ; or 
rather, my mistress. 

Mar. Neither of these are so bad as thou art, 
Since they do better thee in their command. 
Thou hold'st a place, for which the pained' st fiend 
Of hell would not in reputation change : 
Thou 'rt the damn'd door-keeper to every coystreP 
That hither comes inquiring for his Tib; 
To the cholerick fisting of each rogue thy ear 
Is liable: thy food is such 
As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs. 

Boidt. AVhat would you have me do ? go to the wars, 
would you ? where a man may serve seven years for 
the loss of a leg, and have not money enough in the 
end to buy him a wooden one ? 

3Iar. Do any thing but this thou doest. Empty 
Old receptacles, or common sewers, of filth ; 
Serve by indenture to the common hangmanT 
Any of these ways are yet better than th^s ; 
For what thou professest, a baboon, could he speak, 
Would own a name too dear. That the gods 
Would safely deliver me from this place ! 
Here, here 's gold for thee. 
If that thy master would gain by me. 
Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance, 
With other virtues, which I '11 keep from boast ; 
And I will undertake all these to teach. 
I doubt not but this populous city will 
Yield many scholars. 

Boult. But can you teach all this you speak of? 

Mar. Prove that I cannot, take me home again. 
And prostitute me to the basest groom 
That doth frequent your house. 

Boidt. Well, I will see what I can do for thee : if I 
can place thee, I will. 

Mar. But, amongst honest women ? 

Boult. Faith, my acquaintance lies little amongst 
them. But since my master and mistress have bought 
you, there 's no going but by their consent ; therefore, 
I will make them acquainted with your purpose, and 
I doubt not but I shall find them tractable enough. 
Come ; I '11 do for thee what I can : come your ways. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



Enter Gower. 
Gow. Marina thus the brothel scapes, and chances 
Into an honest house, our story says. 
She sings like one immortal, and she dances, 
As goddess-like, to her admired lays. 
Deep clerks she dumbs, and with her needle composes 
Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry, 
That even her art sisters the natural roses ; 
Her inkle, ^ silk, twin with the rubied cherry : 
That pupils lacks she none of noble race. 
Who pour their bounty on her; and her gain 
She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place. 
And to her father turn our thoughts again, 
Where we left him on the sea, tumbled and tost ; 
And, driven before the winds, he is arriv'd 
Here where his daughter dwells : and on this coast 
Suppose him now at anchor. The city striv'd 
God Neptune's annual feast to keep : from whence 
Lysimachus our Tyrian ship espies, 
His banners sable, trimm'd with rich expense ; 



And to him in his barge with fervour hies. 

In your supposing once more put your sight ; 

Of heavy Pericles think this the bark : 

Where, what is done in action, more, if might, 

Shall be discover'd ; please you. sit. and hark. [Exit. 

SCENE I.— On board Pericles' Ship, off Mitylene. 
A Pavilion on deck, with a Curtain before it ; Peri- 
cles within it, reclining on a Couch. A Barge 
lying beside the Tyrian Vessel. 

Enter Two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian Vessel, 
the other to the Barge ; to them Helicanus. 
Tyr. Sail. Where 's the lord Helicanus ? he can re- 
solve you. [To the Sailor of Mitylene. 

here he is. — 

Sir, there 's a barge put off from Mitylene, 

And in it is Lysimachus, the governor, 

Who craves to come aboard. What is your will? 
Hel. That he have his. Call up some gentlemen. 
Tyr. Sail. Ho, gentlemen ! my lord calls. 



' Cope, or covering of tlie tky. 2 Low groom. — Dyee. ' Thread. 



SCENE I. 



PEKICLES, PEINCE OF TYRE. 



907 



Enter Two or Three Gentlemen. 

1 Gent. Doth your lordship call ? 

Hel. Gentlemen, 
There is some of worth would come aboard : I pray 
Greet them fairly. 

[Gentlemen and Sailors descend, and go 
on board the Barge. 
Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords ; the Tyrian 
Gentlemen, and the Two Sailors. 

Tyr. Sail. Sir, 
Tins is the man that can in aught you would 
Resolve you. 

Lys. Hail, reverend sir ! The gods preserve you ! 

Hel. And you, sir, to outlive the age I am, 
And die as I would do. 

Lys. You wish me well. 

Being on shore, honouring of Neptune's triumphs, 
Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us, 
I made to it to know of whence you are. 

Hel. First, what is your place ? 

Lys. I am the governor of this place you lie before. 

Hel. Sir, 
Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king; 
A man, who for this three months hath not spoken 
To any one, nor taken sustenance. 
But to prorogue his grief. 

Lys. Upon what ground is his distemperature ? 

Hel. It would be too tedious to repeat ; 
But the main grief of all springs from the loss 
Of a beloved daughter and a wife. 

Lys. May we not see him, then ? 

Hel. You may, 
Bat bootless is your sight ; he will not speak 
To any. 

Lys. Yet, let me obtain my wish. 

Hel. Behold him. [Pericles discovered.] This was a 
goodly person. 
Till the disaster that one mortal night 
Drove him to this. 

Lys. Sir king, all hail ! the gods preserve you ! 
Hail, royal sir ! 

Hel. It is in vain ; he will not speak to you. 

1 Lord. Sir. we have a maid in Mitylene, I durst 
wager, 
Would win some words of hira. 

Lys. 'T is well bethought. 

She, questionless, with her sweet harmony, 
And other choice attractions, would allure, 
And make a battery through his deafen'd' parts, 
Which now are midway stopp'd : 
She is all happy as the fair'st of all, 
And with her fellow maids is now upon 
The leafy shelter that abuts against 
The island's side. 

[He irhispers one of the attendant Lords. — Exit Lord. 

Hel. Sure, all effectless; yet nothing we'll omit, 
That bears recovery's name. 

But. since your kindness we have stretch'd thus far. 
Let us beseech you, 

That for our gold we may provision have, 
Wherein we are not destitute for want. 
But weary for the staleness. 

Lys. 0, sir ! a courtesy. 

Which, if we should deny, the most just God 
For every graff would send a caterpillar. 
And so afflict''' our province. — Yet once more 
Let me entreat to know at large the cause 
Of your king's sorrow. 

Hel. Sit, sir, I will recount it to you. — 

1 defended : in old copies. ' inflict : in old copies. ^ Own. 



Welcome, fair one ! 



But see, I am prevented. 

Enter Lord, Marina, and a young Lady. 

Lys. O ! here is 
The lady that I sent for. 
Is 't not a goodly presence ? 

Hel. She's a gallant lady. 

Lys. She 's such a one, that were I well assur'd she 
came 
Of gentle kind, and noble stock, I 'd wish 
No better choice, and think me rarely wed. — 
Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty 
Expect even here, where is a kingly patient : 
If that thy prosperous and artificial feat 
Can draw him but to answer thee in aught, 
Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay 
As thy desires can wish. 

Mar. Sir, I will use 

My utmost .skill in his recovery, 
Provided none but I and my companion 
Be sufTer'd to come near him. 

Lys. Come, let us leave her; 

And the gods make her prosperous ! [Marina sings. 

Lys. Mark'd he your music ? 



Mar. 



No, nor look'd on us. 



Lys. See, she will speak to him. 

Mar. Hail, sir ! my lord, lend ear. — 

Per. Flum ! ha ! 

Mar. I am a maid. 
My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes, 
But have been gaz'd on like a comet : she speaks, 
My lord, that may be. hath endur'd a grief 
Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd. 
Though wayward fortune did malign my state, 
My derivation was from ancestors 
Who stood equivalent with mighty kings ; 
But time hath rooted out my parentage, 
And to the world and awkward casualties 
Bound me in servitude. — I will desist ; 
But there is something glows upon my cheek, 
And whispers in mine ear, " Go not till he speak." 

Per. My fortunes — parentage — good parentage — 
To equal mine ! — was it not thus ? what say you ? 

Mar. I said, my lord, if you did know my parentage, 
You would not do me violence. 

Per. I do think so. 

I pray you, turn your eyes again upon me. — 
You are like something that — What countrywoman ? 
Here of these shores ? 

Mar. No, nor of any shores ; 

Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am 
No other than I appear. 

Per. I am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping. 
My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one 
My daughter might have been: my queen's square 

brows ; 
Her stature to an inch ; as wand-like straight ; 
As silver-voic'd ; her eyes as jewel-like. 
And cas'd as richly : in pace another Juno ; 
Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry. 
The more she gives them speech. — Where do you live? 

Mar. Where I am but a stranger : from the deck 
You may discern the place. 

Pf ;-. Where were you bred ? 

And how achicv'd you these endowments, which 
You make more rich to owe.' 

Mar. Should I tell my history, 

'T would seem like lies, disdain'd in the reporting. 

Per. Pr'ythee, speak : 
Falseness cannot come from thee, for thou look'st 



908 



PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 



ACT V. 



Patience, good sir. 



Modest as justice, and thou seem'st a palace 

For the crowu'd truth to dwell in. I '11 believe thee, 

And make my senses credit thy relation 

To points tliat seem impossible : for thou look'st 

Like one I lov'd indeed. What were thy friends ? 

Didst thou not say, wlien I did push thee back, 

(Which was when I perceiv'd thee) that thou cam'st 

From good descending ? 

Mar. So indeed I did. 

Per. Report thy parentage. 1 think thou saidst 
Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury, 
And that thou thought'st tliy griefs might equal mine, 
If both were open'd. 

Mar. Some such thing 

I said, and said no more but what my thoughts 
Did warrant me was likely. 

Per. Tell thy story ; 

If tliinc consider'd prove the thousandth part 
Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I 
Have suflcr'd like a girl : yet thou dost look 
Like Patience, gazing on kings' graves, and smiling 
Extremity out of act. What were thy friends ? 
How lost thou them ? Thy name, my most kind virgin ? 
R.ecount, I do beseech thee. Come, sit by me. 

Mar. JNly name is Marina. 

Per. ! I am mock'd, 

And tliou by some incensed god sent hither 
To make the world to laugh at me. 

3Iar. 
Or here I '11 cease. 

Per. Nay, I '11 be patient. 

Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me, 
To call thyself Marina. 

Mr/-. The name 

Was given me by one that had some power; 
My father, and a king. 

Per. How ! a Icing's daughter ? 

And calTd Marina? 

Mar. You said you would believe me : 

Rut, not (o be a troubler of your peace, 
I will end here. 

Per. But are you flesh and blood? 

Have you a working pulse? and arc no fairy 
Motion ':' — Well : sjieak on. Wliere were you born, 
And wherefore call'd Marina ? 

Mar. Caird Marina, 

For I was born at sea. 

Per. At sea ! what mother ? 

Mar. My mother was the daughter of a king ; 
Who died the minute I was born, 
As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft 
Deliver'd weeping. 

Per. 0! stop there a little. 

This is the rarest dream that e'er dull'd sleep 
Did mock sad fools withal ; this cannot be. 
My daughter 's buried. — Well : — where were yon bred ? 
I '11 hear you more, to the bottom of your story. 
And never interrupt you. 

Mar. You scorn : believe me, 't were best I did give 

Per. I will believe you by the syllable [o'er. 

Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave : 
How came you in these parts ? where were you bred ? 

Mar. The king, my father, did in Tharsus leave me. 
Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife, 
Did seek to murder me ; and having woo'd 
A villain to attempt it, who having drawn to do 't, 
A crew of pirates came and rescued me ; 
Brought me to Mitylene. But, good sir, 
Whither will you have me? Why do you weep ? It 
may be, 



come 



You think me an impostor : no, good faith ; 
I am the daughter to king Pericles, 
If good king Pericles be. 

Per. Ho, Helieanus ! 

Hel. Calls my gracious lord? 

Per. Thou art a grave and noble counsellor, 
Most wise in general : tell me, if thou canst, 
What this maid is, or what is like to be, 
That thus hath made me weep ? 

Hcl. I know not ; but 

Here is the regent, sir, of Mitylene, 
Speaks nobly of her. 

Lys. She would never tell 

Her parentage ; being demanded that. 
She would sit still and weep. 

Per. Helieanus ! strike me, honour'd sir ; 
Give me a gash, put me to present pain, 
Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me, 
O'erbear the shores of my mortality. 
And drown me with their sweetness. 0- 

hither. 
Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget ; 
Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tharsus, 
And found at sea again. — O Helieanus ! 
Down on thy knees, thaidc the holy gods as loud 
As thunder threatens us : this is Marina ! — 
What was thy mother's name ? tell me but that. 
For truth can never be confirm'd enough. 
Though doubts did ever sleep. 

Mar. First, sir, I pray. 

What is your title ? 

Per. I am Pericles of Tyre : but tell me, now, 
My drown'd queen's name, (as in the rest you said 
Thou hast been godlike perfect) the heir of kingdoms. 
And another like to Pericles thy fatlier. 

31ar. Is it no more to be your daughter, than 
To say, my mother's name was Thaisa ? 
Thaisa was my mother, who did end 
The minute I began. 

Per. Now, blessing on thee ! rise ; thou art mv 
child. 
Give me fresh garments ! ]\Iine own, Helieanus, 
She is not dead at Tharsus, as she should have been. 
By savage Cleon : she shall tell thee all ; 
When thou slialt kneel and justify in knowledge, 
She is thy very princess. — Who is tliis ? 

Hel. Sir, 't is the governor of Mitylene. 
Who. hearing of your melancholy state, 
Did come to see you. 

Per. I embrace you. 

Give me my robes ! I am wild in my beholding. 

heavens, bless my girl ! But hark ! what music? — 
Tell Helieanus, my Marina, tell him 

O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt. 
How sure you are my daughter. — But what music ? 

Hcl. My lord I hear none. 

Per. None ? 
The music of the spheres ! list, my Marina. 

Lys. It is not good to cross him : give him way. 

Per. Rarest sounds ! Do ye not hear ? 

Lys. Music? My lord, I hear — 

Per. Most heavenly music : 

It nips me unto list'ning, and thick slumber 
Hangs upon mine eyes : let me rest. [He sleeps. 

Lys. A pillow for his head. 
[The Curtain before the Pavilion of Pericles is closed. 
So, leave him all. — Well, my companion-friends, 
If this but answer to my just belief, 

1 '11 well remember you. 

[Exeunt Lysimachus, Helicanus, Marina, and Lady. 



SCENE in. 



PEEICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 



909 



SCENE TL— The Same. 
Pericles on the Deck asleep ; Diana appearing to him 
in a vision. 
Dia. My temple stands in Ephcsus : hie thee thither, 
And do upon mine altar sacrifice. 
There, when my maiden priests are met together, 
Before the people all, 

Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife : 
To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call. 
And give them repetition to the life. 
Or perform my bidding, or thou liv'st in woe : 
Do 't, and be' happy, by my silver bow. 



Awake, and tell thy dream. 



[Diana disappears. 



Per. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine, 
I will obey thee. — Helicanus ! 

Enter Lysimachus, Helicanus, and Marina. 

Hcl. Sir. 

Per. My purpose was for Tharsus, there to strike 
The inhospitable Cleon ; but I am 
For other service first : toward Ephesus 
Turn our blown sails ; eftsoons I '11 tell thee why. — 
Shall M'e refresh us. sir, upon your shore. 
And give you gold for such provision 
As our intents will need ? 

Lys. Sir, with all my heart, and when you come 
ashore, 
I have another suit. . 

Per. You shall prevail, 

Were it to woo my daughter ; for, it seems, 
You have been noble towards her. 

Lys. Sir, lend your arm. 

Per. Come, my Marina. [Exeunt. 

Enter Gower, before the Temple of Diana at Ephcsus. 
Gow. Now our sands are almost run : 
More a little, and then dumb. 
This. as° my last boon, give me, 
For such kindness must relieve me. 
That you aptly will suppose 
What pageantry, what feats, what shows, 
What minstrelsy, and pretty din, 
The regent made in Mitylen, 
To greet the king. So he thriv'd, 
That he is promis'd to be wiv'd 
To fair Marina ; but in no wise 
Till he had done his sacrifice. 
As Dian bade : whereto being bound, 
The interim, pray you, all confound. 
In feather'd briefness sails are fill'd, 
And wishes fall out as they're will'd. 
At Ephesus. the temple see. 
Our king, and all his company. 
That he can hither come so soon, 
Is by your fancy's thankful doom. 



[Exit. 

SCENE III.— The Temple of Diana at Ephesus; 
Thaisa standing near the Altar, as high Priestess ; 
a number of Virgins on each side : Cerimon and 
other Inhabitants of Ephesus attending. 

Enter Peiiicles, with his Train ; Lysimachus, Heli- 
canus, Marina, and a Lady. 
Per. Hail Dian ! to perform thy just command, 
I here confess myself the king of Tyre ; 
Who, frighted from my country, did wed 
At Pentapolis, the fair Thaisa. 
At sea in childbed died .she, but brought forth 
A maid-child call'd Marina ; who, goddess ! 
Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tharsus 
Was nurs'd with Cleon, whom at fourteen years 

' ' Not in old copies. ' Countenance. * the mum : in old copies. 



He sought to murder, but her better stars 
Brought her to Mitylenc ; against whose shore 
Riding, her fortunes brought tlie maid aboard us, 
Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she 
Made known herself my daughter. . 

Thai. Voice and favour^ ! — 

You are, you are — royal Pericles ! — [She faints. 

Per. What means the woman* ? she dies ; help, 
gentlemen ! 

Cer. Noble sir. 
If you have told Diana's altar true. 
This is your wife. 

Per. Reverend appearer, no : 

I threw her overboard with these very arms 

Cer. Upon this coast, I warrant you. 

Per. 'T is most certain. 

Cer. Look to the lady. — ! she 's but o'erjoy'd. 
Early in blust'ring morn this lady was 
Thrown on this shore. I op'd the coffin. 
Found tliere rich jewels ; recovcr'd her, and plac'd her 
Here, in Diana's temple. 

Per. May we see them ? 

Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you to my house, 
Whither I invite you. Look ! Thaisa is recover'd. 

Thai. ! let me look. 
If he be none of mine, my sanctity 
Will to my sense bend no licentious ear, 
But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord ! 
Are you not Pericles ? Like him you speak, 
Like him you are. Did you not name a tempest, 
A birth, and death ? 

Per. The voice of dead Thaisa ! 

Thai. That Thaisa am I. supposed dead, and drowivd. 

Per. Immortal Dian ! 

Thai. Now I know you better. — 

When we with tears parted Pentapolis, 
The king, my father, gave you such a ring. 

[Shows a Ring. 



Per. 



no more, you 



gods ! 



your present 



This, this 
kindness 

Makes my past miseries sports : you shall do well. 
That on the touching of her lips I may 
Melt, and no more be seen. ! come, be buried 
A second time within these arms. 

Mar. My heart 

Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom. 

[Kneels to Thaisa. 
Per. Look, who kneels here. Flesh of thy flesh, 
Thaisa ; 
Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina, 
For she was yielded there. 



Thai. 



Bless'd, and mine own ! 



Hel. Hail, madam, and my queen ! 

Thai. I know you not. 

Per. You have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre, 
I left behind an ancient substitute : 
Can you remember what I call'd the man ? 
I liave nam'd him oft. 

Thai. 'T was Helicanus, then. 

Per. Still confirmation ! 
Embrace him, dear Thaisa ; this is he. 
Now do I long to hear how you were found. 
How possibly preserv'd, and whom to thaiiK, 
Besides the gods, for this great miracle. 

Thai. Lord Cerimon, my lord ; this man 
Through whom the gods have shown their power, that 

can 
From first to last resolve you. 

Per. Reverend sir, 



910 



PEEICLES, PUmCE OF TYEE. 



ACT V. 



The gods can have no mortal officer 

More like a god than you. Will you deliver 

How this dead queen re-lives ? 

Ccr. I will, my lord : 

Beseech you, first go with me to my house, 
Where shall be shown you all w-as found with her ; 
How she came placed here in the temple, 
No needful thing omitted. 

Per. Pure Dian ! bless thee for thy vision, 
I will offer night oblations to thee. Thaisa, 
This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter, 
Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now, 
This ornament, 

Makes me look dismal, will I clip to form ; 
And what this fourteen years no razor touch' d. 
To grace thy marriage-day, I '11 beautify. 

Thai. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit : 
Sir, my father 's dead. 

Per. Heavens, make a star of him ! Yet there, my 
queen, 
We '11 celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves 
Will in that kingdom spend our following days : 
Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign. 

1 preferred : in old copies. ^ jjot in old copies ; added by Malone. 



Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay. 

To hear the rest untold. — Sir, lead 's the way. 

[Exeunt. 
Enter Gower. 
Gow. In Antiochus, and his daughter, you have 
heard 
Of monstrous lust the due and just reward : 
In Pericles, his queen, and daughter, seen, 
Although assail'd with fortune fierce and keen. 
Virtue preserv'd' from fell destruction's blast. 
Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last. 
In Helicanus may you well descry 
A figure of truth, of faith, and loyalty : 
In reverend Cerimon there well appears, 
The worth that learned charity aye wears. 
For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame 
Had spread their cursed deed, the honour'd name 
Of Pericles, to rage the city turn ; ^ 

That him and his they in his palace burn. 
The gods for murder seemed so content 
To punish them.^ although not done, but meant. 
So on your patience evermore attending, 
New joy wait on you ! Here our play has ending. 



ENn OF THE PLAYS.. 



POEMS 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



INTRODUCTION, 



We are told by Shakespeare, in Lis dedication of this poem 
to the Eurl of Southampton, in 1993, that it was " the first 
heir of his invention ;" and as it was the earliest printed, so 
probably, it was the earliest written of his known productions. 
At what time it is likely that he connnenced the composition 
of it, is a question which we have considered iu the biography 
of the poet. 

The popularity of it is indisputable : having: been originally 
printed by Kichard Field, in 1593, dto., that edition' seems to 
have been soon exhausted, and it was republished by the 
same printer in 1594, 4to., before 25th June, because on that 
day, according to the Stationers' Registers, he assigned over 
his interest in it to John Harrison, for whom Field printed 
an octavo impression in 1596. Field's second edition of 1594 
was unknown to Malone and his contemporaries; and as it 
"was not a re-issue of some remaining copies of 1593 with a 
new title-page, but a distinct re-impression, it aflbrds some 
various readings, and not a few important confirmations of 
the correctness of the older text, corrupted more or less in all 
snbseqttent editions. Harrison publisiied his second edition 
in 1600, which w.as the fourth time " Venus and Adonis " liad 
been printed in seven years. It had been entered at Sta- 
tioners' Hall by W. Leake, in 1596. After this date it went 
through the press many times, and copies in 1602, 1616, 1620, 
&c. are known : in 1627 it was printed by John Wreittouu, at 
Edinburgh. 

The popularity of " Venus and Adonis " is established also 
by the frequent mention of it in early writers^. It is probable 
that Peele died in 1597, and very soon afterwards his " Merry 
Conceited .Jests" must have been published, although no 
edition of them is known older than that of 1607. In one of 
these, a tapster, " much given to poetry," is represented as 
having in his possession " the Knifrlit of the Sun, Venus and 
Adonis, and other p.amphlets." Thomas Ileywood's " Fair 
Maid of the Exchange," was printed in 1607, but written some 
few years before, and there a young lover is recommended to 
court his mistress by the aid of " Venus and Adonis." How 
long this reputation, and for the same purpose, was main- 
tained, may be seen from a passage in Lewis Sharpe's " Noble 
Stranger," 1640, where Pupillus exclaims, " Oh, for the book 
of Venus and Adonis, to court my mistress by ! " Thomas 
Cranley, in his " Amanda," 1635, makes " Venus and Adonis " 
part of the library of a courtesan : 

'"amorous pamphlets, that best like thine eyes, 

And songs of love, and sonnets exquisite ; 
Among these Venus and Adonis lies, 

With f>almacis and her Hermaphrodite ; 

Pigmalion's there with his transform'd delight." 

" Sahnacis and her Hermaphrodite" refers to the poem im- 
puted (perliaps falsely) to Beaumont, printed in 1604; and 
the third poem is " Fyginalion's Image," by Marston, pub- 
lished in 1598. 



S. Nicholson, in his " Acolastus his Afterwitto," 1600, 
committed the most impudent plagiarisms from " Venus and 
Adonis ;" and E. S., the author of" Phillis and Flora," 1598, 
did not scruple to copy, almost with verbal exactness, part of 
the description Shakespeare gives of tlie horse of Adonis : 
we extract the following lines, that the reader may be able to 
make a comparison (See p. 366) : — 

" His mayne thin hair'd, his neck high crested, 
Small eare, short head, and burly breasted * * * 
Strait legg'd, large thigh'd, and hollow hoved, 
All nature's skill in him was proved." 

Our text of " Venus and Adonis," is that of the earliest 
quarto, 1598, which, for the time, is very correctly printed, 
and we will illustrate by a single quotation the importance of 
resorting to it : the line whicli there stands, 

" He cheers the morn, and all the earth relieveth," 

is misprinted in all modern editions, 

" He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth." 

The corruption was introduced in the quarto, 1594, and it 
has ever since been repeated. The same remark will apply 
to other changes ; such as "all swoln with chasing,'''' instead 
of "chafing;" "to love's afon?!," instead of" alarms ;" "from 
morn to night," instead of" till night," &c. ; all which show 
strange carelessness of collation, but it is not necessary here 
to dwell upon them, as they are pointed out in the notes. 



TO THE RIGHT HONOTIRABLE 

HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD. 



RIGHT HONOUKABLE, 

I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my tinpolished 
lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for 
choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden ; only, 
if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly 
praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I 
have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first 
heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had 
so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, 
for fear it yield me still so bad a liarvest. I leave it to your 
honourable survey, and your honour to yourlieart's content; 
which I wish may always answer your own wish, and the 
world's hopeful expectation. 

Your honour's in all duty, 

William Shakespeake. 



Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face 
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, 
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to tlie cliase ; 
Hunting he lov'd. but love he laugh'd to scorn: 
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, 
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him. 

1 The memorandum of it in the Stationers' Registers runs thus : — 
"18 April 1593. 
" Richd Fiel''] Entered as his Copy, licensed by the Archbishop 
of Canterbury, and the Wardens, a book intitled Venus 
and Adonis." 



• Malone adverts to Richard Barnfield's notice of "Venus and 1 Elizabeth. 



Thrice fairer than myself, (thus she began) 
The field's chief flower, sweet above compare, 
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man. 
More white and red than doves or roses are ; 
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, 
Saith, that the world hath ending with thy life. 

Adonis," and " Lucreoe," in 159S, (reprinted in 160,5 ; see Bridge- 
water Catalogue, 'Ito, 1S37, p. 2.3) as well as to William Barksted's 
allusion to it in 1607, in his " Myrrha the Mother of Adonis." To 
these may be added the praise of Shakespeare, and of his "'Venus and 
Adonis," and " Lucrece," in the play of " The Return from Par- 
nassus," which was certainly produced before the death of Queen 



912 



YENUS AND ADONIS. 



Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed, 
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow ; 
ji thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed 
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know : 
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses, 
And being set, I '11 smother thee with kisses : 

And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety, 
But rather famish them amid their plenty, 
Making them red and pale with fresh variety: 
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty: 
A summer's day will seem an hour but short, 
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport. 

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm, 
The precedent of pith and livelihood, 
And. trembling in her passion, calls it balm. 
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess -good : 
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force 
Courageously to pluck him from his horse. 

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein. 

Under her other was the tender boj', 

Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain. 

With leaden appetite, unapt to toy ; ' 
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire, 
He red for shame, but frosty in desire. 

The studded bridle on a ragged bough 

Nimbly she fastens ; (0, how quick is love !) 

The steed is stalled up, and even now 

To tie the rider she begins to prove : 

Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust, 
And govern' d him in strength, though not in lust. 

So soon was she along, as he was down, 
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips : 
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now* doth he froAvn, 
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips ; 
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken. 
If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open. 

He burns with bashful shame, she with her tears 
Doth quench the maiden burning of his, cheeks ; 
Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs. 
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks : 
He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss ;' 
What follows more she murders" with a kiss. 

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast. 
Tires" with her beak on feathers, flesh, and bone, 
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, 
Till either gorge be stuff 'd, or prey be gone ; 
Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin, 
And where she ends she doth anew begin. 



Forc'd to content,* 
Panting he lies, 



but never to obey, 
and breatheth in her face 



She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey, 
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace. 

Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers. 
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers. 

Look how a bird lies tangled in a net, 

So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies ; 

Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret, 

Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes : 
Rain added to a river that is rank,* 
Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 



Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, 

For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale ; 

Still is he sullen, still he lowers and frets, 

'Twixt crimson shame, and anger ashy-pale; 
Being red, she loves him best ; and being white. 
Her best is better'd with a more delight. 

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love ; 
And by her fair immortal hand she swears 
From his soft bosom never to remove, 
Till he take truce with her contending tears. 

Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet; 

And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt. 

Upon this promise did he raise his chin, 
Like a dive-dapper' peeing through a wave. 
Who being look'd on ducks as quickly in ; 
So offers he to give what she did crave, 
But when her lips were ready for his pay. 
He winks, and turns his lips another way. 

Never did passenger in summer's heat, 
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn. 
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get ; 
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn. 

0, pity, 'gan she cry, flint-hearted boy ! 

'T is but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy? 

I have been woo'd as I entreat thee now, 
Even by the stern and direful god of war, 
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow, 
Who conquers where he comes, in every jar ; 
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave, 
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have. 

Over my altars hath he hung his lance. 
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest. 
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance, 
To toy,' to wanton, dally, smile, and jest; 
Scorning his churlish drum, and ensign red. 
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 

Thus he that over-rul'd, I oversway'd, 
Leading him prisoner in a red rose chain : 
Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength obey'd, 
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. 

! be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, 
For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight. 

Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, 
Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red. 
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine. 
What seest thou in the ground ? hold up thy head : 

Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies ; 

Then, why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes ? 

Art thou asham'd to kiss ? then, wink again, 

And I will wink ; so shall the day seem night ; 

Love keeps his revels where there are but twain ; 

Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight : 
These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean. 
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean. 

The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 

Shows thee unripe, yet may"st thou well be tasted. 

Make use of time, let not advantage slip ; 

Beauty within itself should not be wasted : 

Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime, 
Rot and consume themselves in little time. 



ia.misB, fault. * smothers : in eds., 1600, 1620. 3 Preys. ♦ To be contented. ^ Full. « di-dapper : old cop. ' coy : old eds. 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



913 



Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or -WTinklcd old, 
lU-nurtur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, 
O'er-worn, despised, rheumatic, and cold, 
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, 

Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee ; 

But having no defects, why dost abhor me ? 

Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow; 
Mine eyes are grey' and bright, and quick in turning : 
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow, 
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning : 
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt, 
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 

Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, 
Or like a fairy trip upon the green, 
Or like a nymph with long dishevelled hair, 
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen : 
Love is a spirit, all compact of fire. 
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. 

« 
Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie ; 
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me ; 
Two strengthless doves will draw mo through the sky. 
From morn till night, even where I list to sport me : 
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be 
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee ? 

Is thino own heart to thine own face affected ? 

Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? 

Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,- 

Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. 
Narcissus so himself himself forsook. 
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook. 

Torches are made to light, jewels to wear. 
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use ; 
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear ; 
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse : 

Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty ; 

Thou wast begot, to get it is thy duty. 

Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed. 
Unless the earth in thy increase be fed ? 
By lavv" of nature thou art bound to breed. 
That thine may live, when thou thyself art dead : 

And so in spite of death thou dost survive, 

In that thy likeness still is left alive. 

By this, the love-sick queen began to sweat. 

For where they lay the shadow had forsook them, 

And Titan, 'tired in the mid-day heat. 

With burning eye did hotly overlook them: 
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide. 
So he were like him, and by Venus' side. 

And now Adonis, with a lazy sprite. 

And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye. 

His lowering brows o'er-whelming his fair sight. 

Like misty vapours, when they blot the sky, 

Souring his checks, cries, Fie ! no more of love : 
The sun doth burn my face ; 1 must remove. 

Ah me ! (quoth Venus.) young, and so unkind? 
What bare excuses mak'st thou to be gone ! 
I "11 sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind 
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun : 

I '11 make a shadow for thee of my hairs ; 

If they burn too, I "11 quench them with my tears. 



The sun that shines from heaven shines bat warm, 
And lo ! I lie between that sun and thee : 
The heat I have from thence doth little harm. 
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burnetii me ; 
And were I not immortal, life were done, 
Between this heavenly and earthly sun. 

Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel ? 
Nay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth: 
Art thou a W"oman's son, and canst not feel. 
What 't is to love ? how want of love tormenteth ? 
! had thy mother borne so hard a mind. 
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 

What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this ? 

Or what great danger dwells upon my suit ? 

What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss ? 

Speak fair ; but speak fair words, or else be mute : 
Give me one kiss, I '11 give it thee again, 
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain. 

Fie ! lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, 

Well-painted idol, image dull and dead, 

Statue, contenting but the eye alone. 

Thing like a man, but of no woman bred : 

Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion, 
For men will kiss even by their own direction. 

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue, 
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause ; 
Red checks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong : 
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause ; 
And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak, 
And now her sobs do her intendments break. 

Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand, 
Now gazcth she on him, now on the ground; 
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band : 
She would, he will not in her arms be bound ; 

And when from thence he struggles to be gone, 

She locks her lily fingers one in one. 

Fondling, she saith, since I have hemm'd thee here, 

Within the circuit of this ivory pale, 

I '11 be a park, and thou shalt be my deer ; 

Feed where thou W"ilt, on mountain or in dale : 
Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, 
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie. 

Within this limit is relief enough. 
Sweet bottom-grass, and high delightful plain, 
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough, 
To shelter thee from tempest, and from rain : 

Then, be my deer, since I am such a park ; 

No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark. 

At this Adonis smiles, as in disdain. 
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple : 
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, 
He might be buried in a tomb so simple ; 
Fore-knowing well, if there he came to lie, 
Why, there Love liv'd, and there he could not die. 

These lovely caves, the round enchanting pits, 
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking. 
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits ? 
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking ? 

Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn. 

To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn ! 



I Blue eyes were sometimes called grey. 



58 



914 



YENUS AND ADONIS. 



Now which way shall she turn ? what shall she say ? 
Her words are done, her woes the more increasing ; 
The time is spent, her object will away. 
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing. 

Pity ! she cries, some favour, some remorse ! 

Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse ! 

But lo ! from forth a copse that neighbours by, 
A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy, 
And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud : 
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree, 
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds. 
And now his woA'cn girths he breaks asunder ; 
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds. 
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder : 
The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth. 
Controlling what he was controlled with. 

His ears up prick'd, his braided hanging mane 
Upon his compass'd crest now stands on end ; 
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again. 
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send : 
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire, 
Shows his hot courage, and his high desire. 

Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps 
With gentle majesty, and modest pride: 
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps. 
As who should say, lo ! thus my strength is tried ; 
And this I do, to captivate the eye 
Of the fair breeder that is standing by. 

What recketh he his rider's angry stir. 
His flattering holla, or his " Stand, I say?" 
What cares he now for curbs, or pricking spur. 
For rich caparisons, or trapping gay ? 

He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, 
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 

Look, when a painter would surpass the life, 

In limning out a well-proportion'd steed. 

His art with nature's workmanship at strife. 

As if the dead the living should exceed ; 
So did his horse excel a common one. 
In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone. 

Round-hoof 'd, short-jointed, the fetlocks shag and long. 
Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide. 
High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong, 
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide : 
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack, 
Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 

Sometime he scuds far off, and there he stares • 
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather : 
To bid the wind a base' he now prepares. 
And whe'r he run, or fly, they know not whether ; 
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings. 
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings. 

He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her ; 
She answers him, as if she knew his mind : 
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her. 
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind ; 
Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels, 
Beating his kind embracements with her heels. 



Then, like a melancholy malcontent. 

He vails his tail, that, like a falling plume, 

Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent : 

He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume. 

His love, perceiving how he is enrag'd. 

Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd. 

His testy master goeth about to take him, 
When lo ! the unback'd breeder, full of fear, 
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him. 
With her the horse, and left Adonis there. 

As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them, 
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them. 

All swoln with chafing,^ down Adonis sits, 
Banning his boisterous and unruly bea.st : 
And now the happy season once more fits, 
That love-sick love by pleading may be blegt ; 
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong, 
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue. 

An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd. 
Burnetii more hotly, swelleth with more rage • 
So of concealed sorrow may be said, 
Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage; 
But when the heart's attorney once is mute, 
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 

He sees her coming, and begins to glow, 

Even as a dying coal revives with wind, 

And with his bonnet hides his angry brow ; 

Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, 
Taking no notice that she is so nigh. 
For all askaunce he holds her in his eye. 

O ! what a sight it was, wistly to view 
How she came stealing to the way^vard boy ; 
To note the fighting conflict of her hue, 
How white and red each other did destroy : 
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by 
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 

Now was she just before him as he sat, 
And like a lowly lover down she kneels; 
Witli one fair hand she heaveth up his hat, 
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels : 

His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print, 
As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint. 

0, what a war of looks was then between them ! 

Her eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing; 

His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them ; 

Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing: 
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain 
With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain. 

Full gently now she takes him by the hand, 

A lily prison'd in a jail of snow. 

Or ivory in an alabaster band ; 

So white a friend engirts so white a foe : 

This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling. 

Show'd like two silver doves that sit a billing. 

Once more the engine of her thoughts began : 

fairest mover on this mortal round, 

Would thou wert as I am, and I a man. 

My heart all whole as thine, tliy heart my wound ; 
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee, 
Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee. 



• A race, or game of prison-base, or prison-bars. 2 chasing : in ed IGOO. 



^ 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



915 



Give me my hand, saith he, why dost thou feel it ? 
Give me my heart, saith she, and thou shalt have it j 

! give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it. 
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it : 

Then, love's deep groans I never can regard, 
Because Adonis' hea.rt hath made mine hard. 

For shame ! he cries, let go, and let me go j 
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone, 
And 't is your fault I am bereft him so : 

1 pray you hence, and leave me here alone ; 

For all my mind, my thought, my busy care, 
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare. 

Thus she replies: thy palfrey, as he should, 

Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire : 

Affection is a coal that must be cool'd ; 

Else, snffcrd, it will set the heart on fire. 

The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none : 
Therefore, no marvel tliough thy horse be gone. 

How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree, 

Servilely mast'crcd with a leathern rein; 

But when he saw his love, liis youth's fair fee, 

He held such petty bondage in disdain ; 

Throwing the base thong from his bending crest, 
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 

Who sees his true-love in her naked bed. 
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white, 
But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed, 
His other agents aim at like delight? 
Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold 
To touch the fire, the weather being cold '? 

Let me excu.*c thy courser, gentle boy, 

And learn of him. I heartily beseech thee, 

To take advantage on presented joy ; 

Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee : 
! learn to love ; the lesson is but pi ain, 
And once made perfect, never lost again. 

I know not love, quotli he, nor will not know it : 
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it ; 
'T is much to borrow, and I will not owe it; 
My love to love is love but to disgrace it ; 

For I have heard it is a life in death. 

That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a breath. 

Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd ? 

Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? 

If springing things bo any jot diminish'd, 

They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth: 
The colt that 's back'd aad burden'd being young, 
Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. 

You hurt my hand \\-ith wringing ; let us part, 
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat: 
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart ; 
To lovers alarms it will not ope the gate : 

Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery, 
For where a heart is hard, they make no batt«ry. 

What 1 canst thou talk ? (quoth she,) hast thou a tongue ? 

O. would thou hadst nor. or I had no hearing ! 

Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong ! 

I had my load before, now press'd with bearing: 
Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh-sounding, 
Ear's deep sweet music, and heart's dcepsore wounding. 

* -world : in ed. 1594. 



Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love 

That inward beauty and invisible ; 

Or, were I deaf, thy outward parts would move 

Each part in me that were but sensible : 

Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, 
Yet should I be in love by touching thee. 

Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me, 
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, 
And nothing but the very smell were left me, 
Yet would my love to thee be still as much ; 

For from the stillitory of thy face excelling [iug. 

Comes breath perfum'd, that breedeth love by sraell- 

But O ! what banquet wert thou to the taste, 
Being nurse and feeder of the other four : 
Would they not wish the feast might ever last, 
And bid suspicion double lock the door, 
Lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest, 
Should by his stealing in disturb the feast? 

Once more the ruby-colour'd portal opened. 
Which to his speech did honey-passage yield ; 
Like a I'cd morn, that ever yet betoken'd 
Wreck to the sea-man, tempest to the field, 
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds. 
Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. 

This ill presage advisedly she marketh : 
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth ; 
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh, 
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth ; 
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun. 
His meaning struck her ere his words begun. 

And at his look she flatly falleth down, 
For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth : 
A smile rccures the W'ounding of a frown : 
But blessed bankrupt that by love so thriveth ! 
The silly boy, believing she is dead. 
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red ; 

And all amaz'd brake off" his late intent, 
For sharply he did think to reprehend her, 
Which cunning love did wittily prevent : 
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her ! 
For on the grass she lies, as she were slain, 
Till his breath brcatheth life in her again. 

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks, 
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard. 
He chafes her lips ; a thousand ways he seeks 
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd : 
He kisses her ; and she, by her good will, 
Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. 

The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day : 
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth, 
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array 
He cheers the morn, and all the earth' relieveth : 

And as the bright sun glorifies the slcy, 

So is her face illumin'd with her eye ; 

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd. 
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine. 
Were never four such lamps together mix'd. 
Had not his clouded with his brow's repine ; 

But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light, 
Shone like the moon in water seen by night. 



916 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



! where am I ? quoth she, in earth or heaven, 
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire? 
What hour is this ? or morn or weary even ? 
Do I delight to die, or life desire ? 

But now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy ; 

But now I died, and death was lively joy. 

O ! thovi didst kill me ; kill me once again : 
Thy eye's shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, 
Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain, 
That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine ; 
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen. 
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 

Long may they kiss each other for this cure ! 
! never let their crimson liveries wear, 
And as they last, their verdure still endure, 
To drive infection* from the dangerous year ! 
That the star-gazers, having writ on death, 
May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath. 

Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted, 
What bargains may I make, still to be sealing ? 
To sell myself I can be well contented. 
So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing ; 
Which purchase if you make, for fear of slips 
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips. 

A thousand kisses buys my heart from me. 

And pay them at thy leisure, one by one. 

What is ten hundred touches unto thee ? 

Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone ? 

Say, for non-payment that the debt should double. 
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble ? 

Fair queen, quoth he, if any love you owe me. 
Measure my strangeness with my unripe years : 
Before I know myself, seek not to know me j 
No fisher but the imgrown fry forbears : 

The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast, 

Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste. 

Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait. 
His day's hot task hath ended in the west : 
The owl, night's herald, shrieks, 't is very late ; 
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest. 

And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light, 
Do summon us to part, and bid good night. 

Now let me say good night ; and so say you ; 
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss. 
Good night, quoth she ; and, ere he says adieu, 
The honey-fee of parting tender'd is: 

Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace ; 

Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face. 

Till breathless he disjoin'd, and backward drew 
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, 
Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew. 
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drought : 
He with her plenty prcss'd, she faint with dearth. 
Their lips together glued, fall to the earth. 

Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey, 
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never fiUeth ; 
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, 
Paj-ing what ransom the insulter willeth ; 

Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high. 
That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry. 

* Fragrant herbs ■were supposed to possess this poorer. * Embrace 



And having felt the sweetness of the spoil. 
With blindfold fury she begins to forage ; 
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil, 
And careless lust .stirs up a desperate coiuage ; 
Planting oblivion, beating reason back. 
Forgetting shame's pure blu.sh. and honour's wrack. 

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing, 
Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much handling. 
Or as the fleet-foot roe that 's tir'd with chasing, 
Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling. 
He now obeys, and now no more resisteth. 
While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 

What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering, 

And yields at last to every light impression ? 

Things out of hope are compass'd oft with venturing. 

Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission : 
Affection faints not like a pale-fac'd coward, 
But then woos best, when most his choice is froward. 

When he did frown, ! had she then gave over. 

Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd. 

Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover ; 

What though the rose have prickles, yet 't is pluck'd : 
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, 
Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last. 

For pity now she can no more detain him : 
The poor fool prays her that he may depart : 
She is resolv'd no longer to restrain him, 
Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart. 
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest, 
He carries thence incaged in his breast. 

Sweet boy, she says, this night T '11 waste in sorrow, 

For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 

Tell me, love's master, shall we meet to-morrow ? 

Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match? 
He tells her, no ; to-morrow he intends 
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 

The boar ! (quoth she) whereat a sudden pale, 
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose, 
Usurps her cheek: she trembles at his tale. 
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws ; 

She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck. 

He on her belly falls, she on her back. 

Now is she in the very lists of love. 

Her champion mounted for the hot encounter: 

All is imaginary she doth prove. 

He will not manage her. although he mount her : 

That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy. 

To clip° Elysium, and to lack her joy. 

Even as poor birds, deceived with painted grapes, 
Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw. 
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps. 
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw. 

The warm effects which she in him finds missing. 

She seeks to kindle with continual kissing : 

But all in vain ; good queen, it will not be : 
She hath assay'd as much as may be prov'd ; 
Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee ; 
She 's love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd. 

Fie, fie ! he says, you crush me : let me go : 

You have no reason to withhold me so. 



YENUS AND ADONIS. 



917 



Thou hadst been gone, qnoth she, sweet boy, ere this, 
But that thou told'st me, thou wouldst hunt the boar. 
! be advis'd; thou know'st not what it is 
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore, 

Whose tushes nevcr-sheath'd he whettcth still, 

Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill. 

On his bow-back he hath a battle set 
Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes : 
His eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fretj 
His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes ; 
Being mov'd, he strikes whate'er is in his way, 
And whom he strikes his cruel tushes slay. 

His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed. 

Are better proof than thy spears point can enter; 

His short thick neck cannot be "easily harmed; 

Being ireful on the lion he will venture: 
The thorny brambles and embra^cing bushes. 
As fearful of him, part ; through whom he rushes. 

Alas ! he nought esteems that face of thine, 

To which love's eyes pay tributary gazes ; 

Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne. 

Wiiose full perfection all tlic world amazes ; 
But having thee at vantage, (wondrous dread !) 
Would root these beauties, as he roots the mead. 

! let him keep his loathsome cabin still ; 

Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends : 

Come not within his danger' by thy will; 

They that thrive well take counsel of their friends. 
When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, 
I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble. 

Didst thou not mark my face ? Was it not white ? 

Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye ? 

Grew I not faint ? and fell I not downright ? 

Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie, 

My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest, 
But like an earthquake shakes thee on my breast. 

For where love reigns, disturbing j.ealousy 
Doth call himself affection's sentinel : 
Gives false alarms, suggest eth mutiny, 
And in a peaceful hour doth cry, '• kill, kill;" 

Distempering gentle love in his desire, 

As air and water do abate the fire. 

This sour informer, this bate'-'-breeding spy, 

This canker that eats up love's tender spring. 

This carry-tale, dissentious jealousy, 

That somctiine true news, sometime false doth bring. 
Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear, 
That if I love thee, I thy death should fear : 

And more than so, prcsenteth to mine eye 
The picture of an angry chafing boar. 
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie 
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore: 
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed. 
Doth make them droop with grief, and liang the head. 



What should I do, seeing thee so indeed, 

That tremble at th' imagination? 

The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed, 

And fear doth teach it divination : 

I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow. 

If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow. 

' In his power. - Contention. 
through it. * Consorleth. 



But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul'd by me ; 

Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, 

Or at the fox, which lives by subtlety, 

Or at the roe, which no encounter dare : 

Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs. 

And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy hounds. 

And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, 
Mark the poor wretch, to overshut^ his troubles, 
How he out-runs the wind, and with what care 
He cranks^ and crosses with a thousand doubles : 
The many musets' through the Avhich he goes, 
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 

Sometimes he runs among a flock of sheep. 
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell ; 
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, 
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell : 

And sometime sorteth" with a herd of deer. 

Danger deviseth shifts ; wit waits on fear : 

For there his smell, -VN-ith others being mingled. 
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt. 
Ceasing their clamorous cry, till they have singled 
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out ; 

Then do they spend their mouths : echo replies, 

As if another chase were in the skies. 

By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill. 

Stands on his hinder legs with listening car, 

To barken if his foes pursue him .still ■ 

Anon their loud alarums he doth hear ; 
And now his grief may be compared well 
To one sore sick, that hears the passing bell. 

Then shalt thou sec the dew-bedabbled wretch 
Turn, and return, indenting with the way; 
Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch. 
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay : 

For misery is trodden on by many, 

And being low, never relieved by any. 

Lie quietly, and hear a little more ; 
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise : 
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar. 
Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize, 

Applying this to that, and so to so ; 

For love can comment upon every woe. 

Where did I leave? — No matter where, quoth he; 
Leave me. and then the story aptly ends : 
The night' is spent. Why, what of that ? quoth she ; 
I am. quoth he, expected of my friends ; 

And now 't is dark, and going I .shall fall. 

In night, quoth she, desire sees best of all. 

But if thou fall, ! then imagine this, 

The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips, 

And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 

Rich preys make true-men thieves ; so do thy lips 
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn. 
Lest she should steal a kiss, and die forsworn. 



Now, of this dark night I perceive the reason : 
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine, 
Till forging Nature be condemn'd of treason. 
For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine, 
Wherein she fram'd thee, in high heaven's despite, 
To shame the sun by day, and her by night. 

3 Steevens reads : overshoot. * Winds. * The aperture in a hedge made by the hare in its frequent passage 



918 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



And therefore hath she brib'd the Destinies, 
To cross the curious workmanship of nature ; 
To mingle beauty with infirmities, 
And pure perfection with impure defeature : 
Making it subject to the tyranny 
Of mad mischances, and much misery ; 

As burning fevers, agues pale and faint. 
Life-poisoning pestilence, and frenzies wood )* 
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint 
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood : 

Surfeits, impostumes, grief, and damn'd despair, 
Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair. 

And not the least of all these maladies 
But in one minute's fight brings beauty under : 
Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities, 
Whereat th' impartial gazer late did wonder. 
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd, and done, 
As mountain snow melts with the midday sun. 

Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity, 
Love-lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns, 
That on the earth would breed a scarcity, 
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons, 
Be prodigal : the lamp that burns by night, 
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. 

What is thy body but a swallowing grave, 

Seeming to bury that posterity 

Which by the rights of time thou needs must have, 

If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity ? 
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, 
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. 

So in thyself thyself art made away, 
A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife. 
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay, 
Or butcher sire that reaves his son of life. 
Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, 
But gold that 's put to use more gold begets. 

Nay then, quoth Adon, you will fall again 
Into your idle over-handled theme : 
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain, 
And all in vain you strive against the stream ; 
For by this black-fac'd night, desire's foul nurse, 
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse. 

If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues, 
And every tongue more moving than your own. 
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs. 
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown ; 
For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear. 
And will not let a false sound enter there' 

Lest the deceiving harmony should run 

Into the quiet closvu-e of my breast, 

And then my little heart were quite undone, 

In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest. 

No, lady, no ; my heart longs not to groan, 
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. 

What have you urg'd that I cannot reprove ? 
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger ; 
I hate not love, but your device in love, 
That lends embracemeuts unto every stranger. 

You do it for increase : strange excuse ! 

When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse. 

• Mad. ' Sorrow. 



Call it not love, for love to heaven is fled^ 
Since sweating lust on earth usurp'd his name ; 
Under whose simple semblance hs hath fed 
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame : 

Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon bereaves, 

As caterpillars do the tender leaves. 

Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, 
But lust's effect is tempest after sun ; 
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, 
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done : 

Love surfeits not, lust like a glutton dies ; 

Love is all truth, lust full of forged lies. 

More I could tell, but more I dare not say; 

The text is old, the orator too green. 

Therefore, in sadness, now 1 will away ; ^ 

My face is full of shame, my heart of teen i'"* 
Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended, 
Do burn themselves for having so offended. 

With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace 
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast. 
And homeward through the dark lawn runs apace ; 
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd. 
Look, how a bright star shootetli from the sky. 
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye ; 

Which after him she darts, as one on shore 
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend, 
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more, 
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend ; 
So did the merciless and pitchy night 
Fold in the object that did feed her sight. 

Whereat amaz'd, as one that unaware 
Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood, 
Or 'stonish'd as night wanderers often are. 
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood; 

Even so confounded in the dark she lay, . 

Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, 
That all the neighbour-caves, as seeming troubled, 
Make verbal repetition of her moans : 
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled. 

Ah me ! she cries, and twenty times, woe, woe ! 

And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. 

She marking them, begins a wailing note. 

And sings extemporally a woeful ditty; 

How love makes young men thrall, and old men dote ; 

How love is wise in folly, foolish witty : 
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, 
And still the choir of echoes answer so. 

Her song was tedious, and outwore the night. 
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short : 
If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight 
In such like circumstance, with such like sport : 

Their copious stories, oftentimes begun. 

End without audience, and are never done. 

For who hath she to spend the night withal, 

But idle sounds resembling parasites ; 

Like shrill-tongu'd tapsters answering every call, 

Soothing the humour of fantastic wits ? 
She says, 't is so : they answer all, 't is so : 
And would say after her, if she said no. 



YENUS AND ADONIS. 



919 






Lo ! here the gentle lark, weary of rest, 
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, 
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast 
The sun ariseth in his majesty; 

Who doth the world so graciously behold, 
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold, 

Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow. 
thou clear god, and patron of all light, 
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow 
The beauteous influence that makes him bright, 
There lives a son that suck'd an earthly mother. 
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other. 

This said, she hastcth to a myrtle grove. 
Musing the morning is so much o'er- worn j 
And yet she hears no tidings of her love : 
She hearkens, for his hounds, and for his horn: 

Anon she hears them chaunt it lustily. 

And all in haste she coasteth^ to the cry. 

And as she runs, the bushes in the way 
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face. 
Some twin'd about her thigh to make her stay. 
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace. 
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache, 
Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake. 

By this she hears the hounds are at a bay, 
Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder 
Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way. 
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder : 
Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds 
Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds. 

For now she knows it is no gentle chase. 
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud. 
Because the cry remaineth in one place. 
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud ; 

Finding their enemy to be so curst. 

They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first. 

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, 
Through which it enters to surprise her heart ; 
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, 
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part: 
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield, 
They basely fly, and dare not stay the field. 

Thus stands she in a trembling extasy. 

Till cheering up her senses all^ dismay'd, 

She tells them, 't is a causeless fantasy, 

And childish error that they are afraid ; 

Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more : 
And with that word she spied the hunted boar ; 

Whose frothy mouth bepainted all with red. 
Like milk and blood being mingled both together, 
A second fear through all her sinews spread, 
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither : 
This way she runs, and now she will no further, 
But back retires to rate the boar for murthcr. 

A thousand .spleens bear her a thousand ways ; 
She treads the path that she untreads again: 
Her more than liaste is mated with delays,^ 
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain; 

Full of respect,* yet nought at all respecting, 
In hand with all things, nought at all affecting. 

1 Approaches. ' sore : in ed. 1596. ' Confounded. * respects 



Here kennel'd in a brake she finds a hound. 
And asks the weary caitiff for his master ; 
And there anotlier licking of his wound, 
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster ; 
And here she meets another sadly scowling. 
To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling. 

When he hath ceas'd his ill-resounding noise, 

Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim, 

Against the welkin vollies out his voice ; 

Another and another answer him. 

Clapping their proud tails to the ground below. 
Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go. 

Look, how the world's poor people are amazed 

At apparitions, signs, and prodigies. 

Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed, 

Infusing them with dreadful prophecies ; 

So she at these sad signs draws up her breath, 
And, sighing it again, exclaims on death. 

Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean. 
Hateful divorce of love, (thus chides she death) 
Grim grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mean, 
To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath. 

Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set 

Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet ? 

If he be dead, — no I it cannot be, 

Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it. 

yes ! it may ; thou hast no eyes to see, 

But hatefully at random dost thou hit. 

Thy mark is feeble age ; but thy false dart 
Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart. 

Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke. 

And hearing him thy power had lost his power. 

The destinies will curse thee for this stroke ; 

They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower. 
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled. 
And not death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. 

Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such weeping ? 

What may a heavy groan advantage thee ? 

Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping 

Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see ? 
Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour, 
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour. 

Here overcome, as one full of despair. 
She vail'd her eye-lids, who, like sluices, stopped 
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair 
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropped ; 

But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain, 
And with his strong course opens them again. 

0, how her eyes and tears did lend and. borrow ! 

Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye ; 

Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow, 

Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry ; 
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, 
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. 

Variable passions throng her constant woe. 
As striving who should best become her grief; 
All entertain'd, each passion labours so, 
That every present sorrow secmeth chief 

But none is best ; then, join they all together. 
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 

ed. 1596. 



920 



YENUS AND ADONIS. 



By this far off she hears some huntsman hollow ; 
A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so "well : 
The dire imagination she did follow 
This sound of hope doth labour to expel j 

For now reviving joy bids her rejoice, 

And flatters her it is Adonis' voice. 

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, 
Being prison'd in lier eye, like pearls in glass ; 
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, 
"Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass 
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground, 
Who is but drunken, when she seemeth drown'd. 

hard-believing love, how strange it seems 
Not to believe, and yet too credulous ! 

Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes ; 

Despair and hope make thee ridiculous : 

The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely, 
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. 

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought ; 
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame : 
It was not she that call'd him all to nought : 
Now she adds honours to his hateful name ; 

She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings, 
Imperious supreme of all mortal things. 

No, no, quoth she, sweet Death, I did but jest ; 
Yet pardon me. I felt a kind of fear. 
When as I met the boar, that bloody beast, 
Which knows no pity, but is still severe ; 
Then, gentle shadow, (truth I must confess) 
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. 

'T is not my fault : the boar provok'd my tongue ; 

Be MTcak'd on him. invisible commander ; 

'T is he, foul creature, that hath done thee WTong; 

1 did but act, he 's author of thy slander. 

Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet 
Could rule them both, without ten women's wit. 

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive. 

Her rash suspect she doth extenuate ; 

And that his beauty may the better thrive, 

With deatli she humbly doth insinuate : 

Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories, 
His victories, his triumphs, and his glories. 

Jove ! quoth she, how much a fool was I, 

To be of such a weak and silly mind. 

To wail his death, who lives, and must not die, 

Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind ; 

For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, 
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. 

Fie, fie, fond love ! thou art so full of fear. 
As one with trea.sure laden, hemm'd with thieves : 
Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear, 
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves. 
Even at this word she hears a merry horn. 
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn. 

As falcons^ to the lure, away she flies : 

The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light ; 

And in her haste unfortunately spies 

The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight : 

Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view. 
Like stars asham'd of day, themselves withdrew. 

1 falcon : in ed. 1600. 



Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, 
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain, 
And there all smother'd up in shade doth sit, 
Long after fearing to creep forth again : 

So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled 

Into the deep-dark cabins of her head : 

Where they resign their office and their light 
To the disposing of her troubled brain : 
Who bids them still consort with ugly night, 
And never wound the heart with looks again ; 
Who, like a king perplexed in his throne, 
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan, 

Whereat each tributary subject quakes ; 

As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground, 

Struggling for passage, earth's foundation sharkes. 

Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound. 
This mutiny each part doth so surprise, 
That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes ; 

And, being open'd. threw unwilling light 
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd 
In his soft flank ; whose wonted lily white 
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was dreneh'd : 
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, 
But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to bleed. 

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ; 

Over one shoulder dotli she hang her head. 

Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth ; 

She thinks he could not die, he is not dead : 
Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow. 
Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now. 

Upon his hurt she looks so stedfastly, 

That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three ; 

And then she reprehends her mangling eye. 

That makes more gashes where no breach should be : 

His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled ; 

For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. 

My tongue cannot express my grief for one. 
And yet, quoth she, behold two Adons dead ! 
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone. 
Mine eyes are turn'd to tire, my heart to lead : 

Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire ! 

So shall I die by drops of hot desire. 

Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost ! 

What face remains alive that's worth the viewing? 

Whose tongue is music now ? what canst thou boast 

Of things long since, or any thing ensuing ? 

The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim : 
But true sweet beauty liv'd and died with him. 

Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear ; 

Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you : 

Having no fair to lose, you need not fear ; 

The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you : 
But when Adonis liv'd, sun a-nd sharp air 
Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair : 

And therefore would he put his bonnet on, 
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep, 
The wind would blow it off, and, being gone, 
Play with his locks : then, would Adonis weep. 

And straight in pity of his tender years. 

They both would strive who first should dry his tears. 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



921 



To see his face, the lion walk'd along 

Behind some hedge, because he would not fear^ him ; 

To recreate himself when he hath sung, 

The tiger would be tame, and gently hear him ; 
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey, 
And never fright the silly lamb that day. 

When he beheld his sliadow in the brook, 
The fishes spread on it their golden gills : 
When he was by. the birds such pleasure took. 
That some would sing, some other in their bills 

Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red cherries; 

He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. 

But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted- boar, 
Whose downward eye still lookcth for a grave, 
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore ; 
Witness the entertainment that he gave : 
If he did see his face, why then, I know, 
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so. 

'T is true, 't is true : thus was Adonis slain. 
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, 
Who did^ not whet his teeth at him again. 
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there ; 
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine 
Sheath'd, unaware, the tusk in his soft groin. 

Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess. 
With kissing him I should have kill'd him first : 
But he is dead, and never did he bless 
My youth with his, the more am I accurst. 
With this she falleth in the place she stood. 
And stains her face with his congealed blood. 

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale : 
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold ; 
She whispers in his ears a heavy tale, ' 

As if they heard the woful M'ords she told : 
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes, 
Where lo ! two lamps, burnt out. in darkness lies : 

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld 

A thousand times, and now no more reflect ; 

Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd, ■ 

And every beauty robb'd of his effect : 

Wonder of time, quoth she, this is my, spite, 

That, thou* being dead, the day should yet be light. 

Since thou art dead, lo ! here I prophesy, 

Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend : 

It shall be waited on with jealousy. 

Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end ; 
Ne'er settled equally, but high or low, 
That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe. 

It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud ; 
Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while ; 
The bottom poison, and the top o'er-straw'd 



With sweets, that shall the truest sight beguile : 
The strongest body shall it make most weak. 
Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak. 

It shall be sparing, and too full of riot, 
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures; 
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet. 
Pluck down tlie rich, enrich the poor with treasures : 
It sliall be raging mad, and silly mild. 
Make the young old, the old become a child. 

It shall suspect, where is no cause of fear ; 

It shall not fear, where it should most mistrust ; 

It shall be merciful, and too severe. 

And most deceiving, when it seems most just ; 

Perverse it shall be, where it shows most toward ; 

Put fear to valour, eourage to the coward. 

It shall be cause of war, and dire events, 

And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire ; 

Subject and servile to all discontents, 

As dry combustions matter is to fire : 

Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy, 
They that love best, their loves shall not enjoy. 

By this the boy, that by her side lay kill'd, 
Was melted like a vapour from her sight, 
And in liis blood, that on the ground lay spill'd, 
A purple flower sprung up, checquer'd with white ; 
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood 
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. 

She bows her head the new-sprung flower to smell, 

Comparing it to her Adonis' breath ; 

And says, within her bosom it shall dwell, 

Since he himself is reft from her by death : 
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears 
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears. 

Poor flower, quoth she, this was thy father's guise, 

Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire. 

For every little grief to wet his eyes : 

To grow unto himself was his desire, 

And so 't is thine ; but know, it is as good 
To wither in my breast, as in his blood. 

Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast : 
Thou art the next of blood, and 't is thy right : 
Lo ! in this hollow cradle take thy rest. 
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night : 
There shall not be one minute in an hour, 
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower. 

Thus weary of the world, away she hies. 
And yokes her silver doves ; by whose swift aid 
Their mistress mounted through the empty skies 
In her liglit chariot quickly is convey'd ; 

Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen 
Means to immure herself and not be seen. 



^A!nr7n. 2 An urchin, is a /(sr/ire-Ao?, it is so employed in " Titus Androiiicus;' Act II.. sc. 3 ; but in "The Tempest," Act I., sc. 2, it 
rather means an evil spirit, or fair;/. 3 would : in eds. 1591 and 1506. ■» you : in ed. 1000. 



THE EAPE OF LUCRECE. 



INTEODUCTION, 



[" Lvcrece. London. Printed by Eichard Field, for lohn 
Harrison, and are to be sold ut the sijjne of the white 
Greyhound in Paules Churcli-yard. 1594." 4to. 47 leaves. 

" Lvcrece At London, Printed by P. S. for lohn Harrison. 
1598." 8vo. 36 leaves. 

"Lvcrece London. Printed by L H. for lolm Harrison. 
1600." Svo. 36 leaves. 

" Lvcrece. At London, Printed be N. O. for lohu Harison. 
1607." Svo. 32 loaves.] 

" LucRECE," as it is merely called in the earlier impressions, 
came out in the year following " Venus and Adonis," and it 
was printed for John Harrison, the publisher of the edition 
of "Venus and Adonis," in 1596. It had been previously 
entered, under a more explanatory title, in the Stationers' 
Kegisters : 

" 9 May 1594. 

" Mr. Harrison, sen.] A booke intitled the Kavyshement of 
Lncreee." 
Like, " Venus and Adonis," it was dedicated to the Earl of 
Southampton, but in a more confident and assured spirit. 

This second production was, probably, not quite so popular 
as the first, and it was not again printed until 1598, for the 
uSame .bookseller, who put forth a third edition of it in 1600 : 
the tonrtii edition was issued in 1607 : these are not so 
marked, and M;ilone tolls us that he had lieard of impressions 
in 1596 and 1602, but they have not since come to light; and 
our belief is, that "Lucrece " was only printed four times 
between 1594 and 1607. An edition in 1616 purports to have 
been " newly revised and corrected ;" but, as Malone truly 
states, " it is the most inaccurate and corrupt of the ancient 
copies ;" and he adds that " most of the alterations seem to 
have been made, because the reviser did not understand the 
poet's meaning." That Shakespeare had nothing to do with 
the revision and correction of this edition requires no proof; 
and so little was it esteemed, that it was not followed in its 
changes in the edition of 1624, which also professes to have 
been " newly revised." This last is accompanied by marginal 
notes, prosaically explanatory of the incidents poetically 
narrated. 

The earliest mention of "Lucrece" occurs in the year in 
which it made its first appearance. Michael Drayton pub- 
lished his " Matilda," (a poem in seven-line stanzas, like 
" Lucrece ") in 1594, and there we meet with the following 
passage : — 

•' Iiuorece, of whom proud Rome hath boasted long, 
Lately reviv'd to live another age. 
And here arriv'd to tell of Tarquin's wrong, 
Her chaste denial, and the tyrant's rage, 
Acting her passions on our stately stage : 

She is remember'd, all forgetting me, 

Yet I as fair and chaste as e'er was she." 

A difficulty here may arise out of the fifth line, as if 
Drayton were referring to a play upon the story of Lucrece, 
and it is very possible that one was then in existence. 
Thomas Heywood's tragedy, " The Kape of Lucrece," did 
not appear in print until 1608, and he could hardly have been 
old enough to have been the author of such a drama in 1594 : 
he may, nevertheless, have availed himself of an elder play, 
and, according to the practice of the time, he may have felt 
warranted in publishing it as his own. It is likely, however, 
that Drayton's expressions arc not to be taken literally, and 
that his meaning merely was, that the story of Lucrece had 
lately been revived, and brottght upon the stage of the world : 
if this opinion be correct, the stanza we have above quoted 
contains a clear allusion to Shakespeare's " Lucrece ;" and a 
question then presents itself, why Drayton entirely omitted it 
in the after impressions of his " Matilda ?" He was a poet 
•who, as we have shown in the Introduction to "Julius 



Caesar," was in the babit of making extensive alterations in 
his productions, as they were severally reprinted, and the 
suppression of this stanza may have proceeded from many 
other causes than repentance of the praise he had bestowed 
upon a rival. 

The edition of " Lucrece " we have taken as onr,text is tlie 
first, which, like " Venus and Adonis," was printed by 
Itichard Field, though not on his own account. It may be 
stated on the whole to be an extremely creditable specimen 
of his typography : as the sheets were going through the press, 
some material errors were, however, observed in them, and 
they are therefore in several places corrected. This fact has 
hitherto escaped remark, but the variations are explained in 
our notes. 

Modern editors have performed their task without duo 
care, but of their want of attention we shall only liere adduce 
two specimens. In one of the speeches in which Lucrece 
endeavours to dissuade Tarquiu from his purpose, she tells 
him, 

" Thou back'st reproach against long-living laud." 
Which every modern editor misprints, 

" Thou back'st reproach against long-lived laud." 

Our second proof is from a later portion of the poem, just 
after Collatine has returned home, and meets his dishonoured 
wife : the true text, speaking of Collatine and Lucretia, is, 

" Both stood like old acquaintance in a trance 
Met far from home, wondering each other's chance." 

Malone, and all editors after him, make nonsense of the 
couplet, by printing, 

" But stood like old acquaintance in a trance," &c. 

depriving the verb of its nominative, and destroying the 
whole force of the figure. It would be easj' to add other 
instances of the same kind, but we refer for them to our notes. 



TO THE EIGHT HONOURABLE 

HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD. 



The Iovo I dedicate to your lordship is without end ; whereof 
this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. 
The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the 
worth of my itntutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. 
What I have done is yours ; what I have to do is yours ; being 
part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, 
my duty would showgreater' ; mean time, as it i.s, it is bound 
to your lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened 
with all happiness. 

Your lordship's in all duty, 

William Shakespeaee. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Lucius Tarquinius (for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus) 
after he had caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be 
cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not 
requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself 
of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noble- 
men of Rome, to besiege Ardea : during which siege, the principal 
men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tar- 
quinius, the king's son, in their discourses after supper every one 
commended the virtues of his own wife ; among whom. Collatinus 
extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that 
pleasant humour they all posted to Rome ; and intending by their 



- —my duty would show greater ;] Some of the later impressions | In Malone's Shakspeare, by Boswell, the word " all," before " happi- 
the editions of 1607 and 1624 for instance, read should for " would.' | ness," is omitted. 



THE KAPE OF LUCRECE. 



923 



secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that which every one had 
before avouched, only CoUatinus finds his wife (though it were late 
in the night) spinning amongst her maids : the other ladies were all 
found dancing and revelling, or in several di^'ports; whereujion the 
noblemen yielded CoUatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At 
that time 8extus Tarquinius, being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, 
yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest 
back to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew 
himself, and was (according to his estate) royally entertained and 
lodged by Lucrece at CoUatium. The same night he treacherously 
stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the 
morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily 
dispatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the 
camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius 
Brutus, the other with I'ublius Valerius ; and finding Lucrece attired 
in mourning habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. .She, first 
taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole 
manner of his dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself: which 
done, with one consent they all vowed to root out the whole hated 
family of the Tarquins ; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus 
acquainted the people with the doer, and manner of the vile deed, 
with a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king ; wherewith 
the people were so moved, that, with one consent and a general 
acclamation, the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state government 
changed fi'om kings to consuls. 



From the besieged Arclea all in post, 
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, 
Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, 
And to Collatiuni bears the lighlle.'^s fire 
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire, 
And girdle with embracing flames the waist 
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. 

Haply that name of chaste unhappily set 
This bateless edge on his keen appetite; 
When Collatine unwisely did not let 
To praise the clear unmatched red and white, 
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight ; 

Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties, 
With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. 

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, 

Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state ; 

What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent 

In the possession of his beauteous mate ; 

Reckoning his fortune at such high proud rate, 
That kings might be espoused to more fame, 
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. 

happiness ! enjoy'd but of a few ; 

And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done, 

As is the morning's silver-melting dew 

Against the golden splendour of the sun : 

An expir'd date, cancelTd ere well begun : 
Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms, 
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms. 

Beauty itself doth of itself per.suade 

The eyes of men without an orator ; 

Wiiat needeth, then, apologies be made 

To set forth that which is ,so singular? 

Or why is Collatine the publisher 

Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown 
From thievish ears, because it is his own ? 

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty 

Suggested^ this proud issue of a king, 

For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be : 

Perchance that envy of so rich a thing, 

Braving compare, disdainfully did sting [vaunt 

His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should 
That golden hap which their superiors want. 

• Instigated. 



But some untimely thought did instigate 
His all too timeless speed, if none of those : 
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, 
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes 
To quench the coal which in his liver glows. 
rash, false heat ! wrapt in repentant cold. 
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old. 

When at Collatium this false lord an-ived, 
Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame, 
Within whose face beauty and virtue strived 
Which of them both should underprop her fame : 
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame ; 
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite 
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white. 

But beauty, in that white intituled, 
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field : 
Then, virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, 
Which virtue gave the golden age to gild 
Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield ; 
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight. 
When shame assaiPd, the red should fence the white. 

This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, 
Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white : 
Of cither's colour was the other queen. 
Proving from world's minority their right. 
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight. 
The sovereignty of either being so great, 
That oft they interchange each other's seat. 

This silent war of lilies and of roses. 
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field. 
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses ; 
Where, lest between tliem both it should be kill'd, 
The coward captive vanquished doth yield 

To those two armies, that would let him go, 

Rather than triumph in so false a foe. 

Now thinks he, that her husband's shallow tongue, 
The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so, 
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong, 
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show : 
Therefore, that praise which Collatine doth owe, 

Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, 

In silent wonder of still gazing eyes. 

This earthly saint, adored by this devil, 
Little suspecteth the false worshipper. 
For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil : 
Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear : 
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer, 
And reverend welcome to her princely guest, 
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd : 

For that he colour'd with his high estate, 

Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty ; 

That nothing in him seem'd inordinate. 

Save sometime too much wonder of his eye, 

Which, having all, all could not satisfy ; 
But, poorly rich, so wantcth in his store, 
That cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more. 

But she, that never cop'd with stranger eyes, 

Could pick no meaning from their parling looks, 

Nor read the subtle shining secrecies 

Writ in the glassy margents of such books : 

She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks ; 



924 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



Nor could she moralize his wanton sight, 
More than his eyes were ojieu'd to the light. 

He stories to her ears her husband's fame, 

Won in the fields of fruitful Italy ; 

And decks with praises Collaline's high name, 

Made glorious by his manly chivalry, 

With bruised arms and wreaths of victory : 
Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express, 
And wordless so greets heaven for his success. 

Far from the purpose of his coming thither, 
He makes excuses for his being there : 
No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather 
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear j 
Till sable night, mother of dread and fear, 
Upon the world dim darkness doth display. 
And in her vanity prison stows the day. 

For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed. 

Intending' weariness with heavy sprite ; 

For after supper long he questioned 

With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night : 

Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight, 

And ttvery one to rest themselves betake, [wake. 

Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that 

As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving 
The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining ; 
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving, 
Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining : 
Despair to gain doth traffick oft for gaining ; 
And when great treasure is the meed proposed, 
Though death be adjunct, there's no death supposed. 

Those that much covet are with gain so fond. 
That what they have not. that which they possess, 
They scatter and unloose it from their bond. 
And so, by hoping more, they have but less ; 
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess 
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain. 
That they prove bankrupt in this poor rich gain. 

The aim of all is but to nurse the life 
With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age ; 
And in this aim there is such thwarting strife. 
That one for all, or all for one we gage ; 
As life for honour in fell battles' rage ; 

Honour for wealth, and oft that wealth doth cost 

The death of all, and all together lost. 

So that in venturing ill, we leave to be 

The things we are for that which we expect ; 

And this ambitious foul infirmity. 

In having much, torments us with defect 

Of that we have : so then we do neglect 

The thing we have ; and, all for want of wit, 
Make something nothing by augmenting it. 

Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make. 
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust. 
And for himself himself he must forsake : 
Then, where is truth, if there be no self-trust? 
When shall he think to find a stranger just, 
When he himself himself confounds, betrays 
To slanderous tongues, and wretched hateful days ? 

Now stole upon the time the dead of night. 
When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes ; 
1 Pretending . 



No comfortable star did lend his light, 

No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries : 

Now serves the season that they may surprise 

The silly lambs. Pure thoughts arc dead and still, 
While lust and murder wake, to stain and kill. 

And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed. 
Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm. 
Is madly toss'd between desire and dread ; 
Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm ; 
But honest fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm. 
Doth too too oft betake him to retire, 
Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire. 

His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth, 
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly, 
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth-, 
Which must be lode-star to his lu.stful eye ; 
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly : 

As from this cold flint I enfore'd this fire. 

So Lucrece must I force to my desire. 

Here, pale with fear, he doth premeditate 
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise, 
And in his inward mind he doth debate 
What following sorrow may on this arise : 
Then, looking scornfully, he doth despise 
His naked armour of still slaughtered lust. 
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust. 

Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not 
To darken her whose light excelleth thine ; 
And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot 
With your uncleanness that which is divine : • 
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine : 

Let fair humanity abhor the deed, 

That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed. 

shame to knighthood, and to shining arms ! 
foul dishonour to my household's grave I 
impious act, including all foul harms ! 
A martial man to be soft fancy's slave ! 
True valour still a true respect should have ; 

Then, my digression is so vile, so base. 

That it will live engraven in my face. 

Yea, though I die. the scandal will survive, 

And be an eye-sore in my golden coat ; 

Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive, 

To cipher me how fondly I did dote ; 

That my posterity, sham'd with the note. 
Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin 
To wish that I their father had not been. 

What win I, if I gain the thing I seek ? 

A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. 

Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week. 

Or sells eternity to get a toy ? 

For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy ? 
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, 
Would with the sceptre straight be stricken down ? 

If Collatinus dream of my intent. 
Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage 
Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent ? 
This siege that hath engirt his marriage. 
This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, 
This dying virtue, this surviving shame. 
Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame. 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



925 



! what excuse can my invention make, 

When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed ? 

Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake, 

Mine eyes forego their light, my false lieart bleed ? 

The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed ; 
And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly, 
But coward-like with trembling terror die. 

Had CoUatinus kill'd my son or sire, 
Or lain in ambush to betray my life. 
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire 
Might have excuse to work upon his wife, 
As in revenge or quital of such strife ; 
But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend, 
The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. 

Shameful it is ; — ay, if the fact be known : 
Hateful it is ; — there is no hate in loving : 

1 '11 beg her love : — but she is not her own : 
The worst is but denial, and reproving. 

My will is strong, past reason's weak removing : 
Who fears a sentence, or an old man's saw, 
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe. 

Thus, graceless, holds he disputation 
'Twcen frozen conscience and hot burning will, 
And with good thoughts makes dispensation, 
Urging the worser sense for vantage still ; 
Which in a moment doth confound and kill 
Ail pure effects, and doth so far proceed. 
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed. 

Quoth he, she took me kindly by the hand, 

And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes. 

Fearing some hard news from the warlike band, 

Where her beloved Collatinus lies. 

0, how her fear did make her colour rise ! 
First red as roses that on la\\ni we lay, 
Then, white as lawn, the roses took away. 

And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd, 
Forc'd it to tremble with her loyal fear ! 
Which struck her sad. and then it faster rock'd, 
Until her husband's welfare she did hear ; 
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer, 
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood. 
Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. 

Why hunt I, then, for colour or excuses ? 

All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth ; 

Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses ; 

Love tlirives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth : 

Affection is my captain, and he leadeth ; 
And when his gaudy banner is display'd. 
The coward fights, and will not be dismay'd. 

Then, childish fear, avaunt ! debating, die ! 
Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age ! 
My heart shall never countermand mine eye : 
Slid pause and deep regard beseem the sage ; 
My part is youth, and beats these from the stage. 

Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize ; 

Then, who fears sinking where such treasure lies ? 

As corn o'er grown by weeds, so heedful fear 
Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust. 
Away he steals with open listening ear, 
Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust ; 
Both which, as servitors to the unjust, 

' Nipped by the frost. 



So cross him with their opposite persuasion. 
That now he vows a league, and now invasion. 

Within his thought her heavenly image sits, 
And in the selfsame seat sits CoUatine : 
That eye which looks on her confounds his wits j 
That eye which him beholds, as more divine, 
Unto a view so false will not incline ; 

But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart. 
Which, once corrupted, takes the worser part ; 

And therein heartens up his servile powers, 
Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show, 
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours : 
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow, 
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. 
By reprobate desire thus madly led. 
The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. 

The locks between her chamber and his will, 
Each one by him enforc'd retires his ward ; 
But as they open they all rate his ill, 
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard : 
The threshold grates the door to have him heard ; 

Night- wandering weesels shriek, to see him there; 

They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. 

As each unwilling portal yields him way, 
Through little vents and crannies of the place 
The wind wars with his torch to make him stay, 
And blows the smoke of it into his face, 
Extinguishing his conduct in this case ; 

But his hot heart, with fond desire doth scorch, 
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch : 

And being lighted, by the light he spies 
Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks : 
He takes it from the rushes where it lies. 
And griping it, the needle his finger pricks; 
As who should say, this glove to wanton tricks 

Is not inur'd ; return again in haste ; 

Thou seest our mistress' ornaments arc chaste. 

But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him ; 
He in the worst sense construes their denial : 
The doors, the wind, the glove, that did delay him, 
He takes for accidental things of trial. 
Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial ; 
Who with a ling'ring stay his course doth let. 
Till every minute pays the hour his debt. 

So. so. quoth he : these lets attend the time, 
Like little frosts that sometim.e threat the spring, 
To add a more rejoicing to the prime, 
And give the sneaped' birds more cause to sing. 
Pain pays the income of each precious thing ; [sands. 
Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, .'^helves and 
The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands. 

Now is he come unto the chamber-door, 
That shuts him from the heaven of his thought. 
Which with a yielding latch, and with no more, 
Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought. 
So from himself impiety hath AATought. 
That for his prey to pray ho doth begin, 
As if the heavens should countenance his sin. 

But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, 
Having solicited th' eternal power 



926 



THE RAPE OF LUCEECE. 



That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair, 
And they would stand auspicious to the hour, 
Even there he starts : — quoth he. I must deflower : 
The powers to whom I jjray abhor this fact, 
How can they, then, assist me in the act ? 

Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide ! 

My will is back'd with resolution : 

Thoughts are but dreams, till their effects be tried ; 

The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution ; 

Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution. 
The eye of heaven is out, and misty night 
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight. 

This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch. 

And with his knee the door he opens wide. 

The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch : 

Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. 

Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside ; 

But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing, 

Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. 

Into the chamber wickedly he stalks, 
And gazeth on her yet-unstained bed. 
The curtains being close, about he walks, 
Rolling his greedy eye-balls in his head : 
By their high treason is his heart misled ; " 

Which gives the watch- word to his hand full soon. 
To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. 

Look, as the fair and fiery pointed sun, 
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight ; 
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun 
To wink, being blinded with a greater light : 
Whether it is, that she reflects so bright. 

That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed. 
But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed. 

! had they in that darksome prison died, 
Then had they seen the period of their ill : 
Then Collatine again, by Lucrece' side, 
[n his clear bed might have reposed still ; 
But they must ope, this blessed league to kill. 
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight 
JMust sell her joy, her life, her world's delight. 

Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under, 
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss. 
Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder. 
Swelling on either side to Avant his bliss, 
Between whose hills her head intombed is ; 
Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies, 
To be admir'd of lewd unhallowed eyes. 

Without the bed her other fair hand was, 
On the green coverlet ; whose perfect white 
Show'd like an April daisy on the grass. 
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night. 
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light, 
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay, 
Till they might open to adorn the day. 

Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath ; 

modest wantons ! wanton modesty ! 

Showing life's triumph in the map of death, 

And death's dim look in life's mortality : 

Each in her sleep themselves so beautify, 

As if between them twain there were no strife, 
But that life liv'd in death, and death in life. 

1 Fed^ as a falcon on his prey. 



Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue, 

A pair of maiden worlds unconquered ; 

Save of their lord, no bearing yoke they knew. 

And him by oath they truly honoured. 

These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred ; 
Who, like a foul usurper, went about 
From this fair throne to heave the owner out. 

What could he see, but mightily he noted ? 

What did he note, but strongly he desired ? 

What he beheld, on that he firmly doted, 

And in his will his wilful eye he tired.' 

With more than admiration he admired 
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin. 
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin. 

As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey. 

Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied, 

So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay, 

His rage of lust by gazing qualified ; 

Slak'd, not supprcss'd ; for standing by her side, 
His eye, which late this mutiny restrains. 
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins : 

And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting, 
Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting. 
In bloody death and ravishment delighting. 
Nor children's tears, nor mothers' groans respecting, 
Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting: 
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking. 
Gives the hot charge, and bids them do their liking, 

His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye. 
His eye commends the leading to his hand ; 
His hand, as proud of such a dignity. 
Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand 
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land. 
Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale, 
Left their round turrets destitute and pale. 

They, mustering to the quiet cabinet 
Where their dear governess and lady lies, 
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset. 
And fright her with confusion of their cries : 
She, much amaz'd. breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes. 
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold. 
Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controll'd. 

Imagine her as one in dead night 
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking, 
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite, 
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking; 
What terror 't is ! but she, in worser taking, 
From sleep disturbed, hcedfully doth view 
The sight which makes supposed terror true. 

Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears. 
Like to a new-lrill'd bird she trembling lies ; 
She dares not look ; yet, winking, there appears 
Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes : 
Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries ; 
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights, 
In darlmess daunts them with more dreadful sights. 

His hand, that yet remains upon her breast, 
(Rude ram to batter such an ivory wall) 
May feel her heart (poor citizen !) distress'd. 
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall. 
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal. 



This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity, 
To make the breach, and enter this sweet city. 

First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin 

To sound a parley to his heartless foe ; 

Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin, 

The reason of this rash alarm to know, 

Whicli he by dumb demeanour seeks to show; 
But she with vehement prayers urgeth still, 
Under what colour he commits this ill. 

Thus he replies : The colour in thy face 
That even for anger makes the lily pale. 
And the red rose blush at her own disgrace. 
Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale : 
Under that eolovu' am I come to scale 

Thy never conquer'd fort: the fault is thine, 
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine. 

Thus T forestall thee, if thou mean to chide : 
Thy beauty hath ensnar'd thoe to this night, 
Where thou with patience must my will abide. 
My will, that marks thee for my earth's delight. 
Which I to conquer sought with all my might; 
But as reproof and reason beat it dead, 
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred, 

I see what crosses my attempt will bring, 
I know what thorns the growing rose defends, 
I think the honey guarded with a sting ; 
All this beforehand counsel comprehends, 
But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends : 
Only ho hath an eye to gaze on beauty. 
And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty. 

I have debated, even in my soul. 

What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed ; 

But nothing can atfection's course control, 

Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. 

I know repentant tears ensue the deed. 

Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity. 

Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy. 

This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade, 
Which, like a falcon towering in the skies, 
Couclieth the fowl below with his wings' shade, 
Whose crooked beak threats, if he mount he dies : 
So under his insulting falchion lies 

Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells. 
With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's bells. 

Lucrece, quoth he, this night I must enjoy thee : 
If thou deny, then force must work my way, 
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee. 
That done, some worthless slave of thine I '11 slay. 
To kill tliine honour with thy life's decay ; 

And in thy dead arms do 1 mean to place him. 
Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him. 

So thy surviving husband shall remain 

The scornful mark of every open eye ; 

Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain, 

Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy : 

And thou, the author of their obloquy, 

Shalt have tliy trespass cited up in rhymes, 
And sung by children in succeeding times. 

But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend: 
The fault unkno^Ti is as a thought unacted ; 

1 Vulture. 3 Intended. 



A little harm, done to a great good end, 

For lawful policy remains enacted. 

The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted 

In a pure comi)ound ; being so applied. 

His venom in effect is purified. 

Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake, 
Tender my suit : bequeath not to their lot 
The shame that from them no device can take. 
The blemish that will never be forgot ; 
Worse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot ; 
For marks descried in mens nativity 
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy. 

Here, with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye. 

He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause ; 

While she, the picture of pure piety. 

Like a white hind under the gripe's^ sharp claws, 

Pleads in a wilderness, where are no laws, 

To tlie rough beast that knows no gentle right, 

Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite. 

But when a black-fac'd cloud the world doth threat, 
In his dim mist th' aspiring mountains hiding, 
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get, 
Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding, 
Hindering their present fall by this dividing : 
So his unhallowed haste her AS^ords delays, 
And moody Pluto winks, while Orpheus plays. 

Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally, 
While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth : 
Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly, 
A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth. 
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth 
No penetrable entrance to her plaining : 
Tears harden lust, though marble wears with raining. 

Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fixed 

In the remorseless wrinkles of his face ; 

Her modest eloquence with sighs is mixed. 

Which to her oratory adds more grace. 

She puts the period often from his place ; 

And 'midst the sentence so her accent breaks. 
That twice she doth begin, ere once she speaks. 

She conjures him by high almighty Jove, 
By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath. 
By her untimely tears, her husband's love. 
By holy human law, and common troth. 
By heaven and earth, and all the power of both, 
That to his borrow'd bed he make retire. 
And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. 

Quoth she, reward not hospitality ; 
With such black payment as thou hast pretended f 
Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee ; 
Mar not the thing that cannot be amended ; 
End thy ill aim before thy shoot be ended : 

He is no wood-man, that doth bend his bow 

To strike a poor unseasonable doe. 

My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare me ; 
Thyself art mighty, for thine own sake leave me; 
Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me : 
Thou look'st not like deceit, do not deceive me: 
My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee. 
If ever man were mov'd with woman's moans. 
Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans. 



928 



THE EAPE OF LUCEECE. 



All which together, like a troubled ocean, 
Beat at thy rocky and Avreck-threatening heart, 
To soften it with their continual motion ; 
For stones dissolv'd to water do convert. 
0, if no harder than a stone thou art, 

Melt at my tears and be compassionate ! 

Soft pity enters at an iron gate. 

In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee ; 

Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame ? 

To all the host of heaven I complain me. 

Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely name : 

Thou art not what thou seem'st ; and if the same, 

Thou seem'st not what thou art, a eod, a king ; 

r or kings like gods should govern every thing. 

How will thy shame be seeded in thine age, 
When thus thy vices bud before thy spring? 
If in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage, 
What dar'st thou not, when once thou art a king ? 
0, be remembcr'd ! no outrageous thing 

From vassal actors can be wip'd away ; 

Then, kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. 

This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear ; 
But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love : 
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear, 
When they in thee the iike offences prove : 
If but for fear of this, thy will remove ; 

For princes are the glass, the school, the book. 
Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look. 

And wilt thou be the school where lust shall learn? 

Must he in thee read lectures of such shame? 

Wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern 

Authority for sin, warrant for blame. 

To privilege dishonour in thy name ? 

Thou back'st reproach against long-living laud. 
And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd. 

Hast thou command ? by him that gave it thee, 
From a pure heart command thy rebel will : 
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity. 
For it was lent thee all that brood to kill. 
Thy princely office hov.r canst thou fulfil, 

When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul sin may say, 
He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way ? 

Think but how vile a spectacle it were, 

To view thy present trespass in another. 

Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear ; 

Their own transgressions partially they smother : 

This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother. 
0. how are they A^Tapp'd in with infamies. 
That from their own misdeeds askance their eyes ! 

To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal. 

Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier ; 

I sue for exil'd majesty's repeal ; 

Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire : 

His true respect will prison false desire. 

And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne. 
That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine. 

Have done, quoth he : my uncontrolled tide 
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. 
Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide. 
And v,^ith the wind in greater fury fret : 
The petty streams, that pay a daily debt 



To their salt sovereign with their fresh falls' haste, 
Add to his flow, but alter not his taste. 

Thou art, quoth she, a sea, a sovereign king ; 
And lo ! there falls into thy boundless flood 
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning. 
Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood. 
If all these petty ills shall change thy good. 
Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hersed. 
And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed. 

So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave ; 
Thou nobly base, they basely dignified ; 
Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave : 
Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride : 
The lesser thing should not the greater hide ; 
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot. 
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root. 

So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state — 
No more, quoth he ; by heaven, I will not hear thee : 
Yield to my love : if not, enforced hate. 
Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee ; 
That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee 
Unto the base bed of some rascal groom. 
To be thy partner in this shameful doom. 

This said, he sets his foot upon the light, 
For light and lust are deadly enemies : 
Shame, folded up in blind concealing night, 
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize. 
The wolf hath seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries ; 
Till with her own white fleece her voice controU'd 
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold : 

For with the nightly linen that she wears. 
He pens her piteous clamours in her head. 
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears 
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. 
0, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed ! 
The spots whereof could weeping purify. 
Her tears should drop on them perpetually. 

But she hath lost a dearer thing than life, 

And he hath won what he would lose again ; 

This forced league doth force a further strife; 

This momentary joy breeds months of pain : 

This hot desire converts to cold disdain. 
Pure chastity is rifled of her store, 
And lust, the thief, far poorer than before. 

Look, as the full-fed hound, or gorged hawk, 
Unapt for tender smell, or speedy flight, 
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk 
The prey wherein by nature they delight : 
So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night : 
His taste delicious, in digestion souring, 
Devours his will, that liv'd by foul devouring. 

deeper sin, than bottomless conceit 

Can comprehend in still imagination ! 

Drunken desire must vomit his receipt. 

Ere he can see his own abomination. 

While lust is in his pride, no exclamation 
Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire. 
Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire. 

And then, with lank and lean discolour'd cheek. 
With heav)' eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace. 



THE EAPE OF LUCRECE. 



929 



Feeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek, 

Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case : 

The flesh being proud, desire doth fight with grace, 

For there it revels ; and when that decays, 

The guilty rebel for remission prays. 

So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome, 
Who this accomplishment so hotly chased ; 
For now against himself he sounds this doom. 
That through the length of times he stands disgraced: 
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced ; 
To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares, 
To ask the spotted princess how she fares. 

She says, her subjects with foul insurrection 
Have batter'd down her consecrated wall, 
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection 
Her immortality, and made her thrall 
To living death, and pain perpetual : 

Which in her prescience she controlled still. 
But her foresight could not fore-stall their will. 

Even in this thought through the dark night he stealeth. 
A captive victor that hath lost in gain ; 
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth, 
The scar that will despite of cure remain; 
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain. 

She bears the load of lust he left behind, 

And he the burden of a guilty mind. 

He, like a thievish dog, creeps sadly thence, 
She like a wearied lamb lies panting there : 
He scowls, and hates himself for his offence, 
She desperate with her nails her flesh doth tear; 
He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear ; 
She stays, exclaiming on the direful night : 
He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd delight. 

He thence departs a hea%^ convertite. 

She there remains a hopeless cast-away ; 

He in his speed looks for the morning light, 

She prays she never may behold the day ; 

For day, quoth she, night's scapes doth open lay. 
And my true eyes have never practis'd how 
To cloke offences with a cunning brow. 

They think not but that every eye can see 
The same disgrace which they themselves behold. 
And therefore would they still in darkness be, 
To have their unseen sin remain untold : 
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold. 
And grave, like water that doth eat in steel, 
t/^wn my cheeks what helpless shame I feel. 

Here she exclaims against repose and rest, 
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind. 
She wakes her heart by beating on her brea^, 
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find 
Some purer' chest to close so pure a mind. 

Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite 

Against the unseen secrecy of night. 

O. comfort-killing night, image of hell ! 

Dim resistor and notary of shame ! 

Black stage for tragedies and murders fell ! 

Vast sin-concealing chaos ! nurse of blame ! 

Blind nuiffled bawd ! dark harbour for defame ! 
Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator 
With dose-tongu'd treason and the ravisher ! 

1 Note, observe. * Word, motto. 



0, hateful, vaporous, and foggy night ! 
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime, 
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light, 
Make war against proportion'd course of time : 
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb 
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, 
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. 

With rotten damps ravish the morning air ; 

Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick 

The life of purity, the supreme fair. 

Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick ; 

And let thy musty vapours march so thick. 
That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light 
May set at noon, and make perpetual night. 

Were Tarquin night, as he is but night's child, 
The silver-shining queen he would distain ; 
Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defll'd. 
Through night's black bosom should not peep again : 
So should I have copartners in my pain ; 
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage. 
As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage. 

Where, now, I have no one to blush with me. 
To cross their arms, and hang their heads with mine. 
To mask their brows, and hide their infamy j 
But I alone, alone mvxst sit and pine, 
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine; 
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans, 
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. 

night ! thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, 
Let not the jealous day behold that face 
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak 
Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace : 
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place, 

That all the faults which in thy reign are made, 
May likewise be sepulcher'd in thy shade. 

Make me not object to the tell-tale day ! 

The light will show, character'd in my brow, 

The story of sweet chastity's decay, 

The impious breach of holy wedlock vow : 

Yea, the illiterate, that know not how 
To cipher what is writ in learned books. 
Will quote' my loathsome trespass in my looks. 

The nurse to still her child will tell my story, 

And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name ; 

The orator to deck his oratory 

Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame ; 

Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame. 
Will tie the hearers to attend each line. 
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine. 

Let my good name, that senseless reputation, 
For CoUatine's dear love be kept unspotted : 
If that be made a theme for disputation. 
The branches of another root are rotted, 
And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted, 

That is as clear from this attaint of mine. 

As I ere this was pure to Collatine. 

unseen shame ! invisible disgrace ! 
unfclt sore ! crest-wounding, private scar ! 
Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' face. 
And Tarquin's eye may read the mot' afar, 
How he in peace is wounded, not in war. 



59 



930 



THE EAPE OF LUCEECE. 



Alas ! how many bear such shameful blows, 
Which not themselves, but he that gives them, knowf 

If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me, 

From me by strong assault it is bereft. 

My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee, 

Have no perfection of my summer left. 

But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft : 
In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept. 
And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept. 

Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack ; 
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him ; 
Coming from thee, I could not put him back. 
For it had been dishonour to disdain him : 
Besides, of weariness he did complain him. 
And talk'd of virtue. — 0, unlook'd for evil, 
When virtue is profan'd in such a devil ! 

Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud, 
Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests ? 
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud ? 
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts ? 
Or kings be breakers of their own behests ? 

But no perfection is so absolute. 

That some impurity doth not pollute. 

The aged man that coffers up his gold, 
Is plagu'd with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits, 
And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold, 
But like still-pining Tantalus he sits, 
And useless barns the harvest of his wits ; 
Having no other pleasure of his gain, 
But torment that it cannot cure his pain. 

So. then he hath it, when he cannot use it. 
And leaves it to be master'd by his young ; 
Who in their pride do presently abuse it : 
Their father was too weak, and they too strong. 
To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long. 

The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours, 
Even in the moment that we call them ours. 

Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring. 
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers, 
The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing, 
What virtue breeds, iniquity devours ; 
We have no good that we can say is ours, 

But ill annexed opportunity 

Or kills his life, or else his quality. 

O, Opportunity ! thy guilt is great : 
'T is thou that execut'st the traitor's treason ; 
Thou sett'st the wolf where he the lamb may get ; 
Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season : 
'T is thou that spurn' st at right, at law, at reason : 
And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him. 
Sits sin to seize the souls that wander by him. 

Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath ; 

Thou blow'st the fire, when temperance is thaw'd ; 

Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth : 

Thou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd ! 

Thou plantest scandal, and displacest laud : 
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief, 
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief ! 

Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, 
Thy private feasting to a public fast ; 

' Broktn, tarnished. » Select. ' Satisfied. * End. 



Thy smoothing titles to a ragged' name. 
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste : 
Thy violent vanities can never last. 
How comes it then, vile Opportunity, 
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee ? 

When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend, 
And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd ? 
When wilt thou sorl^ an hour great strifes to end. 
Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chained? 
Give physic to the sick, ease to the pained ? 

The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee, 
But they ne'er meet with Opportunity. 

The patient dies while the physician sleeps ; 
The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds ; 
Justice is feasting while the widow weeps ; 
Advice is sporting while infection breeds : 
Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds. 

Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murders rages; 

Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages. 

When truth and virtue have to do with thee, 
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid : 
They buy thy help ; but sin ne'er gives a fee : 
He gratis comes, and thou art well appay'd,^ 
As well to hear, as grant what he hath said. 
My Collatine would else have come to me, 
When Tarquin did ; but ho was stay'd by thee. 

Guilty thou art of murder and of theft ; 

Guilty of perjury and subornation ; 

Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift ; 

Guilty of incest, that abomination : 

An accessory by thine inclination 

To all sins past, and all that are to come. 
From the creation to the general doom. 

Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly night, 

Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care ; 

Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, 

Base watcli of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare ; 

Thou nursest all, and murderest all that are. 

hear me, then, injurious, shifting Time ! 

Be guilty of my death, since of my crime. 

Why hath thy servant, Opportunity, 
Betray'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose? 
Caneell'd my fortunes, and enchained me 
To endless date of never-ending woes ? 
Time's office is to fine* the hate of foes; 

To eat up errors by opinion bred. 

Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed. 

Time's glory is to calm contending kings. 
To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, 
To stamp the seal of time in aged things. 
To wake the morn, and sentinel the night. 
To wrong the wronger till he render right : 
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, 
And smear with dust their glittering golden towers ; 

To fill with worm-holes stately monuments, 
To feed oblivion with decay of things. 
To blot old books, and alter their contents. 
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, 
To dry the old oak's sap, and cherish springs ; 
To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel. 
And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel : 



THE KAPE OF LUCRECE. 



931 



To show the beldame daughters of her daughter, 
To make the child a man, the man a child, 
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter. 
To tame the unicorn and lion wild ; 
To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd ; 
To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops. 
And waste huge stones with little water-drops j 

Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage. 
Unless thou could.st return to make amends ? 
One poor retiring' minute in an age 
Would purchase thee a thousand thovxsand friends. 
Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends : 

! this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back, 

1 could prevent this storm, and shun thy wrack. 

Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity, 
With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight : 
Devise extremes beyond extremity 
To make him curse this cursed crimeful night : 
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright, 
And the dire thought of his committed evil 
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil. 

Disturb liis hours of rest with restless trances, 
Afiiict him in his bed with bedrid groans; 
Let there bechance him pitiful mischances, 
To make him moan, but pity not his moans : 
Stone him with hardened hearts, harder than stones ; 
And let mild women to him lose their mildness, 
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. 

Let him liave time to tear his curled hair, 
Let him have time against himself to rave. 
Let him have time of time's help to despair. 
Let him have time to live a loathed slave ; 
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave. 
And time to see one that by alms doth live, 
Disdain to him disdained scraps to give. 

Let him have time to see his friends his foes. 

And merry fools to mock at him resort ; 

Let him have time to mark how slow time goes 

In time of sorrow, and how swift and short 

His time of folly, and his time of sport : 
And ever let his unrecalling crime 
Have time to wail th' abusing of his time. 

Time, thou tutor both to good and bad, 

Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill ! 

At his own shadow let the thief run mad. 

Himself himself seek every hour to kill ! 

Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill ; 
For who so base should such an office have 
As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave? 

The baser is he. coming from a king, 
To shame his hope with deeds degenerate : 
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing 
That makes him honoured, or begets him hate ; 
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. 
The moon being clouded presently is miss'd, 
But little stars may hide them when they list. 

The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire. 

And unpercciv'd fly with the filth away; 

But if the like the snow-white swan desire. 

The stain upon his silver down will stay. 

Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day : 

1 Returning. ' Value. 



Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly, 
But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye. 

Out, idle words ! servants to shallow fools, 

Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators ! 

Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools ; 

Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters; 

To trembling clients be you mediators: 
For me, I force' not argument a straw. 
Since that my case is past the help of law. 

In vain I rail at Opportunity, 
At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night ; 
In vain I cavil with mine infamy. 
In vain I spurn at my eonfirm'd despite : 
This helpless smoke of words doth me no right. 
The remedy, indeed, to do me good, 
Is to let forth my foul, defiled blood. 

Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree? 
Honour thyself to rid me of this shame ; 
For if I die, my honour lives in thee. 
But if I live, thou liv'st in my defame: 
Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame. 
And wast afear'd to scratch her wicked foe, 
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so. 

This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth, 
To find some desperate instrument of death; 
But this no slaughter-house no tool imparteth, 
To make more vent for passage of her breath, 
Which, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth 
As smoke from ^tna, that in air consumes, 
Or that which from discharged camion fumes. 

In vain, quoth she, I live ; and seek in vain 
Some happy mean to end a hapless life : 
I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain, 
Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife; 
But when I fear'd. I was a loyal wife. 
So am I now : — no ! that cannot be : 
Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me. 

! that is gone, for which I sought to live, 
And therefore now I need not fear to die. 
To clear this spot by death, at least, I give 
A badge of fame to slander's livery ; 

A dying life to living infamy. 

Poor helpless help, the treasure stol'n away. 
To burn the guiltless casket where it lay ! 

Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know 
The stained taste of violated troth ; 

1 will not wTong thy true affeetion so. 
To flatter thee with an infringed oath ; 

This bastard graff shall never come to growth : 
He shall not boast, who did thy stock pollute. 
That thou art doting father of his fruit. 

Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, 
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state ; 
But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought 
Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate. 
For me, I am the mistress of my fate, 

And with my trespass never will dispense. 
Till life to death acquit my forc'd offence. 

I will not poison thee with my attaint, 
Nor fold my fault in cleanly coin'd excuses j 



933 



THE EAPE OF LUCKECE. 



My sable ground of sin I will not paint, 
To hide the truth of this false night's abuses : 
My tongue shall utter all ; mine eyes, like sluices, 
As from a mountain spring that feeds a dale. 
Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale. 

By this, lamenting Philomel had ended 
The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow, 
And solemn night with slow, sad gait descended 
To ugly hell ; when lo ! the blushing morrow 
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow ; 
But cloudy Lucreee shames herself to see, 
And therefore still in night would cloister'd be. 

Revealing day through every cranny spies. 

And seems to point her out where she sits weeping; 

To whom she sobbing speaks : eye of eyes ! 

Why pry'st thou through my window ? leave thy peeping; 

Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping : 
Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light. 
For day hath nought to do what 's done by night. 

Thus cavils she with every thing she sees. 
True grief is fond and testy as a child. 
Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees : 
Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild ; 
Continuance tames the one ; the other wild, 
Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still, 
With too much labour drowns for want of skill. 

So she, deep drenched in a sea of care. 
Holds disputation with each thing she views. 
And to herself all sorrow doth compare : 
No object but her passion's strength renews, 
And as one shifts, another straight ensues: 

Sometime her grief is dumb, and hath no words ; 

Sometime 't is mad, and too much talk affords. 

The little birds that tune their morning's joy, 

Make her moans mad with their sweet melody ; 

For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy : 

Sad souls are slain in merry company ; 

Grief best is pleas'd with grief's society : 
True sorrow then is feelingly suffie'd, 
When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd. 

'T is double death to drownr in ken of shore ; 

He ten times pines, that pines beholding food ; 

To see the salve doth make the wound ache more ; 

Great grief grieves most at that would do it good : 

Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood, 

Who, being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'erflows : 
Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows. 

You mocking birds, quoth she, your tunes entomb 
Within your hollow swelling feather'd breasts. 
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb : 
My restless discord loves no stops nor rests ;' 
A woful hostess brooks not merry guests. 

Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ; 

Distress likes dumps,- when time is kept with tears. 

Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment. 

Make thy sad grave in my dishevel'd hair. 

As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment, 

So I at each sad strain will strain a tear. 

And with deep groans the diapason bear : 
For burden-wise I '11 hum on Tarquin still, 
While thou on Tereus descant' st, better skill.' 

1 Terms in, music. 2 Melancholy music. 3 j. e. with better skill ; 



And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part, 
To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I, 
To imitate thee well, against my heart 
Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye, 
Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die. 
These means, as frets upon an instrument. 
Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment. 

And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day, 
As shaming any eye should thee behold. 
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way. 
That knows not parching heat nor freezing cold, 
Will we find out ; and there we will unfold 

To creatures stern sad tunes to change their kinds : 
Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds. 

As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze, 

Wildly determining which way to fly, 

Or one encompass'd with a winding maze, 

That cannot tread the way out readily ; 

So with herself is she in mutiny. 

To live or die which of the twain were better. 
When life is sham'd, and death reproach's debtor. 

To kill myself, quoth she, alack ! what were it, 
But with my body my poor soul's pollution ? 
They that lose half, with greater patience bear it. 
Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion. 
That mother tries a merciless conclusion. 

Who having two sweet babes, when death takes one, 
Will slay the other, and be nurse to none. 

My body or my sov^l, which was the dearer, 
When the one pure, the other made divine ? 
Whose love of either to myself was nearer. 
When both were kept for heaven and Collatine ? 
Ah me ! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine. 

His love will wither, and his sap decay; 

So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. 

Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted, 

Her mansion batter'd by the enemy ; 

Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd. corrupted. 

Grossly engirt with daring infamy : 

Then, let it not be call'd impiety. 

If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole. 
Through which I may convey this troubled soul. 

Yet die T will not, till my Collatine 
Have heard the cause of my untimely death. 
That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine, 
Revenge on him that made me stop my breath. 
My stained blood to Tarquin I '11 bequeath, 

Which by him tainted shall for him be spent, 

And as his due writ in my testament. 

My honour I '11 bequeath unto the knife 

That wounds my body so dishonoured. 

'T is honour to deprive dishonour'd life ; 

The one will live, the other being dead ; 

So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred : 
For in my death I murder shameful seorn : 
My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born. 

Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost. 
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee ? 
My resolution, love, shall be thy boast. 
By whose example thou reveng'd may'st be. 
How Tarquin must be us'd, read it in me : 

" descant" seems to have meant what we now call variation. 



THE KAPE OF LUCRECE. 



933 



Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe, 
And for my sake serve thou false Tarquin so. 

This brief abridgment of my will I make : — 

My soul and body to the skies and ground : 

My resolution, husband, do thou take ; 

Mine honour be the knife's that makes my wound ; 

My shame be his that did my fame confound ; 
And all my fame that lives disbursed be 
To those that live, and think no shame of me. 

Thou, CoUatine, shalt oversee this will ;^ 

How was I overseen that thou shalt see it ! 

My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill ; 

My life's foul deed my life's fair end shall free it. 

Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say. " so be it." 
Yield to my hand ; my hand shall conquer thee : 
Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be. 

This plot of death when sadly she had laid, 
And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes, 
With untun'd tongue she hoarsely calls'^ her maid, 
Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies ; 
For fleet- wing'd duty with thought's feathers flics. 
Poor Luereee' cheeks unto her maid seem so. 
As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow. 

Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow, 
With soft slow tongue, true mark of modesty, 
And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow. 
For why, her face wore sorrow's livery ; 
But durst not ask of her audaciously 

Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so. 
Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe. 

But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set. 
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye. 
Even so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet 
Her circled cyne, enforc'd by sympathy 
Of those fair suns set in her mistress' sky. 

Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light, 
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night. 

A pretty while these pretty creatures stand, 
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling : 
One justly weeps, the other takes in hand 
No cause but company of her drops spilling : 
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing. 

Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts. 
And then they drown their eyes, or break their hearts : 

For men have marble, women waxen, minds. 
And therefore are they form'd as marble will ; 
The weak opprcss'd, th' impression of strange kinds 
Is form'd in them by tbree, by fraud, or skill : 
Then, call them not the authors of their ill, 
No more than wax shall be accounted evil. 
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil. 

Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain. 
Lays open all tlie little worms that creep : 
Li men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain 
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep. 
Through crystal walls each little mote will peep: 
Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks. 
Poor women's faces are their own faults' books. 

No man inveigh against the withered flower. 

But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd. 



Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour, 
Is worthy blame. ! let it not be hild^ 
Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfiU'd 
With men's abuses : those proud lords, to blame, 
Make weak-made women tenants to their shame. 

The precedent whereof in Luereee view, 
Assail'd by night, with circumstances strong 
Of present death, and shame that might ensue 
By that her death, to do her husband wrong : 
Such danger to resistance did belong, 

That dying fear through all her body spread ; 

And who cannot abuse a body dead? 

By this, mild patience bid fair Luereee speak 
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining : 
My girl, quoth she, on what occasion break 
Those tears from thee, tliat down thy cheeks are raining ? 
If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining. 
Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood : 
If tears could help, mine own would do me good. 

But tell me, girl, when went — (and there she stay'd 
Till after a deep groan) Tarquin from hence ? 
Madam, ere I was up, rei)lied the maid ; 
The more to blame my sluggard negligence : 
Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense ; 
Myself was stirring ere the break of day, 
And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away. 

But, lady, if your maid may be so bold, 

She would request to know your heaviness. 

peace! quoth Luereee: if it should be told, 

The repetition cannot make it less ; 

For more it is than I can well express : 

And that deep torture may be call'd a hell. 
When more is felt than one hath power to tell. 

Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen, — 
Yet save that labour, for I have them here. 
What should I say ? — One of my husband's men 
Bid thou be ready by and by, to bear 
A letter to my lord, my love, my dear : 

Bid him with speed prepare to carry it ; 

The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ. 

Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write. 

First hovering o'er the paper with her quill. 

Conceit and grief an eager combat fight ; 

What wit .';cts down is blotted straight with will ; 

This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill : 
Much like a press of people at a door 
Throng her inventions, which shall go before. 

At last she thus begins : " Thou worthy lord 
Of that unworthy wife that greetetli thee. 
Health to thy person : next, vouchsafe t' afibrd 
(If ever, love, thy Luereee thou wilt see) 
Some present speed to conic and visit me. 
So I commend me from our house in grief: 
My woes are tedious, though my words are brief." 

Here folds she up the tenour of her woe. 

Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly. 

By this short schedule Collatine may know 

Her grief, but not her grief's true quality: 

She dares not tliercof make discovery. 

Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse, 

Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd excuse. 



' It was usual for testators to appoint not only executors, but overseers of their wills. Shakespeare did so. - called : in mod. cds. ^ Held, 



934 



THE RAPE OF LUCEECE. 



Besides, the life and feeling of her passion 
She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her ; 
When sighs and groans and tears may grace the fashion 
Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her 
From that suspicion which the world might bear her. 
To shun this blot she would not blot the letter 
With words, till action might become them better. 

To see sad sights moves more than hear them told, 

For then the eye interprets to the ear 

The heavy motion that it doth behold. 

When every part a part of woe doth bear : 

'T is but a part of sorrow that we hear ; 

Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords. 
And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words. 

Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ, 
" At Ardea to my lord, with more than haste." 
The post attends, and she delivers it, 
Charging the sour-fac'd groom to hie as fast 
As lagging fowls before the northern blast : 

Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems ; 

Extremity still urgeth such extremes. 

The homely villain court'sies to her low, 
And, blushing on her, with a stedfast eye 
Receives the scroll, without or yea or no, 
And forth with bashful innocence doth hie : 
But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie, 
Imagine every eye beholds their blame, 
For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame j 

When, silly groom ! God wot, it was defect 

Of spirit, life, and bold audacity. 

Such harmless creatures liave a true respect 

To talk in deeds, while others saucily 

Promise more speed, but do it leisurely : 
Even so this pattern of a worn-out age 
Pawn'd honest looks, but lay'd no words to gage. 

His kindled duty kindled her mistrust. 

That two red fires in both their faces blazed; 

She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust, 

And, blushing witli him, wistly on him gazed ; 

Her earnest eye did make him more amazed : 

The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish. 

The more she thought he spied in her some blemish. 

But long she thinks till he return again. 
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone. 
The weary time she cannot entertain. 
For now 't is stale to sigh, to weep, and groan : 
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan, 
That she her plaints a little while doth stay, 
Pausing for means to mourn some newer way. 

At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece 
Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy ; 
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece, 
For Helen's rape the city to destroy, 
Threatening cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy ; 
Which the conceited' painter drew so proud, 
As heaven it seem'd to kiss the turrets bow'd. 

A thousand lamentable objects there, 
In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life. 
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear, 
Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife : 
The red blood reek'd to show the painter's strife; 

^Ingenious. ^Swollen. ' iVa/ura/, according to kind. 



And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights, 
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights. 

There might you see the labouring pioneer 
Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with dust ; 
And from the towers of Troy there would appear 
The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust, 
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust : 

Such sweet observance in this work was had, 
That one might see those far-off eyes look sad. 

In great commanders grace and majesty 

You might behold, triumphing in their faces ; 

In youth quick bearing and dexterity ; 

And here and there the painter interlaces 

Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces : 

Which heartless peasants did so well resemble, [ble. 

That one would swear he saw them quake and trem- 

In Ajax and Ulysses, 0, what art 

Of physiognomy might one behold ! 

The face of either 'cipher'd cither's heart ; 

Their face their manners most expressly told : 

In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll'd ; 

But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent. 

Show'd deep regard and smiling governm.ent. 

There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand. 

As 't were encouraging the Greeks to fight : 

Making such sober action with his hand. 

That it beguil'd attention, charm'd the sight. 

In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white, 
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly 
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky. 

About him were a press of gaping faces, 
Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice 
All jointly listening, but with several graces, 
As if some mermaid did their ears entice : 
Some high, some low ; the painter was so nice, 
The scalps of many, almost hid behind, 
To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind. 

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head. 
His nose being shadow'd by his nciglibour's ear ; 
Here one, being throng'd, bears back, all boU'n^ and red ) 
Another, smother'd, seems to pelt and swear; 
And in their rage such signs of rage they bear, 
As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words. 
It seem'd they would debate with angry swords. 

For much imaginary work was there ; 
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,' 
That tor Achilles' image stood his spear, 
Grip'd in an armed hand : himself behind 
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind . 

A hand, a foot, a face, a leg. a head. 

Stood for the whole to be imagined. 

And from the walls of strong besieged Troy 
When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to field, 
Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy 
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield ; 
And to their hope they such odd action yield. 
That through their light joy seemed to appear 
(Like bright things stain'd) a kind of heavy fear. 

And from the strond of Dardan, where they fought. 
To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran. 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



935 



1 Often used, 
simiiai sense. 



as her«, 
3 More 



She throws her eyes about the painting, round, 
And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament : 
At last she sees a wretched image bound, 
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent ; 
His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content. 
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes, 
So mild, that patience seem'd to scorn his woes. 

In him the painter labour'd with his skill 
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show; 
An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still, 
A brow unbent that seem'd to welcome woe ; 
Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so 
That blushing red no guilty instance gave, 
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have. 

But, like a constant and confirmed devil, 
He entertain'd a show so seeming just, 
And therein so ensconc'd his secret evil, 
That jealousy itself could not mistrust. 
False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust 
Into so bright a day such black-fac'd storms, 
Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms. 

The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew 
For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story 
The credulous old Priam after slew; 
Whose words like wild-fire burnt the shining glory 
Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry, 
And little stars shot from their fixed places. 
When their glass fell wherein they view'd their faces 

This picture she advisedly perused. 
And chid the painter for his wondrous skill, 
Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abused ; 
So fair a form lodg'd not a mind so ill : 
And still on him she gaz'd ; and gazing still. 
Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied, 
That she concludes the picture was belied. 

It cannot be, quoth she, that so much guile — 

(She would have said) can lurk in such a look ; 

But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while. 

And from her tongue, " can lurk" from •' cannot" took; 

" It cannot be" she in that sense forsook, 
And turn'd it thus : it cannot be, I find. 
But such a face should bear a wicked mind : 

For even as subtle Sinon here is painted. 
So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild, 
(As if with grief or travail he had fainted) 
To me came Tarquin armed : too* beguil'd' ? 
With outward honesty, but yet defil'd 

With inward vice : as Priam him did cherish, 
So did I Tarquin ; so my Troy did perish. 

Look, look ! how listening Priam Avets his eyes. 
To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds. 
Priam, why art thou old, and yet not wise ? 
For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds : 
His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds ; 

Those round clear pearls of his, that move thy pity, 
Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city. 

Such devils steal effects from lightless hell. 
For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold. 
And in tliat cold, hot-burning fire doth dwell ; 
These contraries such unity do hold, 
Only to flatter fools, and make them bold : 

for " then." ^ >fo other instance is kno-vrn of the use of this word. In Sonnet XXIV. we have steeVd used in a. 
* so : in mod. eds. ' Masked, or in the guise of. 



Whose waves to imitate the battle sought 
With swelling ridges ; and their ranks began 
To break upon the galled shore, and than' 
Retire again, till meeting greater ranks. 
They join, and shoot their foam at Simois' banks. 

To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come, 
To find a face where all distress is steld". 
Many she sees, where cares have carved some. 
But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd. 
Till she despairing Hecuba beheld. 

Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes, 
Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies. 

In her the painter had anatomiz'd 
Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's reign : 
Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were disguis'd. 
Of what she was no semblance did remain ; 
Here blue blood chang'd to black in every vein. 

Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed, 
Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead. 

On this sad .shadow Lucrece spends her eyes. 
And shapes her sorrow to the beldam's woes. 
Who nothing wants to answer but her cries. 
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes : 
The painter was no God to lend her those ; 

And therefore Lucrece swears he did her vvrong, 
To give her so much grief, and not a tongue. 

Poor instrument, quoth she, without a sound, 
I '11 tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue, 
And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound, 
And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong. 
And with my tears quench Troy, that burns so long. 
And wdth my knife scratch out the angry eyes 
Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies. 

Show me the strumpet that began this stir. 
That with my nails her beauty I may tear. 
Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur 
This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear : 
Thine eye kindled the fire that burnetii here ; 
And here, in Troy, for trespass of thine eye. 
The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die. 

Why should the private pleasure of some one 
Become the public plague of many mo?* 
Let sin, alone committed, light alone 
Upon his head that hath transgressed so ; 
Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe. 

For one's ofl^enee why should so many fall. 

To plague a private sin in general ? 

Lo I here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies. 
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swoiinds ; 
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies, 
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds. 
And one man's lust tliese many lives confounds. 
Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire, 
Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire. 

Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes ; 
For sorrow, like a heavy hanging bell, 
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes ; 
Then little strength rings oat the doleful knell : 
So Lucrece, set a-work, sad tales doth tell 

To pencil'd pensiveness and eolour'd sorrow: [row. 

She lends them words, and she their looks doth bor- 



936 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter, 
That he finds means to burn his Troy with water. 

Here, all enrag'd, such passion her assails, 
That patience is quite beaten from her breast. 
She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails, 
Comparing him to that unhappy guest 
Whose deed hath made herself herself detest : 

At last she smilingly with this gives o'er ; 

Fool ! fool ! quoth she, his wounds will not be sore. 

Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow. 
And time doth weary time with her complaining. 
She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow. 
And both she thinks too long with her remaining. 
Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining : 

Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps ; 

And they that watch see time how slow it creeps. 

Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought, 
That she with painted images hath spent. 
Being from the feeling of her own grief brought 
By deep surmise of others' detriment ; 
Losing her woes in shows of discontent. 
It easeth some, though none it ever cured, 
To think their dolour others have endured. 

But now the mindful messenger, come back ; 
Brings home his lord and other company, 
Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black ; 
And round about her tcar-distained eye 
Blue circles stream'd, like rainbows in the sky : 
These water-galls in her dim element 
Foretel new storms to those already spent. 

Which when her sad-beholding husband saw, 

Amazed ly in her sad face he stares : 

Her eye.'<, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw ; 

Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares. 

He hath no power to ask her how she fares ; 
Both stood like old acquaintance in a trance. 
Met far from home, wondering each other's chance. 

At last he takes her by the bloodless hand, 
And thus begins : What uncouth ill event 
Hath thee befal'n, that thou dost trembling stand ? 
Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent ? 
Why art thou thus attir'd in discontent ? 
Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness. 
And tell thy grief that we may give redress. 

Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire, 
Ere once she can discharge one word of woe : 
At length, address'd to answer his desire, 
She modestly prepares to let them know 
Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe ; 
While Collatine and his consorted lords 
With sad "attention long to hear her words. 

And now this pale swan in her watery nest 
Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending. 
Few words, quoth she, shall fit the trespass best. 
Where no excuse can give the fault amending : 
In me more woes than words are now depending ; 
And my laments would be drawn out too long, 
To tell them all with one poor tired tongue. 

Then, be this all the task it hath to say : 
Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed 



A stranger came, and on that pillow lay 
Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head ; 
And what wrong else may be imagined 
By foul enforcement might be done to me. 
From that, alas ! thy Lucrece is not free. 

For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, 
Witli shining falchion in my chamber came 
A creeping creature, with a flaming light. 
And softly cried. Awake, thou Roman dame. 
And entertain my love ; else lasting shame 
On thee and thine this night I will inflict. 
If thou my love's desire do contradict. 

For some hard-favour'd groom of thine, quoth he. 
Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, 
I '11 murder straiglit, and then I '11 slaughter tliee, 
And swear I found you where you did fulfil 
The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill 

The lechers in their deed : this act will be 

My fame, and thy perpetual infamy. 

With this I did begin to start and cry. 

And then against my heart he set his sword, 

Swearing, unless I took all patiently, 

I should not live to speak another word ; 

So should my shame still rest upon record, 
And never be forgot in mighty Rome 
Th' adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom. 

Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak. 
And far the weaker with so strong a fear : 
My bloody judge forbad my tongue to speak ; 
No rightful plea might plead for justice there : 
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear 

That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes, 
And when the judge is rob'd, the prisoner dies. 

O ! teach me how to make mine own excuse. 
Or, at the least, this refuge let me find : 
Tliough my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse, 
Immaculate and spotless is my mind ; 
That was not forc'd ; that never was inclin'd 
To accessory yieklings, but still pure 
Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure. 

Lo ! here the hopeless merchant of this loss. 
With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up with woe, 
With sad set eyes, and wretched arms across, 
From lips new waxen pale begins to blow 
The grief away, that stops his answer so ; 
But wretched as he is, he strives in vain. 
What he breathes out, his breath drinks up again. 

As through an arch the violent roaring tide 
Out-runs the eye that dolh behold his haste. 
Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride 
Back to the strait that fore'd him on so fast. 
In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past; 
Even so his sighs, his sorrows, make a saw. 
To push grief on, and back the same grief draw. 

Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth. 
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh : 
Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth 
Another power ; no flood by raining slaketh. 
My woe, too sensible, thy passion maketh 
More feeling painful : let it, then, suflioe 
To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes. 



THE KAPE OF LUCRECE. 



937 



And for my sake, when I might charm thee so, 
For she that was thy Lucrecc, now attend me : 
Be suddenly revenged on my foe, 
Thine, mine, his own : suppose thou dost defend me 
From what is past, the help that thou shalt lend me 

Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die ; 

For sparing justice feeds iniquity. 

But ere I name him, you fair lords, quoth she, 
(Speaking to those that came with Collatine) 
Shall plight your honourable faiths to me, 
With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine • 
For 't is a meritorious fair design, 

To chase injustice with revengeful arms : [harms. 

Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' 

At this request, with noble disposition 
Each present lord began to promise aid. 
As bound in knighthood to her imposition, 
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd ; 
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said, 
The protestation stops. ! speak, quoth she, 
How may this forced stain be wip'd from me ? 

What is the quality of mine offence, 

Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance ? 

May my pure mind with the foul act dispense, 

My low-declin'd honour to advance ? 

May any terms acquit me from this chance ? 
The poison'd fountain clears itself again. 
And why not I from this compelled stain ? 

With this, they all at once began to say, , 
Her body's stain her mind untainted clears ; 
While with a joyless smile she turns away 
The face, tliat map which deep impression bears 
Of hard misfortune, carv'd in it with tears. 
No, no, quoth she ; no dame, hereafter living, 
By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving. 

Here, with a sigh as if her heart would break. 
She throws forth Tarquin's name : "he, he," she says. 
But more than '•he" her poor tongue could not speak ; 
Till after many accents and delays. 
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays, 
She utters this : he, he, fair lords, 't is he. 
That guides this hand to give this wound to me. 

Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast 
A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed : 
That blow did bail it from the deep unrest 
Of that polluted prison where it breathed : 
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeathed 

Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly 
Life's lasting date from cancel'd destiny. 

Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed, 
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew ; 
Till Lucrecc' father, that beholds her bleed, 
Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw : 
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew 
The murderous knife, and as it left the place, 
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase; 

And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide 
La two slow rivers, that the crimson blood 
Circles her body in on every side, 
Who like a late-sack'd island vastly stood. 
Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood. 

1 Circle. 



Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd, 
And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin stain'd. 

About the mourning and congealed face 
Of that black blood a watery rigoP goes. 
Which seems to weep upon the tainted place: 
And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes. 
Corrupted blood some watery token shows ; 

And blood untainted still doth red abide. 

Blushing at that which is so putrify'd. 

Daughter, dear daughter ! old Lucretius cries. 
That life was mine, which thou hast here deprived. 
If in the child the father's image lies. 
Where shall I live, now Lucrece is unlived ? 
Thou wast not to tliis end from me derived. 

If children pre-decease progenitors. 

We are their ofl^spring, and they none of ours. 

Poor broken glass, I often did behold 
In thy sweet semblance my old age new-born ; 
But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old. 
Shows me a bare-bon'd death by time out- worn. 
! from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn, 
And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass, 
That I no more can see what once I was. 

O time ! cease thou thy course, and last no longer. 
If they surcease to be that should .survive. 
Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger, 
And leave the faltering feeble souls alive ? 
The old bees die, the young possess their hive : 
Then, live sweet Lucrece ; live again, and see 
Thy father die, and not thy father thee ! 

By this starts Collatine as from a dream. 
And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place ; 
And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream 
He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face. 
And counterfeits to die with her a space ; 

Till manly shame bids him possess his breath, 

And live to be revenged on her death. 

Tlie deep vexation of his inward soul 
Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue ; 
Who, mad that sorrow should liis use control. 
Or keep him from heart-easing words so long. 
Begins to talk ; but through his lips do throng 

Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart's aid, 
That no man could distinguish what he said. 

Yet sometime Tarquin was pronounced plain, 
But through his teeth, as if the name he tore. 
This windy tempest, till it blow up rain. 
Held back his sorrow's tide to make it more ; 
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er : 
Then, son and father weep with equal strife, 
Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife. 

The one doth call her his, the other his. 
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay. 
The father says. She 's mine : ! mine she is. 
Replies her husband : Do not take away 
My .sorrow's interest; let no mourner say 
He weeps for her, for she was only mine, 
And only must be wail'd by Collatine. 

O ! quoth Lucretius. I did give that life, 
Which she too early and too late hath spill'd. 



938 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



Woe. woe ! quoth Collatine, she was my wife, 
I ow'd her, and 't is mine that she hath kill'd, 
"My daughter" and "my wife" with clamours 
fiird 
The dispers'd air, who holding Lucrece' life, 
Answer'd their cries, " my daughter and my wife." 

Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side, 
Seeing such emulation in their woe, 
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride, 
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show. 
He with the Romans was esteemed so 
As silly jeering idiots are with kings, 
For sportive words, and uttering foolish things : 

But now he throws that shallow habit by, 

Wherein deep policy did him disguise, 

And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly. 

To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes. 

Thou wronged lord of Rome, quoth he, arise : 
Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool, 
Now set thy long-experienc'd wit to school. 

Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woes ? 

Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous 
deeds ? 

Is it revenge to give thyself a blow, 

For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds ? 

Sucli childish humour from weak minds proceeds ; 
Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so. 
To slay herself that should have slain her foe. 



Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart 
In such relenting dew of lamentations. 
But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part, 
To rouse our Roman gods with invocations. 
That they will suffer these abominations, 

Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced. 
By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased. 

Now, by the Capitol that we adore. 
And by this chaste blood so unjustly stained. 
By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's store, 
By all our country rights in Rome maintained, 
And by chaste Lucrece' soul, that late complained 
Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife. 
We will revenge the death of this true wife. 

This said, he struck his hand upon his bre^ist. 
And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow; 
And to his protestation urg'd the rest. 
Who, wondering at him, did his words allow ; 
Then, jointly to the ground their knees they bow. 
And that deep vow which Brutus made before. 
He doth again repeat, and that they swore. 

When they had sworn to this advised doom 
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence : 
To show her bleeding body thorough Rome, 
And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence : 
Which being done with speedy diligence. 

The Romans plausibly' did give consent 

To Tarquin's everlasting banishment. 



With applause. 



SONNETS. 



INTEODUCTION. 



" Shake-speares Sonnets. Neuer before Imprinted. At Lon- 
don By G. Eld for T. T. and are to be solde by William 
Asplcy. 1609." 4to. 40 leaves. 

" A Loners complaint. By William Shake-speare," occupies 
eleven pages at the end of this volume. The late Mr. 
Caldeeot presented a copy of " Shakespeare's Sonnets" to 
the Bodleian Library, with tlie followinar imprint : " At 
London By G. Eld for T. T. and are to be solde by lohn 
Wricrht, dwelling at Christ Church gate." It is no doubt 
the same edition as that " to be solde by William Aspley," 
for in other respects they agree exactly, excepting that the 
copy bearing the name of lohn Wright has no date at the 
bottom of the title-page : it was very possibly cut off by the 
binder. 

" Shakespeare's Sonnets" were printed imder that title, and 
with the name of the poet in unusually large capital letters, in 
1609. No Christian name is to be found until we arrive at 
"A Lover's Complaint," but "Shakespeare's Sonnets" is 
repeated at the head of the first of the series. Hence we may 
possibly be warranted in assuming that they were productions 
well known to have been for some time floating about among 
tlie lovers and admirers of poetry, and then collected into a 
volume. The celebrity of the author seems proved, if any 
proof of the kind were wanting, by the manner in which his 
"Sonnets " were put forth to the world. 

There is one fact connected with the original publication of 
" Shakespeare's Sonnets " which has hitherto escaped remark, 
none of the commentators, apparently, being aware of it ; viz. 
that althougli there were not two editions of them in 1609, 
there is an important difference in the title-pages of some 
copies of the impression of that year, which shows that a 
bookseller, not liitherto connected with the publication of any 
of our poet's works, was in some way concerned in the first 
edition of his "Sonnets." The usual imprint informs us, 
that they were printed bj' G. Eld, for T. T. and were to be 
Bold by William Aspley (witliout any address) ; but the late 
Mr. Caldeeot had a copy which stated that they were to be 
sold, not by William Aspley, (who had been one of the part- 
ners in " Much ado about Nothing," 1600, 4to., and " Henry 
IV.," part ii. 1600, 4to.) but by "'John Wright, dwelling at 
Christ Church Gate." No other copy with which we are 
acquainted has this variation in the title-page, and possibly 
T. T. h;id some reason for liaving it cancelled, and for substi- 
tuting the name of Aspley for tiiat of Wright : the former 
might be better known to the ordinary buyers of such books, 
and to the two quarto plays in which lie was interested, he, 
perhaps, did not think it necessary to append the place where 
his business was carried on. 

The application of the initials T. T., on the title-page, is 
ascertained from the Eegisters of the Stationers' Company, 
where the subsequent entry is found: — 
" 20 i\Iay 1609. 

Tho. Thorpe] A booke called Shakespeare's Sonnets." 
Thorpe was a bookseller of considerable eminence, who 
usually put his name at full length upon his title-pages, and 
why he did not do so in this instance, and also subscribed 
only T. T. to the dedication of the Sonnets, is a matter we 
should consider of little or no consequence, if it related to the 
productions of perhaps any other author but Shakespeare. 
It sonu'times happened of old, that if it were suspected that 
a work niittlit contain anything publicly or personally objec- 
tionable, the printer or the stationer only allowed their initials 

' In a small pamphlet, entitled ''On the Sonnets of Shakespeare, 
identifying the Person to whom they were addressed, and elucidatin"^ 
several points in the Poet's History. By James Boaden." 8vo. 1.S38. 
The whole substance of the tract had been j)ublished in 1832 in a 
periodical work. We differ from Mr. Boaden with the more reluc- 
tance, because it .appears that his notion was supported by the 
opinion of .Mr. B. Heywood BriKht, well known for his acuteness and 
learninp, who, without any previous communication, had fallen upon 
the same conjecture before it was broached by Boaden. 

' Upon this particular point we concur with Mr. Peter Cunningham, 
in a note to his excellent edition of Mr. T. Campbell's "Specimens 



to appear in connection with it. That such was the case here, 
there is no sufficient ground for believing; and Eld avowed 
himself the printer, and Aspley the seller of "Shakespeare's 
Sonnets." 

A question has arisen, and has been much disputed of late 
years, who was the individual to whom Thorpe dedicated 
these sonnets, and whom, in a very unprecedented and pecu- 
liar form, he addresses as "Mr. W. 11." That form is 
precisely as follows, on a separate leaf immediately succeeding 
the title-page : — ■ 

to. the. onlie. begetter. of. 

these. insvixo. sonnets. 

Mr. W. H. all. happine,sse. 

and. that. eternitle. 

promised. 

BY. 

OUR. EVER-LIVING. POET. 

WISHETH. 

THE. WELL-WISHING. 

ADVENTVRER. IN. 

SETTING. 

FORTH. 

T. T. 

AVe arc not aware that there is another instance in our 
language, at that period, of a dedication of a similar kind, and 
in a similar style. It was not at all uncommon for booksellers 
to subscribe dedications; but it more frequently happened 
after the death of an author than during his life, and never, 
that we recollect, in a manner so remarkable. The discussion 
has been carried on with some pertinacity on the question, 
what person was addressed as "Mr. W.H. ?" and various 
replies have been made to it. Farmer conjectured wildly 
that he might be William Hart, the poet's nephew, who was 
only born in 1600: Tyrwhitt guessed from a line in one of 
the sonnets (Son. XX.) that the name was W. Hughes, or 
Hews : 

"A man in hue, all liues in his controlling." 

which is thus printed in the 4to, 1609 : 

" A man in hew all Hews in his controwling." 

Although the word " hue " is repeatedly spelt hew in the old 
edition, this is the only instance in whicli it is printed in 
Italic type, and with a capital letter, exactlv the same as IVill, 
in Sonnets CXXXV., CXXXVI., and CXLIIL, where the 
author plays upon his own name. Dr. Drake imagined that 
W. H. were the initials of Henry Wriothesly, Earl of South- 
ampton, inverted ("Shakespeare and his Times," vol. ii. p. 
62) ; and of late years Boaden, with great insrcnuity. has 
contended that W. H. meant William Herbert, Earl of Pem- 
broke'. This last notion seems too much taken for granted 
by Mr. C. Armitage Brown, in his very clever and, in many 
respects, original work, " Shakespeare's Autobiographical 
Poems," 8vo., 183S ; but we own that we cannot accord in 
that, or in any other theory that has yet been advanced upon 
the point. We liave no suggestion of our own to otfer, and 
acquiescence in one opinion or in another in no way atfects 
any position regarding them which we might be disposed to 
take up ; but it seems to us the very height of improbability 
that a bookseller in the year 1609, when peculiar respect was 
paid to nobility and station, would venture to address an Earl 
and a Knight of the Garter merely as "Mi\ W. H.= " How-- 

of British Poets," (Essay, p. Ixxi.) but we can by no means follow 
him in thinking that Shakespeare's Sonnets have been "over-rated," 
or that the Earl of Pembroke could not have been addressed in them, 
because lie was only nine years old in 1598. Shakespeare had written 
sonnets at that date, according to the undoubted testimony of Meres, 
but those in which the Earl has been supposed to be addressed may 
have been produced at a considerably later period. Still, at the early 
age of eighteen or nineteen, which the Karl reached in 1009, it does 
not seem likely that Shakespeare would have thought it necessary, 
with so much vehemence, to urge him to marry. 



940 



SONNETS. 



ever, notwithstanding the pains taken to settle the dispute, 
we hold it to be one of comparatively little importance, and 
it is certainly one upon which we are not likely to arrive at a 
final and satisfactory decision. To the desperate speculation 
of Chalmers, that not a few of the Sonnets were addressed to 
Queen Elizabeth, thonfrh maintained with considerable ability 
and learnincj, it is hardly necessary even to advert. 

It is evident that the Sonnets were written at very different 
perio'ls of Shakespeare's life, and under very different cir- 
cumstances — some in youth, some in more advanced age; 
some when he was hopeful and happy, and some when he 
was desponding and afflicted at his own condition in life, and 
place in society. In many there are to be found most re- 
markable indications of self-confidence, and of assurance in 
the innnortality of his verses, and in this respect the author's 
opinion was constant and uniform. He never scrupled to 
express it, and perhaps there is no writer of ancient or of 
modern times who, for the quantity of such writings left be- 
hind him, has so frequently or so strongly declared his firm 
belief that what he had written, in this department of poetry, 
"the world would not willingly let die." This conviction 
seems hardly reeoncileable with the carelessness he appears 
to have displayed for the preservation of his dramatic 
writings. We know from Francis Meres that Shakespeare's 
Sonnets were scattered among his friends in 1598', and no 
doubt he continued to add to them from year to year ; but it 
was left to a bookseller in 1609, perhaps, to cause them to be 
collected, and to be printed in a separate volume. 

It is with reference to this circumstance that we understand 
Thorpe to address "Mr. W. H.," in the dedication, as "the 
only begetter of these ensuing sonnets." Boswell quoted a 
passage from Dekker's " Satiromastix," 1602, (and many 
other instances might be adduced) to prove that "begetter" 
only meant obtainer or procurer ; and as Thorpe had been 
under some obligation to W. H., for collecting Shakespeare's 
scattered sonnets from various parties, for this reason, per- 
haps, he inscribed them to him. There is no doubt that 
"Mr. \V. H." could not be "the only begetter" of the son- 
nets in any other sense, for it is indisputable that many of 
them are addressed to a woman ; and though a male object 
might have been the cause of some of them, and particularly 
of the first twenty-six, he could not have been the cause of 
the last twenty-seven sonnets. 

We have already mentioned Mr. Brown's work, "Shake- 
speare's Autobiographical Poems," which, with a few errors 
and inconsistencies of little moment, contains the best solu- 
tion of various difficulties arising out of these Sonnets yet 
published. He contends that Shakespeare used the form of 
the sonnet as Spenser and many others employed stanzas of 
various descriptions, and that 152 of the 154 sonnets are 
divisible into six distinct poems. His arrangement of them 
is the following ; and we think with him, that if they bo 
read with this key, much will be intelligible which upon any 
other supposition must remain obscure : — 

First Poem. Sonnets 1 to 26. To his friend, persuading 
him to marry. 

Second Poem. Sonnets 27 to 55. To his friend, forgiving 
him for having robbed him of his mistress. 

Third Poem. Sonnets 56 to 77. To his friend, complain- 
ing of his coldness, and warning him of life's decay. 

Fourth Poem. Sonnets 78 to 101. To his friend, com- 
plaining that he prefers another poet's praises^, and reprov- 
ing him for faults that may injure his character. 

Fifth Poem. Sonnets 102 to 126. To his friend, excusing 
himself for having been some time silent, and disclaiming 
the charge of inconstancy. 



Sixth Poem. Sonnets 127 to 152. To his mistress, oa her 
infidelity. 

Mr. Brown asserts, and goes far to prove, that the sonnets 
in the first five of these divisions are consecutive, following 
up the same thought, and working out the same purpose. 
With regard to the "sixth poem," as he terms it, he con- 
tends that the sonnets have been confused, and that they are 
not, like the others, to be read in the order in which'they 
were printed in tlie edition of 1609. He rejects the last two 
sonnets as no part of any of the six poems, and they are un- 
questionably somewhat incongruous. 

Many years ago, long before the appearance of Mr. Bro\\n's 
vohime, it had occurred to us, as a mode merely of removing 
some of the difficulties attending this portion of the works 
of Shakespeare, that it was possible that he had consented to 
write some of them, not in his own person, but for indi- 
viduals who asked his assistance. We entirely abandon tliat 
supposition, notwithstanding we are aware that such was not 
an uncommon practice in Shakespeare's age. Gascoitrne, 
who died in 1577, mentions that he had been frequently so 
employed : the author of " The Forest of Fanci'," 1579, tells 
us that he had written many of the poems it contains for per- 
sons "who had occasion to crave his help in that behalf;" 
and Sir John Harington, in his Epigrams, written probably 
about 1591, states expressly, 

" Verses are grown such merchantable ware. 
That now for Sonnets sellers are and buyers." 

Marston, in his Satires, 1598, accuses "Eoscio the trage- 
dian" of having written some love-verses for Mutio, and he 
adds elsewhere that "absolute Castillo" had supplied him- 
self in a similar manner, in order that he might pay accept- 
able court to his mistress. Therefore, if Shakespeare had 
now and then condescended to supply the wants of liis 
friends in this way, who thus became possessed of his 
"sugred sonnets," as Meres calls them, it would, at all 
events, not have been without precedent. 

Thorpe's edition of "Shakespeare's Sonnets" is a well 
printed volume, although not perliaps so good a specimen of 
the typograpliy of that time, as Field's impressions of "Venus 
and Adonis" and " Lucrecc." It is remarkable, that while 
most of Shakespeare's plays came from the press in the quarto 
editions in so slovenly and uncorrected a state, his minor 
poems have been handed down to us, perhaps, more accurate- 
ly printed than those of any poets of the time, with the ex- 
ception of Daniel and Drayton, who seem generally to have 
bestowed great pains upon their productions. At the end 
of the " Sonnets" is a poem, called "A Lover's Complaint ;" 
and here, although it lias no fresh title-page, we are assured 
that it is "by William Shake-speare." There could in fact 
be no doubt respecting the authorship of it; but on what 
occasion, or for what purpose it was written, we have no in- 
formation. 

The ensuing sonnets, with other poems, were reprinted in 
1640, Svo, with a frontispiece of the author, engraved by 
Marshall. It is an edition of no authority : it repeats and 
multiplies the errors of the previous Be]>arate impressions, 
and includes productions with which Shakespeare had no 
concern. 

Our text is that of the 4to, 1609, in every case where a rea- 
son is not assigned for deviating from it. In all modern re- 
prints various errors have been eonnnitted in consequence 
of carelessness of collation, or because one editor copied the 
mistakes of another : of these our notes will contam a suf- 
ficient indication. 



From fairest creatures we desire increase, 

That thereby beauty's rose might never die, 

But as the riper should by time decease, 

His tender heir might bear his memory : 

But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, 

Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, 

1 The following are the words Meres uses: — "As the soule of 
Euphorbus was thought to live in Pythagoras, so the sweete wittie 
soule of Ovid lives in mellifluous and hony-tongued Shakespeare : 
witnes his Venus and Adonis,'hi& /.w.freee, his sugred Sonnets among 
his private friends, &c." — Palladis Taniia, 1598, fo. 281, b. 

2 This is the poet whom Shakespeare (Son. Ixxx.) calls "a better 
spirit," and of whom he also speaks in Son Ixxxiii. Ixxxv. &c. Some 
have supposed that he meant Spenser, others Daniel ; but Mr. P. Cun- 
ningham has pointed out an apparent allusion to Drayton, (and to his 
collection of Sonnets, published in 1594 under the title of "Idea's 
Mirror") in Shakespeare's twenty-first Sonnet, in these lines : — 



Making a famine where abundance lies, 
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. 
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, 
And only herald to the gaudy spring, 
Within thine own bud buriest thy content, 
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding. 
Pity the world, or else this glutton be. 
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. 

" So is it not with me, a,s with that muse. 
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse. 
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use. 
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse," &c. 

It may be doubted whether in these, and the succeeding lines, 
Shakespeare had any individual reference. Drayton's "Idea's 
Mirror'' has only been discovered of late j'ears ; and it seems not im- 
probable that, like his ''Endymion and Phcebe," (see the Bridge- 
water Catalogue, p. 108) he, for some reason, suppressed it. Only a 
single copy of each has been preserved. 



SONNETS. 



941 



II. 

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, 
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, 
Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now, 
Will bo a tatter'd weed, of small worth held : 
Then, being ask"d whore all thy beauty lies, 
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days, 
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes. 
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. 
How much more praise descrv'd thy beauty's use, 
If thou couldst answer — " This fair child of mine 
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse, — " 
Proving his beauty by succession tliine. 

This were to be new made, when thou art old. 
And see tliy blood warm, when thou feel'st it cold. 

in. 

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest, 
Now is the time that face should form another ; 
Whose frcsli repair if now thou not rcnewest, 
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. 
For where is she so fair, whose ixn-ear'd' womb 
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? * 

Or who is he so fond,''* will be the tomb 
Of his self-love, to stop posterity ? 
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee 
Calls back the lovely April of her prime: 
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, 
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time. 
But if thou live, remember'd not to be, 
Die single, and thine image dies with thee. 

IV. 

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend 
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy? 
Natvire's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend ; 
And being frank, she lends to those are free. 
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse 
The bounteous largess given thee to give ? 
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use 
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live ? 
For, having traffic with thyself alone. 
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. 
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone, 
What acceptable audit canst thou leave ? 

Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee, 
Which, used, lives th'^ executor to be. 



Those hours, that with gentle work did frame 

The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, 

Will play the tyrants to the very same. 

And that unfair, which fairly doth excel : 

For never-resting time leads summer on 

To hideous winter, and confounds him there ; 

Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone. 

Beauty o'er-snow'd and bareness every where : 

Then, were not summer's distillation left, 

A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass. 

Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft. 

Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was : 

But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet, 
Leese* but their show ; their substance still lives sweet. 

VI. 

Then, let not winters ragged hand deface 
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd : 
Make sweet some phial ; treasure thou some place 



With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. 

That use is not forbidden usury. 

Which happies those that pay the willing loan; 

That 's for thyself to breed another thee, 

Or ten times happier, be it ten for one : 

Ten times thyself were happier than thou art. 

If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee. 

Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart, 

Leaving thee living in posterity? 

Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair 

To be death's conquest, and make worms thine heir, 

VII. 
Lo ! in the orient when the gracious light 
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye 
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, 
Serving with looks his sacred majesty ; 
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill, 
Resembling strong youth in his middle age. 
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still. 
Attending on his golden pilgrimage : 
But when from high-most pitch with weary car. 
Like feeble age, he recleth from the day. 
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are 
From his low tract, and look another way. 
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon, 
Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son. 

VIII. 

Music to hear®, why hear'st thou music sadly ? 
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. 
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly. 
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy? 
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds. 
By unions married, do offend thine ear. 
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds 
In singleness the parts tliat thou shouldst bear. 
Mark, how one string, sweet husband to another, 
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering ; 
Resembling sire and child and happy mother. 
Who all in one one pleasing note do sing : 

Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one. 
Sings this to thee, — thou single wilt prove none. 

IX. 

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye. 
That thou consum'st thyself in single life ? 
Ah ! if thou issueless shalt hap to die, 
The world will wail thee like a makeless* wife; 
The world will be thy widow, and still weep, 
That thou no form of thee hast left behind. 
When every private widow well may keep. 
By claildren's eyes, her husband's shape in mind. 
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend. 
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; 
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end. 
And, kept unus'd. the user so destroys it. 
No love toward others in that bosom sits. 
That on himself such murderous shame commits 



For shame ! deny that thou bear'st love to any, 
Who for thyself art so unprovident. 
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many, 
But that thou none lov'st is most evident ; 
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate. 
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire^ 
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate, 



^ Unploughed. -Foolish. ' thy : in mod. eds. * Lose. » Thou, whom it is music to hear. « Used indifferently for >na««Z«M. 



942 



SONNETS. 



Which to repair should be thy chief desire. 

0. change thy thought, that I may change my mind ! 

Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love ? 

Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind. 

Or, to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove : 
Make thee another self, for love of me, 
That beauty still may live in thine or thee. 

XI. 

As fast as thou shalt w^ane, so fast thou growest 
In one of thine, from that which thou departest : 
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest, 
Thou may'st call thine, when thou from youth convertest. 
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase • 
Without this, folly, age, and cold decay : 
If all were minded so, the times should cease, 
And threescore year would make the world away. 
Let those whom nature hath not made for store, 
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish : 
Look, whom she best endow' d, she gave the more ; 
Wliich bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish. 
She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby, 
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die. 

XII. 
When I do count the clock that tells the time, 
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night ; 
When I behold the violet past prime. 
And sable curls all silverd o'er witli white ; 
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves. 
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd. 
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, 
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard ; 
Then, of thy beauty do I question make. 
That thou among the wastes of time must go. 
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake. 
And die as fast as they see others grow- 

And nothing 'gainst time's scythe can make defence, 
Save breed, to brave him, when he takes thee hence. 

XIII. 
0, that you were yourself ! but, love, you are 
No longer yours, than you yourself here live : 
Against this coming end you should prepare. 
And your sweet semblance to some other give : 
So should that beauty which you hold in lease, 
Find no determination : then, you were 
Yourself again, after yourself 's decease, 
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. 
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay. 
Which husbandry in honour might uphold. 
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day. 
And barren rage of death's eternal cold ? 

O ! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know, 
You had a father : let your son say so. 

XIV. 

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck, 

And yet. methinks. I have astronomy, 

But not to tell of good, or evil luck. 

Of plagues, or dearths, or seasons' quality ; 

Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell. 

Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind ; 

Or say with princes if it shall go well, 

By oft predict that I in heaven find : 

But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, 

And, constant stars, in them I read such art. 

As truth and beauty shall together thrive, 



If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert; 
Or else of thee this I prognosticate. 
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date. 

XV. 

When I consider every thing that grows 
Holds in perfection but a little moment ; 
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows, 
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment ; 
When I perceive that men as plants increase. 
Cheered and check'd even by the selfsame sky, 
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease. 
And wear their brave state out of memory ; 
Then, the conceit of this inconstant stay 
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, 
Where wasteful time debateth with decay, 
To change your day of youth to sullied night; 
And, all in war with time, for love of you^ 
As he takes from you, I engraft you new. 

XVI. 

But wherefore do not you a mightier way 
Make "w^r upon this bloody tyrant, time. 
And fortify yourself in your decay 
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme ? 
Now stand you on the top of happy hours, 
And many maiden gardens, yet unset. 
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers, 
Much liker than your painted counterfeit: 
So should the lines of life that life repair. 
Which this, time's pencil, or my pupil pen. 
Neither in inward worth, nor outward fair. 
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. 
To give away yourself, keeps yourself still. 
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill 

XVII. 

Who will believe my verse in time to come. 
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts ? 
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb 
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts. 
If I could write the beauty of your eyes, 
And in fresh numbers number all your graces, 
The age to come would say, '' this poet lies ; 
Such heavenly touclies ne'er touch'd earthly faces." 
So should my papers, yeliow'd with their age. 
Be scorn'd, like old men of Ie.«s truth than tongue, 
And your trvie rights be term'd a poet's rage. 
And stretched metre of an antique song ; 

But were some child of yours alive that time. 
You should live twice — in it, and in my rhyme. 

XVIII. 

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate : 
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
And summer's lease hath all too short a date. 
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd, 
And every fair from fair sometime declines, 
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd : 
But thy eternal summer shall not fade, 
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, 
When in eternal lines to time thou growest. 
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, 
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 



SONNETS. 



943 



XIX. 
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, 
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; 
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, 
And burn the long-livd phoenix in her blood : 
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets. 
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, 
To the wide world, and all her fading sweets ; 
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime : 
! carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, 
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; 
Him in thy course untainted do allow. 
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. 

Yet, do thy worst, old Time : despite thy WTong, 
My love shall in my verse ever live youngf. 

XX. 

A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted, 

Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion ; 

A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted 

With shifting change, as is false women's fashion : 

An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, 

Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth ; 

A man in hue, all hues in his controlling. 

Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls amazeth; 

And for a woman wert thou first created ; 

Till nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, 

And by addition me of thee defeated, 

By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. 

But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure. 
Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure. 

XXI. 

So is it not with me, as with that muse 

Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse, 

Who heaven itself for ornament doth use, 

And every fair with his fair doth rehearse ; 

Making a couplcment of proud compare, 

With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems. 

With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare 

That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. 

! let me, true in love, but truly write. 

And then, believe me, my love is as fair 

As any mother's child, though not so bright 

As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air : 

Let them say more that like of hear-say well; 

I will not praise, that purpose not to sell. 

XXII. 
My glass shall not persuade me I am old, 
So long as youth and thou are of one date ; 
But when in tliee time's furrows I behold, 
Then look I death my days should expiate; 
For all that beauty that doth cover thee, 
Is but tlie seemly raiment of my heart, 
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me. 
How can I, then, be elder than thou art? 
! therefore, love, be of thyself so wary, 
As I, not for myself, but for thee will. 
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary 
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. 

Presume not on thy heart, when mine is slain; 

Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again. 

XXIII. 
As an unperfect actor on the stage. 
Who with his fear is put besides his part, 
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, 

I worth ; in old ed«. Theobald made the change. 



Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart ; 
So I. for fear of trust, forget to say 
The perfect ceremony of love's rite, 
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, 
O'er-charg'd with burden of mine own love's might. 
! let my books be, then, the eloquence 
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast. 
Who plead for love, and look for recompense. 
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd. 
! learn to read what silent love hath writ : 
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. 

XXIV. 
Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath steel'd 
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart : 
My body is the frame wherein 't is held. 
And perspective it is best painter's art ; 
For through the painter must you see his skill. 
To find where your true image pictur'd lies ; 
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still. 
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. 
Now, see what good turns eyes for eyes have done : 
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me 
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun 
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee ; 

Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, 
They draw but what they see, know not the heart. 

XXV. 

Let those who are in favour with their stars 

Of public honour and proud titles boast, 

Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, 

Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. 

Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread, 

But as the marigold at the sun's eye : 

And in themselves their pride lies buried, 

For at a frown they in their glory die. 

The painful warrior, famoused for fight,* 

After a thousand victories once foil'd. 

Is from the book of honour razed quite. 

And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd : 
Then, happy I, that love and am beloved. 
Where I may not remove, nor be removed. 

XXVI. 

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage 

Thy merit hatli my duty strongly knit, 

To thee I send this WTitten embassage. 

To witness duty, not to show my wit : 

Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine 

May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, 

But that I hope some good conceit of thine 

In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it ; 

Till whatsoever star that guides my moving. 

Points on me graciously with fair aspect, 

And puts apparel on my tattered loving. 

To show me worthy of thy sweet respect : 

Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee ; [me. 

Till then, not show my head where thou may'st prove 

xxvn. 

Weary with toil I haste me to my bed. 

The dear repose for limbs with travel tired ; 

But then begins a journey in my head, 

To work my mind, when body's work's expired : 

For then my thouglits (from far where I abide) 

Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee. 

And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, 



94:4: 



SOKN'ETS. 



Looking on darkness which the blind do see : 
Save that my soul's imaginary sight 
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, 
Which, like a jewel hnng in ghastly night, 
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. 
Lo ! thus by day my limbs, by night my mind, 
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find. 

XXVIII. 

How can I, then, return in happy plight, 
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest ? 
When day's oppression is not eas'd by night. 
But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd ? 
And each, though enemies to either's reign, 
Do in consent shake hands to torture me : 
The one by toil, the other to complain 
How far I toil, still farther off" from thee. 
I tell the day, to please him thou art bright, 
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven : 
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night, 
When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild'st the even : 
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, 
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem 
stronger. 

XXIX. 

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
And look upon myself, and curse my fate, 
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possessed. 
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
With what I most enjoy contented least ; 
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising. 
Haply I think on thee, and then my state 
(Like to the lark at break of day arising 
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate : 
For thy sweet love remember"d such wealth brings, 
That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 

XXX. 

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 

I summon up remembrance of things past, 

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste : 

Then, can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow, 

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night. 

And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, 

And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight. 

Then, can I grieve at grievances fore-gone. 

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 

The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 

Which I new pay, as if not paid before : 

But if the while I thinlc on thee, dear friend, 
All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end. 

XXXI. 

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts. 
Which I by lacking have supposed dead. 
And there reigns love, and all love's loving parts, 
And all those friends which I thought buried. 
How many a holy and obsequious* tear 
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye. 
As interest of the dead, which now appear 
But thin.5s remov'd, that hidden in thee lie ! 
Thou art the gi-ave Where buried Jove doth live, 
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, 

' Funenal. 2 loss : in old eds. Malone made the change. 



Who all their parts of me to thee did give ; 

That due of many now is thine alone : 
Their images I lov'd I view in thee, 
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. 

XXXII. 
If thou survive my well-contented day, 
When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover , 
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey 
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, 
Compare them with the bettering of the time ; 
And though they be out-stripp'd by every pen. 
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, 
Exceeded by the height of happier men. 
! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought : 
" Had my friend's muse grown with this growing age, 
A dearer birth than this his love had brought, 
To march in ranks of better equipage : " 

But since he died, and poets better prove. 
Theirs for their style I '11 read, his for his love." 

XXXIII. 
Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, 
Kissing with golden face the meadows green. 
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy ] 
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 
With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
And from the forlorn world his visage hide, 
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace. 
Even so my sun one early morn did shine, 
With all triumphant splendour on my brow; 
But out, alack ! he was but one hour mine, 
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. 

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ; 

Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun 

[staineth. 
XXXIV. 
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, 
And make me travel forth without my cloak, 
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, • 
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke ? 
'T is not enough that through the cloud thou break. 
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face. 
For no man well of such a salve can speak, 
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace : 
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; 
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss : 
TlV offender's sorrow lends but M-eak relief 
To him that bears the strong oflence's cross. ^ 

Ah ! but those tears are pearl, which thy love sheds, 

And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds. 

XXXV. 

No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done : 
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud : 
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun. 
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. 
All men make faults, and even I in this, 
Authorizing thy trespass with compare ; 
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, 
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are : 
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense. 
Thy adverse party is thy advocate. 
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence. 
Such civil war is in my love and hate. 
That I an accessary needs must be 
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. 



SONNETS. 



945 



XXXVI. 

Let me confess that "vve two must be twain, 
Although our undivided loves are one : 
So shall those blots that do Avith me remain, 
Without thy help by ine be borne alone. 
In our two loves there is but one respect, 
Though in our lives a separable spite, 
Which though it alter not love's sole effect, 
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. 
I may not evermore acknowledge thee, 
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame ; 
Nor thou with public kindness honour me, 
Unless thou take that honour from thy name : 
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort, 
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 

XXXVII. 

As a decrepit father takes delight 

To see his active child do deeds of youth, 

So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, 

Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth ; 

For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit. 

Or any of these all, or all, or more, 

E^ntitlcd in thy parts do crowned sit, 

I make my love engrafted to this store : 

So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd, 

Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give, 

That I in thy abundance am suffic'd. 

And by a part of all thy glory live. 

Look what is best, that best I wish in thee : 
This wish I have ; then, ten times happy me ! 

XXXVIII. 

How can my muse want subject to invent. 

While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse 

Thine own sweet argument, too excellent 

For every vulgar paper to rehearse ? 

! give thyself the thanks, if aught in me 

Worthy perusal stand against thy sight ; 

For who "s so dumb that cannot write to thee. 

When thou thyself dost give invention light ? 

Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth 

Than those old nine which rhymers invocate ; 

And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth 

Eternal numbers to out-live long date. 

If my slight muse do please these curious days, 
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. 

XXXIX. 
! how thy worth with manners may I sing, 
When thou art all the better part of me? 
•"' JVhat can mine own praise to mine own self bring * 
And what is 't but mine own, when I praise thee ? 
Even for this let us divided live. 
And our dear love lose name of single one, 
That by this separation I may give 
That due to thee which thou dcserv'st alone. 
O absence ! what a torment wouldst thou prove. 
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave 
To entertain the time with thoughts of love. 
Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth' deceive. 
And that thou teachest how to make one twain. 
By praising him here, who doth hence remain. 

XL. 

Take all my loves, my love ; yea, take them all : 
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before ? 
No love, my love, that thou may'st true love call : 

' dost : in old eds. 



All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. 
Then, if for my love thou my love receivest, 
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest ; 
But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest 
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. 
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief. 
Although thou steal thee all my poverty ; 
And yet love knows it is a greater grief 
To bear love's wrong, than hate's knowTi injury. 
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, 
Kill me with spites, yet we must not be foes. 

XLI. 

Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits, 
When I am sometime absent from thy heart, 
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits. 
For still temptation follows where thou art. 
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, 
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed ; 
And when a woman woos, what woman's son 
Will sourly leave her till she have prevailed. 
Ah me ! but yet thou might'st my seat forbear, 
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth. 
Who lead thoe in their riot even there 
Where thou art forc'd to break a two-fold truth ; 
Hers, by thy beauty tempting her to thee. 
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me. 

XLII. 

That thou hast her, it is not all my grief. 

And yet it may be said, I lov'd her dearly ; 

That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, 

A loss in love that touches me more nearly. 

Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye : — 

Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love herj 

And for my sake even so doth she abuse me. 

Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her. 

If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain. 

And losing her, my friend hath found that loss; 

Both find each other, and I lose both twain, 

And both for my sake lay on me this cross : 

But here 's the joy ; my friend and I are one. 

Sweet flattery ! — then, she loves but me alone. 

XLIII. 

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see. 
For all the day they view things unrespected ; 
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, 
And darkly bright are bright in dark directed. 
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright. 
How would thy shadow's form, form happy show 
To the clear day with thy much clearer light. 
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so? 
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made 
By looking on thee in the living day, 
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade 
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay? 

All days are nights to see, till I see thee, [me. 

And nights bright days, when dreams do show thee 

XLIV. 

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought. 
Injurious distance should not stop my way; 
For, then, despite of space, I would be brought 
From limits far remote where thou dost stay. 
No matter then, although my foot did stand 
Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee : 
For nimble thought can jump both sea and landj 



60 



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SOl^NETS. 



As soon as think the place where he would be. 
But ah ! thought kills me, that I am not thought, 
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, 
But that, so much of earth and water wrought, 
I must attend time's leisure with my moan ; 
Receiving nought by elements so slow 
But heavy tears, badges of cither's woe. 

XLV. 

The other two, slight air and purging fire, 
Are both with thee, wherever I abide ; 
The first my thought, the other my desire. 
These present-absent with swift motion slide : 
For when these quicker elements are gone 
In tender embassy of love to thee. 
My life, being made of four, with two alone 
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy, 
Until life's composition be recured 
By those swift messengers return'd from thee, 
Who even but now come back again, assured 
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me : 
This told, I joy ; but then, no longer glad, 
I send them back again, and straight grow sad. 

XLVI. 

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, 
How to divide the conquest of thy sight : 
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, 
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. 
My heart doth plead, that thou in him dost lie, 
(A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes) 
But the defendant doth that plea deny, 
And says in him thy fair appearance lies. 
To 'cide^ this title is impannelled 
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart; 
And by their verdict is determined 
The clear eye's moiety,^ and the dear heart's part: 
As thus ; mine eye's due is thine outward part, 
And my heart's right thine inward love of heart. 

XL VII. 
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, 
And each doth good turns now unto the other. 
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look. 
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother, 
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast, 
And to the painted banquet bids my heart : 
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, 
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part : 
So, either by thy picture or my love, 
Thyself away art present still with me ; 
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, 
And I am still with them, and they viith thee ; 
Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight 
Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight. 

XL VIII. 
How careful Avas I, when I took my way, 
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust: 
That to my use it might unused stay 
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust ! 
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are. 
Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, 
Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care, 
Art left the prey of every \Tilgar thief. 
Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest. 
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art. 
Within the gentle closure of my breast. 



From whence at pleasure thou may'st come and part ; 
And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear, 
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. 

XLIX. 

Against that time, if ever that time come, 
When I shall see thee frown on my defects. 
When as thy love hath cast his utmof t sum, 
Call'd to that audit by advis'd respects ; 
Against that time, when thou slialt strangely pass. 
And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye; 
When love, converted from the thing it was, 
Shall reasons find of settled gravity ; 
Against that time do I ensconce me here, 
Within the knowledge of mine own desert, 
And this my hand against myself uprear. 
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part : ^ 
To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws. 
Since why to love I can allege no cause. 



How heavy do I journey on the way, 
When what I seek (my weary travel's end) 
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, 
" Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy friend !" 
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, 
Plods dully on^ to bear that weight in me, 
As if by some instinct the wretch did knov/. 
His rider lov'd not speed being made from thee. 
The bloody spur cannot provoke him oir 
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide. 
Which heavily he answers with a groan, • 

More sharp to me than spurring to his side ; 
For that same groan doth put this in my mind, 
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. 

LI. 

Thus can my love excuse the slow oflence 
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed : 
From where thou art why should I haste me thence ? 
Till I return of posting is no need. 
! what excuse will my poor beast then find. 
When swift extremity can seem but slow ? 
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind ; 
In winged speed no motion shall I know : 
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace ; 
Therefore desire, (of perfect love being made) 
Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race : 
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade ; 
Since from thee going he went wilful-slow. 
Towards thee I '11 run, and give him leave to go. 

LH. 

So am T as the rich, whose blessed key 
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure. 
The which he will not every hour survey. 
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure, 
Therefore, are feasts so solemn and so rare. 
Since seldom coming, in the long year set 
Like stones of worth, they thinly placed are. 
Or captain jewels in the carcanet. 
So is the time that keeps you as my chest. 
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, 
To make some special instant special-blest, 
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride. 

Blessed are you, whose v/orthiness gires scope. 
Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. 



1 Decide. = Not merely half, but any porticn or share. 3 duly : in old eds. Malone made the chang-i. 



SOKNETS. 



947 



LIII. 
What is your substance, wliereof are you made, 
That millions of strange shadows on you tend ? 
Since every one hath, every one, one shade. 
And you, but one, can every shadow lend. 
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit 
Is poorly imitated after you ; 
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, 
And you in Grecian tires are painted new : 
Speak of the spring, and foison' of the year, 
The one doth shadow of your beauty show, 
The other as your bounty doth appear ; 
And you in every blessed shape we know. 
In all external grace you have some part, 
But you like none, none you, for constant heart. 

LIV. 
0, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, 
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give ! 
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 
For that sweet odour which doth in it live. 
The cankers-blooms have full as deep a dye. 
As the perfumed tincture of the roses ; 
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly 
AVhcn summer's breath their masked buds discloses ; 
But, for their virtue only is their show, 
They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade ; 
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ; 
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made : 
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth. 
When that thall fade, my^ verse distils your ti'uth, 

LV. 

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 
Of princes, shall out-live this powerful rhyme ; 
But you .shall shine more bright in these contents 
Than luiswept stone, besmear'd with slutti-sh time. 
When wasteful war shall statues overturn. 
And broils root out the work of masonry, 
Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn 
The living record of your memory. 
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity 
Shall you pace forth : your praise shall still find room 
Even in the eyes of all po.sterity, 
That wear this world out to the ending doom. 
So, till the judgment that yourself arise. 
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 

LVI. 

Sweet love, renew thy force ; be it not said. 

Thy edge should blunter be than appetite. 

Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd, 

To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might : 

So, love, be thou ; although to-day thou fill 

Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, 

To-morrow see again, and do not kill 

The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness. 

Let this sad interim like the ocean be 

Which parts the shore, where two contracted new 

Come daily to the banks, that when they see 

Return of love more blest may be the view; 

Or call it winter, which being full of care, [rare. 

Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more 

LVII. 

Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
Upon the hours and times of your desire ? 
I have no precious time at all to spend, 



Nor services to do, till you require. 
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, 
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, 
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour. 
When you have bid your servant once adieu : 
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought, 
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose : 
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought. 
Save where you are, how happy you make those. 
So true a fool is love, that in your will 
(Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill. 

LVIII. 

That God forbid, that made me first your slave, 
I should in thought control your times of pleasure, 
Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave. 
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure ! 
! let me suffer (being at your beck) 
Th' impri.son'd absence of your liberty; 
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check. 
Without' accusing you of injury. 
Be where you list : your charter is so strong, 
That you yourself may privilege your time: 
Do what you will, to you it doth belong 
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. 
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell. 
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well. 

LIX. 

If there be nothing new. but that which is 
Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd. 
Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss 
The second burden of a former child ? 
! that record could with a backward look. 
Even of five hundred courses of the sun. 
Show me your image in some antique book. 
Since mind at first in character was done ; 
That I might see what the old world could say 
To this composed wonder of your frame ; 
Whether we are mended, or where better they. 
Or whether revolution be the same. 
! sure I am, the wits of former days 
To subjects worse have given admiring praise. 

LX. 

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore. 
So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 
Each changing place with that which goes before. 
In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 
Nativity, once in the main of light, . 
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd. 
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight. 
And time that gave doth now his gift confound. 
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, 
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow; 
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth. 
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow : 
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, 
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 

LXI. 

Is it thy will, thy image should keep open 

My hea-vy eyelids to the weary night ? 

Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken. 

While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight ? 

Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee 

So far from home, into my deeds to pry ; 

To find out shames and idle hours in me, 



1 Plenty, s Dog-rose. 3 ty : in old cds. Milono made the change. 



948 



SONNETS. 



The scope and tenour of thy jealousy ? 
no ! thy love, though much, is not so great : 
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake ; 
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, 
To play the watchman ever for thy sake : 

For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere. 
From me far off, with others all too near. 

LXII. 

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye. 
And all my soul, and all my every part; 
And for this sin there is no remedy, 
It is so grounded inward in my heart. 
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine. 
No shape so true, no truth of such account ; 
And for myself mine own worth do define. 
As I all other in all worths surmount. 
But when my glass shows me myself indeed, 
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity, 
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; 
Self so self-loving were iniquity. 

'T is thee (myself) that for myself I praise. 

Painting my age with beauty of thy days. 

LXIII. 

Against my love shall be, as I am now. 

With time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn ; 

When hours have drain'd his blood, and fill'd liis brow 

With lines and WTinkles ; when his youthful morn 

Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night ; 

And all those beauties, whereof now he 's king, 

Are vanishing, or vanish'd out of sight. 

Stealing away the treasure of his spring ; 

For such a time do I now fortify 

Against confounding age's cruel knife, 

That he shall never cut from memory 

My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life ; 
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen. 
And they shall live, and he in them still green. 

LXIV. 

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 
The rich proud cost of out- worn buried age ; 
When sometime lofty towers I see down-rased, 
And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage : 
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore. 
And the firm soil win of the watery main, 
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store : 
When I have seen such interchange of state, 
Or state itself confounded to decay, 
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — 
That time will come and take my love away. 
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 

LXV. 

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, 

But sad mortality o'er-sways their power. 

How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, 

Whose action is no stronger than a flower ? 

! how shall summer's honey-breath hold out 

Against the wreckful siege of battering days. 

When rocks impregnable are not so stout. 

Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays? 

fearful meditation ! where, alack. 

Shall time's best jewel from time's chest lie hid ? 

Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back ? 



Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? 
O none ! unless this miracle have might. 
That in black ink my love may still shine bright. 

LXVI. 

Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry; — 

As, to behold desert a beggar born. 

And needy nothing triinm'd in jollity, 

And purest faith unhappily forsworn, 

And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd. 

And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted. 

And right perfection wrongfully disgr'ac'd, 

And strength by limping sway disabled, 

And art made tongue-tied by authority. 

And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, 

And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, 

And captive good attending captain ill : 

Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone, 
Save that to die I leave my love alone. 

LXVII. 

Ah ! wherefore with infection should he live. 

And with his presence grace impiety, 

That sin by him advantage should achieve. 

And lace* itself with his society ? 

Why should false painting imitate his cheek, 

And steal dead seeing of his living hue? 

Why should poor beauty indirectly seek 

Roses of shadow, since his rose is true ? 

Why should he live, now nature bankrupt is. 

Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins? 

For she hath no exchequer now but his. 

And. proud of many, lives upon his gains. 

O ! him she stores, to show what wealth she had 
In days long since, before these last so bad. 

LXVIII. 

Thus is his cheek the map of days out- worn, 

When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now, 

Before these bastard signs of fair were borne. 

Or durst inhabit on a living brow; 

Before the golden tresses of the dead, 

The right of sepulchres, were shorn away. 

To live a second life on second head ; 

Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay. 

In him those holy antique hours are seen, 

Without all ornament, itself, and true, 

Making no summer of another's green. 

Robbing no old to dress his beauty new: 
And him as for a map doth nature store. 
To show false art what beauty was of yore. 

LXIX. 

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view. 
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend ; 
All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due.'' 
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. 
Thine outward thus with outward praise is crowni'd ; 
But those same tongues that give thee so thins own. 
In other accents do this praise confound, 
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. 
They look into the beauty of thy mind, 
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds; [kind, 
Then (churls) their thoughts, although their eyes were 
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds : 
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, 
The solve^ is this ; — that thou dost common grow. 



1 Trim, adorn. ^ end : in old eds. Tyrwhitt made the change. ' Solution. 



SOITNETS. 



949 



LXX. 

That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect. 
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair ; 
The ornament of beauty is suspect, 
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. 
So thou be good, slander doth but approve 
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time ; 
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, 
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. 
Thou hast past by the ambush of young days, 
Either not assail'd, or victor being charged ; 
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise. 
To tie up envy, evermore enlarged : 

If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, 

Then, thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. 

LXXI. 

No longer mourn for me when I am dead, 
Than you shall hear tlie surly sullen bell 
Give warning to the world that I am fled ' 
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : 
Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
The hand that writ it ; for I love you so, 
Tliat I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot. 
If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
! if (I say) you look upon this verse, 
When I perhaps compounded am with clay. 
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse. 
But let your love even with my life decay ; 

Lest the wise world should look into your moan, 
And mock you with me after I am gone. 

LXXII. 

! lest the world should task you to recite 
What merit liv'd in me, that you should love 
After my death, dear love, forget me quite. 
For you in me can nothing worthy prove ; 
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie. 
To do more for me than mine own desert. 
And hang more praise upon deceased I, 
Then niggard truth would willingly impart. 
! lest your true love may seem false in this. 
That you for love speak well of mc untrue. 
My name be buried where my body is. 
And live no more to shame nor me nor you. 
For I am sham'd by that which I bring forth. 
And so should you, to love things nothing worth. 

LXXIII. 

That time of year thou may'st in me behold, 
When yellow leaves, or none, or few. do hang 
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold. 
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
In me thou seest tire twilight of such day 
As after sun-set fadeth in the west, 
Which by and by black night doth take away, 
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest: 
In me thou secst the glowing of such fire. 
That on the ashes of liis youth doth lie, 
As the death-bed whereon it must expire. 
Consunvd with that which it was nourish'd by. [strong, 
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more 
To love that well which thou must leave ere long : 

LXXIV. 
But be contented : when that fell arrest 
Without all bail shall carry me away, 
I\Iy life hath in this line some interest. 



Which for memorial still with thee shall stay : 
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review 
The very part was consecrate to thee. 
The earth can have but earth, which is his due : 
My spirit is thine, the better part of me : 
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life. 
The prey of worms, my body being dead ; 
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife. 
Too base of thee to be remembered. 

The worth of that is that which it contains. 
And that is this, and this with thee remains. 

LXXV. 

So are you to my thoughts, as food to life. 

Or as sweet-season'd showers arc to the ground ; 

And for the peace of you I hold such strife 

As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found : 

Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon 

Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure ; 

Now counting best to be with you alone, 

Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure : 

Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, 

And by and by clean starved for a look ; 

Possessmg or pursuing no delight. 

Save what is had or must from you be took. 

Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day ; 

Or gluttoning on all, or all away. 

LXXVI. '''^^ 
Why is my verse so barren of new pride. 
So far from variation or quick change ? 
Why, with the time, do I not glance aside 
To new-found methods and to compounds strange ? 
Why write I still all one, ever the same. 
And keep invention in a noted weed, 
That every word doth almost tell my name. 
Showing their birth, and where they did proceed? 
! know, sweet love, I always write of you. 
And you and love are still my argument • 
So, all my best is dressing old words new. 
Spending again what is already spent: 
For as the sun is daily new and old. 
So is my love, still telling what is told. 

LXXVII. 

Thy glass -will show thee how thy beauties wear. 
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste ; 
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, 
And of this book this learning may'st thou taste : 
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show. 
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory; 
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth may'st know 
Time's thievish progress to eternity. 
Look, what thy memory cannot contain. 
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find 
Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain. 
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. 
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look. 
Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book, 

LXXVIII. 
So oft liave I invok'd thee for my muse. 
And found such fair assistance in my verse, 
As every alien pen hath got my use. 
And under thee their poesy disperse. 
Thine eyes that taught tlie dumb on high to sing, 
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, 
Have added feathers to the Icarned's wing. 



950 



SONNETS. 



And given grace a double majesty. 
Yet be most proud of that which I compile, 
Whose influence is thine, and born of thee : 
In others' works thou dost but mend the style, 
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be ; 
But thou art all my art, and dost advance 
As high as learning ray rude ignorance. 

LXXIX. 

Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid. 
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace ; 
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd, 
And my sick muse doth give another place. 
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument 
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen j 
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent. 
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. 
He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word 
From thy beliaviour ; beauty doth he give, 
And found it in thy cheek ; he can afford 
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. 

Then, thank him not for that which he doth say. 
Since what he owes thee, thou thyself dost pay. 

LXXX. 

! how I faint when I of you do write, 
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, 
And in the praise thereof spends all his might, 
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame : 
But since your worth (wide as the ocean is) 
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, 

My saucy bark, inferior iar to his, 
On your broad main doth wilfully appear. 
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, 
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride ; 
Or. being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat, 
He of tall building, and of goodly pride : 
Then, if he thrive, and I be cast away. 
The worst was this — my love was my decay. 

LXXXI. 
Or I shall live your epitaph to make. 
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten : 
From hence your memory death cannot take, 
Although in me each part will be forgotten. 
Your name from hence immortal life shall have. 
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die : 
The earth can yield me but a common grave, 
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. 
Your monument shall be my gentle verse, 
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read ; 
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse. 
When all the breathers of this world are dead ; 
You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen,) 
Where breath most lareathes. even in the mouths of 
men. 

Lxxxir. 

1 grant thou wert not married to my muse. 
And, therefore, may'st without attaint o'er-look 
The dedicated words which writers use 

Of their fair subject, blessing every book. 
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, 
Fmdmg thy worth a limit past my praise ; 
And, therefore, art enforc'd to seek anew 
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. 
And do so, love ; yet when they have devis'd 
What strained touches rhetoric can lend, 
Thou, truly fair, wert truly sympathiz'd 



In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend; 
And their gross painting might be better used 
Where cheeks need blood : in thee it is abused. 

LXXXIII. 
I never saw that you did painting need. 
And, therefore, to your fair no painting set ; 
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed 
The barren tender of a poet's debt : 
And, therefore, have I slept in your report, 
That you yourself, being extant, well might show 
How far a modern quill doth come too short. 
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. 
This silence for my sin you did impute, 
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb ; 
For I impair not beauty being mute, 
When others would give life, and bring a tomb. 
There lives more life in one of your fair eye«, 
Than both your poets can in praise devise. 

LXXXIV. 

Who is it that says most ? which can say more, 
Than this rich praise, that you alone arc you ? 
In whose confine immured is the store, 
Which should example where your equal grew. 
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell, 
That to his subject lends not some small glory ; 
But he that writes of you, if he can tell 
That you are you, so dignifies his story. 
Let him but copy what in you is writ, 
Not making worse what nature made so clear. 
And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, 
Making his style admired every where. 

You to your beauteous ble.«sings add a curse. 

Being fond on praise, which makes your praises 
worse. 

LXXXV. 

My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still. 
While comments of your pra,ise, richly compil'd, 
Reserve their character with golden quill. 
And precious phrase by all the muses fil'd. 
I think good thoughts, whilst other write good words, 
And, like unletter'd clerk, still cry " Amen" 
To every hymn that able spirit affords. 
In polish'd form of well-refined pen. 
Hearing you prais'd, I say, " 't is so, 't is true," 
And to the most of praise add something more; 
But that is in my thought, whose love to you. 
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before : 
Then, others for the breath of words respect, 
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. 

LXXXVI. 
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse. 
Bound for the prize of all too precious you, 
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inherse. 
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? 
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write 
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead ? 
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night 
Giving him aid, my verse astonished: 
He, nor that affable familiar ghost. 
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence. 
As victors of my silence cannot boast. 
I was not sick of any fear from thence : 
But when your countenance till'd up his line, 
Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine. 



SONNETS. 



951 



LXXXVII. 

Farewell : thou art too dear for my possessing, 
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: 
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing j 
My honds in thee are all determinate. 
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting ? 
And for that riches where is my deserving ? 
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, 
And so my patent back again is swerving. 
Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing, 
Or me, to whom gav'st it, else mistaking; 
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 
Comes home again, on better judgment making. 
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, 
In sleep a king, but waking, no such matter. 

LXXXVIII. 

When thou shall be dispos'd to set me light. 
And place my merit in the eye of scorn, 
Upon thy side against myself I '11 fight. 
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn : 
With mine own weakness being best acquainted. 
Upon thy part I can set down a story 
Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted, 
That thou, in losing me, shalt win much glory: 
And I by this will be a gainer too ; 
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, 
The injuries that to myself I do, 
Doing thee vantage, double vantage me. 
Such is my love, to thee I so belong. 
That for thy right myself will bear all vsrong. 

LXXXIX. 

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault. 
And I will comment upon that offence : 
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt. 
Against thy reasons making no defence. 
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill. 
To set a form upon desired change. 
As I '11 myself disgrace : knowing thy will, 
I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange j 
Be absent from thy walks ; and in my tongue 
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell. 
Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong. 
And haply of our old acquaintance tell. 
For thee, against myself I '11 vow debate. 
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. 

XC. 
Then, hate me when thou wilt : if ever, now : 
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, 
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow. 
And do not drop in for an after loss. 
Ah ! do not, when my heart hath scap'd this sorrow, 
Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe ; 
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow. 
To linger out a purpos'd overthrow. 
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last. 
When other petty griefs have done tlieir spite, 
But in the onset come : so shall I taste 
At first the very worst of fortune's might; 

And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, 
Compar'd with loss of thee, will not seem so. 

XCI. 
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill. 
Some in their wealth, some in their body's force ; 
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill ; 



Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse ; 

And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, 

Wherein it finds a joy above the rest ; 

But these particulars are not my measure : 

All these I better in one general best. 

Thy love is better than high birth to me. 

Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost, 

Of more delight than hawks or horses be ; 

And having thee, of all men's pride I boast : 
Wretched in this alone, that thou may'st take 
All this away, and me most WTetched make. 

XCII. 
But do thy worst to steal thyself away, 
For term of life thou art assured mine ; 
And life no longer than thy love will stay. 
For it depends upon that love of thine : 
Then, need I not to fear the worst of wrongs. 
When in the least of them my life hath end. 
I see a better state to me belongs 
Than that which on thy humour doth depend. 
Thou canst not vex me vnth inconstant mind, 
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie. 
! what a happy title do I find, 
Happy to have thy love, happy to die : 

But what 's so blessed fair that fears no blot? 

Thou may'st be false, and yet I know it not. 

XCIII. 
So shall I live, supposing thou art true, 
Like a deceived husband ; so love's face 
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new; 
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place : 
For there can live no hatred in thine eye ; 
Therefore, in that I cannot know thy change. 
In many's looks the false heart's history 
Is writ in moods, and frowns, and wi-inkles strange ; 
But heaven in thy creation did decree, 
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell ; 
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be. 
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell. 
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow, 
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show ! 

XCIV. 

They that have power to hurt, and will do none, 

That do not do the thing they most do show. 

Who, moving others, are Iflieniselves as stone, 

Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow ; 

They rightly do inherit heaven's graces. 

And husband nature's riches from expense ; 

They are the lords and owners of their faces, 

Others but stev.'ards of their excellence. 

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, 

Though to itself it only live and die ; 

But if that flower with ba,se infection meet, 

The basest weed outbraves his dignity ; 

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds : 
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 

xcv. 

How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame, 
Which, like a canker in the fragi-ant rose. 
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name ? 
0, in what sweets dost thou thy .sins enclose ! 
That tongue that tells the story of thy days, 
(Making lascivious comments on thy sport) 
Camiot dispraise but in a kind of praise ; 



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Naming thy name blesses an ill report. 
O ! what a mansion have those vices got, 
Which for their habitation chose out thee, 
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot, 
And all things turn to fair that eyes can see ! 

Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege ; 

The hardest knife ill us'd doth lose his edge. 

XCVI. 
Some say, thy fault is youth, some -wantonness ; 
Some say, thy grace is youth, and gentle sport ; 
Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less : 
Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort. 
As on the finger of a throned queen 
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd, 
So are those errors that in thee are seen 
To truths translated, and for true things deem'd. 
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, 
If like a lamb he could his looks translate ! 
How many gazers mightst thou lead away. 
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state ! 
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort, 
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 

XCVII. 
How like a winter hath my absence been 
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, 
What old December's bareness every where ! 
And yet this time remov'd was summer's time ; 
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase. 
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, 
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease : 
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit : 
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; 

Or, if they sing, 't is with so dull a cheer. 

That leaves look pale, dreading the winter 's near. 

XCVIII. 
From you have I been absent in the spring. 
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim. 
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing. 
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him : 
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
Of different flowers in odour and in hue. 
Could make me any summer's story tell. 
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: 
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, 
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; 
They were but sweet, but figures of delight. 
Drawn after you ; you pattern of all those. 
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, 
As with your shadow I with these did play : 

XCIX. 

The forward violet thus did I chide : — 

Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that 

If not from my love's breath ? the purple pride [smells. 

Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells, 

In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. 

The lily I condemned for thy hand. 

And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair: 

The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, 

One blushing shame, another white despair ; 

A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both, 

And to this robbery had annex'd thy breath; 



But, for his theft, in pride of all his gro'W'th 

A vengeful canker eat him up to death. 
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, 
But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee. 

C. 

Wliere art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long 
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might ? 
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, 
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light ? 
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem 
In gentle numbers time so idly spent : 
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem, 
And gives thy pen both skill and argument. 
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey. 
If Time have any wrinkle graven there ; 
If any, be a satire to decay, ^ 

And make Time's spoils despised every where. 

Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life ; 

So thou prevent'st his scythe, and crooked knife. 

CI. 

truant Muse ! what shall be thy amends. 
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed ? 
Both truth and beauty on my love depends ; 
So dost thou too, and therein dignified. 

Make answer. Muse : wilt thou not haply say, 
" Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd ; 
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay; 
But best is best, if never intermix'd." 
Because ho needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb ? 
Excuse not silence so ; for 't lies in thee 
To make him much out-live a gilded tomb. 
And to be prais'd of ages yet to be. 

Then, do thy office. Muse : I teach thee how 
To make him seem long hence as he shows now. 

CII. 

My love is strengthen'd. though more weak in seeming , 

1 love not less, though less the show appear : 
That love is merchandiz'd, whose rich esteeming 
The ow^ler's tongue doth publish every where. 
Our love was new, and then but in the spring. 
When I was wont to greet it with my lays ; 

As Philomel in summer's front doth sing. 
And stops his pipe in growth of riper days : 
Not that the summer is less pleasant now, 
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night. 
But that wild music burdens every bough, 
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. 
Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue. 
Because I would not dull you with my song. 

cm. 

Alack ! what poverty my muse brings forth, 
That having such a scope to show her pride, 
The argument, all bare, is of more worth, 
Than when it hath my added praise beside. 
! blame me not, if I no more can write : 
Look in your glass, and there appears a face, 
That over-goes my blunt invention quite. 
Dulling my lines, and doing mo disgrace. 
Were it not sinful, then, striving to mend, 
To mar the subject that before was well ? 
For to no other pass my verses tend. 
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell ; 

And more, much more, than in my verse can sit, 
Your own glass shows you, when you look in it. 



CIV. 
To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 
For as you were, when first your eye I ey'd, 
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold 
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride ; 
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd, 
In process of the seasons have I seen ; 
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, 
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 
Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand, 
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived ; 
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, 
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived : 
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred. — 
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. 

CV. 

Let not my love be call'd idolatry, 
Nor my beloved as an idol show. 
Since all alike my songs and praises be, 
To one, of one, still such, and ever so. 
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, 
Still constant in a wondrous excellence ; 
Therefore, my verse to constancy confin'd, 
One thing expressing, leaves out difference. 
Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument, 
Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words ; 
And in this change is my invention spent, 
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. 
Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone, 
Which three, till now, never kept seat in one. 

CVI. 

When in the chronicle of wasted time 
I see descriptions of the fairest wights. 
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme. 
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights; 
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best. 
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
I see their antique pen would have express'd 
Even such a beauty as you master now. 
So all their praises are but prophecies 
Of this our time, all you prefiguring; 
And for they look'd but with divining eyes, 
They had not skill enough your worth to sing : 
For we, whicli now behold tliese present days, 
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 

CVII. 
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come, 
Can yet the lease of my true love control, 
Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom. 
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd, 
And the sad augurs mock their own presage j 
Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd. 
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
Now, with the drops of this most balmy time 
My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes, 
Since, spite of him, I '11 live in this poor rhyme, 
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes: 
And thou in this shalt find thy monument, 
When tyrants' crests, and tombs of brass ai'e spent. 



cvni. 

What 's in the brain that ink may character, 
Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit ? 
What 's new to speak, what now to register, 

1 To blench is to start from, a have : in old eds. Tyrwhitt made the change. 3 Vinegar. 



That may express my love, or thy dear merit ? 

Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine, 

1 must each day say o'er the very same. 

Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine. 

Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name. 

So that eternal love, in love's fresh case. 

Weighs not the dust and injury of age ; 

Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place. 

But makes antiquity for aye his page: 

Finding the first conceit of love there bred, 
Where time and outward form would show it dead. 

CIX. 
! never say that I was false of heart. 
Though absence scem'd my flame to qualify. 
As easy might I from myself depart. 
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie. 
That is my home of love : if I have rang'd. 
Like him that travels, I return again, 
Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd ; 
So that myself bring water for my stain. 
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
That it could so preposterously be stain'd. 
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ; 
For nothing this wide universe I call. 
Save thou, my Rose ; in it thou art my all. 

ex. 

Alas ! 't is true, I have gone here and there. 

And made myself a motley to the view; 

Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, 

Made old offences of affections new : 

Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth 

Askance and strangely; but, by all above, 

These blenches' gave my heart another youth. 

And worse essays prov'd thee my best of love. 

Now all is done, save^ what shall have no end : 

Mine appetite I never more will grind 

On newer proof, to try an older friend, 

A god in love, to whom I am confin'd. 

Then, give me welcome, next my heaven the best, 
Even to thy pure, and most most loving breast. 

CXI. 

! for my sake do you with fortune chide. 
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 
That did not better for my life provide 
Than public means, which public manners breeds : 
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand; 
And almost thence my nature is subdu'd 
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. 
Pity me, then, and wish I were renew'd. 
Whilst, like a willing patient. I will drink 
Potions of eyseP 'gainst my strong infection; 
No bitterness that I will bitter think, 
Nor double penance, to correct correction. 
Pity me, then, dear friend, and I assure ye, 
Even that your pity is enough to cure me. 

CXII. 
Your love and pity doth th' impression fill 
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow ; 
For what care I wlio calls me well or ill. 
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?. 
You are my all-the-world, and I must strive 
To know my shames and praises from your tongue; 
None else to me, nor I to none alive, 



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SONNETS. 



That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong. 

In so profound abysm I throw all care 

Of others' voices, that my adder's sense 

To critic and to flatterer stopped are. 

Mark how with my neglect I do dispense : — 
You are so strongly in my purpose bred, 
That all the world besides methiiiks they are dead.' 

CXIIT. 

Since I left you mine eye is in my mind, 
And that which governs me to go about 
Doth part his function, and is partly blind, 
Seems seeing, but effectually is out ; 
For it no form delivers to the heart 
Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth latch :'' 
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, 
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch ; 
For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight. 
The most sweet favour, or deformed'st creature. 
The mountain or the sea, the day or night. 
The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature : 
Incapable of more, replete with you, 
My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue.^ 

CXIV. 
Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you, 

Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery? 
Or whether shall I say, my eye saith true, 
And that your love taught it this alchymy, 
To make, of monsters and things indigest, 
Such clierubins as your sweet self resemble, 
Creating every bad a perfect best. 
As fast as objects to his beams assemble ? 
! 't is the fii'st : 't is flattery in my seeing. 
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up : 
Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing, 
And to his palate doth prepare the cup : 
If it be poison'd, 't is the lesser sin 
That mine eye loves it, and doth first begin. 

cxv. 

Those lines that I before have writ do lie. 
Even those that said I could not love you dearer ; 
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why 
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. 
But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents 
Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, 
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents. 
Divert strong minds t' the course of altering things ; 
Alas ! why, fearing of time's tyramiy, 
IMight I not then say, " now I love you best," 
When I was certain o'er incertainty. 
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest ? 
Love is a babe ; then, might I not say so. 
To give full growth to that which still doth grow? 

CXVI. 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 

Admit impediments : love is not love. 

Which alters when it alteration finds, 

Or bends with the remover to remove : 

no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, 

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 

It is the star to every wandering bark. 

Whose worth 's unknown, although his height be taken. 

Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 

Within his bending sickle's compass come • 



Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 

If this be error, and upon me proved, 

I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 

CXVII. 
Accuse me thus : that I have scanted all 
Wherein I should your great deserts repay ; 
Forgot upon your dearest love to call, 
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day ; 
That I have frequent been with unknown minds. 
And given to time your own dear-purchas'd right ; 
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds 
Which should transport me farthest from your sight : 
Book both my wilfulness and errors do^vn, 
And on just proof surmise accumulate ; 
Bring me within the level of your frown. 
But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate. 
Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove 
The constancy and virtue of your love. 

CXVIII. 

Like as, to make our appetites more keen. 
With eager* compounds we our palate urge ; 
As, to prevent our maladies unseen. 
We sicken to shun sickness when we purge ; 
Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, 
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding ; 
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness 
To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing. 
Thus policy in love, t' anticipate 
The ills that were not, grew to faults assur'd. 
And brought to medicine a healthful state. 
Which; rank of goodness, would by ill be cur'd ; 
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, 
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. 

CXIX. 

Wliat potions have I drunk of syren tears, 
Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within, 
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears. 
Still losing when I saw myself to win ! 
What wretched errors hath my heart committed. 
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never ! 
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted. 
In the distraction of this madding fever ! 
benefit of ill ! now I find true, 
That better is by evil still made better ; 
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew. 
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. 
So I return rebuk'd to my content. 
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. 

CXX. 

That you were once unkind befriends me now, 
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel. 
Needs must I under my transgression bow. 
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. 
For if you were by my unkindness shaken. 
As I by yours, you have pass'd a hell of time ; 
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken 
To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. 
! that our night of woe might have remember'd 
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits ; 
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd 
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits ! 

But that your trespass now becomes a fee ; 

Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. 



^ methinks y' are dead : in old cop. 
* Fr. aigre, sour. 



Dyce omits "they." ' lack : in old eds. Malone made the change. ^ Used as a suhstantive. 



SONNETS. 



955 



CXXI. 

"T is better to be vile, than vile esteemed, 
When not to be receives reproach of being ; 
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, 
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing : 
For why should others' false adulterate eyes 
Give salutation to my sportive blood ? 
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, 
Which in their wills count bad what I think good ? 
No, I am that I am ; and they that level 
At my abuses, reckon up their owti : 
I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel. 
By their rank thoughts my deeds nuist not be shown ; 
Unless this general evil they maintain. 
All men are bad. and in their badness reign. 

CXXII. 

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain 
Full charactcr'd with lasting memory, 
Which shall above that idle rank remain, 
Beyond all date, even to eternity ; 
Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart 
Have faculty by nature to subsist ; 
Till each to ras'd oblivion yield his part 
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd. 
That poor retention could not so much hold, 
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score ; 
Tiierefore to give them from me ^^as I bold. 
To trust those tables that receive thee more : 

To keep an adjunct to remember thee. 

Were to import forgetfulness in me. 

CXXIII. 

No ! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change : 
Thy pyramids, built up with newer might, 
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange ; 
They are but dressings of a former sight. 
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire 
What thou dost foist upon us that is old, 
And rather make them born to our desire, 
Than think that we before have heard them told. 
Thy registers and thee 1 both defy, 
Not wondering at the present, nor the past ; 
For thy records and what wc see do lie, 
jMade more or less by thy continual haste. 
This I do vow, and this shall ever be, 
I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee ; 

CXXIV. 

If my dear love were but the child of state. 

It might for fortune's bastard be unfathered, 

As subject to time's love, or to time's hate, 

Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered. 

No, it was builded far from accident ; 

It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls 

Under the blow of thralled discontent. 

Whereto th' inviting lime our fashion calls : 

It fears not policy, that heretic. 

Which works on leases of short number'd hours, 

But all alone stands hugely politic. 

That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. 
To this I witness call the fools of time. 
Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for crime. 

CXXV. 

Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy. 
With my extern the outward honouring, 
Or laid great bases for eternity, 

1 The keys of the virginal. 



Which prove more short than waste or ruining ? 
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour 
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent ; 
For compound sweet foregoing simple savour, 
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent ? 
No ; let me be obsequious in thy heart. 
And take thou my oblation, poor but free. 
Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art, 
But mutual render, only me for thee. 

Hence, thou suborn'd informer ! a true soul, 
When most impeach'd, stands least in thy control. 

CXXVI. 
O thou, my lovely boy ! who in thy power 
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour : 
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st 
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st ; 
If nature, sovereign mistress over wrack. 
As thou goest onwards still will plucl: thee bade. 
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her .skill 
May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. 
Yet fear her, thou minion of her pleasure ! 
She may detain, but not still keep her trea.sure : 
Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be, 
And her quietus is to render thee. 

CXXVII. 
In the old age black was not counted fair, 
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name ; 
But now is black beauty's successive heir. 
And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame ; 
For since each hand hath put on nature's power. 
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face, 
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower, 
But is proian'd, if not lives in disgrace. 
Therefore, my mistress' eyes are raven black. 
Her eyes so suited ; and they mourners seem 
At such, who. not born fair, no beauty lack. 
Slandering creation with a false esteem : 
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe. 
That every tongue says, beauty should look so. 

CXXVIII. 
How oft, when thou, my music, music playest, 
Upon that blessed wood, whose motion sounds 
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently swayest 
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, 
Do I em'y those jacks,' that nimble leap 
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, 
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap, 
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand. 
To be so tickled, they would change their state 
And situation with those dancing chips. 
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait. 
Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips. 
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this. 
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. 

CXXIX. 
Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame 
Is lust in action ; and till action, lust 
Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame, 
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust ; 
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight ; 
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had. 
Past reason hated, as a swallow"d bait. 
On purpose laid to make the taker mad : 
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so ; 
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme ; 



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A bliss in proof, — and prov'd, a very woe ;' 
Before, a joy propos'd : behind, a dream. 

All this the world well knows, yet none knows well 
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. 

cxxx. 

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun ) 

Coral is far more red than her lips' red : 

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun ; 

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. 

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, 

But no such roses see I in her cheeks ; 

And in some perfumes is there more delight 

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. 

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know 

That music hath a far more pleasing sound : 

I grant I never saw a goddess go ; 

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground. 

And yet, by heaven, I tliink my love as rare 

As any she belied with false compare. 

CXXXI. 

Thou art as tyramious, so as thou art, 
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; 
For well thou know'st, to my dear doting heart 
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. 
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, 
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan : 
To say they err I dare not be so bold, 
Although I swear it to myself alone. 
And, to be sure that is not false I swear, 
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, 
One on another's neck, do witness bear, 
Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. 
In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds, 
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds. 

CXXXII. 

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, 

Knowing thy heart torments'' me with disdain. 

Have put on black, and loving mourners be, 

Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. 

And, truly, not the morning sun of heaven 

Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, 

Nor that full star that ushers in the even 

Doth half that glory to the sober west, 

As those two mourning eyes become thy face. 

! let it, then, as well beseem thy heart 

To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace. 

And suit thy pity like in every part ; 

Then will I swear, beauty herself is black, 
And all they foul that thy complexion lack. 

CXXXIII. 

Beshrew that heart, that makes my heart to groan 

For that deep wound it gives my friend and me ! 

Is 't not enough to torture me alone, 

But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be ? 

Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, 

And my next self thou harder hast engrossed : 

Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken ; 

A torment thrice threefold thus to be crossed. 

Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward. 

But, then, my friend's heart let my poor heart bail ; 

Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard ; 

Thou canst not then use rigour in my jail : 



And yet thou wilt ; for I, being pent in thee, 
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. 

CXXXIV. 
So, now I have confess'd that he is thine, 
And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will ; 
Myself I '11 forfeit, so that other mine 
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still : 
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, 
For thou art covetous, and he is kind : 
He learn'd but, surety-like, to write for me, 
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. 
The statute' of thy beauty thou wilt take. 
Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use. 
And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake ) 
So him I lose through niy unkind abuse. 

Him have I lost ; thou hast both him and roe : 
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. 

CXXXV. 

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will^^ 
And Will to boot, and Will in over-plus ; 
More than enough am I, that vex thee still, 
To thy sweet will making addition .thus. 
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, 
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine ? 
Shall will in others seem right gracious, 
And in my will no fair acceptance shine ? 
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still, 
And in abundance addeth to his store : 
So thou, being rich in Will^ add to thy Will 
One will of mine, to make thy large Will more. 
Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill : 
Think all but one, and me in that one Will. 

CXXXVI. 

If thy soul check thee that I come so near, 
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will^ 
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there 5 
Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. 
Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love. 
Ay. fill it full with wills, and my will one. 
In things of great receipt with ease we prove. 
Among a number one is reckon'd none : 
Then, in the number let me pass untold, 
Thougli in thy stores' account I one must be ; 
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold 
That nothing me. a something sweet to thee : 
Make but my name thy love, and love that still. 
And then thou lov'st me, — for my name is Will. 

CXXXVII. 

Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes. 

That they behold, and see not what they see ? 

They know what beauty is, see where it lies. 

Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. 

If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks. 

Be anciior'd in the bay where all men ride, 

Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, 

Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied ? 

Why should my heart think that a several plot,* 

Which my heart laiows the wide world's common place ? 

Or mine eyes seeing this, say, this is not. 

To put fair truth upon so foul a face ? 

In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, 
And to this false plague are they now transferred. 



1 and proud and very woe : in old eds. Malone made the chanRe. 2 torment : in old eds. ^Security. « Whoever hath her wish, thou 
hast thy Will : As there is in this and the next sonnet, as well as in Sonnet cxliii, an obvious play upon the Christian name of the poet, 
we have printed it exactly as it stands in the quarto, 1609, and as it probably stood in the manuscript from which it was printed. * A 
piece of ground which has been " common," or uninclosed, but has been separated and made private property. 



SONNETS. 



95Y 



CXXXVIIL' 
When my love swears that she is made of truth, 
I do believe her. though I know she lies, 
That she might think mo some untutor'd youth, 
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. 
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, 
Although she knows my days are past the best, 
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue : 
On both sides thus is simple truth supprest. 
But wherefore says she not, she is unjust ? 
And wherefore say not I, that I am old ? 
! love's best habit is in seeming trust. 
And age in love loves not to have years told : 

Therefore I lie with her, and she with me. 

And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be. 

CXXXIX. 

O ! call not me to justify the wrong, 
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart ; 
Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue, 
Use power with power, and slay me not by art. 
Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere ; but in my sight, 
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside : [might 
What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy 
Is more than my o'er-prcss'd defence can 'bide? 
Let me excuse thee : ah ! my love well knows 
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies. 
And therefore from my face she turns my foes. 
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries. 
Yet do not so ; but since I am near slain, 
Kill me out-right with looks, and rid my pain. 

CXL. 

Re wise as thou art cruel ; do not press 
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain • 
Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express 
The manner of my pity- wanting pain. 
If I might teach thee wit, better it were, 
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so ; 
As testy sick men, when their deaths be near. 
No news but health from their physicians know: 
For. if I should despair, I should grow mad, 
And in my madness might speak ill of thee ; 
Now this ill-wresting world is gro"W"n so bad, 
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. 

That I may not be so, nor thou belied, [wide. 

Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go 

CXLI. 
In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, 
For they in thee a thousand errors note ; 
But 't is my heart that loves what they despise, 
Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote. 
Nor arc mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted : 
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, 
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited 
To any sensual feast with thee alone : 
But my five wits, nor my five senses can^ 
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, 
Who leave unsway'd the likeness of a man, 
Thy prov\d heart's slave and vassal WTctch to be : 
Only my plague thus far I count my gain. 
That she that makes me sin awards me pain. 

CXLII. 
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate. 
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving. 



! but with mine compare thou thine own state. 
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving : 

Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, 
That have profan'd their scarlet ornaments, 
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine, 
Robb'd others' beds revenues of their rents. 
Be it lawful I love thcc, as thou lov'st those 
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee : 
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows, 
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. 

If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide. 
By self-example may'st thou be denied ! 

CXLHI. 
Lo ! as a careful housewife runs to catch 
One of her feather'd creatures broke away, 
Sets dowii her babe, and makes all swift dispatch 
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay; 
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace. 
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent 
To follow that which flies before her face, 
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent : 
So run'st thou after that which flies from thee, 
Whilst I, thy babe, chase thee afar behind; 
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, 
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind : 
So will I pray that thou may'st have thy Will^ 
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still. 

CXLIV.^" 
Two loves I have of comfort and despair. 
Which like two spirits do suggest* me still : 
The better angel is a man, right fair. 
The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill. 
To win me soon to hell, my female evil 
Tempteth my better angel from my side. 
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil. 
Wooing his purity with her foul pride. 
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend, 
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell : 
But being both from me, both to each friend, 

1 guess one angel in another's hell : 

Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt. 
Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 

CXLV. 

Those lips that Love's own hand did make, 

Breath'd forth the sound that said, '• I hate." 

To me that languish'd for her sake ; 

But when she saw my woeful state. 

Straight in her heart did mercy come. 

Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet 

Was us'd in giving gentle doom. 

And taught it thus anew to greet. 

" I hate," she alter'd with an end. 

That follow'd it as gentle day 

Doth follow night, who. like a fiend. 

From heaven to hell is flown away : 
" I hate" from hate away she threw, 
And sav'd my life, saying — " not you." 

CXLVI. 
Poor soul, the center of my sinful earth, 
Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array,' 
Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, 
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? 
Why so large cost, having so short a lease. 



1 This .sonnet, with variations, was first printed in " The Passionate Pilgrim," 1599. It is inserted hereafter as it stands in that work, 
that the reader may Iiave an opportunity of comparing the two copies. = See note to " King Lear," Act III, sc. iv. 3 This sonnet, with 
some variations, will be found hereafter in " The Passionate Pilgrim." * Tempt. « Old ed. reads : My sinful earth these rebel powers that 
thee array. Malone made the change. 



958 



SONNETS. 



Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ? 

Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, 

Eat up thy charge ? is this thy body's end ? 

Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 

And let that pine to aggravate thy store; 

Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ', 

Within be fed, without be rich no more : 

So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, 
And, death once dead, there 's no more dying then. 

CXLVII. 

My love is as a fever, longing still 

For that which longer nurseth the disease ; 

Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, 

Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please. 

My reason, the physician to my love, 

Angiy that his prescriptions are not kept. 

Hath left me, and I desperate now appi-ove, 

Desire is death, Vv'hich physic did except. 

Past cure I am, now reason is past care. 

And frantic mad with ever-more unrest : 

My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, 

At random from the truth vainly expres-s'd ; 

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, 
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. 

CXLVIII. 
me ! what eyes hath love put in my head. 
Which have no correspondence with true sight ! 
Or. if they have, where is my judgment fled. 
That censures falsely what they see aright? 
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, 
V/hat means the world to say it is not so? 
If it be not, then love doth well denote 
Love's eye is not so true as all men's : no, 
How can it ? ! how can love's eye be true. 
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears ? 
No marvel, then, though I mistake my view; 
The Sim itself sees not, till heaven clears. 

cunning love ! with tears thou keep'st me blind, 
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find, 

CXLIX. 

Canst thou. Cruel ! say, I love thee not, 
When I, against myself, with thee partake ?^ 
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot 
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake ? 
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend ? 
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon ? 
Nay, if thou low'rst on me, do I not spend 
Revenge upon myself with present moan ? 
What merit do I in myself respect. 
That is so proud thy service to despise, 
When all my best doth worship thy defect, 
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ? 
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind : 
Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind. 

CL. 

! from what power hast thou this powerful might, 

With insufficiency my heart to sway? 

To make me give the lie to my true sight, 

And swear that brightness doth not grace the day ? 

Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, 

That in the very refuse of thy deeds 

There is such strength and warrantise of skill, 

That in my mind thy worst all best exceeds ? 

Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, 

The more I hear and see just cause of hate ? 

1 Take part. 



! though I love what others do abhor. 
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state : 
If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me, 
More worthy I to be belov'd of thee. 

CLI. 
Love is too young to know what conscience is ; 
Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love ? 
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss. 
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove : 
For, thou betraying me, I do betray 
My nobler part to my gross body's treason ; 
My soul doth tell my body that he may 
Triumph in love : flesh stays no farther reason, 
But rising at thy name, doth point out thee 
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, 
He is contented thy poor drudge to be, 
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. 
No want of conscience hold it, that I call 
Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. 

CLII. 
In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn. 
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing ; 
In act thy bed- vow broke, and new faith torn, 
In vowing new hate after new love bearing. 
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, 
When I break twenty ? I am perjur'd most ; 
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee. 
And all my honest faith in thee is lost : 
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness. 
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy ; 
And to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness. 
Or made them swear against the thing they see ; 
For I have sworn thee fair : more perjur'd I, 
To swear against the truth so foul a lie ! 

CLIII. 

Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep : 
A maid of Dian's this advantage found, 
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep 
In a cold valley-lbuntain of that ground ; 
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love 
A dateless lively heat, still to endure. 
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove, 
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. 
But at my mistress' eye love's brand nevr-fired. 
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast ; 
I sick withal, the help of bath desired. 
And thither hied, a sad distempcr'd guest. 
But found no cure : the bath for my help lies 
Where Cupid got new fire, my mistress' eyes. 

CLIV. 

The little Love-god lying once asleep. 
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand. 
Whilst many nymphs, that vow'd chaste life to keep. 
Came tripping by ; but in her maiden hand 
The fairest votary took up that fire 
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd: 
And so the general of hot desire 
Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmed. 
This brand she quenched in a cool well by, 
Which from love's fire took heat perpetual, 
Growing a bath, and healtliful remedy 
For men diseas'd ; but I, my mistress' thrall. 
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove. 
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. 



A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 



From off a hill whose concave womb re- worded 
A phiintful story from a sistcring vale, 
My spirits t' attend this double voice accorded, 
And down I laid to list the sad-tiin'd tale; 
Ere long espy'd a fickle maid full pale, 
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain, 
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain. 

Upon her head a platted hive of straw, 

Which fortified her visage from the sun, 

Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw 

The carcase of a beauty spent and done : 

Time had not scythed all that youth begun, 

Nor youtli all quit ; but, spite of heaven's fell rage, 

Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age. 

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, 
Whicli on it had conceited characters. 
Laundering the silken figures in the brine 
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears. 
And often reading what contents it bears; 
As often shrieking iindistinguish'd woe 
In clamours of all size, both high and low. 

Sometimes her level'd eyes their carriage ride, 
As they did battery to the spheres intend ; 
Sometime, diverted, their poor balls are tied 
To the orbed earth ; sometimes they do extend 
Their view right on ; anon their gazes lend 
To every place at once, and no where fix'd, 
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd. 

Her hair, nor loose, nor tied in formal plat, 

Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride ; 

For some, untuck'd, descended her sheav'd' hat. 

Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside • 

Some in her threaden fillet still did bide. 

And, true to bondage, would not break from thence, 

Though slackly braided in loose negligence. 

A thousand favours from a maund* she drew 

Of amber, crystal, and of bedded jet, 

Which one by one she in a river threw. 

Upon whose weeping margent she was set ; 

Like usury, applying wet to wet. 

Or nionarchs' hands, that let not bounty fall 

Where want cries " some," but where excess begs all. 

Of folded schedules had she many a one, 
Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood ; 
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone. 
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud ; 
Found yet more letters sadly pen'd in blood, 
With slcidcd^ silk feat and affectedly 
Enswath'd, and seal'd to curious secrecy. 



These often bath'd she in her fluxive eyes. 

And often kiss'd, and often 'gan* to tear ; 

Cry'd, false blood ! thou regi.stcr of lies. 

What unapproved witness dost thou bear ! 

Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here. 

This said, in top of rage the lines she rents. 

Big discontent so breaking their contents. 

A reverend man that gi-az'd his cattle nigh. 

Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew 

Of court, of city, and had let go by 

The swiftest hours, observed as they flew. 

Towards this afflicted fancy fasily drew; 

And, privileged by age, desires to know. 

In brief, the grounds and motives of her woe. 

So slides he down upon his grained bat. 
And comely-distant sits he by her side ; 
When he again desires her, being sat. 
Her grievance with his hearing to divide : 
If that from him there may be aught applied. 
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, 
'T is promis'd in the charity of age. 

Father, she says, though in me you behold 
The injury of many a blasting hour. 
Let it not tell your judgment I am old ; 
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power : 
I might as yet have been a spreading flower. 
Fresh to myself, if I liad self-applied 
Love to myself, and to no love beside. 

But woe is me ! too early I attended 

A youthful suit, it was to gain my grace ; 

! one by nature's outwards so commended. 

That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face : 

Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place ; 

And when in his fair parts she did abide. 

She was new lodg'd, and newly deified. 

His browny locks did hang in crooked curls, 
And every light occasion of the wind 
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls : 
What 's sweet to do, to do will aptly find ; 
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind. 
For on his visage was in little drawn. 
What largeness thinks in paradise was sawii.* 

Small show of man was yet upon his chin : 
His phosnix down began but to appear. 
Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin, 
Whose bare out-brag'd tlie web it seem'd to wear ; 
Yet show'd his visage by that cost most^ dear, 
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt 
If best were as it was, or best without. 



1 Straw. 
Bos-well. 6 



* Basket. 3 Untwisted. — Percy. ♦ gave : in old eds. 
more : in old eds. 



Malone made the change. * The northern provincialism ftr sown.— 



9G0 



A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 



His qualities were beauteous as his form, 

For maiJen-tongu'd he was, and thereof free ; 

Yet. if men mov'd him, was he such a storm 

As oft 'twixt May and April is to see, 

When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be. 

His rudeness so, with his authoriz'd youth, 

Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. 

Well could he ride, and often men would say, 

" That horse his mettle from his rider takes : 

Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, [makes !" 

What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he 

And controversy hence a question takes, 

Whether the horse by him became his deed, 

Or he his manage by the well-doing steed. 

But quickly on this side the verdict went. 
His real habitude gave life and grace 
To apperlainings and to ornament, 
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case: 
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, 
Came' for additions, yet their purpos'd trim 
Piec'd not his grace, but were all grac'd by him. 

So on the tip of his subduing tongue. 
All kind of arguments and question deep. 
All replication prompt, and reason strong. 
For his advantage still did wake and sleep : 
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, 
He had the dialect and different skill, 
Catching all passions in his craft of will : 

That he did in the general bosom reign 
Of young, of old ; and sexes both enchanted, 
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain 
In personal duty, following where he haunted : 
Consents, bewitch'd, ere he desire have granted; 
And dialogued for him what he would say, 
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey. 

Many there were that did his picture get. 

To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind ; 

Like fools that in th' imagination set 

The goodly objects which abroad they find 

Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd; 

And labouring in more pleasures to bestow them. 

Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them. 

So many have, that never touch'd his hand, 
Sweetly suppos'd them mistress of his heart. 
My M-oeful self, that did in freedom stand. 
And was my own fee-simple, (not in part) 
What with his art in youth, and youth in art, 
ThrcAv my affections in his charmed power, 
Reserv'd the stalk, and gave him all my flower. 

Yet did I not, as some my equals did. 

Demand of him, nor, being desir'd, yielded; 

Finding myself in honour so forbid. 

With safest distance I mine honour shielded. 

Experience for me many bulwarks builded 

Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil 

Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. 

But ah ! who ever shunn'd by precedent 
The destin'd ill she must herself assay? 
Or forc'd examples, 'gainst her own content, 
To put the by-pass'd perils in her way? 
Counsel may stop a while what will not stay; 

1 Can : in old eds. = Action. 3 Sorrow. * Plaited. 8 Unseen. 



For when we rage, advice is often seen 

By blunting us to make our wits more keen. * 

Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood. 
That wc must curb it upon others' proof. 
To be forbid the sweets that seem so good, 
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. 
appetite, from judgment stand aloof ! 
The one a palate haih that needs will taste. 
Though reason weep, and cry, " it is thy last." 

For farther I could say, " this man 's untrue," 
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling ; 
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew, 
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling ; 
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling ; 
Thought characters, and words, merely but art. 
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. " 

And long upon these terms I held my city. 
Till thus he 'gan besiege me : " Gentle maid, 
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity, 
And be not of my holy vows afraid : 
That 's to you sworn, to none was ever said ; 
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto, 
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never vow. 

All my offences that abroad you see, 

Are errors of the blood, none of the mind : 

Love made them not : with acture^ they may be, 

Where neither party is nor true nor kind : 

They sought their shame that so their shame did find, 

And so much less of shame in me remains, 

By how much of me their reproach contains. 

Among the many that mine eyes have seen. 

Not one whose flame my heart so much as warmed, 

Or my affection put to the smallest tecn,^ 

Or any of my leisures ever charmed : 

Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harmed ; 

Kept hearts in liveries, but mine o^\"n was free, 

And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy. 

Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent me, 

Of paled pearls, and rubies red as blood ; 

Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me 

Of grief and blushes, aptly vinderstood 

In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood ; 

Effects of terror and dear modesty, 

Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly. 

And lo ! behold these talents of their hair. 
With twisted metal amorously impleach'd,* 
I have receiv'd from many a several fair. 
(Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd) 
With the annexions of fair gems em-ich'd. 
And deep-brain'd sonnets, that did amplify 
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality. 

The diamond ; why, 't was beautiful and hard, 

Whereto his invis'd^ properties did tend. 

The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard 

Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend ; 

The heaven-hued sapphire, and the opal blend 

With objects manifold : each several stone, 

With wit well blazon'd. smil'd, or made some moan. 

Lo ! all these trophies of affections hot. 
Of pensiv'd and subdued desires the tender. 



A LOVEE'S COMPLAINT. 



961 



Nature hath charg'd me that I hoard them not, 
But 3'iekl them up where I myself must render ; 
That is, to you, my origin and eudcr : 
For these, of force, must your oblations be, 
Since I their altar, you enpatron me. 

! then, advance of yours that phrascless hand. 
Wliosc white weighs down the airy scale of praise ; 
Take all these similes to your own command, 
Hallow\l with sighs that burning lungs did raise; 
What me, your minister, for you obeys, 
Works imder you ; and to your audit comes 
Their distract parcels in combined sums. 

Lo ! this device was sent me from a nun, 
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note ; 
Which late hor noble suit in court did shun, 
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms' dote : 
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, 
But kept cold distance, and did thence remove. 
To spend her living in eternal love. 

But O, my sweet ! what labour is 't to leave 

The thing we have not, mastering what not strives ? 

Paling^ the place which did no form receive ; 

Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves ? 

She that her fame so to herself contrives, 

The scars of battle scapcth by the flight, 

And makes her absence valiant, not her might. 

O, pardon me, in that my boast is true ! 
The accident which brought me to her eye. 
Upon the moment did her force subdue, 
And now she would the caged cloister fly ; 
Religious love put oiit religion's eye : 
Not to be tempted, would she be immur'd,* 
And now, to tempt all, liberty procur'd. 

How mighty then you are, hear me tell ! 
The broken bosoms that to me belong, 
Have emptied all their fountains in my well, 
And mine I pour your ocean all among : 

1 strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong, 
]\Tust for your victory us all congest, 

As compound love to physic your cold breast. 

My parts had power to charm a sacred sun. 
Who, disciplin'd. I dieted* in grace, 
Believ'd her eyes, when they t' assail begun, 
All vows and consecrations giving place. 
O most potential love ! vow, bond, nor space, 
•In thee hath neither Bting, knot, nor confine, 
For thou art all, and all things else are thine. 

When thou impressest, what are precepts worth 

Of stale example ? Wlien thou M'ilt inflame. 

How coldly those impediments stand tbrth 

Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame? 

Love's arms arc peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst 

shame ; 
And sweetens, in the sufi"ering pangs it bears. 
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears. 



Now, all these hearts that do on mine depend. 
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine ; 
And supplicant their sighs to you extend. 
To leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine, 
Lending soft audience to my sweet design, 
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath, 
I'hat shall prefer and undertake my troth." 

This said, his watery eyes he did dismount, 
Whose sights till then were level'd on my face ; 
Each cheek a river running from a fount 
With brinish current downv/ard flow'd apace. 
O, how the channel to the stream gave grace ! 
Who, glaz'd with crystal, gate the glowing roses 
That flame through water which their hue incloses. 

father ! what a hell of witchcraft lies 

In the small orb of one particular tear ; 

Bvit with the inundation of the eyes 

What rocky heart to water will not wear ? 

What breast so cold that is not warmed here ? 

0^ cleft effect ! cold modesty, hot wrath. 

Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath ! 

For lo ! his passion, but an art of craft, 

Even there rcsolv'd my reason into tears : 

There my white stole of chastity I daff "d ; 

Shook ofl' my sober guards, and civil fears : 

Appear to him, as he to me appears. 

All melting; though our drops this difference bore. 

His poisou'd me, and mine did him restore. 

In him a plenitude of subtle matter. 

Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives, 

Of burning blushes, or of weeping water. 

Or swooning paleness : and ho takes and leaves, 

In cither's aptness, as it best deceives 

To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes. 

Or to turn white, and swoon at tragic shows : 

That not a heart which in his level came, 

Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim, 

Sho^^^ng fair nature is both kind and tame, 

And veil'd in them, did Avin whom he would maim : 

Against the thing he sought he would exclaim ; 

When he most burn'd in hcart-wish'd luxury. 

He preach'd pure maid, and prais"d cold chastity. 

Thus, merely with the garment of a grace 
The naked and concealed fiend he cover' d ; 
That th' unexpcrienc'd gave the tempter place, 
Which, like a cherubin, above tliem hover'd. 
Who. young and simple, would not be so lover'd ? 
Ah me ! I fell ; and yet do question make, 
VV^liat I should do again for such a sake. 

0, that infected moisture of his eye ! 
0, that false fire, whicli in his check so glowed ! 
0, that forc'd thunder from his heart did fly ! 
0, that sad breath his spungy lungs bestowed ! 
0, all that borrow'd motion, seeming owed. 
Would yet again betray the fore-bctray'd. 
And new pervert a, reconciled maid ! 



1 Flower of the young nobility. ^ piayinff : in old eds. Malone made the change. ' enr.rM : in olded. Malon« made the change 
■1 From the quarto, 1G1)9, the property of Lord F. Es;erton. Malone's copy at Oxford has " I died" for " tnd dieted," which he substituted at 
the suggestion of a correspondent. * Or : in old ed. Malono made the change. 

61 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRI 



INTRODUCTIOK, 



[The Passionate Pilgrime By W. Slialcespearo. At London 
rrinted for W. laggard, and are to bo sold by W. Leake, at 
the Greyhound in Paules Churcliyard. 1599." 16mo. 80 
leaves. 
The title-page first given to the edition of 1G12 ran thus: 
" The Passionate Pilgrime. Or Certaine Amorous Sonnets, 
betweene Venus ana Adonis, newly corrected and aug- 
mented. By W. Shake^re. The third Edition. Where- 
vnto is newly added'T'Sf^TliOue-Epistles, the first from Paris 
to Hellen, and Hellen's answere backe againe to Paris. 
Printed by W. laggard. 1612." The title-page siibsti- 
tuted for the above diflers in no other respect but in the 
omission of " By W. Shakespere."] 
In tlic following pages we have reprinted " The Passionate 
Pilgrim," 1599, as it came from the press of W. .laggard, i 
with the exception only of the orthography. Malone omitted 
several portions of it; some because they were substantially 
repetitions of poems contained elsewhere, and otliers because 
they appeared to have been improperly assigned to Shake- 
speare : one piece, the last in the tract, is not inserted at all 
iu BoswcH's edition, although Malone reprinted it in 1780, 
an:l no reason is assigned for rejecting it. We have given 
the whole, and in our notes we have stated the particular 
circumstances belonging to such pieces, as there is reason to 
believe did not come from the pen of our great dramatist. 
'' The Passionate Pilgrim" was reprinted by W. Jaggard, in 
1G12, with additions, and the facts attending the publication 
of the two impressions are peculiar. 

In 1598, Eichard Barnfield put his name to a small collection 
of productions in verse, entitled " The Encomion of Lady 
Pecunia," which contained more than one poem attributed to 
Shakespeare in " The Passionate Pilgrim," 1599 : the tirst 
was printed by John, and the last by William Jaggard. 
BoswcU suggests, that John -Jaggard in 1598 might have 
stolen Shakespeare's verses and attributed them to Barnfield ; 
but the answer to this supposition is two-fold — first, that 
Barnfield formally, and in his own name, printed them as his 
in 1598; and next, that he reprinted them under the same 
circumstances in 1605, notwithstanding they had been in the 
mean time assigned to Shakespeare^. The truth seems to be 
that W. Jaggard took them in 1599 from Barnfield's publica- 
tion, printed by John Jaggard in 1598. In 1612 W. Jaggard 
went even more boldly to work ; for in the impression of 
" The Passionate Pilgrim " of that year^, he' not only re- 
peated Barnfield's poems of 1598, but included two of Ovid's 
Epistles, which had been translated by Thomas Ileywood, 
and printed by him with his name in his " Troja Britannica," 
1609.' The epistles were made, witli some little ambiguity, to 
appear in "The Passionate Pilgrim" of 1612, to have been 
also the work of Shakespeare. When, therefore, Ileywood 

Enblished his next work in 1612, he exposed the wrong that 
ad been tlius done to him, and claimed the performances as 

1 It professes to te "printed /or W. Jagfjard," but he was probably 
the typographer, and W. Leake the bookseller. Leake published an 
edition of '■ Venus and Adonis " iu 1602, contrary to what is stated 
onp 911. 

2 This edition of Barnfield's work was unknown to bibliographers 
until a copy of it was met with in the library of Lord Francis 
Egerton. See the Bridgewater Catalogue, 1837, p. 21. It was not a 
mere reprint of the edition of 1593, but it was really "newly cor- 
rected and enlarged" by the author, as stated on the title-page.; so 
that Barnfield's attention was particularly directed to the contents of 
his small volume, and perhaps to the manner iff which part of thena 
had been stolen by W. Jaggai"d in 1599. It is to be remarked also 
that John Jaggard was not concerned in the second edition of Barn- 
field's " Encomion," as he had been jn the first: it was printed by 
W. I. (probably W. laggard, the very person who had committed the 
theft in 1599) and it was "to be sold by lohn Ilodgets." Both 
editions contain the tribute to Spenser, Daniel Drayton, and Shake- 
speare : the lines to the latter would hardly have been reprinted in 
1005, if Barnfield had supposed that Shakespeare had in any way 
given his sanction to the transference of two pieces from the " Enco- 
mion " to " The Passionate Pilgrim." 

■'' On the title-page it is called " the third edition,'' but no second 



his own. (See the Eeprint of " The Apology for Actors," by 
the Shakespeare Society, pp. 62 and 66.) lie seems also to 
have taken steps against W. Jaggard ; for the latter cancelled 
the title-page of '''The Passionate Pilgrim," 1612, wliich 
contained the name of Shakespeare, and substituted another 
without any name, so far discrediting Shakespeare's right to 
any of the poems the work contained, although g*me were 
his beyond all dispute. Malone's copy in the Bodleian 
Library has both title-pages. 
To what extent, therefore, we may accept W. Jaggard's 




tained (with variations, on whieli account we print them 
again here) in Thorpe's edition of" Shakespeare's Sonnets," 
1609 : three other pieces (also M'ith changes) are found in 
" Love's Labour 's Lost," which had been printed tiie year 
before " Tlie Passionate Pilgrim" originally came out: — 
another, and its " answer," notoriously belong to Marlowe 
and Raleigh ; a sonnet, with some slight differences, liad been 
printed as his in 1596, by a person of the name of Griffin; 
while one production appeared in "England's Helicon " in 
1600, under the signature of Ignoto. The various circum- 
stances attending each poem, wherever any remark seemed 
required, are stated in our notes, and it is not necessary 
therefore to enter farther into the question here. 

It ought to be mentioned, that although the signatures at 
the bottom of the pages are continued throughout, after the 
poem beginning, " Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the 
east ! " wo meet with a new and dateless title-page, which 
runs thus : — " Sonnets to sundry Notes of Musicke. At 
London Printed for W. laggard, and are to be sold by W. 
Leake, at the Greyhound in Faules Churchyard." Hence we 
may infer that all the productions inserted after this division 
had been set l)y popular composers: that some of them had 
received this distinction, evidence has descended to our diiy: 
we refer particularly to the lyrical poem, "My flocks feed 
not," (p. 965) and to the well-known lines, " Live with me and 
be my love," (p. 966) tlie air to which seems to have been so 
common, that it was employed by Deloney as a ballad-tune. 
See his " Strange Histories," 1607, p. 28 of the reprint by the 
Percy Society. 

One object with W. Jaggard in 1612, when he republished 
" The Passionate Pilgrim" with unwarrantable additions, wad 
probably to swell the bulk of it ; and so much had he felt this 
want in 1599, that, excepting the three last leaves, all the rest 
of the volume is printed on one side of the paper only, a pecu- 
liarity we do not recollect to belong to any other work of the 
time : by the insertion of Ileywood's translations from Ovid, 
this course was rendered unnecessary in 1612, and although 
the volume is still of small bulk, it was not so insignificant in 
its appearance as it had been in 1599^. Only a single copy of 

edition is known, although it is very probable that it had been 
republished in the interval between 1599 and 1612. 

■I Nicholas Breton seems to have -written his " Passionate Shepherd," 
1604, in imitation of the title and of the- style of some of the poems in 
the " Passionate Pilgrim." The only known copy of this pro-Juction 
is in private hands. It is very possible that a second edition of '■ Tho 
Passionate Pilgrim " (that of 1612, as we have observed, is called " the 
third impression ") came out about 1604, and that on this account 
Breton was led to imitate the title, and the form of verse of som.e of 
the pieces in it. As " The Passionate Shepherd " is a great curiosity, 
not being even mentioned by bibliographers, and as it is thus con- 
nected with the name and works of Shakespeare, an exact copy of 
the title-page may be acceptable : — 

" The Passionate Shepheard, or The Shepheardes Loue : set downe 
in Passions to his Shepheardesse Aglaia. With many excellent 
conceited Poems and pleasant Sonnets, fit for young heads to passe 
away idle houres. London Imprinted by E. AUde for lohn Tappe, 
and are to bee solde at his Shop, at the Tower-Hill, neere the Bul- 
warke Gate. 1604." 4to. 

5 It is as small a poetical volume as we remember to have seen, 
excepting a copy of George Peele's '-Tale of Troy," ^vhich was 
reprinted in 1604, of the size of an inch and a half high by an inch 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



963 



the edition of 1599, we believe, has been preserved, and that 
is amonjf Capcll's books in the library of Trinity College, 
Cambridge. No other copy of " The Passionate Pilgrim " of 
1612 has the two title-pages, with and without the name of 
Shakespeare, but that formerly belonging to Muloiie, and 
bequeathed by him, with so many other valuable rarities, to 
the Bodleian Library. 

" The Passionate Pilgrim," 1590, concludes with a piece of 
moral satire, " Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd," &c., and we 
liave followed it by a poem found only in a publication by 

broad. It contains some curious variations from the text of the first 
C'^ition in 158!). 4to. 

1 It is called '-Love's Martyr, or Eoso.lin's Complaint" Of the 
author or editor nothing is known ; but he is not to be confounded 
■with Charles Chester, called Carlo ISullbne in Ken Jonson's "Every 
Man out of his Humour,'' and respecting whom see Nash's "Pierce 



Kobert Chester, dated 1601^. Malone preceded " The Phoenix 
and tlie Turtle," by the song "Take, O! take those lips 
away :" this we have not thought it necessary to repeat, 
because we have given the whole of it, exactly in the same 
words, in " Measure for Measure," Act IV., Sc. 1 The first 
verse only is I'ound in Shakespeare, and the second, which is 
much inferior, in Beaumont and Fletcher's " Bloody Brother." 
It may be doubted, therefore, whether Shakespeare wrote it, 
or, like Beaumont and Fletcher, only introduced part of, it 
into his play as a popular song of the time. * 

Penniless," 1599, (Shakespeare Society's reprint, pp. 38. 09) and 
Thoms's "Anecdotes and Traditions," (printed for the Camden So- 
ciety) p. .50. Charles Chester is several times mentioned by name in 
" Skialetheia," a collection of Epigrams and Satires, by E.Guilpin, 
printed in 1593, as well as in " Ulysses upon Ajax," 159G. 



When my love swears that she is made of truth 
I do believe her, thoiigli I know she lies, 
That she might think me some unttitor'd youth 
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries. 
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, 
Although I know my years be past the best, 
I smiling credit her false speaking tongue, 
Out-facing faults in love with love's ill rest. 
But wlierefore says my love that she is young ? 
And wherefore say not I that I am old ? 
O ! love's best habit is a soothing tongue. 
And age, in love, loves not to have years told. 
Therefore I '11 lie with love, and love with me. 
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be. 



11.== 
Two loves I have of comfort and despair, 
Which like two spirits do suggest me still : 
The better angel is a man, right fair, 
The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill. 
To win me soon to hell, my female evil 
Tempteth my better angel from my side, 
And would corrupt a saint to be a devil, 
Wooing his purity with her fair pride : 
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend, 
Suspect I may, but not directly tell ; 
For being both to me, both to each friend, 
I guess one angel in another's hell. 

The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt. 
Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 



Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye, 
'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument. 
Persuade my heart to this false perjury ? 
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. 
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove. 
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
Thy grace being gain"d cures all disgrace in me. 
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is : 
Then thou fair sun, that on this earth dost shine, 
Exhale this vapour now ; in thee it is : 
If broken, then it is no fault of mine. 
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 
To break an oath, to win a paradise ? 



IV. 

Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook, 

With young Adonis, lovely, fresh and green. 

Did court the lad with many a lovely look, 

Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen. 

She told him stories to delight his ear ; 

She show'd him favours to allure his eye ; 

To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there 

Touclies so soft still conquer chastity. 

But whether unripe years did want conceit. 

Or he refus'd to take her figur'd* proffer. 

The tender nibbler would not touch the bait, 

But smile and jest at every gentle offer : 

Then, fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward : 
He rose and ran away ; ah, fool too froward ! 

V.« 

If love make me forsM^orn, how shall I swear to love ? 
! never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd : 
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I '11 constant prove ; 
Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers 

bow'd. 
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes. 
Where all those pleasures live, that art can comprehend. 
If knowledge be tlie mark, to know thee shall suffice ; 
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee com- 
mend ; 
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder, 
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire : 
Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dread- 
ful thunder. 
Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire. 
Celestial as thou arl, O ! do not love that wrong, 
To sing the heavens' praise with such an earthly 
tongue. 

VI. 

Scarce had the sun dried up tlie dewy morn, 

An(^ scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade, 

When Cytherea, all in love forlorn, 

A longing tarriance for Adonis made, 

Under an osier growing by a brook. 

A brook, where A don us'd to cool his spleen : 

Hot was the day ; she hotter that did look 

For his approach, that often there had been. " 

Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by. 

And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim ; 

The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye, 

Yet not so wistly as this queen on him : 



ii. in the quarto published by Thorpe, in 1609. a This sonnet is also included 
bal variations. ■' This sonnet is found in " Love's Labour 's Lost," but with 



1 This sonnet is substantially the same as Sonnet cxxxviii. 

in the collection of 1609, (Sonnet cxliv.) but with some verbal ■ - , ■ • 

some slight variations, published in 1.598. * We may su.^pect, notwithstanding the concurrence of the two ancient editions in our text, 
that the true reading was sui^ard, the long -s having been, as in other places, raislaken for the letter /. * This poem, with variations, is 
road by Si;' Nathaniel, in " Love's Labour's Lost." 



964: 



THE PASSIOiSrATE PILGRIM. 



He. spying her, 'bounc'cl in, whereas he stood : 
O Jove ! quoth she, why was not I a flood ? 

VII. 

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle, 

Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty ; 

Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle, 

Softer than wax, and yet as iron rusty : 
A lily pale, Avith damask dye to grace her. 
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. 

Her lips to mine how often hath she joined, 
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing ! 
How many tales to please me hath she coined, 
Dreading my love, the loss whereof still fearing ! 
Yet in the midst of all her pure pretestings. 
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings. 

She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth ; 
She burn'd out love, as soon as straw out burneth : 
She fram'd the love, and yet she foil d the framing ; 
She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning. 

Was this a lover, or a lecher whether ? 

Bad in the best, though excellent in neither. 

VIII.i 
If music and sweet poetry agree, 
As they must needs, the sister and the brother. 
Then, must the love be great twixt thee and me 
Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other. 
Douland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch 
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense : 
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such, 
As passing all conceit needs no defence. 
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound 
That PhcBbus' lute (the queen of music) makes ; 
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd 
Whenas himself to singing he betakes. 
One god is god of both, as poets feign, 
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain. 

IX. 

Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love," 

•S^ "«■ 'ff' "n* 'Ji» •'V' *7p "Tt* 

Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove, 
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild ; 
Her stand she takes upon a steep up hill : 
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds ; 
She silly queen, with more than love's good will, 
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds. 
Once, (quoth she) did I see a fair sweet youth 
Here in these brakes deep- wounded with a boar, 
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth ! 
See, in my thigh, (quoth she.) here was the sore. 
She showed hers ; he saw more AA'ounds than %ne. 
And blushing fled, and left her all alone. 

X. 
Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon faded, 
Pluck'd jn the bud, and faded in the spring ! 
Bright orient pearl, alack ! too timely shaded. 
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting ! 
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, 
And falls, (through wind) before the fall should be. 



I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have : 

For why ? thou left'st me nothing in thy will. 

And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave ; 

For why ? I craved nothing of thee still : 
yes, (dear friend,) I pardon crave of thee : 
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me. 

XI.^ 

Venus mth Adonis sitting by her, 

Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him : 

She told tlie youngling how god Mars did try her, 

And as he fell to her, she fell to him.* 

Even thus, (quoth she) the warlike god embrac'd me j 

And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms ; 

Even thus, (quoth she) the warlike god unlac'd me, 

As if the boy should use like loving charms : 

Even thus, (quoth she) he seized on my lips, ^ 

And with her lips on his did act the seizure ; 

And as she fetched breath, away he skips. 

And would not take her meaning, nor her pleasure 

Ah ! that I had my lady at this bay, 

To kiss and clip me till I ran away ! 

xn. 

Crabbed age and youth 

Cannot live together ; 
Youth is full of pleasance, 

Age is full of care : 
Youth like summer morn. 

Age like winter weather ; 
Youth like summer brave, 

Age like winter bare. 
Youth is full of sport. 
Age's breath is short ; 

Youth is nimble, age is lame : 
Youth is hot and bold. 
Age is weak and cold ; 

Youth is wild, and age is tame. 
Age, I do abhor thee, 
Youth, I do adore thee; 

O, my love, my love is young ! 
Age, I do defy thee ; 
0, sweet shepherd ! hie thee. 

For methinks thou stay'st too long. 

xiri. 

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good, 

A shining gloss'that fadeth suddenly; 

A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud ; 

A brittle glass, that 's broken presently : 
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flow^er, 
Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour. 

And as goods lost are seld or never found. 

As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh ; 

As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground. 

As broken glass no cement can redress ; 
So beauty blemish'd once, for ever lost. 
In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost. 

XIV. 
Good night, good rest. Ah ! neither be my share . 
She bade good night, that kept my rest away ; 
And dafl"'d me to a cabin hang'd with care. 
To descant on the doubts of my decay. 

Farewell, quoth she, and come again to-morrow ; 

Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow. 



1 This poem was putlished in 1598, in Richard Barnfield'.'; "Encomion of Lady Pecunia." There is little doubt that it is hi.s property, 
notwithstanding it appeared in the "Passionate Pilgrim," l.'iOO ; and it was reprinted as Barnfield's in the new edition of his "Encomion,'* 
in 1G05. 2 The next line is lost. ^ This sonnet, with considerable variations, is the third in a collection of seventy-two sonnets, published 
in 15<)6, under the title of "Fidessa," with the name of B. Griffin, as the author. A syllabic defect in the first line is there remedied by 
the insertion of "young"' before "Adonis." A manuscript of the time, now before us, is without the epithet, and has the initials'W. S. 
at the end. * The line so stands in both editions of "The Passionate Pilgrim," and in the contemporaneous manuscript j but in Griffin's 
" Fidessa," it is : And as he fell to her, so fell she to him. 



THE PASSIOKATE PILGEIM. 



965 



Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, 
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether : 
'T may he, she joy'd to jest at my exile, 
'T may he, again to make me wander thither ; 
" Wander," a word for shadows like thyself, 
As take the pain, but camiot pluck the pelf. 

XV. 

Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east ! 

My heart doth charge the watch, the morning rise 

Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. 

Not daring trust the office of mine eyes, 

While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark, 
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark ; 

For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty. 
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night : 
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty ; 
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight ; 

Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow ; 

For why ? she sigh'd, and bade me come to-morrow. 

Were I with her, the night would post too soon ; 

But now are minutes added to the hours ; 

To spite me now, each minute seems a moon ;* 

Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers ! 

Pack night, peep day, good day, of night now borrow : 
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow. 

XVI."-' 

It was a lording's daughter, 
The fairest one of three. 
That liked of her master 
As well as well might be. 
Till looking on an Englishman, 
The fairest that eye could see, 
Her fancy fell a turning. 

Long was the combat doubtful, 
That love with love did fight. 
To leave the master loveless, 
Or kill the gallant knight : 
To put in practice either, 
Alas ! it was a spite 
Unto the silly damsel. 

But one must be refused, 
More mickle was the pain, 
That nothing could be used. 
To turn them both to gain ; 
For of the two the trusty knight 
Was wounded with disdain : 
Alas ! she could not help it. 

Thus art 'vs'ith arms contending 
Was victor of the day. 
Which by a gift of learning 
Did bear the maid away ; 
Then lullaby, the learned man 
Hath got the lady gay : 
For now my song is ended. 



XVIP. 
On a day (alack the day !) 
Love, whose month was ever May, 
Spied a blossom passing fair, 
Playing in the wanton air: 
Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
All unseen, 'gan passage find ; 
That the lover (sick to death) 
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. 
Air (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow ; 
Air, would I might triumph so ! 
But, alas ! my hand hath sworn 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
Vow, alack ! for youth unmeet : 
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. 
Thou for whom Jove would swear 
Juno but an Ethiop were ; 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love. 



xvm.* 

My flocks feed not. 
My ewes breed not. 
My rams speed not, 

All is amiss : 
Love is dying,* 
Faith's defying. 
Heart's denying,^ 

Causer of this. 
All my merry jigs are quite forgot. 
All my lady's love is lost (God wot) : 
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love. 
There a nay is plac'd without remove. 
One silly cross 
Wrought all my loss : 

O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame ' 
For now I see 
Inconstancy 

More in women than in men remain. 



In black mourn I, 
All fears scorn I, 
Love hath forlorn me. 

Living in thrall : 
Heart is bleeding, 
All help needing, 
cruel speeding ! 
Fraughted with gall ! 
My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal,' 
My wetlier's bell rings doleful knell ; 
My curtail dog that wont to have play'd. 
Plays not at all, but seems afraid; 
My sighs so deep*, 
Procure to weep. 

In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight. 
How sighs resound 
Through heartless ground, 

Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody 
fight! 



1 an hour: in old eds. Steevens made the change ; moon havinff the sense of month. » This is the first piece in the division of The 
Passionate Pilgrim," IMO, called "Sonnets to sundry Notes of Music." As the signatures of the pages run on throughout the small 
volume, we have continued to mark the poems by numerals, in the order in which they were printed. ^ This poem, in a more convplete 
state, and with the addition of two lines only found there, may be seen in "Love's Labour's Lost." The poem is also printed in Lng- 
land's Helicon," (sign. H.) a miscellany of poetry, first published in ICOO, (reprinted in ISlli,) where " W. Shakespeare" is appended to it. 
* In "England's Helicon," leOO. this poem immediately follows " On a day (alack the day I)" but it is there entitled, " The unknown 
Phepherd's Complaint," and it is subscribed [gnoto. Hence, we may suppose that the compiler of that collection knew that it was not by 
Shakespeare, although it had been attributed to him in "The Passionate Pilgrim," of the year preceding. It had appeared anonyrnously, 
with the music, in l.TOT, in a collection of Madrigals, by Thomas Weelkes. » Love's denying: in " England s Helicon. 6 Heart s 
renying : in "England's Helicon." ' Part. » Both editions of " The Passionate Pilgrim," have With for My, which last not only 13 
necessary for the sense, but is confirmed as the true reading by Weelkes' Madrigals, 1597. 



966 



THE PASSIOl^ATE PILGKTM. 



Clear wells spring not, 
Sweet birds sing not, 
Green plants bring not 

Forth their dye ;^ 
Herds stand weeping, 
Flocks all sleeping, 
Nymphs back peeping 

Fearfully : 
All our pleasure known to us poor swains, 
All our merry meetings on the plains, 
All our evening sport from us is fled ; 
All our love is lost, for love is dead. 
Farewell, sweet lass,'** 
Thy like ne'er was 

For a sweet content, the cause of all my moan^ 
Poor Coridon 
Must live alone. 

Other help for him I see that there is none. 

XIX.* . 

When as thine eye hath chose the dame, 
And stall'd the deer that thou shouldst strike. 
Let reason rule things woi'thy blame, 
As well as partial fancy like : 

Take counsel of some wiser head, 

NciLhcr too young, nor yet tinwed. 

And. when thou convet thy tale to tell, 
Smooth not thy tongue with tiled talk, 
Lest she some subtle practice smell ; 
A cripple soon can find a halt : 

But plainly say thou lov'st her well, 

And set thy person forth to sell.^ 

What though her frowning brows be bent, 

Her cloudy looks will clear ere night ; 

And then too late she will repent 

That thus dissembled her delight; 
And twice desire, ere it be day. 
That which vath scorn she put away. 

What though she strive to try her strength, 
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay. 
Her feeble force will yield at length, 
When craft hath taught her thus to say, — 

" Had women been so strong as men, 

In faith you had not had it then." 

And to her will frame all thy ways : 
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there 
Where thy desert may merit praise, 
By rin.ging in thy lady's ear : 

The strongest castle, tower, and town. 

The golden bullet beats it down. 



Serve always with assured trust, 
And in thy suit be humble, true; 
Unless thy lady prove unjust. 
Seek never tliou to choose a new. 

When time shall serve, be thou not slack 
To proffer, though she put thee back. 

The wiles and guiles that women work, 
Dissembled with an outward show. 
The tricks and toys that in them lurk, 
The cock that treads them shall not know. 
Have you not heard it said full oft, 
A woman's nay doth stand for nought ? 

Think, women still to strive with men 
To sin, and never for to saint : 
There is no heaven ; be holy then, ^ 
When time with age shall them attaint. 
Were kisses all the joys in bed. 
One woman would another wed. 

But soft ! enough, — too much, I fear; 

Lest that my mistress hear my song, 

She will not stick to warm my ear*. 

To teach my tongue to be so long : 
Yet v.'ill she blush, here be it said, 
To hear her secrets so bewray'd. 

XX.' 
Live with me and be my love. 
And we will all the pleasures prove. 
That hills and valleys, dales and fields, 
And the craggy mountain yields. 

There will we sit upon the I'ocks, 
And see the shepherds feed their flocks 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

There will I make thee a bed of roses, 
With a thousand fragrant posies ; 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. 

A belt of straw and ivy buds. 
With coral clasps and amber studs ; 
And if these pleasures may thee move, 
Then, live with me and be my love. 

love's answer. 

If that the world and love were young. 
And truth in every shepherd's tongue. 
These pretty pleasures might me move, 
To live with thee and be thy love. 



- So both editions of " The Passionate Pilgrim," and "England's Helicon." Malone preferred the passage as it stands in Weelkes' Mad 
rigals : 

" Loud bells ring not 
Cheerfully." 
2 " The Passionate Pilgrim," and " England's Helicon," both have love for ?rtss. which the rhyme shows to be the true reading, as it 
stands in Weelkes' Madrigals, 1597. 3 go "England's Helicon" and Weelkes' Madrigals : "The Passionate Pilgrim," 1599, has jooe for 
moan. * In some modern editions, the stanzas of this poem have been given in an order difierent to that in which they stand in "The 
Passionate Pilgrim," 1599 : to that order we restore them, and that text we follow, excepting where it is evidently corrupt. The line, " As 
well as partial fancy like," we have corrected by a manuscript of the time. The edition of 1599 reads: "As well as fancy party all 
might," which is decidedly wrong. Malone substituted "As well as fancy, partial tike.'" The manuscript by which we have corrected 
the fourth line of the stanza also gives the two last lines of it thus : — 

" Ask counsel of some other head, 
Neither unwise nor yet unwed." 
But no change from the old printed copy is here necessary. In the manuscript the whole has Shakespeare's initials at the end. = go the 
manuscript in our possession, and another that Malone used : the old copies read, with obvious corruption, 

"And set her person forth to sale." 




(sign A 2) and the last appears in the same collection, under the name of Ignoto, which was a signature sometimes adopted by Sir Walter 
Raloigh. They are. besides, assigned to both these authors in Walton's "Angler," (p. 149, edit. ISOS) under the titles of " The milk- 
maid's song," and " The Milk-maid's Mother's answer." 



THE PASSIONATE PILG] 



967 



XXL' 

As it fell iipon a day 

In the inerry month of IMay, 

Sitting in a pleasant shade, 

Which a grove of myrtles made, 

Beasts did leap and birds did sing, 

Trees did grow and plants did spring : 

Every thing did banish moan, 

SaA'e the nightingale alone : 

She, poor bird, as all forlorn. 

Lean'd her breast np-till a thorn, 

And there sixng the dolefuU'st ditty, 

That to hear it was great pity. 

Fie, fie. fie ! now would she cry ; 

Teren, Tereu ! by and by ; 

That to hear her so complain 

Scarce I could from tears refrain, 

For her griefs, so lively shown, 

]\Iade me think upon mine own. 

Ah ! thought I, thou moiirn'st in vain, 

None takes pity on thy pain : 

Senseless trees fhey cannot hear thee. 

Ruthless bears they will not cheer thee. 

King Pandion he is dead, 

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead. 

All thy fellow birds do sing. 

Careless of thy sorrowing-. 

XXII.s 

Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd, 

Thou and I were bothbeguil'd : 

Every one that flatters thee 

Is no friend in misery. 

Words are easy, like the wind ; 

Faithful friends are hard to find : 

Every man will be thy friend. 

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ; 

But if store of cro\^7is be scant. 

No man will supply thy want. 

If that one be prodigal. 

Bountiful they will him call. 

And with such like flattering, 

Pity but he were a king. 

If he be addict to vice. 

Quickly him they will entice : 

If to women he be bent, 

They have him at commandcment ; 

But if fortune once do frown. 

Then, farewell his great renown : 

They that fawn'd on him before 

Use his company no more. 

He that is thy friend indeed 

He will help thee in thy need : 

If thou sorrow, he will weep; 

If thou wake, he cannot sleep : 

Thus of every grief in heart, 

He with thee does bear a part. 

These are certain signs to know 

Faithful friend from flattering foe. 



THE PHOENIX AND TURTLE.* 

Let the bird of loudest lay, 

On the sole Arabian tree, 

Herald sad and trumpet be, 

To whose sound chaste wings obey. 

But thou shrieking harbinger, 
Foul prc-currer of the fiend, 
Augur of the fever's end. 
To this troop come thou not near. 

From this session interdict 
Every fowl of tyrant wing. 
Save the eagle, feather'd king : 
Keep the obsequy so strict. 

Let the priest in surplice white, 
That defunctive music can. 
Be the death-divining swan. 
Lest the requiem lack his right. 

And thou, treble-dated crow. 

That thy sable gender mak'st 

With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st. 

'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. 

Here the anthem doth commence : 
Love and constancy is dead ; 
Phffinix and the turtle fled 
In a mutual flame from hence. 

So they lov'd, as love in twain 
Had the essence but in one ; 
Tv,"o distincts, division none : 
Number there in love was slain. 

Hearts remote, yet not asunder ; 
Distance, and no space was seen 
'Twixt the turtle and his queen : 
But in them it were a wonder. 

So between them love did shine. 
That the turtle saw his right 
Flaming in the Phoenix' sight : 
Either was the other's mine. 

Property was thus appall'd. 
That the self was not the same ; 
Single nature's double name 
Neither two nor one was call'd. 

Reason, in itself confounded. 
Saw division grow together ; 
To themselves yet either neither, 
Simple were so .well compounded; 

That it cry'd, how true a twain 
Scemeth Ibis concordant one ! 
Love hath reason, reason none, 
If what parts can so remain. 



1 This poem is contained in R. Barnfield's "Encomionof Lady Pecunia," 159". It is also inserted in -'England's Helicon," 1000, 
(H. 2) under the signature of Ts>wlo ; but as Barnfield reprinted it as his, in 101)5, there can be little doubt that he wsji the author of it. 
* " England's Helicon" here adds this couplet : — 

" Even so, poor bird, like thee, 
None alive will pity me." 
' This is the last poem in " The Tassionate Pilgrim," 1599. It is a separate production, both in subject and pUace, -with a division between 
it and Barnfield's poem, which precedes it : nevertheless they have been incautiously coupled in some modern editions. * This poem is 
printed, as we have given it, with the name of Shakespeare, in Robert Chester's " Love's Martyr, or Rosalin's Complaint," 1001 . It occurs 
near the end, among what are called on the title-page, " new Compositions of several modern Writers, whose names are subscribed to their 
several Works." 



968 



%E PASSIONATE PIL(iKlM. 



Whereupon it made this threne, 
To the PhoBiiix and the dove, 
Co-supremes and stars of love, 
As chorus to their tragic scene. 

THRENOS. 

Beauty, truth, and rarity, 
Grace in all simplicity. 
Here inclos'd in cinders lie. 

Death is now the Phoenix' nest ; 
And the turtle's loyal breast 
• To eternity doth rest. 



Leaving no posterity : 

'T was not their infirmity, 

It was married chastity. 

Truth may seem, but cannot be ; 
Beauty brag, but 't is not she ; 
Truth and beauty buried be. 

To this urn let those repair 

That are either true or fair ; 

For these dead birds sigh a prayer. 

Wm. Shake-speare. 



THE END. 



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